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myladybelle · 7 months ago

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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.

#challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson x you #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #tashi duncan #fic: guilty as sin?

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traveler-at-heart · 4 days ago

Text

Love is a winning serve

Sequel to Game, Set, Match that was on my drafts and just decided to post lol.

Tennis player Natasha Romanoff x F!R

The grass is always greener at the start of the season.

No matter how many times you step in, Wimbledon always takes your breath away. The view is especially magnificent today, as your eyes follow the figure of your girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff.

Fury grumbles next to you.

“Is there a problem?”

“She’s down! 3 games to lob on the first set. Why are you not freaking out right now?” the man whisper yells and Melina glares, shushing him.

“She’s bored” you say after she loses the fourth game.

“What did you just say?”

“Natasha’s bored. She won Roland Garros 6-0, 6-1, so she wants to make this at least a bit entertaining”

“Well, could she possibly play sudoku or something else to combat this boredom? If I wasn’t bald already I’d be losing my hair from the stress”

After the break, and as you suspected, Natasha wins three games in a row. You admire her graceful movements as she sprints across the court. She’s wearing all white, as tradition requires. Such a shame that her team opted for a polo shirt. Yes, she looks elegant, but you’d rather see those toned arm muscles as she exerts herself.

“Fuck”

Natasha’s outburst and the crowd’s gasp break your train of thought.

“Are you kidding me? That ball was so in” she challenges the call.

“That’s the rule” umpire Steve Rogers, aka Mister Manners, says.

“That’s bullshit”

“Ms. Romanoff, language!” he says, truly shocked. You’re amused, because Natasha can do so much worse than that.

So much dirtier…

“Stop it” Yelena elbows you.

“Stop what?”

“Looking like you’re ready to throw your panties to the court”

“If that keeps the press from asking about her little outburst, be my guest” Fury sighs.

But you’re already on it.

After throwing her racket across the court, Natasha has to go the extra mile to win 7-5 on the first set. Throughout the rest of the match, you make sure your left hand is showing the big diamond ring Natasha gave you.

“You’re already trending on Twitter” Yelena says, amazed. “Thank God you’re on our side, evil genius”

Natasha wins the second set easily, and is saved from the court interview by the English rain.

“Nice. The tennis part, not the tantrum in the middle of the game” Fury says.

“Come on, the umpire was being an idiot. How long do I have before the press conference?”

“20 minutes, give or take. Don’t worry, they’ll be nice to you”

You show the ring and she nods.

It all started as an honest mistake. Yes, Natasha had given you this particular ring as a present, and yes you’d wore it in public. But the speculation of an engagement was enough to boost her public persona, so you ran with it.

“You know, when I get you an actual engagement ring, it will be huge” she says, pulling you closer to kiss you.

“I don’t have a preference on that regard, Miss Romanoff” you smile against her lips.

“Really? I was under the impression you liked how big my stra…”

“Aaaah! Stop. I should have stayed in New York!” Yelena says, leaving the locker room in a rush.

—

“Have you set a date?” is the first thing a journalist asks during the press conference.

“Date for what, David?” Natasha plays dumb.

“We’ve all seen the huge diamond ring on Y/N's finger. Or maybe you’re planning on getting married right in the middle of the court once you reach the Golden Slam”

“No comment” Natasha says, holding back laughter.

—

It’s been two years since the start of your relationship with Natasha. Once it became clear that you were both committed to making it work, you quit your job and joined her team, as PR manager/mediator when Fury and Natasha were butting heads.

At first, you were worried that I’d be too weird to work with Natasha, but she valued your input and trusted you. Two things she had never found in anyone else aside from her family and Fury.

The fact she had won 3 grand slams last year and was on route to completing the golden calendar this year was a testament to how good you were as a team.

Knowing her after match routine, you figure there’s some time to catch up with Bucky’s first round match. He gets the job done in straight sets, and you wait for his interview to be over.

“Hey, defending champion” you say, looping your arm around his. He smiles.

“Hi, coach Y/L/N”

“Glad to see umpire Jarvis wasn’t a total asshole to you this time” you mutter, looking around as a couple of kids approach Bucky for autographs.

“Might be too busy with all the Maximoff drama”

“Oh?”

Though Wanda had stopped trying to mess with Natasha since you two became public, you were always on edge when it came to her. It couldn’t hurt to have any extra intel on Maximoff.

“Word on the street is that they broke up” Bucky lowers his voice, placing his hand on your back. “You didn’t hear it from me”

“My lips are sealed”

“Hopefully not for food. I’m starving”

“Lunch on me, champ”

—

“I’m home” you joke as usual, stepping foot on the hotel suite. That had been the hardest part of your new life.

You didn’t spend more than two weeks in the same country, and being alone with Natasha was a rare ocurrence.

There were times when you missed your couch and the Indian food from around the corner of your apartment.

The sight that greets you is enough to make up for it.

Natasha is stretching in nothing but leggins and a sports bra, her perfect ass on full display as she bends over in a complicated yoga stance.

“Now that’s a champion’s ass” you whistle.

The redhead smiles and straightens, raising her arms above her head. You take the opportunity to wrap your arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “Where’s everybody?”

“They went to get some food”

“Perfect timing” you whisper against her skin, enjoying the soft smell of lavender. Your hands wander all the way down to her ass and slap playfully.

“You know the rule” Natasha warns, but still melts against your touch.

You huff, annoyed. Stupid, stupid rule. No sex during tournaments.

“I have to wait two more weeks to taste you? How is that fair, baby?”

“Don’t I make it up to you everytime?”

“Let me just…” you kneel hugging her hips and placing kisses on the small of her back. “I’ll take care of everything. Just bend over and spread those pretty legs for me”

“Y/N…” you can tell by her tone she’s ready to give in and you smile.

“Hope you are all starving… ah! AGAIN! I quit” Yelena shouts as she walks in on you.

“Step away, Y/N” Fury warns as you stand up and whimper pathetically against Natasha’s shoulder. “Go take a cold shower.”

“Not fair” you cry out. Natasha chuckles, leaning forward and kissing your neck. A blush spreads as you imagine her lips in other parts of your body. “Really not fair”

—

It wouldn’t be Wimbledon without a rain delay. Considering Nat lost the second set against Danvers, a little break might be good for her.

As you wait for the weather to improve, you keep looking at your calendar and the meeting that no one knows about. Of course it has to happen the minute the match resumes.

“I’ll be right there” you promise, knowing it will be a quick call anyway.

“Ramonda speaking” the voice on the other end greets. She knows it’s you, but still makes you introduce yourself. You expect nothing else from the head of the WTA. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

“It’s very generous… but I’m afraid I’ll have to reject it”

Head of Communications for the Women’s Tennis Association. Being on the citcuit for two years had put you on the map, beyond your wildest expectations.

But you would never leave Natasha. You are a team.

“You’ll still be able to see your girlfriend, if that’s what you’re worried about” the woman says, with a certain condescention in her voice.

“Like I said… it’s very generous. But I am where I need to be. Thank you, Ramonda”

There’s a pause and you wonder if the woman will call you a fool and hang up.

“Look, our current director is leaving at the end of the USO anyway. We’ll hire a consultig firm for a bit, and I hope you’ve had more time to think about this”

“Alright”

Your answer will be the same, but right now you need to go back to the game. Ramonda says her goodbyes and promises to send a better offer by the end of the month.

It makes you dizzy, to think that a local news reporter like yourself could ever do such a huge job.

“You look a little pale” a voice with a thick Russian accent says as you leave the locker room.

It takes you a moment to recognise it.

“Alexei”

“Surprised to see me?”

“Well, yes. Considering you’re banned from the club” you hope that he’ll take offense and end the conversation. But the man laughs, showing his gold teeth.

“I still have my connections”

“Natasha is not here”

“I’m not here to see her. Not right now, at least”

“Then what do you want?”

Alexei sighs, sitting in a bench and looking at you with a phony smile. He looks so much older, and nothing like the man that would get entire stadiums to cheer for him.

“You know I taught her how to hold a racket? How to throw a ball? She was serving before she knew how to write her name”

“Sorry, I don’t have time for this sentimental daddy of the year bullshit”

“I want her back” he explodes, standing up and blocking the exit. You look up, aware that he’s a lot taller than you.

He’s scaring the shit out of you and you hate him for it.

“She listens to you. Put on a good word for me. And then, she’ll come to her senses. That’s how Natalia is, she always needs a little guidance”

“If you go back to coaching her, it would be the worst mistake of her career. So, no. Now move. I have a match to get to”

Alexei punches one of the lockers and you try not to jump at the sound.

“I’ll make sure you regret this”

All you can feel is your heart beating out of your chest. What can you do to escape this situation?

“You better leave now, jackass” Bucky steps out of nowhere, shielding you with his body. “Security is on their way”

The man grumbles, exiting the room. You sigh with relief, allowing Bucky to hold you for a second.

“You ok?”

“Yes. Thank you, Buck”

“Natasha has to know about this. He could be dangerous”

“I don’t want to worry her. It will be fine” you dismiss his concerns quickly, but he looks annoyed “I’ll tell Fury, that should be enough. You have a match to prepare for, I’ll leave now”

Despite his protests, you walk out of the room, heading to the player’s box without paying attention to anything.

“Y/N?” Fury insists when you’re seated and you finally snap back to reality.

“What?”

“Did you two fight? Because she’s about to lose the match and you look like you’ve seen a ghost”

“What do you mean she’s about to lose?” you look up, noticing Natasha is two games down.

Well, shit.

“No, we are not fighting. And the reason I look like I might pass out is because Alexei was here”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you about it later” you say, watching as Danvers prepares to serve.

This eighth game isn’t any better.

One point and that’s it for Natasha.

“She’s gonna pull through” you say, hopeful.

And miraculously, she does. The redhead saves three match points, wins a couple of games and forces a tiebreak.

You sigh with relief as the umpire speaks those magic words.

“Game, set, match, Romanoff”

Little did you know, this wouldn’t be the last bump on the road.

—-

A questionable reputation

The world of tennis knows her as a devout girlfriend, strategist and PR manager to her partner of two years, Natasha Romanoff.

And yet, we know very little of Y/N Y/L/N as she seeks to share some of Romanoff’s record breaking glory.

An insider has shared that they met two years ago during the USO, when the Russian player was having one of the worst seasons of her career.

The public perception has been that Y/L/N contributed to Romanoff’s success, but recent information has put that into question.

As it stands, Miss Y/L/N has a habit of blurring the lines of professional and personal relationships. She has been tied romantically to Yankees’ superstar Sam Wilson and current ATP number one Bucky Barnes.

It seems as if the loving girlfriend is actually a calculated gold digger, and Romanoff might be the next target in her long list of infamous conquests.

—

Well, shit.

Not only did Alexei drag your name (and career) through the mud, but he also managed to put Sam and Bucky in a PR nightmare of their own.

You severely underestimated him.

What a time to post the article. Natasha is about to make her way to the quarterfinals, which means the press conference will definitely include some questions about her “gold digger girlfriend”

A tear rolls down and you try to keep it together, but it feels like the world is on your shoulders.

Your phone pulls you out of the miserable thoughts, but your stomach drops again when you see the name on the screen.

“Yes?” you greet, wiping more tears from your face.

“Alexei is after you” Ramonda drops the bomb without so much as a greeting and you laugh.

“No shit”

“You knew” the woman says, confused.

“He asked me to convince Natasha to take him back as trainer. You can imagine what my answer was”

“I see. He called me too, you know? I don’t understand what he was expecting to get out of it. Alexei’s not a friend of the WTA. He suggested someone else for the job we’re offering you, which is frankly unbelievable. I wanted to call you and let you know that he’s cashing in the few favors he has left to bring you down”

“What would you do in my place, Ramonda?” you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming.

“I’d give him hell”

The playful tone makes you laugh.

“I got nothing to lose, right?”

“Good luck, Y/N”

She hangs up the phone, but the conversation keeps playing in your head.

You may have underestimated Alexei, but he doesn’t understand one thing. As a team, Natasha and you are fucking unstoppable.

So, you take a deep breath, stand up, and go look for your partner.

—

The post match routine is the same as usual. The only thing missing is you.

“She’ll be right here” Fury says, nodding as Melina checks Natasha’s leg, where she felt a cramp.

“Pickle juice” Melina reminds her daughter and she rolls her eyes.

“But it’s so gross, Mama”

“Gross, but effective”

While they wait for you, Natasha walks to the bathroom. The first thing she hears upon entering is someone puking their guts out.

“You ok?” she asks, not knowing who was there.

A beat of silence and then a voice that she knows all too well.

“I’m fine”

Wanda.

“You never threw up before a match. Are you nervous?” the Russians tries to joke while she washes her hands, but stops when Wanda exits the bathroom stall looking half dead. “Jesus! What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Morning sickness” Wanda answers, too tired to care about keeping her pregnancy a secret anymore.

“Oh. Congratulations” Natasha says in an even tone.

“You sound more excited than Jarvis” Wanda says, splashing some water in her face. “Says he’s not ready to committ after two years. What am I supposed to do with twins by myself?”

“Twins?”

Wanda is about to speak when she throws up in the sink once again.

“Here. Let me just…” Natasha rushes to her side, offering some paper towels and craddling Wanda’s face between her hands as she cleans her mouth.

“I’ve missed you”

“I…”

Natasha places a strand of auburn hair back in her place out of pure habit. This is the closest she’s been to Wanda in years, outside of the court.

Her heart aches over Wanda, how terrified and alone she looks.

The redhead is about to say something else when the door opens.

“Oh”

Natasha turns around, her hands dropping immediately to her sides.

“Y/N…”

“Don’t” is all you say as you leave, not looking back.

You’ve seen enough.

—

It was wise to keep some things to yourself. Like this little bar downtown, where Natasha would never think of looking for you.

She must be going crazy, considering your phone is off and the last time you saw her she looked ready to kiss her crazy ex.

Bucky said Wanda and Jarvis broke up.

So, maybe this whole time you were just a distraction. And now, with the article and Wanda being single again…

No. Natasha would never do this to you.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having. Plus another one for her” someone says behind you.

“Carol” you turn, smiling at the woman. She squeezes your shoulder, taking a seat on the bar stool next to yours.

“I thought you’d be preparing for the next round”

“Nah. Gold diggers don’t work, we just cash” you joke but she doesn’t laugh.

“That article was bullshit. Everyone who has ever worked with you knows that. And if Natasha believed it, you’re better off without her”

“I don’t know if she believed it. I left after I saw her with someone…” you sigh, taking a drink from the new glass the bartender brings over.

How you wish you could erase that memory of Natasha and Wanda.

“I thought her and Maximoff had called it quits” Carol says, shocking you. “What? They weren’t as sneaky as they thought. The rest of us didn’t care enough to mention it”

“Wow”

You sit in silence, drinking and looking out the window. It’s gonna rain again.

“If I had known…” Carol starts, but just shakes her head. You encourage her with a nudge of your elbow. “I would have asked you out. But Natasha had to beat me to that as well. As she does with everything”

“Oh, come on” you say shyly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t know, in the court I’m pretty good at fighting Natasha. Maybe I can give it a try off it”

“I wouldn’t recommend it” you smile, looking over at the menu as a way to change the subject. “You got me a drink, I’ll get you a cheeseburger. How about that?”

“Deal”

—

By the time you go back to the hotel, the rain is pouring. Carol was staying very close to the bar where you had dinner, so she lent you her jacket to keep you dry during the ride home.

You’re walking down the hallway, when the door to your room opens.

If looks could kill…

“Where the hell have you been?” Natasha says through gritted teeth.

You were expecting an apology, not a scolding.

“Out” you walk to the room, eager to change into some dry clothes.

“Yeah? Danvers is your new target, or what?”

Your blood runs cold. Hell, you’re even sure Natasha regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth.

But she still won’t apologize.

She just stares and that pisses you off.

“Excuse me? Say that one more fucking time, Natasha”

“What do you want me to think? There’s that stupid article going around and just now, someone takes pictures of you hugging Danvers in the rain. It’s all over social media”

“She was helping me with her jacket, Natasha. But, while we are on the subject, how is Wanda? As charming and batshit crazy as usual?”

“That’s different” Natasha scoffs and you laugh.

“You are unbelievable. Truly. One of a kind” you go back to looking for clothes, praying the hotel has a spare room you can book.

“It’s not what it seems. She was going through a rough… just trust me, ok?”

“What? Is it her break up?”

“I don’t have to tell you everything” Natasha says, and you feel like crying.

You threw your life out the window for someone who was waiting for the one that got away.

“Yeah, you’re right. You absolutely don’t have to tell me anything”

“I don’t need this right now, Y/N. Think whatever you want”

She walks out, slamming the door behind her.

Everything you believed in has fallen apart.

—-

It was supposed to be an important day. However, your phone has been off since the day you got on a red eye back to New York City.

Bucky is the only person you talk to through video call using your old computer. He’s so pissed off that he easily agreed to not bring up Natasha at all.

So, Saturday comes and you have no idea if she reached the Wimbledon final or not. You stay in your living room all morning and afternoon, watching a medical drama.

Your heart is so broken, and the last time you felt this kind of pain was after losing your father.

At some point, you’ll have to start thinkig about getting a job. There’s no way in hell you’ll take Ramonda’s offer, because it would mean working with Natasha at some point.

For now, staying in your couch while you wait for your food to be delivered is enough.

“Finally” you mutter, standing up to walk to the door. You open without looking who’s on the other side.

“Hi”

Natasha is standing in the middle of the hallway. You look at the containers she’s holding and realised she hijacked your order.

“That’s mine”

“Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about”

“Yes, there is”

“No, there isn’t” you reach for the food and she steps back. “Seriously? Fine, I’ll eat leftovers. Whatever”

You begin to close the door, but Natasha stops it with her hand.

“I’m sorry”

“What for, Natasha?” you say, but she doesn’t answer. “For not explaining whatever that was with Wanda? For impliying I was cheating on you with Carol? Or for stealing my fucking food?”

There’s no answer.

“Everything you just said. And for not protecting you from Alexei. Fury told me everything. Barnes provided some extra context in a very loud voice too”

You want to laugh at the idea of your best friend yelling at Natasha. He’d been waiting to do it for so long. It’s apparent that Natasha has no intention of leaving so you walk away, leaving the door wide open.

The redhead takes the hint and goes inside, closing the door behind her.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“There was some food on the plane”

“Wait, what?”

“I… won Wimbledon”

“Congratulations” you say without a hint of excitement.

“And when I looked to my box, you weren’t there. I didn’t even climb to hug anyone. I got through the ceremony, then went to the airport and on a plane here”

“Natasha, are you insane?” you go back to work mode immediately after hearing how stupid she’s acting. “You know you have to stick around for the interviews, the pictures, the dinner. The press is gonna have a field day speculating…”

“I don’t care”

“I do. We are getting you back on a plane to London. Not to mention the Olympics are in two weeks on a completely different surface. You should be training”

There is absolutely no way in hell that Natasha will miss the milestone of her career because of you. You find your phone tucked away in your travel bag and plug it, ready to call Fury and make a plan.

“Y/N, I’m not going back unless you come with me” Natasha walks to your room, leaning against the door.

“I- I can’t. Not now, Natasha” you look away, tears rolling down your cheeks. “You should go”

“Ok”

She agrees so easily to let you go, or so you think until she speaks again.

“I’ll be back to get you some breakfast”

“What?”

“I’m going to a hotel. I meant what I said earlier. The only way I’m going back is if I can fix the mess I made”

Natasha lingers for a second and you sigh.

“Use the guest room” you give in, turning to cut off her thank you. “Just for tonight. One way or another, I’m making sure you go back to London”

—

The call with Fury takes an unexpected turn.

“What do you mean you don’t want her back?”

“This past week was hell for all of us. Did you see how hard she was hitting the balls? I almost thought she’d break them in half mid play”

“So what? She’s so close, Nick. We have to help her to the finish line” you plead. Just two more things and she’ll become a legend. That’s the way it was always supposed to be.

“Don’t tell me you’ll be the one to put the sport above your relationship. I thought it was all Natasha’s doing”

No, it wasn’t all Natasha’s doing. This past week has been eye opening for you.

You gave up your life to follow her, you decided to become her rock. She didn’t ask for anything, and even when she crossed a line, being too focused on the game to check on you, your immediate reaction was to minimize your needs. In your mind, Natasha came first because she was extraordinary; a once in a lifetime talent.

But what about you?

“You still there?” Fury says, making you snap out of it.

“Yeah. Just thinking”

“Listen. If she doesn’t want to come back, no one’s going to force her. I think you know better than anyone that nothing can change Natasha’s mind. Well, only one person can”

“Who?” you think about Melina or Yelena. They can talk some sense to her.

“You” Fury says before hanging up.

Well, that won’t do. You’re done telling her what to do, or when. She’s a big girl and she can handle herself.

“How’s Fury?” she says as soon as you walk out of your room.

“He wants you on the next flight to Paris” you lie to her, but she laughs.

Of course she knows better.

“If you want me out of your place, just say the word and I’ll find a hotel. But I’m not leaving until I fix this. Hey, are you listening to me?”

“There’s a seat available for tonight’s flight” you ignore her, pulling out your credit card to buy her a ticket.

“Stop it!” she protests, snatching the card from your hands.

“Natasha, give it back. You need to practice before the Olympics”

“Why are you so worried? Clay is my best surface” she argues and you take the bait.

“Your best surface is grass but stats don’t reflect that because there’s like two championships! Why am I even arguing with you?”

“I don’t care about any medals if you’re not there” she insists, going after you as you pick up a basket of laundry and walk to the bedroom.

“Really? You’re fine with Maximoff taking it from you? The one thing missing in your career? Olympic gold. Boy, she must have done a number on you on that bathroom, huh?” you say bitterly, trying to shut the door, but Natasha pushes inside.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I saw how close you were. Her hands on your waist, yours on her face. Fine, be with her, I don’t give a shit”

“It looks like you do” Natasha tries to joke when you throw the clothes on the bed. “And Wanda’s not competing. She’s pregnant”

“Congratulations” you smirk, walking out of the room. Natasha stays annoyingly close and you’re aware of how small your apartment really is when you keep moving but there’s absolutely no way of putting distance between you two.

“Ok, now you’re just being an ass. You don’t believe I want to be with her”

You laugh, but it comes out as a sob. Natasha’s smile fades, and she tries to inch closer to touch you, but you step back. She doesn’t push it this time.

“You’re the one who was quick to assume I was flirting with Carol. The one that believed the article. It hurt, Natasha. Especially because I quit my job and my life to be with you”

Your words are met with silence. Not even an apology. Great.

“Wait” she says a second later when you’re opening the door to leave.

“Don’t. I need to be alone”

Luckily, she listens to you.

As you walk down the street to get some food (because yes, you’ll stress eat like you always do), Fury’s words come back.

You could change her mind.

But you don’t want to. She’s a grown woman, a professional athlete with a career to think about. If she wants to throw it all away, that’s fine.

That’s not your problem anymore.

“Hey, Y/N” Pat greets as you enter your favorite diner. “Shouldn’t you be at the Olympics?”

Since you left to travel with Natasha, there’s always a tennis tournament on their television. Apparently it’s a big deal for everyone when the camera pans to the player’s box and you’re there.

“Ah, I had to come back for a bit, I don’t think I’ll make it to Paris” you say, trying to avoid the topic.

“Is that why you weren’t at the Wimbledon game either?” the woman says with a frown and your eyes widen. “It was all the commentators were talking about, sweetheart. They said it was a miracle she won. You didn’t watch it?”

“Nope”

“Well” she turns to the screen and shushes a customer complaining about watching baseball. “There. Watch for a bit while I get you some food”

“Pat, it’s scary how much you know me” you smile in spite of yourself.

It’s a though watch. Natasha lost the first set and barely managed to get the second one in a tiebreak. You notice how she kept looking at the player’s box, and then shaking her head, muttering to herself.

Pat gets you a chesseburger, shaking her head at the way in which your eyes are glued to the screen.

During the break before the third set, she sat looking defeated, and you notice she was running her hands up and down her left arm.

Of course.

It’s the spot where you always write something or put on a smiley face before a match. A spot only she can see.

Even if you already know the result of the match, you cheer when she wins. Natasha doesn’t. It looks like she couldn’t care less about winning, she won’t even go to her box.

“Quite the watch, huh?”

“Yeah. It was… very stressful. I would have shouted at her if I had been there”

“Like your dad during the NBA playoffs?” Pat jokes and you laugh.

“Yeah. Would have gotten banned too”

“Here. Take this back to her. Sleep it off” she says, handing you a package with a burger. You nod, smiling when she tells you to go back home.

You’re walking back when the rain starts.

“Come on” you protest. To your surprise, Natasha meets you halfway there, holding an umbrella.

“Pat called me” she explains when you inch closer, feeling thankful as she shields you from the cold drops. “Come on, let’s go home”

Natasha places her hand around your waist, and even if it is only to keep you under the small umbrella, it makes your heart beat faster.

Once you’re back in the apartment, she places the umbrella in the hallway.

“I’ll get us some towels. Sorry, your food got wet”

“It’s ok” she smiles, taking the bag.

You go back to your room, getting rid of your wet clothes, and searching for a couple of towels among the mess you left earlier.

“Sorry, I should have knocked” Natasha says, but is unable to keep her eyes away from you.

“It’s ok” your voice shakes.

It feels like a small gift from fate. You’re never completely alone, you’re always thinking about the next tournament. But now, it’s just you and Natasha, and the rain drowning out the rest of the world.

She approaches you first, pulling you by the waist until you lean your head on her shoulder.

“You’re cold” she says against your temple.

“Let’s take a shower” you say, surprising her.

It also takes you by surprise, considering how pissed you were. Considering she hasn’t said she’s sorry.

But it feels like it’s been forever since she’s been yours and no one else’s. Your Natasha, not the tennis legend, the number one in the world.

No one can have her, not like you do.

“Ok” she nods after a second, allowing you to lead her by the hand. It’s a small shower, and definitely not as fancy as the ones in those hotels you stay at.

You laugh and giggle as you struggle to fit inside, and Natasha reaches behind you to get the water running.

“Nat!” you shriek when the cold water hits you. “It’s the other one”

“I always forget your shower’s messed up” she apologizes, and you push against her to run away from the stream. “Not that I’m complaining” she adds when you invade what little personal space is left in the shower.

Before you can protest further, she kisses you, slowly at first and then with more urgency.

“Feeling warmer?” she teases against your lips and you smile.

“Very much so”

Her hands travel to your waist, one trailing lower until her fingers are circling your clit.

“Nat” you sigh against her skin. She teases your entrance, and takes her time playing with your clit. It isn’t the friction that makes you come, it’s the soft kiss she places against your ear as you keep moaning.

“It’s ok, let go, baby. I got you”

And as you ride out your orgasm, digging your nails in her back, you feel complete again.

—

The sounds of the city wake you up. As you open your eyes and look up, Natasha is already awake, admiring you.

“Morning, detka”

“Were you watching me sleep like a weirdo?” you grumble, sinking further in her arms.

“I missed this view. Thought I’d never get it again”

You don’t say anything, and stay in her arms until your stomach protests.

“I’m making you pancakes” Natasha says, kissing your temple and leaving the bed.

Even if you want to stay in bed, you follow her to the kitchen and watch as she gets everythig she needs for breakfast.

“I’m surprised you have anything at all”

“Did some shopping the day I got here” you comment, and she nods, trying to act unfazed.

Natasha cooks in silence, and as she places a plate in front of you, kisses your temple.

“Can I say something?” Natasha asks after a beat of silence. You nod, bracing yourself for the worst. “For the last two years, you’ve done what I wanted. I never ask you what you want or need. So, today I want you to tell me what do you want me to do”

“I want you to go and win the gold medal” you answer.

“Will you come with me?”

“I have to stay here… think about what I want” you say. “Natasha, I love you but my life has been all about tennis for the past two years. And I did it because I love you and we’re a great team… but if you were to break up with me tomorrow, you’d still have your career. And what about me?”

“Look, you’re right. We make a great team. But you need to tell me things too. If I had known Alexei was threteaning you, I would have handled everything”

“I didn’t want to worry you” you say, looking away.

“You’re my biggest concern. My reason to do this” Natasha says, holding you by the chin. “I’m sorry I made you doubt it, detka”

You lean forward, kissing her. After a few moments in her arms, you take a deep breath.

“In the spirit of transparency… Ramonda offered me a job as Head of Communications of the WTA”

“What? That’s amazing! When do you start?”

“I haven’t accepted the offer. If I do, I won’t be able to be with you all the time, Nat” you smile sadly, knowing you couldn’t do that to her.

“If that’s what you want to do, I’ll support you” she says.

“Not sure yet. And anyway, with everything that happened the offer might be rescinded”

You eat in silence for a moment, thinking about the things you discussed with Natasha.

“I guess I’ll take the next flight to Paris”

“Call Stark, ask for the jet. It will be faster” you roll your eyes, knowing Natasha hates talking to the former professional turned business man.

“Pass”

“You’re so stubborn” you complain, and she kisses your cheek, taking your plate to wash it.

“So, any advice when I move back to clay?”

“Patience is rewarded. Agression is not” you say, the same way your father always told you when watching those tournaments.

“Agression is my thing” Natasha grumbles.

“I know. Which is why clay is not your best surface”

“I know” she smiles, walking back and carrying you to the bedroom. “Now, let’s do some cardio. Just so I can get back into shape”

—

“Passport? Money? Your special socks?” you check as Natasha goes over her small suitcase.

“Baby, I didn’t bring a lot with me. I didn’t even shower after the game. It’s fine” she says, walking to the door.

Natasha hesitates before reaching for the doorknob, turning to look at you. You frown, arms crossed as you try to figure out what she’s thinking.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do it” she sighs, reaching for her pocket and pulling out a small box. You gasp. “But I realise that this place feels like home. Because you’re here. I know we go to all these amazing locations and I could set up a romantic dinner or a huge show, anything to impress you. Hell, I even had it with me at every final this year, thinking I might propose after winning”

“Nat…”

“I know, you would hate that” she smiles, placing the box in your hand and looking at you. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If it is here, while you work and I become a personal trainer for wealthy, senile people, so be it”

“Oh, that would be fun to watch” you chuckle.

“You don’t have to answer yet. But know that I love you, and I’ll do anything to prove how much I want this. And apparently that includes winning a gold medal”

“I… I’ll think about it. Call me when you land?” you ask, taking her face in your hands, kissing her softly. “I love you more than anything, Natasha. The trophies are just a plus”

“Mean” she laughs against your lips, kissing you again. “See you soon”

“Yeah”

With a final kiss, Natasha closes the door and you’re left in your apartment, still holding the box.

You try to think of something else, distracting yourself with cleaning and sorting out some clothes. Natasha texts you when she’s about to board and that finally makes you open the box.

The ring is beautiful. Very simple, because that’s what you like, instead of some flashy, giant diamond. You put it on and it feels… right, like it’s meant to be.

“Screw it” you take your phone and dial Stark’s number. “Tony, hey! Have a small favor to ask”

—

There’s a lot of movement in the airport, tourists and athletes arriving for the Olympics. Natasha figured it was going to be chaos, so she told Fury there was no need to pick her up. Still, there’s a driver waiting for her at the arrivals section.

“This way, please” the man says politely, leading her to a black SUV.

“I told you not to pick me up…” she complains as soon as she’s inside, but it’s not Fury on the other side.

It’s you, smiling at her.

“I couldn’t miss this. Not when you’re about to make history” you smile, kissing her. She squeezes you in her arms, shaking and refusing to let go. “Hey, it’s ok”

“I love you”

“More than winning?” you tease and she laughs.

“Yes. A million times yes”

“Damn, you have it bad. Now, let’s get going. Fury’s gonna put you on a tight training schedule”

—

It’s been a week. As you obviously pointed out, Natasha needed a lot of practice in clay. The surface asks for consistency and patience, and she’s anything but patient.

Still, she’s made it to the final, and you’ve been at the player’s box every single day. The press is having a field day, speculating about your absence during Wimbledon.

“So, what do I get if I win this thing?” Natasha says when you go and wish her good luck before the final match.

“A vacation” you promise, pulling out a sharpie to write in her arm. “You can’t read it until the match is over. I’ll place a little bandaid over it because I’m sure you’ll cheat”

“Baby, not fair”

“Shh, just do as I say. There” you finish, grabbing her chin so she’s facing you again. You smile, kissing her softly. “You got this”

“I love you”

“I love you too” you smile, smacking her ass. “Go win this thing, baby”

The crowd cheers as Natasha steps into the court, and you sit by her family and Fury as she warms up.

“Do you think she’ll be extra mean because she’s playing against Danvers?” Yelena whispers as the match begins.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the pictures” Yelena says, smirking.

“No, come on. She knows nothing happened”

But then Natasha executes a move that leaves Carol on the floor, her shirt and shorts covered in clay.

Yelena whistles, laughing as Natasha gets another game with four aces in a row.

“Alright, yeah. She might still be a little pissed”

The first set goes on to be a little bit of the same, Natasha winning with an easy 6-4. For the second one, it becomes a close call. Whenever Natasha serves, she’s in control of the ball, but if it’s Carol’s turn, she manages to throw Natasha off her game.

“Third set” Fury says, when Carol wins the tiebreak by two points.

“She looks kinda tired” you frown, knowing the change of surface might be getting to her.

And it definitely shows when Carol wins the first two games, Natasha struggling to get a deuce on the third one. If she loses this one, then you feel like she’ll definitely not be able to come back from it.

“Is there anything we can do?” Melina says, and you think about it for a moment.

“Oh, boy. I hope I don’t get kicked out” you stand up, aware that several people (and their phone cameras) turn to you.

“Take off the bandaid!” you shout. The umpire glares, asking for silence. Thankfully, there’s no request for you to get kicked out.

Still, you watch as Natasha does what you ask, while Carol dries her hands and gets ready to serve. Once she reads what you wrote, she smiles, turning to look at you.

Then, a miracle. Carol throws what looks like a killer serve and Natasha returns it so fast that you have to do a doble take.

“Is it code for something dirty?” Yelena jokes when Natasha wins the third game and gets two aces for the next one.

You laugh, ignoring her question. She’s so close. Two games. Eight points.

“Serving for the match” Fury moves around in his seat, anxious.

Natasha tries to breath, turning to look at you and you smile, nodding. You mouth an I love you and blow her a kiss.

Then, an ace.

“Fastest serve she’s ever done” Melina comments, looking at her notes.

The last three points go by in a blur, as Carol is simply not playing right. Her last unforced error gives Natasha a match point.

It goes by in slow motion. How she throws the ball, lifting her racket. Her movements graceful, almost like a ballerina as she practically floats.

Carol returns the ball, but it gets stuck in the net.

The crowd goes wild, Natasha dropping to her knees after the realisation sinks in.

Carol waits for her at the net, smiling and hugging her. Natasha accepts the congratulations, going to greet the umpire and turning to you a moment later.

She goes through the sea of people, straight to lifting you up and kissing you.

“Do you mean it?” she says, looking at the thing you wrote.

Yes, I’ll marry you.

“Absolutely. Now, put the ring on it” you say, handing over the box discreetly so she can pull the ring out and slide it in.

“Congratulations!” Yelena says, hugging you both.

Natasha is called back to the court, and you wipe the tears as she talks to the interviewer.

“Thanks to my family, my trainer, and my fiancee…”

The crowd cheers, and you can’t help but laugh at how perfect everything is.

This is a day you’ll remember forever.

2 months later

“Darcy, what news do you have for us today?” Maria says, the screen splitting to show the producer turned reporter.

“Romanoff breezed through her first match and is the favorite to become the USO champion. This would mean she would be the youngest player to complete the Golden Slam in the Open Era. Her wife and a former collaborator of us was also there”

“I believe she’s joining the WTA team soon, isn’t that right?”

“As Head of Communications, yes. And it couldn’t have happened to a better person. Congrats Y/N, but you still owe me a beer”

“Well, let’s hope she finds the time to settle her debt” Maria laughs, but then frowns. “Hey, you said wife. Didn’t they get engaged recently?”

“Well, have a look at what Natasha said in her post match interview” Darcy says with a smile, the screen running a recording.

“Have you set a date yet?” one of the reporters ask.

“Actually, we got married last night” Natasha says, turning to look at you, and you’re blushing when you notice all eyes on you.

“Congratulations” another reporter says. “Can you share anything about the ceremony?”

“Just that we’re very happy and can’t wait to go on our honeymoon. But my wife says I need to win the USO first, so… I better get back to practice. Nice chat, everyone”

Natasha leaves the conference room, amidst questions and camera flashes. You greet her with a short kiss, smiling as she pulls you by the waist.

“Now everyone’s going to say you’re whipped”

“Aren’t I?” she jokes, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s win this so I can have you all to myself for the next month”

“Relax, Mrs. Romanoff. We have our whole lives ahead” you kiss her, smiling as she squeezes your hand, her thumb running over your wedding ring.

“Forever and then some”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

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nats--sw · 9 months ago

Text

Gold chain (pt1) | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x tennis player!reader For the past year, Leah had been a big fan of yours, and now her mother wasn't missing any opportunity to tease her during Roland Garros. warnings: none, just fluff and slow burn note: this one is long (maybe?), sorry about that. The next part has more Leah and reader interactions, I promise. This was written with an oc, i changed everything at the last minute so sorry if there are any mistakes there,, pt2 my masterlist

Leah Williamson, England captain, European champion, Miss Arsenal.

That was how she was publicly recognised within the world of football, a sport that had always been her passion, but lately, or rather, since she had been invited to Wimbledon in 2023, she had begun to share some of that passion with tennis.

She explained to everyone that she fell in love with tennis during a deep conversation with the legendary Billie Jean King. While there was truth to that, tennis didn't captivate her so much because of the sport itself, but rather because of a certain player, who since that Wimbledon semifinal, Leah had watched almost all of her matches.

“Believe me, that girl Y/N is great, don't let this match fool you” Billie had muttered to her after witnessing your unfortunate loss in the last set.

And who was Leah to doubt the words of the greatest tennis player in history?

Since then, Leah has managed to watch as many of your matches as possible. And yes, you were undeniably beautiful, but what truly captivated Leah was the elegance with which you played. Each swing of your racket held a mesmerizing grace that left Leah spellbound every time.

And now, with a break after the final game of the European qualifiers, it was the opportunity for a holiday.

"Hey, Leah!" Georgia barged into her room on the last day of camp, now that they were back in England. "Got any plans for this week?"

"Yeah," Leah replied, without giving any details, more focused on packing her suitcase than engaging in conversation with her friend.

"Where? With who?" Georgia asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. She knew Leah tended to keep her romantic interactions with girls in private, not just from the public but even from her own friends.

"With my mom, you idiot," Leah replied, rolling her eyes. "We're headed to France."

"Now? What's so interesting about France?" she asked, with a look of disgust on her face. Sure, there were plenty of interesting things to do in France, but Georgia didn't want to hear anything related to that country for a couple of days.

"Roland Garros? Does that ring a bell for you?" Leah retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"Huh? Since when do you go to another country for a tennis match?"

"My mom likes it" Leah lied smoothly, without any hint of shame. If only Georgia knew that Leah had sweetened the deal for her mother with promises of fine wines and breathtaking views post-match.

"Well, that's too bad... but text me if your plans change,"

Leah nodded, though it was in vain because she wouldn't change going to France to see her favorite tennis player.

"Who are we rooting for?" Amanda said, taking a sip of her drink, not really interested in what was happening on the clay.

"Uh, we're impartial," Leah said, settling back in her seat.

Four games had already been played, each player winning their respective games.

"I have a feeling we're rooting for the girl in the white visor," her mother said.

Leah looked at her, pulling her sunglasses down a little. "What?"

"Well, you make a face every time the other player makes a point."

Leah said nothing to that comment, her attention had returned to you, now one point away from managing to break your opponent's serve. It was an important match, a semifinal, so every point would be valuable to put you in the final of the tournament.

Still not saying anything back to her mother, Leah held her breath for a few seconds. The ball was going back and forth across the court, but you, with impressive precision, hit the ball with a spin that made it graze the top of the net. For a moment, it seemed like it might fall short, but the ball dropped just over, catching your opponent off guard.

"Wonderful" muttered Leah, crossing her arms with a smile, ready to enjoy the rest of the match.

There were times when tennis was mentally overwhelming. You felt this every time you played, and it had cost you a lot of matches in the past. A whole court filled with hundreds of people, all watching you, many anxiously waiting for you to make a mistake that could cost you the match. It was more than overwhelming.

That's why, at times, you had to pause your mind and take a deep breath, despite how difficult that was for you.

You only needed one more game to win the set and secure a place in the Roland Garros final. No pressure, of course.

The advantage was that you were serving in this game, but ironically, this often made you even more nervous. The pressure of delivering a strong serve was immense.

The crowd was overwhelming, so many eyes watching you, so many unfamiliar faces focused on you, watching every move, your family and team sitting behind you. In this position you couldn’t look at them to calm down.

You needed to focus your eyes on something, to steady your nerves. As you walked towards your position, after drying your face with the towel, you looked in a diagonal direction, right towards the area where you were supposed to put the ball.

As you raised your gaze slightly, something caught your eye. In the stands, amid a sea of blonde and brown heads, was a woman with striking red hair. The woman stood out, not only because of her hair, but also because she was the only person not looking at you, instead, her attention was elsewhere.

You stole a glance at the red-haired woman as you inhaled deeply, preparing for your serve. With a fluid motion, you raised her arm, tossed the ball into the air and delivered a powerful strike.

Ace!

The ball zipped across the court with velocity, catching your opponent off guard. Convinced it would fly out, your opponent made no attempt to chase after it.

A satisfied smile tugged at your lips.

Once more, your gaze flickered toward the red-haired woman in the stands. Drawing another deep breath, you focused intensely as you prepared to serve again. With a determined flick of your wrist, you sent the ball hurtling across the court, this time, your aim wasn’t for an ace, but rather to set up a play that would complicate the things for your opponent.

Within minutes the score stood at 40-15. Just one more point.

You didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, but you craved to close the match with a decisive point, one point to make it clear why you were here.

So, you adjusted your visor, brushed your fingers over the gold chain hanging from your neck and looked up, for the first time looking directly at the woman, not even getting a good look at her, because the woman was quite far away, but the woman's disinterest helped you to clear your head and focus your mind, ignoring the bunch of other faces watching you.

Just one more point.

You lifted the ball, the familiar weight of your racket in your hand, a quiet groan escaping your lips before you swung. Then, the sound of the impact echoed through the entire court and as the ball bounced on the clay.

Ace!

Leah was up from her seat at the same time as you fell backwards onto the clay.

"That was incredible," Leah exclaimed, joining the chorus of applause.

"Incredible?" Amanda asked without understanding that much. However, what truly caught her off guard was the sight of her daughter like that, grinning from ear to ear. It was common to see her like that when it came to football matches, but not usually during tennis.

"Are you kidding? It was phenomenal! If you hadn't been glued to your phone, you’d have felt the same as the rest of us!" Leah retorted.

"So, did we win?" Amanda inquired.

"Well, you have won a few more days in France," Leah replied, attempting to temper her excitement. "The final is in two days."

"Do we have tickets?”

"Of course, I purchased them in advance. I already knew Y/N would make it to the finals."

Amanda regarded her daughter suspiciously. "You're not into gambling, are you?"

"Of course not," Leah replied with a grin. "But if I were to bet on her I'd do pretty well”

As they made their way toward the exit, following the crowd, Amanda broke the silence. "Do you know that player?"

"No… not personally" Leah replied "But I watched her play at Wimbledon last year."

"Did she win?"

"No" Leah shook her head, a hint of disappointment in her expression. "She lost"

"So, she's not that good?"

"Actually, she's quite impressive," Leah defended you. "She went up against the number two player in the world."

"What rank is she?" Amanda inquired.

"Four," Leah answered.

"Then she's not the best," Amanda said confidently.

"Mom!" Leah nudged her playfully while Amanda held back her laughter. "You couldn't even hit the ball."

"Neither could you, I remember your attempts at tennis when you were little," Amanda chuckled. "But what I don't get is why you're defending her so much"

"Because she's great, she’s talented! Look over there!" Leah pointed behind her, where a large screen displayed the game's results alongside your photo.

Amanda's eyes immediately gravitated toward the image, ignoring the points table. "And she's quite pretty," she remarked, studying your face for the first time.

"And she's talented," Leah emphasized, feeling a blush creeping up her ears. Thankfully, her hair concealed it from her mother's curious gaze.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Amanda replied with a smile.

It was a tough match, quite a tough match, but that's what you would expect in a Roland Garros final.

The first set ended 6-4 in favor of Iga Swiatek.

You had faced her numerous times throughout your professional career, but had never managed to defeat her in an official match. Despite your old friendship with Iga, there was an undeniable intensity when you two met on the court, and you were determined to shine this time.

As the first set concluded, you sank into your chair, you had to use the break to ease the tension in your legs. Uncapping your water bottle, your fingers instinctively found the gold chain around your neck, adorned with your initials. It may have seemed superstitious, but wearing it had always brought you luck on the court.

Suddenly, your coach's voice pierced the distance, signaling for you to relax and loosen up your play. You brushed off the advice, as if you hadn't already realized that. Ignoring your coach's guidance was risky, but you already had your own voice in your mind against you.

Taking a long sip of water, you refocused your gaze forward. Then, something caught your attention.

The same woman from the previous match was in the stands again. You hadn't noticed her before, too engrossed in your opponent. Again, that was the key to your game, you needed to block out distractions and focus on yourself and the ball. Just like you had done during the semifinal match, you needed to tune out everything else.

"How many points before your girl loses?" Amanda said, glancing sideways at Leah, who was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and a faint blush on her cheeks. According to Leah it was from the sun hitting her face, but Amanda knew her daughter well enough.

"Don't pester me, now's not the time," Leah replied, sitting up straight in her seat and adjusting her sunglasses.

"I'm not pestering you, but you claimed that girl was fantastic. Yet, from what I've seen today, the other player seems better to me."

"Well, she's number one after all"

"So, you admit she's the best."

Leah rolled her eyes. "Y/N just needs to take a breath. After this break she'll bounce back, you'll see. She'll shut your mouth"

"If you say so."

And so it happened. You had won the second set 4-6, breaking Iga's serve at the crucial moment. The victory was almost surreal, even Leah found it hard to believe.

"Stop biting your nails," her mother said, giving Leah's leg a slap as she saw her nervous habit.

"She's going to win," Leah said without looking at her mother, her gaze fixed on you, as you refreshed yourself by wetting your hair before the final set.

"Leah, you've been saying that since yesterday," Amanda remarked, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in her tone.

"I’m excited," Leah defended.

Amanda shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "If she wins, will you approach her?"

"Are you being serious?" she said, shaking her head "What would I even say?" Leah replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"You've been crushing over her for days. I've never seen you like this with someone you don't even know," Amanda teased.

"It's not a crush. I just admire her athletic ability and determination, that's all," Leah insisted.

"Well, then you two have something in common. I don’t see why you don’t talk to her"

"Because... I just don't," Leah stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"What a coward," Amanda teased.

The set stood at 4-5 in your favor, but now it was Iga's turn to serve, and she was already in position. You shifted your weight from side to side, preparing for the shot, a smile gracing your lips as you caught sight of the red-haired woman just above Iga’s head. The woman had become your anchor, helping you refocus on your game.

It was almost amusing, thinking that no one else existed in the crowd, just you and the woman. You could tell the woman wasn’t at all interested in what was going on in the clay. You often caught the woman glancing at her phone during the set. Yet, you found solace in playing as if you were solely performing for the woman.

However, you didn’t forget the game at hand, swiftly responding to each shot with your racket, rallying back and forth several times before you had a moment of brilliance that allowed you to execute a breathtaking drop shot in the opposite direction of Iga's sprint.

It was the highlight of the tournament, perhaps even of your career, your best point. Yet, when you glanced up and noticed the red-haired woman looking away, you couldn't help but chuckle.

With the score now at 40-AD, you needed just one more point to clinch your first grand slam title. As Iga's shot came straight towards your body, you managed to get your racket in position to return the ball. The exchange of the ball was intense, this time you had to sprint to reach a ball you never thought you could. You struck it with the edge of your racket, hoping for the best as the ball sailed toward the line.

As you watched the ball clear the net, you felt the light weight of your gold chain around your neck and remembered that luck was on your side this time.

Everything happened in slow motion as Iga dropped her racket to the ground, and moments later, you found yourself on your knees on the clay court, the crowd erupting into cheers around you.

You didn't know how, but now you were already in the stands, being hugged by your family and your team, with your coach by your side, trying to shake some of the clay off your clothes.

"I need you to do me a favor" you said to him before the tournament staff took you away for the trophy presentation.

As Leah and her mother descended the stairs toward the exit, Leah couldn't contain her excitement. "I told you Y/N would win," she exclaimed, her hand firmly grasping her mother's arm. The trophy presentation had concluded, and the crowd was beginning to disperse.

"It was luck," Amanda teased her daughter, though she couldn't deny her surprise at your remarkable turnaround.

"We should have placed a bet. We would have won"

"At least I won't have to endure your grumpy face during dinner," Amanda said with a playful smirk.

Leah rolled her eyes as they walked through the crowd.

"Excuse me!" A man's voice behind them interrupted their conversation. Leah's eyes widened as she recognized him. "This might sound strange… but Y/N wants to see you," the man explained to Amanda, who didn't understand the situation at all, her daughter didn’t either.

Leah felt a tug on the arm her mother was holding on.

"Uh-"

"It's Y/N's coach," Leah clarified to her mother.

"And she wants to see me?" Amanda asked.

The man nodded awkwardly. "I wish I could offer more explanation, but Y/N is sometimes unpredictable."

After a moment of contemplation, Amanda flashed a mischievous smile and nodded, gripping her daughter's arm even tighter. "Sure, take us to her."

Leah's heart raced. How was it possible that she was going to meet her crush the athlete she admired thanks to her mother?

Your coach, after a few minutes of walking in silence, led them through a door into a room where you were lying on a couch, eyes closed.

"Hey, Y/N. Your guests are here," your coach announced, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You quickly opened your eyes and stood up, ignoring the fact that you had just played a two-hour match less than half an hour ago.

You were no longer wearing your visor and your shoes, but you were still in your white uniform with lilac accents. Leah couldn't help but notice that your socks were now stained with clay.

"Y/N L/N" you introduced yourself, extending your hand toward Amanda. Your attention seemed focused on Amanda, oblivious to Leah standing behind her. "I'm introducing myself because I have a slight feeling you don't know me," you said with a smile.

"Amanda," she said, shaking your hand. "Don't worry, I know who you are. A little voice hasn't stopped repeating your name since we arrived in France."

Leah blushed and glanced away.

"Oh," you released Amanda's hand and turned to the blonde, whom you hadn't noticed during either match. "Shouldn't I introduce myself then?" you asked, extending your hand toward Leah.

"No need," Leah said, feeling her mother's not-so-subtle nudge as you extended your hand. "My name is Leah, and I'm a big fan of yours."

"Your number one fan," Amanda chimed in with a smile.

"Mom!" Leah protested, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You released Leah's hand and turned to Amanda.

"She brought me all the way from England just to see you," Amanda explained, noticing the way you were looking at her daughter.

"England?" you asked, curious about the mention of England.

"Yes, we're from England," Leah confirmed.

"And my daughter is the captain of—"

"Mom, no!" Leah interjected, her cheeks turning pink as she attempted to silence her mother's impending revelation.

You couldn't help but laugh at Leah's embarrassment, finding the exchange amusing.

"Why are we here?" Leah asked before her mother could continue.

"Oh, right," you replied, regaining your composure. "I wanted to thank you," you said, turning to Amanda and clasping your hands behind your back.

"Me?" "Her?" Amanda and Leah exclaimed simultaneously, surprised by your words.

"Yes," You said softly, your gaze shifting to Leah, a smile returning to your face. "Since the semifinal match, I noticed your mother in the stands. Although, it's hard not to see her," you added, gesturing towards Amanda's red hair. "She was the only person in the whole court who wasn't looking at me. Thanks to her, I was able to concentrate and win. It may sound silly but—"

"Oh, don't worry honey," Amanda interjected. "They usually tell me that I bring good luck in big games," she said, nodding towards Leah with her thumb.

"You're an athlete? Sorry, what was your name again? I don't have a good memory with names," you said, this time blushing slightly.

"Honey, Leah is the captain of the England team," Amanda clarified, speaking on behalf of her daughter.

"Oh... Football? Volleyball?" You inquired.

"Yes, football," Leah replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life, not even as a child.

You glanced Leah up and down once more. You had never imagined a football player could dress so stylishly. You found yourself so engrossed in observing Leah's attire that you only snapped back to reality when your coach cleared his throat.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure to thank you for your help, even if you didn't realize it," you said, pulling an autographed tennis ball out of your pocket. "I'm not sure how valuable this is to you, but perhaps your daughter will appreciate it," you added with a laugh, glancing sideways at Leah. "Well, I must be off now, interviews and all that," you explained, walking away to grab your bag. "Hope to see you two at Wimbledon," you said, winking at Amanda before leaving.

The next day, Leah found herself at the airport, keeping an eye on their suitcases while her mother went to grab something to eat. Suddenly, a notification on her phone caught her off guard.

Y/N_kz started following you

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #leah williamson imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader

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lokideservesahug · 10 months ago

Text

Did She?

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Pairing: Nico Rosberg x reader, Lewis Hamilton x reader (one sided)

Warnings: Reader is Mercedes' head strategist. Love triangle of sorts? A few innuendos from people on twitter but just the usual oomf shenanigans. Kind of unrequited crush for Lewis (I'm so sorry)

Notes: Based on that "She chose me. Did she?" Audio on tik tok.

Request: I combined this request and one from @a-beaverhausen suggesting I make something based on the tik tok audio so I hope it's OK!

Summary: The mid 2010s were the golden years for Mercedes and all of the team. Especially Hamilton, Rosberg and lead strategist Y/L/N. But how does that dynamic hold up in the present day?

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: What a wonderful weekend. Truly a touching memory to two legend's legacies. Thank you @sebastianvettel and Sempre Senna and Sempre Ratzenberger 💛❤

Liked by: Nicorosberg, Lewishamilton, Sebastianvettel and 754,987 others

View all 321 comments

User1: Nico still being in the likes after all this time doesn't let my RosY/L/N heart down gently 😔

↳User2: This but with my Lewis+Y/N shipping self...

User3: Her and Lewis are so sweet together omd!

Liked by Lewishamilton

User4: Senna forever 💛 Long Live Roland❤

Liked by yourusername

User5: Her and Lewis are such a good couple awww!

↳User6: Not a couple bae!

↳User5: Wait what!!!!?!?!?😦

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Lewishamilton

Lewishamilton: Great weekend so far. P4 in quali but let's keep pushing💪

Liked by yourusername, charlesleclerc and 8,987,097 others

View all 1,023 comments

User1: Lewis honey, your jealousy is showing...

User2: Nico shows up for 0.2 seconds of the weekend and he's already trying to prove a point.

User3: It's giving she chose me. Did she?

↳User4: LMAO FRFR

↳User5: Like it was a difficult decision. Anyone would choose Lewis in a heartbeat

↳User4: Hmmm...maybe not Y/N.

Yourusername: Great performance so far Lewis! Let's hope this pace can continue!!

↳Lewishamilton: It's all thanks to you but fingers crossed🤞

↳User6: Bro pls just ask her out it's been nearly 10 years now...

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Nicorosberg

Nicorosberg: Happy 10 years together (and 8 years of putting up with being married to me) to my amazing wife. I can't think of a better way to celebrate than seeing you in your element.

Schatz I love you so much and I am so happy that you took a chance and chose me. Not a single day passes where I wake up and am not in awe of your beauty, intelligence and just sheer existence. Thank you and I love you.

-Your lover, Britney x

Liked by yourusername and 2,886,094 others

View all 56 comments

Yourusername: I love you more🖤

↳Nicorosberg: Not at all possible Meine Liebe 🤍

-This user has limited comments-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

As always, likes,reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist:@nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #nico rosberg x you #nico rosberg #nico rosberg x reader #nico rosberg x fem reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 smau #nico rosberg smau

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vettelsvee · 10 months ago

Text

THIS IS ALL MY FAULT | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | requests or let's talk!

sebastian vettel x platonic!photographer!reader

based on this request: Okay! So after watching the run Sebastian organized at Imola, I has the idea of reader being someone that works for him (not sure what for though) maybe getting really sick for running in the rain that day, which ends up with Sebastian feeling guilty over it. It’s a silly idea, really, but I think it has a lot of potential to vibes similar to what Sebastian seems to have with the drivers, kind of playing dad to the grid 🥺.

summary: you work as a photographer during the forever senna tribute seb prepared, but you end up being sick

word count: 1618

warnings: none of them really! seb feeling guilty because he thinks reader got sick because of him.

a/n: I'm finally back! sorry for not posting at all during all this past month, university has had me really stressed but I'm finally free from it until september! idk if this is actually something well written because i haven't written anything for a month! also, hope you anon like this even it's definitely crap 😭

The rain kept falling on the circuit, but that wasn't such an excuse for Sebastian and his team to cancel what they had been working on for months.

The run that the retired driver had decided to organize on Thursday not only with Formula 1 drivers, but also with those from Formula 2 and 3, and even other members of the sport, in honor of Ayrton Senna and Roland Ratzenberger, was more than perfect. It was an absolute success. And Sunday, when Vettel would drive the car that once belonged to the Brazilian pilot who died 30 years ago on that same circuit, hadn't even arrived yet.

You had been busy taking photos of everything, as you were Sebastian's official photographer. Now, you were gathering all the equipment you had used because the cold you were enduring was barely bearable. You had been out in the rain all day, following Seb wherever he went, which had made you feel increasingly worse. Now, your hands couldn't stop shaking, and you felt like you were about to faint at any moment.

"Y/N, are you okay?" one of the team members asked.

"Yes, of course," you replied with a weak smile. "I'm just a bit cold. I'll be back to be the same me as soon as we get back to the hotel."

The man nodded, not wanting to press you further despite not being very convinced by your words after seeing your completely pale face.

You decided to continue with your work, ignoring anyone who approached you to exchange even the slightest word. You tried to ignore the growing headache, the fatigue, and the tightness in your chest, which seemed to be worsening. Although the rain had stopped and you were in one of the garages, the sky remained dark.

You were surprised to see Sebastian, still wearing a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, just a few meters away from you. You shook your head, trying not to pay attention, and certainly not to worry. He was just your "boss," so to speak, and he was old enough to know what he needed to do to avoid getting sick. Well, he also had Britta, who was like a second mother to him.

A sharp pain pierced your temples. You staggered slightly, and if it hadn't been for your momentum making you lean your back against the wall behind you, you would have fallen to the ground.

"For God's sake, Y/N, you look terrible," he said as calmly as he could, though you could sense his nerves in his tone of voice. "You should go and have a rest. Like… now."

"Seb, we still have a lot to do. It's not just packing up the equipment, but also transferring the photos to the computer, editing them, then preparing the posts for you Instagram account..."

"Y/N, I love your work, but you've done more than enough for today," he interrupted, putting a hand on your shoulder, running his fingers carefully over it. "Now, I'll talk to Britta and we'll assign it to someone who knows what they're doing, okay?"

For a moment, you considered protesting, reproaching him that this was your job, and that's why he wanted you on his team since shortly before leaving Aston Martin, but the way he looked at you made you stop. He seemed worried, very worried. That's why you ended up not only reluctantly accepting but also letting him guide you to a nearby chair.

"Stay here. I'll bring you something warm."

As you watched Seb walk away, you sighed, managing to relax somehow. You saw him enter the Red Bull hospitality, and you assumed it was where he felt most comfortable. A few minutes later, you saw the blonde with two small steaming cardboard cups. As he reached your height, he offered you one of them.

"Thank you," you murmured, wrapping your hands around the cup and taking a sip. Chocolate, something you loved, and Seb knew it perfectly.

"Do you promise you'll go back to the hotel as soon as you finish your hot chocolate?"

"I promise," you assured him. "But I can't promise that..."

"Y/N, just no work for today," he cut in, seeing that you weren't going to fulfill what you had promised. "I want you to spend today and tomorrow resting. Sunday will be a tough day for us. You can do it, at least for me, or am I wrong?"

You nodded your head as if you were seven years old again. You knew you were going to rest as much as you could in your hotel room, but that didn't mean you weren't going to do anything. As you had already planned, you were obviously going to continue with your work. You couldn't disappoint Sebastian, not on such an important weekend like this.

[...]

Sebastian accompanied you to the door of your room, and despite having exchanged a couple of messages with you on Friday, having let you rest all afternoon and part of Saturday morning, and having agreed that you would come to a meeting room in the hotel at 12pm on Saturday to finalize the details of tomorrow's tribute, he didn't see you there.

"Have you seen Y/N?" he asked Britta directly, a little distressed. "She told me she would come with no doubt."

"And she did come," the ex-pilot's PR commented, "but I sent her back to her room as soon as I saw her shivering. Her forehead was burning, and she said she had a slight fever. It wasn’t just a slight fever, Seb," Britta assured him.

The man nodded but became even more worried. Quickly bidding farewell to Roeske, he headed towards your room. He saw the door slightly ajar, possibly your mistake. He knocked softly before entering, and the sight that greeted his eyes made him feel bad instantly.

You were curled up in bed, trembling uncontrollably. You had a small towel on your forehead with cold water to see if you could control your body temperature since you couldn't take your medicine again until the corresponding hours had passed, which was already the next day.

Your face was completely flushed, and your breathing was labored.

As soon as you realized Seb's presence, your eyes welled up with tears. You tried to force a smile, but all that came out were tears from how bad you felt not only for Seb to see you like this but also for ruining something so important.

"Seb... You didn't have to come," you stammered, your voice barely audible.

"Of course, I did! Don't be ridiculous!" he responded quickly, sitting beside you. He placed a hand on your forehead and realized Britta was right. "My God, Y/N, you're burning up. Why didn't you tell me you were feeling so bad?"

"I... didn't want to worry you," you admitted between tears of frustration and exhaustion. "Tomorrow is an important day. You need to be resting to give your best tomorrow. There are people who have come just for you, Seb, you can't let them down."

You noticed him tense a bit at the mention. His lips curved, and his jaw tightened. He took a deep breath and took your hand almost without thinking.

"This is my fault..." he whispered softly. He seemed overwhelmed with guilt, and much of it. You cursed yourself for making him think that when it was all really your fault. "Nothing is more important than your health, Y/N. I'm so sorry, really..."

"Seb, it's okay, really. These things happen; it's completely normal. There's probably someone else like me..."

His silence was the response you partly expected, but it didn't hurt until you saw him shake his head.

"I just wanted to give my best so that the photos would turn out perfect and you would have content worthy of all the work you've put into this..." was all you could say.

"You're already the best, Y/N," he said softly, tucking a strand of hair away from your face. "In fact, you're so perfect that you should stop being so perfect to start worrying more about yourself. And since you don't worry about yourself... let me do it for you, okay?"

Although you didn't agree with him and didn't believe you deserved his praise, you were too weak to argue.

Sebastian stayed with you all day, including the night. He made sure you were as comfortable as possible, brought you water, and soaked the cold cloth in water to lower your fever as soon as possible, miraculously something that worked. He didn't leave your side, not even when you had a coughing fit or sneezed without covering your mouth.

Your fever began to lower in the late hours of that day. Your breath calmed down, and the color seemed to return to your cheeks. Seb sighed with relief, quickly hugging you while continuously placing small kisses on your face and playing with your hair, making you laugh incessantly.

After ordering room service for dinner, since your appetite seemed to have returned, you fell asleep, at least apparently. To avoid disturbing you, Seb went from lying down next to you to reclining on a sofa next to the bed. His eyes were heavy with tiredness, but that didn't stop him from staying alert in case you needed his help.

"Rest, Y/N," he whispered, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead before caressing it. "I guess I'll have to take you out to dinner for the damages I caused."

You smiled at the last thing Seb had said, grateful that every time you got sick, you didn't fall into a deep sleep, and wishing that what Seb had said was true.

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game-set-canet · 9 months ago

Note

hey could you make one where the reader is also a tennis player and carlos and she are mixed doubles rivals 🫶🏻

It's Even

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: ok, this turned out way different than I intended 🙈 but i hope you like it, lovely anon 🤍

* Y/N = your name * Y/L/N = your last name

MY MASTERLIST

(via Instagram @ carlitosalcarazz)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

"Well...?", you look up from your phone, confused, as Grigor plops down on a chair next to you.

"Good morning, Grigor! What do you mean by 'well...'?"

"What do you think about the draw?", Grigor grins mischievously.

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical: "What about the draw?"

The Bulgarian leans back, his grin widening: "So, you haven't seen who we're playing in the first round yet?"

Now your curiosity is piqued and you put your phone aside: "No, Dimitrov, enlighten me!"

Grigor leans in conspiratorially and shrugs nonchalantly: "Why don't you ask your boyfriend... and while you're at it, ask him what tactic he and Cristina plan to use for the match."

You feel a gentle blush spreading across your cheeks. Hearing the word "boyfriend" in connection with Carlos gives you butterflies.

You brush a strand of hair from your face and try to play it cool: "We're playing against Carlitos and Cristina?"

"Mhm...", Grigor nods slowly and meaningfully, "And don't you dare get those heart eyes again! Yesterday's practise was enough for me!", Grigor starts laughing, “As soon as Carlos started practising on the court next to ours, you couldn't hit a single serve!"

The gentle blush deepens into a rich tomato red and you shake your head vigorously: "That was because of the wind! And you know it!"

"Of course! The wind!", Grigor leaves no doubt that he doesn't believe a word you say, "Just make sure that doesn't happen during the match, whether your better half is on the other side of the net or not."

*** *** ***

"I can hardly wait for our match tomorrow!", Carlos has one arm around you while your head rests on his chest. You're both lying in the big hotel bed, eyes on the TV.

You smile and lift your head to look at your boyfriend: "You’re really excited about it, aren't you?"

Carlos beams at you and nods: "Of course! It's going to be our first time playing against each other!"

At that moment, you recall a tweet you saw during the rain delay: »Sometimes Carlitos is just like a golden retriever puppy« and the author of that tweet was obviously right.

You grin, furrowing your brow and your hand absentmindedly strokes Carlos' left side up: "But we play against each other all the time?"

"Practise doesn't count! A real match is something entirely different!", his eyes shine with excitement and you feel that special flutter in your stomach, you love him so much.

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

Carlos makes a grand gesture with the arm that's not around your shoulders: "Because it's going to be something special! Imagine the atmosphere!"

Now you can't hold back a laugh and poke him in the chest: "Carlitos, it's a first-round match, not the Roland Garros final!"

"For me, it has the same importance!", Carlitos matches your grin and you know he's at least partially serious.

You slide away from him a bit and sit up, looking down at him: "So, to you, the Roland Garros final is the same as our first-round match?"

Carlos' grin widens: "Absolutely! Because I'm playing against you!"

"True, and that's why you should be ready for something you've never experienced in a Slam final: you're going to lose."

Your expression is triumphant as you see Carlitos clutch his chest dramatically: "Ouch! What makes you so sure?"

"Grigor and I have already won a title together, and Cristina and you are playing together for the first time."

Carlos just shrugs, the grin returning to his face: "I've achieved a lot of things that seemed unlikely."

You ignore the slight increase in your heart rate at seeing that dazzling grin and toss your hair over your shoulder: "True. But not this time. This time, you’re going to lose."

Carlos doesn't say anything in response, he just pulls you close and gives you a long kiss.

*** *** ***

"Can I give you a tactical tip?" Grigor leans over, a bit out of breath, while you take a long sip from your water bottle, "If you’d stop staring at him, maybe you could actually play tennis."

You nearly choke on your drink and throw an annoyed look at your doubles partner: "And if you’d stop making double faults, maybe we could actually win."

Grigor makes a face and nods slowly before grabbing his tennis racket again: "Well, at least he’s staring at you the whole time too, so I guess it’s even."

Thankfully, it's very hot today, so no one notices your ears turning red. The match has been pretty even so far, but definitely not a highlight reel. Internally, you have to agree with Grigor: your level today is far from outstanding - the same goes for Carlitos. Surprisingly, the stands were almost full, and the crowd is cheering loudly.

"Why do I keep playing with you?", you mutter as you get ready to head back to the court.

Grigor grins widely: "Because you can’t play with Carlos: you two would just stare at each other’s butts the whole time and instead of high-fives after winning a point, it would be a five-minute make-out session."

You have to resist the temptation to throw a tennis ball at his head.

*** *** ***

In the third set, the match finally picks up and Carlitos starts showing why he’s called the golden boy. You also begin to play up to your second-place WTA ranking. Especially the tiebreak is a hard fight, lasting almost 20 minutes.

"Game, set, match, Dimitrov and Y/L/N!"

You hear Grigor sigh in relief next to you: "I thought this match would never end!"

You start laughing as you hug each other enthusiastically.

At the net, you first shake hands with Cristina and then with Carlos.

"I told you you’d lose.", you tease and Carlos laughs softly.

"It’s okay.", he still holds your hand in his and your eyes move from your interlaced hands to his face.

"Even though you claimed yesterday that today's match was just as important as a Slam final for you?"

"I don’t mind losing to you because I’m always so proud of you when you win!"

There it is again: his beautiful smile and your heart skips a beat.

Carlos leans over the net and kisses you.

The crowd cheers.

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev @purplecloudarcade

#Carlos Alcaraz x reader #Carlos Alcaraz x you #Carlos Alcaraz imagine #Carlos Alcaraz fanfic #Carlos Alcaraz fic #tennis imagine #mira's imagine #my writing #my imagine #tennis imagines #tennis fic #tennis fics #tennis fanfic #tennis fanfics #tennis fanfiction #tennis fanfictions

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icrypop · 1 month ago

Text

A Mark of a Memory

Cedric x GN! Reader

I HC Cedric to have a back tattoo of Wormwood- .....Like...Genuinely love the thought of it so here's the inspiration. I could not find the artist so if you know them PLEASE TELL ME BC THE ART IS SO BEAUTIFUL ♡

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The soft glow of candlelight flickered around Cedric’s chamber, casting long shadows across the room. The air was warm, comfortable, filled with the faint scent of aged parchment and brewing potions. Y/N lay sprawled across Cedric’s plush bed, book in hand, idly flipping through pages while awaiting his return from a long day of assisting King Roland.

Cedric sighed, pulling off his robe with practiced ease, the heavy fabric slipping from his shoulders. Y/N glanced up just as he let his vest and button-up fall next, revealing his bare back. Their breath hitched.

There, inked across his pale skin, was an intricate tattoo—a circle of ancient spell symbols wrapping around the center of his back. And within it, a raven, wings spread wide, as though mid-flight.

Y/N sat up, setting the book aside. “Cedric…” Their voice was quiet, reverent, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

Cedric stiffened slightly, a faint shiver running down his spine. “W-what?” He glanced over his shoulder, cheeks already flushing.

Moving closer, Y/N let their fingers lightly trace one of the symbols, marveling at the precision of the design. “I never knew you had a tattoo,” they murmured, letting their fingertips drift toward the raven. The detail was stunning, each feather etched with such care that it almost looked alive.

Cedric swallowed hard, his muscles tensing beneath their touch. “It’s—It’s not exactly something I flaunt,” he stammered, his voice catching as Y/N’s fingertips ghosted over the raven’s wing. “It’s… a remembrance. For Wormwood.”

Y/N’s expression softened. They knew the history between Cedric and his former familiar—how Wormwood had once been his trusted companion before betraying him. To carry that memory so permanently on his skin… it spoke volumes.

Cedric gasped softly as Y/N traced along the edge of the raven, barely suppressing a shudder. “You’re—ah—making this rather difficult,” he muttered, his ears burning.

Y/N chuckled. “Difficult?”

He turned slightly, shooting them a look that was meant to be annoyed but came off more flustered. “I—It tickles,” he admitted, voice laced with something shy, something vulnerable.

Y/N smirked and tugged him toward the bed, guiding him gently until he was laying across their lap, arms folded beneath his chin. “Then let’s make it worse,” they teased, resuming their slow, feather-light tracing.

Cedric groaned into the sheets, but he didn’t protest. His breath hitched when Y/N’s fingers followed the curve of his shoulder blades, dipped along the runic circle, then glided down the spine of the raven. His body melted into their touch, tension unraveling with every lazy caress.

“You’re enjoying this,” Y/N observed, voice full of amusement.

Cedric huffed, though his tone lacked any real annoyance. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

Y/N grinned, leaning down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Good. Because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

Cedric let out a quiet, contented sigh, completely at their mercy. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind.

#my fic #x reader #request #requests open #cedric the sorcerer fanart #cedric sofia the first #cedric the great #cedric the sorcerer #cedric the sensational #cedric the sorcerer x reader

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starryficsfinishwen · 1 year ago

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✧!。◟[kinktober 2023] ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ — PGR & GI x reader [week 2]

write it on my neck, why don't you?

a.n. - hueheu midterm week this week and so much has/is happening, I'm super sorry for the delay. now you might be asking why they are paired with the other "evil" men, but I assure you: they're all randomly grouped LOL also, I hit 100 followers already, I'm so happy!!! thank you so much!! let's see what I can do, but I can assure that I'll try harder to post more now~ thank you so much ❤️

pairings - ascendants [roland, von negut] + sumeru, inazuma, and mondstadt men [alhaitham, albedo, ayato, diluc] x fem!reader

word count(s) - 400 to 2000+ words heuehueh (you can tell who I'm biased with, welp)

kinktober masterlist

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW THEMES: hate sex, corruption kink, orgasm denial, mirror sex, dry humping, shower sex, temperature play, sadism, degradation (bitch), sum praise kink. a bit of pet names (lamb, little lamb). slight bdsm (constraints). oral sex w/ handjob (m!receiving; von negut, diluc). sub!men (albedo, diluc). a little predator, prey? (von negut). STRONG USE OF LANGUAGE.

special mention: banner credits to @/rookthorneartistry, @/cafekitsune

! — Roland: Flambeau [ hate sex + orgasm denial ]

“My, what a sight to see.”

Roland's words were laced with amusement as if mocking you— tear-strained cheeks and quivering lips. His hands gripped your chin hard, caging you in between his arms.

“Shut up, Roland,” you spat out, “y-you're so weak.”

A surge of pleasure makes you choke on your own words. You're in his lap then, legs spread open and hung over his knees. Roland jerked his hips upward, a loud squelch as his dick throbs within your overstimulated walls. You whined softly, feeling the tip nudge that one spongy spot inside of you.

“Me, weak?” His laughter, although it brings you anger, tickles your chest, diving straight into your stomach, “said the girl who actually begged me to fuck her.”

“Roland, I swear to- ah,” you moaned out pathetically, his free hand caressing your clit, “ngh, n-no more...”

“Who would have thought that Luna's little lap dog is actually a bitch in heat, mm,” Roland dawdled out, laughing as he pinched your nub, “oh, did you like that? When I called you a bitch?”

“Fuck you.”

“Am I not doing you that favor already?”

You fumbled with your hands— tied tightly with your scarf —but all you could touch was the cold metal plate in his chest. Your anger bubbles brightly in your chest, yet all you can breathe out is your incessant moaning.

“I should admit: you look pretty when you're spewing nonsense to rile me up.” He chuckled, causing your pussy to flutter around his cock, “But you look the prettiest when you're ever so desperate to be fucked by me.”

When he was done playing with your overstimulated clit, he brought two fingers to your mouth, to which you obediently started sucking. Roland grunted in your ear, the other free hand dragging from your shoulders to your breast, causing you to jump.

“But I do admit, you look too beautiful when you're busy sucking on something else.” Pretty and beautiful is an understatement, not when you're mindlessly sucking his fingers as he toyed with the insides of your mouth, breathless sighs combining with your desperate grinding on his dick.

“Shit,” he breathed, licking under your ear, “squeezing me already. Your pussy is so greedy,” he called your name, voice dripping with sin and lust.

“I hate you,” you moaned out through your bared teeth and his fingers when Roland began to rut into your hips with reckless abandon, “I fucking hate you, Rola- ah, there, please-”

He groaned once more before grabbing you by the hips, manhandling you to the nearest table, uncaring whatever was there. Your chest lay flat on the surface, his hands now gripping as he fucks you on the corner of the table. Too fucked out to care, you moaned out his name as he rammed into you. And he felt like like it was second nature at that point— your erratic breathing, your pussy twitching and holding him like a vice grip. Hissing through your tight walls, Roland pulled out, the tip of his reddening dick teasing through your slit. You whined from the loss of pleasure, the only heaven that he denied you from—

“You've been nothing but a little tease.” Roland sighs, “Guess being a little bitch really makes you a brat, hm? Did Luna teach you that?”

Without a warning, Roland slammed his dick in one swift motion, the impact sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body, a cry of his name catching the both of you off guard. But Roland, he was too cruel for you; he effortlessly brought your hips higher to him, flushed against him. He saw a frothy white ring forming at the base of his dick, and he only laughed more.

“How about I teach little bitches like you on how to behave properly.”

! — Von Negut: ??? [ corruption kink ]

“Did your parents teach you not to stray from the right path?”

Lithe footsteps echo throughout the abandoned chapel. Your steps, unlike the ones trailing behind you, falter as you hear them not too far behind you. You were sure you were careful; you thought it was the priest guarding the chapel, or a nearby construct guard, but as you turned, you were met with unfamiliar golden eyes.

His complexion is human; hair tousled and soft, face relaxed as moonlight seeped through broken stained glass. He wore clothes that you only read from the books you've found during your hunts. And most importantly, the glint of his mask catches your attention.

He isn't from this town.

“Who are you?” You asked, voice trembling as you held onto your bag. He shouldn't find what you've scavaged; it's enough to feed for yourself for the next few days before the harsh winters would come to haunt you again.

“Little lamb,” he spoke, walking ever so slowly to you, “I should be the one asking you that question: who are you? And why are you even here?”

You hold onto your white hood, shifting to let the cape cover you, “I'm...sorry. Is this your property? I promise not to touch anything else. There was a blizzard outside, I found this place by accident. I will leave in a while-”

“-No, you're fine.” The man halts in front of you, golden eyes devoid of any emotion, that you thought he was a construct. “I don't mind trespassers. In fact, I think you should stay until the blizzard outside stops; you'll be safer here.”

“Thank-” you choke a cry, “thank you so much...”

“However, you should tell me; no wanderers would easily find this area. How did you find this place?”

You never noticed that he was closer than he was earlier. A hair's breadth away from seeing the lies you've concocted. You look away, dazzled by his eminent beauty.

“I...really got lost,” you held your breath, “I strayed from the path I was supposed to follow and the snowstorm led me here...”

“Alright, then can you explain the food you've stolen?”

“I didn't-!” you cried out, but the intense gaze he had on you made you shut your brain, “I-I found them...”

“You do realize that liars need to be punished, right?” Stoic expression on his face, yet a dull ache ran through your body and...down there. Punishment? What was it?

“I know you stole from us, little lamb.” he reached out to touch your chin, your hood dropping as your face is finally revealed to the mysterious man. “Bad girls like you need to be punished.”

“I-I'm not a-”

“On your knees.”

It was an order. An order, voice authoritative and firm, that made you sink to your knees, the bag of food forgotten as you dropped them to your side. What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly drop to the floor?

You squeaked as he approached you, his nether regions closer to your face. Upon further inspection, a noticeable outline was seen, haloed by the broken lights.

“What a good girl, such a good little lamb.” The praise made you throb down there, now confused with the situation.

His gloved hands find themselves resting above his bulge. You swallowed your pride, as he spoke again, “I'm sure you humans have never heard the art of procreation, now that the punishing virus has been rampant. Have you heard of it, little lamb?”

“N-no...” you meekly admitted, yet you knew something related to what he meant, something that your late parents had spoken about, “I haven't...”

“That is your punishment.” He said, and you try to look for some emotion on his face, but cold, lifeless golden irises only stare back at you, “for breaching boundaries that you never should have reached.”

He dips his head low, that only moonlight and you could hear, a shadow overcasting his face, “for straying the path you should have taken instead.”

Your heart thrums harder in your chest— thump, thump, thump, —wildly, as the mysterious man unzips his pants, revealing a long, thick cock, littered with a prominent vein on one side, tip oozing with something sticky. You've been warned about men and their sadistic tendencies, that sex is bad when you're only a young girl trying to survive the storm and the virus. But seeing one, something so large and thick in reality made you question what you've learned.

“Pretty...” you unconsciously spoke, “I-I mean-”

The man only chuckles, “you think so, mm? Well, why don't you use your hands first.”

Shakily, you tried to hold onto the thing. You were very uncertain, but the loud noise the man made only encouraged you to touch more.

It's soft— you noted. Although long, it curves perfectly in your hand, and you try to touch the veins littering across the shaft. He only moans further, and down there, you've been throbbing alongside your heartbeat.

Was this really a punishment? You somehow enjoyed it, rubbing the shaft and eventually toying with the tip of his leaking cock. Suddenly, he grabs the top of your head, pushing it for your mouth to meet his dick.

“Easy now, little lamb,” he chuckled, “You think you could stop at that?”

You whined as he nudged his dick to your mouth, smearing the liquid to your lips. “Open your mouth. Let's see how good you are with it.”

You obliged to his wishes, uncomfortable yet feeling... unnaturally hot as you struggled to take him whole in your mouth. Tears like diamonds form by the corner of your eyes, but when you looked up, his golden irises reflected an emotion that you were familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time—

Lust.

“Good girl,” he spoke through gritted teeth, labored breaths filling the room, “I thought you'd be inexperienced, but look at you.”

He shallowly thrusts in your mouth. You try to breathe through your nose, but his grip on your head, and the dizzying, overwhelming feeling of pleasure slowly corrupts your mind.

And it's something that the mysterious man wants.

You feel his cock a bit bigger in your mouth, and you try to protest, but he quickly pulls away, his dick coated with his pre-cum and your saliva.

“Open your legs, little lamb,” you do as he asked, trembling as you feel something wet dribble down there that you almost whined, “mm, that's it.”

He leaned down, swiftly taking your panties, aware of the thin slick webbing them. Embarrassment fills you, but a new wave of pleasure replaces it with a small moan, as you feel the tip of his dick rub your clit.

“W-wait, sir-”

“Von Negut,” he smiles sadistically as he rubs his shaft over your drenched little pussy, “I want you to call me that while I claim you. That's my name. Try to say it.”

“S-Sir...V-Von Negut...”

“Mmh, that's right,” the golden irises only glint the same as his mask, “that's a good girl.”

In one swift movement, he sinks his whole cock into your pussy, feeling your walls tremble violently as you came on his cock for the first time that night. Von Negut marvels at you, your way to corruption.

“This is your punishment for straying from the right path, little lamb.”

! — Alhaitham: Admonishing Instruction [ mirror sex ]

Once upon a time, you said— quite proudly, to add —that you could take on the Grand Scribe without losing.

“Seems like you've miscalculated,” chuckled Alhaitham, as he grunted into the crook of your shoulder, his breath sending tingles from your tear to the tips of your toes, “you really ran your mouth dry, [Y/N].”

So there you were— split apart on Alhaitham's big cock, legs trembling as he pried them open on his legs, your fingers betraying you as they fumbled to rub your clit and open your hole wider. You whined louder, head thrown back onto Alhaitham's shoulder, refusing to look at yourself in the mirror that he placed in front of you.

“Ngh, no, no more,” you cried out, “y-you're too big, 'Haitham ... s'big,”

“Hm? Already?” He teased you mercilessly, thrusting harder on you, that you heard a loud squelch from where you're connected, “mm, I thought you said you could take me.”

“T-This doesn't count,” you whined, “n-no matter how many times we d-do this...you're just too b-big...”

Alhaitham couldn't lie, not when his ego was stroked like how your pussy enveloped his hard cock. He laughed, fingers aiding your own to rub your overstimulated cunt.

“That's good, isn't it?” He breathed deeply to the crook of your neck, nibbling that one spot that made you shake in his arms, “this pussy is accommodating me just right. I know you can take it more, dearest. I believe in you.”

You moaned, as if answering Alhaitham's mockery. One of his hands grabbed onto your hips, dictating you to his rhythm, causing you to jolt.

“See, this is the problem: I put this mirror in front of you, in front of us, so you could see how beautiful you are when you're busy jumping on my cock,” he tsked, your pathetic whines falling deaf to his ears, “why don't you listen to me and look at yourself in the mirror?”

You didn't listen. Instead, you shook your head, burying your face into his neck. “N-no, don't wanna...”

Alhaitham sighed, his thrusts becoming slower. You whined from the slowing loss, as you were already trying to chase your high. Alhaitham may be a tease, but he's patient and kind — he wouldn't cum unless you listened to his commands.

“Come on, darling,” he taunted, one hand gently holding your chin, “don't you want to cum, hm?”

Defeated, you let Alhaitham's hand lead you in front. By the time you opened your eyes, your pussy throbs.

Were you always this pretty? Looking nearly fucked out, legs trembling, body littered with bites and hickies, and how you looked perfect, slotted just right in Alhaitham's body. His large cock buried deep in your walls, and you were quite sure your pussy was greedily sucking him in, ever so perfectly split apart by him. Alhaitham was the prettiest— broad shoulders and sculpted body towering over yours, caging you just right. A loud moan escapes your lips, and Alhaitham thinks it's the best one, as your walls flutters around his cock.

“You like that, don't you?” He chuckled deeply, leaving another hickey on the side of your neck, “you like it when you see yourself in this mirror, being fucked by me?”

“A-Alhaitham,” you moaned, feeling his cock sink deeper, just nudging that one spot you've been looking for all this time, “f-fuck, right there, right there please- ah, hah-”

“Fuck,” he cursed, impatiently slamming his hips to you, sturdy fingers still gripping your chin to stay still, “we should do this more often, hm?”

“Don't look away; I want you to see how we look when we cum together.”

! — Albedo: Kreideprinz [ dry humping ]

You've always known that the Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt was an eye-candy.

Soft, fluffy hair (Klee said so, while you accompanied her during your walk to Starfell lake,), calculative teal eyes, a gentle baritone that makes you feel lightheaded whenever he talks to you. It's impossible not to fall for someone like Albedo. A man like him, with a life so guarded and clear, would always uphold his image.

That is, until he starts whimpering under you.

Trembling lips and teal eyes looking at you for mercy. You're straddling him— the heat of your cunt directly on his awfully hard and clothed dick, his hands holding your shoulders, and yours on his. How did this happen? You can't remember much; only when your cunt catches the outline of his bulge, that you moaned out Albedo's name, that he whimpers more under you.

“[Y/N],” he breathed out, the cloud of smoke escaping your lips, “m...more, please.”

A haughty laugh from you. You grind at the delicious friction, one that made Albedo moan louder.

“Oh, the Chief Alchemist is asking for more?” You teased, the torchlight behind you granting you the chance to see the strained look on Albedo's face, “I thought you said you're done.”

“Ngh, I-I am,” he muttered, “b-but you're still here...you're still teasing me.”

Your mind is mushed, drowning in Albedo's scent— cecilias and the snow —and you roll your hips closer to him, twin moans from the both of you.

You forget you're an assistant, and he's your boss; right now, in this small space of the cave, you would chase your high with the man you've been pining on all this time.

“Don't you like this?” Your faux innocence is alluring to Albedo, much to his chagrin, “you're awfully hard, Albedo. Do you not want to be relieved from this?”

“Ah, I would, if only Sucrose and Timaeus were not-”

“-Don't say other people's names when we're like this, Albedo,” you hold Albedo's jaw in between your fingers, staring deeply into his teal irises, “I get jealous rather easily.”

You leaned down to kiss him, to which he reciprocated; unconsciously, you grinded hard on him, the outline deliciously rubbing your clit and catches your weeping hole. Albedo groans into your mouth, hips jerking as he comfortably finds the spot that made your knees weak.

Grinding, panting, incessant touches— it's mesmerizing, it's intoxicating; the smell of your arousal clogging his rational thoughts, and the heat of your bare cunt staining his trousers. Forget it then— Sucrose, alchemy, the world; heaven descended and landed on his lap, in the form of you.

Relentlessly, he ruts into you, both your moans swallowed by each other's mouths. Hands tangled in the expanse and gaps of skins that can be reached, reckless abandon to the point of intoxication.

Albedo fits perfectly with you; it makes him wonder what it'd like when his dick sinks into yours?

That very thought sends him to his climax, lips detaching to groan to you, hips jerking uncontrollably as he cums in his underwear. You followed after, cunt sitting on top of the outline of his dick. Both of you try to catch your breaths, content with each other's warmth.

“So,” he spoke after a while, hand slipping underneath your coat, “would you...mind staying the night?”

! — Ayato: Pillar of Fortitude [ shower sex ]

Taking a shower is one of the ways for Ayato to de-stress after a long, long day. Seeing you is also another way.

But having both at the same time? What a perfectly good way to de-stress.

“Archons,” he breathes, “you're taking me so good, darling.”

You moan out in response, arms trembling to support yourself as you held yourself against the wall, Ayato rails you from behind.

“A-are you sure?” you whimpered, “I-I haven't really prepared for this...”

“You're perfect, god,” he pants, lips finding refuge in the nape of your neck, thrusts still going strong, “you've always been a good little wife to me, darling. You need no preparation, I know you'll take what you're getting.”

There's something about today though. Naturally, Ayato is a careful man, he'd never do something like this as he respects your privacy. But you know, the very moment he came home, he was ready to ravage you.

“I've had a terrible day today,” he paused, a slow and careful thrust to your pussy, “you...just you, you clamping down on me is just what I need.”

The shower water drips down to you both. You forget your fingers pruning, you forget how wet you are; just that Ayato is here, and he's fucking you until you can't walk. Just when you thought he can't get any deeper, he raised one of your legs closer to his chest, a loud moan as an answer to his actions.

“A-Ayato...!”

He slung your leg to his arm. His other hand, from your chest, drifts down to your pulsating cunt, strumming on your clit. The coil in your stomach knocks as your second orgasm for the night draws closer, Ayato's dick nudging on the sweet spots that's making you see stars.

“Why don't you cum for your beloved husband, darling? I want to feel you cum first, before I fill your womb with my seed.”

! — Diluc: The Dark Side of Dawn [ temperature play ]

Although he may not admit it, but Diluc's orange eyes glowed in the dark, anticipation and excitement reflecting as you slowly dragged his zipper down ever so slowly.

“Must you tease me this way, love?” He groaned, seeing as you laughed at his demise.

“Mm, maybe?” Giggling, you dragged out his pants even slower, “it's fun teasing you this way.”

“You are cruel.”

“I am a saint,” you grinned, taking the surprise out of your breast, a small container in your hand, “and you are following what I'm saying.”

You opened the container. You are immediately met with the smell of asters and wine, courtesy of Albedo's experiment. It's a surprise, really— how your lover, Diluc, decides to join in on your antics.

“Is that Albedo's new experiment?”

You nodded, “he was using slime condensate as a new form of lubricant. He wanted to copy that consistency, and here we are now.”

“It sounds successful,” he coughed, “are you sure there are no other side effects?”

“One way to find out,” you hummed, grabbing a scoop with your fingers, before rubbing it in your hands, “I'll be testing this out now.”

Without breaking eye contact, you looked at your husband as you carefully grabbed his half-hard cock. Must have been the reaction with the cold condensate and his natural body heat— he throws his head back into the pillows, groaning. It felt...nicer in your hands. His thick cock comes to life, already hard and hot in your hands. Graciously, you rub along his shaft, paying close attention to the prominent vein by the side of it. He groans and growls louder, fingers gripping the sheets. You revel in his actions as you pump him, occasionally rubbing the tip of his reddening long and hard cock.

He looks amazing when he's writhing under you, as if your control was enough for him to feel this way. Your pussy throbs at that thought.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Mmph, fuck,” he moaned softly, “i-it's cold, but at the same time, i-it's so hot...”

His hips jerk to your touch, as if sensitive. The gears in your head starts to turn, but it's too late— Diluc cums in your hands, a low groan escaping his lips.

Warm, creamy cum overfills your hands. You can't help but grin, the new lubrication extending his orgasm as you pump his dick more.

“Mm, cumming already, love?”

“I-I- uh,” he shook his head, an arm over his eyes, “sorry...it felt so good...”

“No worries,” you beamed at him, lowering down to meet his still-hard cock, “let me clean you up.”

Diluc shot up, only to find you already sucking the tip of his dick, his hips jerking once more as he felt your warm mouth down there.

“Hah, love, w-wait,” he reached out to grab hold of your hair, tugging as you bob your head, struggling to take his whole dick into your mouth, “s-slow down, please...”

Diluc wasn't joking; you tasted the coolness of the lubricant, but at the same time, it lingered with his heat. Your tongue teasingly licks the prominent vein, and Diluc harshly tugs on your hair.

“L-love, wait, f-fuck, hah,” Diluc's cock feels bigger as you try to swallow him deeper, “I-I think I'm coming-”

But you stopped before he could finish that statement. Saliva drips out of your mouth as you catch your breath, staining your nightgown. You look up to see Diluc's flustered appearance— flushed cheeks, labored breathing, and twitching cock. You licked your lips, before taking the container to Diluc's hands.

“Rub me, Diluc,” you spoke, flirty and honest, “I want to feel what you're feeling, too.”

Without hesitation, Diluc scoops with his fingers as you straddled his legs, leaking little pussy presented neatly to him. Your lover growls, as he lightly smears the lubricant across your cunt, your moans intertwining with his. You felt the cold seeping through your hot skin now, and it makes you want more.

You quickly slid and grinded your weeping cunt along Diluc's shaft, your moans and his getting louder as you feel pleasure builds up faster than ever. You looked deeply into Diluc's warm eyes, as you aligned your pussy to his hard cock, entering into you in one fell swoop. Cold and hot lingers— outside and inside of you, as you felt his cum fill your womb. Diluc growls in your ear, and it makes you grab onto his shoulders, nails digging deep there.

“Let's see how many times we can come from this, darling.”

please like, reblog, comment if you likey! please don't copy, plagiarize, or translate my work without my permission!

-ˋˏ starryficsfinishwen ˎˊ

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latin5mamii · 9 months ago

Text

Need You - Carlos Alcaraz

Warnings: smut, nsfw, +18 content

Genre: Carlos Alcaraz x reader, smut

Summary: What happens if you send a dirty message to your boyfriend during his post-victory party?

Author's note: nothing left to say...

You and your boyfriend loved parties: alcohol, fun and reggaeton music.

In Spain,of course there are lots of nightclubs and lots of fun,especially if your boyfriend won the Roland Garros only a few days before.In fact,he organized a party for his win in Ibiza with all his friends and acquaintances.

You were having so much fun with your friends that Carlos invited for you.

You were drunk,drunk enough to send a dirty message to your boyfriend whilst he was with his friends. You knew you would regret it as soon as you got sober, but life is one, so let's risk it.You can see your boyfriend taking his phone out his pocket and see the message,and a pleased smile appears on his face.

“Te quiero dentro de mí con tantas ganas ahora mismo”

(I want you inside me so badly right now)

He was drunk too, but certainly not on your level.

“Dios Y/N, me volverás loco” (God Y/N,You're driving me crazy)

Great, now you’re not only drunk, but even horny,and you are sure he was too, and this only increases the desire to satisfy your cravings as soon as possible.

The party was almost finished and Carlos was greeting his guests for the night,and as soon as he finished,you two went towards his car.

You couldn't wait to reach the hotel you were staying tonight.You knew he didn’t forget about the message. How could he?

Whilst he drives you constantly look at him, and he notices, giving you longing looks.

“No puedo esperar a sentirte”

(I can't wait to feel you)

You whisper, and you notice his breathing getting heavy.

“Estás haciendo que sea difícil resistirte, amor.”

(You're making it hard to resist you , love)

He says moving his hand up your thigh, getting closer and closer to your panties; You're soaking wet, and shivers begin to spread all over your body.You moan quietly as he begins to squeeze your thigh.

“Por favor Carlos, te necesito”

(Please Carlos, I need you)

Carlos opens the door to your room as quickly as possible, entering and kissing you passionately, you've been waiting for this moment all evening. He starts undressing you, touching you without leaving any space left unturned. You can feel his hard member through his pants, and while you are still standing, he moves your panties to the side and puts one finger inside you, then two and then three. You are so turned on that you can't help but moan out loud and these noises are sending him to heaven .

“sì Carlos por favor”

(Yes Carlos, please)

“¿Por favor qué?¿Quieres que te folle?”

(Please what? You want me to fuck you?)

You can only nod at his words, you don't have the strength to say anything.

“Necesito escucharte en voz alta, amor”

(I need to hear you out loud, love)

“Fóllame, por favor”

(Fuck me, please)

You beg him, as his fingers continue to go in and out of your sex.

He needed only this few words to hunt his cock and and make you sit on top, letting it in slowly. You let out a deep breath before you start moving on top of him, first slower until you go faster and faster, your moans fill the room, he places his thumb on your clit, not you could ask for anything better.

"Ya casi llego, ¿quieres que me corra dentro?"

(I'm almost there, do you want me to cum inside?)

“Por favor correte dentro de mi”

(Please cum inside me)

And as soon as you finish the sentence, you both reach orgasm, feeling his cum inside you. You get off on top of him to catch your breath, he lies down on the bed and you do the same; he starts caressing your cheek and you kiss his hand.

"Sabes que te amo, ¿verdad?"

(You know that i love you, Right?)

You reply with a kiss,but different from the past ones,it’s not hungry or needy,this is just pure love.

"Siempre"

(Always.)

#x reader #tennis #carlos alcaraz #fanfic #carlos alcaraz x reader #smut #boyfriend #party #carlos alcaraz smut #carlos alcaraz fanfiction #carlos alcaraz imagine #carlitos alcaraz #x y/n smut #x you smut #tennis fic #carlos alcaraz fic #carlos alcaraz works

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moncey-imagines · 1 year ago

Text

Reminder | Cedric the Sorcerer x Reader

i apologize for the lack of fem reader i left it open edned for all readers but i hope everyone likes it :3

!!THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOF-READ OR EDITED!!

no warnings i dont think, other than sad ceddy teehee

requested by: @bettathanyou

Cedric sighed as he sat on his stool, resting his head in his hands. “Another spell fumbled…” he thought to himself. His recent failed attempt at impressing the royal family reminds him of a time he’d rather forget…a time he wishes he could’ve prevented.

Looking up at the potion he’s brewing, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a jar. His bangs catch his eye…the silver color being a permanent reminder of his failure, and the years of ridicule he experienced for it.

Dropping his head back into his hands, he frees the lump that’s been building in his throat, his tears falling onto his spellbook.

“Cedric?” you say, peeking into his lab, worried for the sorcerer after hearing about what happened from Princess Sofia.

“Eh? Oh, [Y/N]...g-go away, you have work around the castle to do, don't you?”

He turns his body away from you, hiding his misery beneath a cold exterior. Despite his growing fondness of you, he just can't seem to bring himself to be vulnerable with you.

“You're crying, are you okay?”

You walk closer to the sorcerer, as he sighs in defeat at you seeing his tear stained face.

“Y-Yes, it's nothing…it's just a side effect from the griffin feathers I’m using in this spell…”

He tries to sit upright, to pretend he’s fine like he has for so many people.

Unlike them, though, you can see right through him.

“Cedric…I know sad tears when I see them…is it about what happened in front of Roland?”

Giving into your kindness, he reluctantly answers.

“...Yes, it is…I can't seem to hold it together in front of him…I always mess things up just when everyone's counting on me to do it right…”

He glances up at his reflection in the jar again, face full of sorrow.

“It’s alright Cedric…me and Princess Sofia can vouch for you, we know you're an amazing sorcerer…”

You kneel beside him, hugging him in an attempt to comfort him, though he continues to stare at his reflection.

“You don't understand, [Y/N]... everything I do is a failure…everything I’ve done is, too…”

“Cedric, is there something more to it? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to…”

Opening up to you, he tells you about what happened back in his childhood and what he did to his sister, Cordelia's, hair. He tells you about how, ever since then, everyone belittled and made fun of him. How he started to believe them…

“Cedric…”

“I have a reminder on my head of what happened now, it seems no one will ever forget what happened…”

“But…it's a reminder of all you’ve been through, too…”

“Hm?”

Looking up at you expectantly and pleadingly, you sigh and hold his cheek in your palm, gaining a bit of a flustered reaction from the sorcerer.

“You endured all that bullying, all that ridicule…and yet, here you are…Royal Sorcerer of Enchancia…don't you think that, if you really were a terrible sorcerer, they would kick you out?”

“Hm…I suppose so…but what if it's all because of my father? They expect me to be just like him…”

“They could have hired Cordelia, Cedric, but they chose you…you also have me and Sofia, we believe in you…if you really were horrible, you wouldn't have any of this…”

“I suppose you're right…”

Leaning into your hand, he blushes, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you…for giving me that, um, pep talk…of sorts.”

“It's no problem, Cedric. That's what friends are for…”

Wincing a bit at the casual friend-zone, he pulls away from you, putting on a stern, yet flustered face.

“Yes, yes, now, um, run off. I have…potions to brew and such.”

You giggle as you stand back, giving him a peck on the lips and leaving out the door.

“Alright, Cedric, you can do it! I believe in your magic ability!”

As you leave, he sighs contently, turning back to his work with the new-found confidence that you’ve given him in, not only his magic, but his chance with you.

IM SORRY IF ITS SHORT I HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYSSSS!!!

#moncey imagines #cedric the sorcerer #cedric x reader #cedric the sensational x reader #cedric the great #cedric sofia the first #cedric the sorcerer x reader #sofia the fandom #🤕#🧍#👠

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24hlevi · 1 year ago

Note

Helloo may I ask for prompt 5 for 25 days of winter with Roland from vnc where reader (preferably female) is teaching him how to ice skate? Thank you and have a wonderful day/night <3

ah yes of course! i adore roland so much so thank you for requesting 🫶

— 25 Days Of Winter: Ice Skating Together

roland fortis (vanitas no carte) x fem!reader

warnings: none!

25 days of winter event

"y/n? dear? i do not think this is a bright idea," roland stammered as he stood on the ice rink with his newly tied ice skates on his feet. he was standing with his arms out like a penguin, and you almost laughed at how scared he was of this out of all the things he had done.

"what do you mean?" you pouted, skating in a circle around him. "it's not that scary, love." you stopped in front of him, grabbing onto his hands. "come on."

"y/n i don't- this isn't- oh goodness," roland said as you began to pull him further onto the ice with you.

you had been ice skating for a long while now, since you were a child. it was one of your favorite activities during the holidays, and you wanted roland to experience that with you this year. if only you knew how afraid he was of slipping and falling on ice than killing vampires. it was quite funny, actually. to see the male stumbling and gripping onto you for dear life as you expertly skated around the rink.

you slowly pulled roland around the skating rink one whole loop around the place before stopping in front of him. "do you wanna try alone, now?"

"sure," he nodded his head. with one swift kickoff, roland made his way slowly down the rink's edge with you following quickly behind him.

"you're doing great!" you smiled at him, skating in front of him now. "now try and do that again but with the other foot."

"okay," roland nodded again. he was staring at his feet as he moved his other foot, moving closer towards you as he grinned widely. "i'm doing it!"

"yes!" you clapped your hands together happily for your boyfriend.

roland skated over to you and grabbed your hands, now becoming the one leading you and skating around the place with happy laughter erupting from the two of you.

"you were right my dear, this is fun!" roland smiled as he skated around.

"i told you!" you responded. "you just have to get over that initial fear and then you're great!"

roland skated in a circle around you as you moved further down the rink, grabbing your hand and spinning you around with giggles escaping from your lips.

after a few spins, roland pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead with a bright smile. "thank you for doing this with me, y/n."

"of course," you smiled up at him. "i know you don't get to do much, so this is at least something."

"something great indeed," roland then pecked your lips. "now c'mon!" he started to skate again only to fall.

his hand which was still holding onto yours resulted in you falling as well, letting out a yelp as you landed on top of roland. staring down at his shocked expression, you couldn't help but start laughing. he did soon after, holding onto you with a smile still on his face.

"i think we can go home now," you patted his chest.

"i believe so as well," roland nodded, kissing you again.

#vanitas no carte #case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte x reader #vnc #vnc x reader #roland fortis #roland fortis x reader #roland x reader #25 days of winter event #request

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winterrrnight · 2 years ago

Text

french open

PAIRING: drew starkey x fem!tennis player!reader

FACE CLAIM: iga swiatek

SUMMARY: an instagram blurb about drew being ecstatic about his girlfriend winning the french open

WARNINGS: n/a

EDITH SPEAKS: I've played tennis for a big part of my life so this definitely is a bit personal, I hope you all like it!! I haven't been able to work on my bigger fics atm so here's a little instagram au to keep my blog active :)

I made up all the instagram users, so if by any chance I have your instagram user used here, I'm so sorry I promise it was a total coincidence!

please like and reblog if you enjoy this! feedback is always appreciated 🪐

navigation || join my taglist || requests

liked by drewstarkey, jonathandavissofficial and 1,584,684 others

yourinstagram second week starts tomorrow. let's enjoy it ❤️

user81 sooo proud of you y/n! you've come so far

drewstarkey you're doing so well 🤍

-> yourinstagram thank you baby 💗

-> drewfan25 he's fr her biggest supporter 🥹🥹

-> rafes_starkey he is!! word is he's in france and most probably will be there at her next match

liked by rafe_is_hot, drewfilms_ and 56,834 others

drewstarkeyupdates drew with a fan outside the roland garros stadium today!

tagged: drewstarkey

rafes_starkey ITS Y/N'S SEMI FINAL TODAY AND HE'S HERE FOR HER OMG 🥹🥹

drewiseverything there's no bigger fan of y/n than drew

user45 he looks so good omg

liked by y/nfan31, drewhive and 458,421 others

ynupdates y/n will be playing in the finals of french open next week!! so proud of her 🥳💐

tagged: yourinstagram

y/nfan20 OH MY GOODNESS 🥹🥹

drewsify did y'all see drew in the crowd cheering her on?? it was sooo sweet

-> rafe_is_hot they're couple goals

user67 she's doing so well ❤️

liked by ynisamazing, drewfan56 and 89,282 others

drewstarkeyupdates drew via ig stories!

tagged: drewstarkey, yourinstagram

ynfan21 OH MY GOD 😭😭

rafezcameron I'll just go sob in a corner 😃👍

drew_clouds y/n played so well I was on the edge of my seat watching the match

liked by yourinstagram, drewstarkey and 4,683,760 others

playerstribune y/n y/l/n is the winner of the french open 2023, ranking her no. 1 in the world in singles by the women's tennis association (WTA)!

yourinstagram the most surreal moment of my life 🌟

-> ynfan21 Y/N WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU!!!

-> ynisamazing OUR GIRL DID IT 😭😭😭😭

user80 no one deserves it more than her!! she's come so far, and she's worked so hard

liked by drewstarkey, madelyncline and 5,483,684 others

yourinstagram I still can't wrap my head around this, and I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being there for me throughout this entire journey. these last few weeks were so exciting and frustrating at the same time, but your support and energy got me through every single day. keep daring, keep dreaming and keep working hard ✨🤍

drewstarkey my girl I am so so so proud of you!!! ❤️

-> yourinstagram I love you so much drew thank you 🤍

brooke_starkey we love you y/n you're a star! <3

-> yourinstagram sweetie you're so lovely 🥹

fionapalomo OH MY GOD!! darling you're such a big role model for all the girls out there who aspire to be big atheletes! they're all going to look up to you and remember you always 🤍🤍

-> yourinstagram oh darling this is so sweet of you to say thank you!! 💗💗🥹🥹

liked by hichasestokes, yourinstagram and 3,302,652 others

drewstarkey my girl did it!! I cannot be more proud of her. my darling, I look up to you every single day, there's no one I've ever known who's as inspiring as you. I've seen you train for this exact moment for years, and I know there's no one who deserves it more than you do. all the blood, sweat and tears you shed so you could hold this trophy are worth it all, because this trophy looks like it's made for you. it's meant to be held by you. I love you so much, cheers to so many more achievements like this 🏆🥂

yourinstagram my love, thank you so much. You've been there for me all the days when I thought this is way too far out of my reach, when it felt like I'm worth nothing, when all efforts looked like they were going to waste. You held me and comforted me, reminding me of my abilities. and today, there's no one with whom I want to cherish this moment more. This trophy is yours as much as it is mine 💛

-> drewstarkey you're my everything ❤️

rudeth y/n we're so so proud of you!!! ⚡

-> yourinstagram thank you rudy! 🤍

drewfan87 THIS IS SO SWEET I'LL ACTUALLY-

starkeyboyz I present to you drew starkey, the best hype man one could ever have

ynfan46 y/n created history 🫶🏻

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @ragingsammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey oneshot #drew starkey instagram au #instagram au #drew starkey ig au #written by edith! 🪄

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ivorydragoness44 · 17 days ago

Text

Warren Peace x gn!Reader: Rivalry

Part 1 Word Count: 6,667 Warnings/Notes: One use of (Y/N) for ‘your name’. The anxious angst of the first day of school. Original characters, including but not limited to existing student characters in the film. Commentary about heroes and hero support. Gender neutral reader and parents. Save the Citizen combat. (I think that's all. If not, I'll add more later.) Summary: The Reader’s first day of school back at Sky High for their sophomore year.

The Rivals to Lovers Series begins...

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

The first day of school. It could be an exciting time for most students. Whether or not that excitement was rooted in joy, depended on the individual. Presently, you were getting ready to leave to wait for the school bus. As all students attending your high school would. No one could exactly walk or drive there. It was an impossible task, considering that the school hovered up in the sky beyond the ordinary citizen’s view.

Grabbing your bag, having already double checked it’s contents, you left your bedroom. Were you a little thorough? Maybe a little. As you made your way to the front door of the house, you paused in the living room. One of your parents, Riley, held a few items within their grasp. “Don’t forget your water!” They smiled, handing you a cold thermos. In realization of such an important detail, your eyes widened. “Oh! Thanks.” “And here’s a snack in case you get hungry.” They truly cared, and you loved them for that. But you could always see that hint of worry knitting their brows together. You were sure that it was a parental thing. However, they had expressed it before. After all, how else was an ordinary civilian supposed to act when their super-powered child was going into their sophomore year at Sky High?

“Make a splash.” Your other parent strode into the room. “I know you will,” they smiled, already carrying their own work bag. You laughed, knowing exactly what they meant. “Should I thank you for the nice weather outside?” “I’ll never tell,” they teased with a hand held up to their chest. “Okay,” Riley sniffled, “one group hug to take away my first day jitters.” “Yours?” Alex, your super-powered parent, questioned them, but reciprocated the hug neither the less.

All too soon, you found yourself following along the path of the sidewalk. The morning sun was warm against your skin. A delight in the crisp early air. The sound of quickly approaching feet made you pause. Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, Wendy. “Morning,” she smiled, a bounce in her step. “Morning,” you replied in kind. Stifling a nod, you asked, “Do you have everything?” “Yes,” she laughed. “I only forgot my homework that one time last year. But thank you.” “Just checking.”

The pair of you continued on until you came up to the not-entirely-secret bus stop to wait. The wait was initially for the bus, but hearing a familiar voice, you knew that your other friend had finally arrived. “Who’s ready for day one at the totally not biased high school?” Roland asked, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he stepped over. Wendy and you smiled. “That who, is definitely you, mister cheerful.” He mock scowled at her as he gasped. “You would be too if you just found out that the ingredients of your favorite breakfast cereal changed since the last box.” “How will you ever cope?” You shook your head lightly. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Wendy rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Okay, but seriously…I wonder what will happen this year.” “Class assignments,” you offered. “No. I mean like what happened last year at homecoming.” “I wasn’t there, remember?” “Oh…right.” “A good thing too,” Roland added as the bus rolled up to a stop. “I’d much rather not turn into anything this year. Even a variant of myself.”

The bus ride over to Sky High went as normally as any other time. Granted, a bus ride to a normal high school did not include driving off of an unfinished interstate on-ramp in order to launch the bus into the air. Though after over two months without it, it was almost as jarring as the first time.

As the clouds parted, Sky High was unveiled. The school stood solidly on its massive hovering base. The sight ignited bits of nerves from all of the unknown possibilities. And the first initial steps off of the bus increased those feelings a little too much. Taking a breath as you stared at the large building ahead of you, you sighed. “Well, here goes another school year.” Wendy stepped into line beside you, eyes shimmering with interest. “I wonder what powers the Freshmen will have.” “Nothing too destructive, I hope,” Roland said, staring off at a few groups of students. “We honestly don’t need any more school bullies.” “Thank you for jumping straight to the most negative conclusions.” Wendy lightly shoved his shoulder. “Being kicked by Coach Boomer on the first day last year was bad enough.” Turning to walk backward on their journey to the front steps, he pointed at her. “My point exactly. They display their power, get assigned to Hero classes, and then, WHAM: created a bunch of self-entitled snobs who think it’s funny to mess with Hero Support, who is going to be paired off with one of them at graduation and”— “Roland!” You and Wendy plead. “I will speak my truth.” “And no one is telling you otherwise,” she assured, climbing up the steps just behind him. Patting his shoulder, you offered a smile. “Maybe just remember to breathe between monologues.” With a head tilt, you beckoned him up to the building.

Double checking the class schedule in your hand, you folded in back up and slipped it into your pocket. Finding your locker was not going to pose a problem. But even if it did, you knew that it was not something to freak out about. As you passed by clustering groups of students, the regular routine of school days was coming back to you. Though, being that it was day one, you would have preferred skipping a few things. One including the unexpected and invisible cloud of perfume. The strong floral scent ran straight up your nostrils. Unconsciously, you scrunched up your face. It felt as if it had shot up into your brain. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you looked over just in time from the distraction. Your locker.

Sniffling, you carefully spun the dial. After making sure that you had memorized the combination of numbers correctly, you locked it once more and sighed. You glanced down at the watch on your wrist. Almost time. Taking the class schedule out of your pocket, you reread it a few times. You had this need to be absolutely sure. Especially of your first class. There were just some nightmares that you did not want to actually live out.

Right on time, the bell rang out through the school. The sound brought your heart-rate up with uncertainty. You hoped the day didn’t.

Class number one of the day: history. Walking over to the room, you could not help but to wonder. Was there really that much history involving heroes? That aside, you hoped that it would not be too bad generally, all considering that you had the class first thing in the morning. You had never fallen asleep in class before, and you were certainly not going to start now. Glancing at the number by the door, you internally smiled. The correct room. Time for the nerves to ease away.

You made your way to the doorway, but stopped, almost stumbling into another student. “Oh, sorry.” You quickly apologized before you could look at them properly. Will Stronghold. Bringing his palms up, he shook his head. “No, no. It was my fault. You go first.” “Thanks.”

Entering the classroom, you sat down at a seat. Not even a moment later, you found Will taking up the seat beside you, one row over. Will caught your gaze and exchanged a polite smile. “You’re (Y/N), right?” “Yeah. I think we had math class together last year.” “Oh, yeah. I think I remember that,” he said. His red, white, and blue shirt crinkled at the sleeves as he crossed his arms on top of the desk.

Before more could be said, the bell rang and class began. Textbooks and syllabi were handed out and passed down the rows of students. Shaping History: The Super Way. Each approximately fifty minute class was going to be filled with heroics. From movements in history, wars, politics, to just about their overall involvement. It was looking to be an information heavy subject.

By the end of class, you did not know whether to feel hesitant or amused. “I guess we’re gonna learn a lot this year,” Will said to you, running a hand through his hair. You smiled teasingly, more comfortable that one class was complete. “What, you didn’t enjoy History of a Hero last year?” His face twisted in a grimace. “It was…informative.” He said, causing some jittering laughter between you both.

As the pair of you continued down one hall, Will asked, “What do you have next?” “Um,” you pursed your lips as you took out your schedule again. With a few loud crinkles, you unfolded it. “Mad Science Lab.” As you spoke, you looked up to see the exact classroom just off to the left. Convenient. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” Will said, pausing near the door with you. “Sure.” You gave a friendly smile before stepping into the next classroom. “Hey, Warren!” Will’s voice carried into the room after greeting his friend.

Strolling to the far end of the room, you made your way to the right and all of the way to the last table. You situated yourself on the stool closest to the window. You wanted to view the outside world at some point if you were going to be stuck in rooms for hours out of the day. That, and if anything awry happened in the science class, you did not want it to happen unknowingly behind you. You took a steadying breath. So far, it had worked in removing the rest of the first day of school jitters. The classroom was still relatively quiet, so that helped. The majority of the noise always came from the student filed hallways. Gotta socialize when you can. From your backpack, you took out a pen and folder. Empty in one pocket and filled with blank lined paper in the other. You were busying yourself with setting it on the black topped table in front of you when movement caught your attention. Looking up, you saw a student walking down the line of tables beside you. Warren Peace. You remembered having a class or two with him the previous year. He was a quiet student. He did not bother anyone or disrupt class. As he sat at the table opposite yours, an in-class acquaintance strode over.

“Hey, looks like we have Mad Lab together this time.” Chloe Evans. Her dark hair grew out over the summer break, the ends hanging in loose curls. You smiled back. “Hey.” “Mind if I sit here?” She asked, gesturing at the stool to your left. “Go ahead.”

As she sat down, beyond her, you saw Warren look up. His dark hair framed his face evenly, but devoid of expression.

“Do you think Medulla has any more crazy crystals to show us?” Chloe asked, resting her hand under her chin. Medulla had shown many kinds of crystals during your freshman year. Almost half of them glowed for one reason or another. There was a green one that you forgot the name of, but were still curious about. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if there are. As long as they don’t…affect us…in a way.” “Agreed,” she nodded. “I’d rather not pass out in a class again.” You frowned, remembering the object in question. “I don’t miss that one.”

With the sound of the bell, class had officially begun. “Welcome back to Mad Science Lab,” Medulla said. Standing at the front of the room, the large craniumed teacher started class by handing out the syllabus. Powers, gadgets, and beyond. An excited thrill ran through you. There was so much to learn in this class. The more you could learn about the world of the super-powered, the more you could understand and help, if you could. “This year we’ll be diving further into the nitty gritty details of superpowers. To better understand the components of a power. Whether that be yours, or otherwise.” Medulla glanced around at the students, likely knowing who would actually apply the knowledge for…certain means. “And now, for the most thrilling part…lab safety.” A majority of the students groaned. It was not so much that things in the lab could not affect them, but just the mundane routine of it. Like they felt like they were little kids again.

The rest of class seemed to be the model for what would be the rest of the day. Teachers greeting students, and then going over what to generally expect in the class for the year.

“Ready for gym?” Chloe asked, stretching as she stood up at the end of class. “It has been a while,” you sighed. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you waited for her to move first. “And the freshmen are still being sorted…so I guess we’ll see how they do in Save the Citizen tomorrow,” she added. As you walked through the room to leave, you could not help but to notice the footsteps following steadily behind you. “Heh, yeah,” you said, feeling a sense of too much awareness to how you walked. Peculiar. “Either way, I hope it goes well. You know, like that no one gets hurt or anything. Some students have a little too much…enthusiasm, or built up energy from not doing that sorta thing over the summer,” you said, ending in a lower voice to avoid others’ ears.

As you exited into the hallway, your ears were met with inaudible chatter and the occasional squeak of a shoe. Chloe fell into step beside you, a smile on her face. “Hey, maybe with any luck, we can pair up again. I think we did pretty well together.” “Yeah,” you smiled at the thought. More confidence ebbed through you at the idea. “I mean, if anything, you could always keep making them slip on water or something.” You laughed. “Oh yeah, from Save the Citizen to a slip ’n slide.” “It could be useful,” Chloe shrugged, “or…fun.”

The entrance to the gym was in sight. One set of double doors swung as a few students entered. From somewhere behind you, Warren walked around you both. His destination was the same. “Speaking of fun,” Chloe lowered her voice with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “you could always soak him.” “Is this a joke or a reference about him being able to create fire?” “Both?” She said after a pause of thought. “Ha, I’d rather not. I don’t think he’d find it too funny.”

Warren may be quiet in class, but he was not someone that you should ever annoy, much less anger. There were certain superpowers that were more dangerous than average. The basic durability of a powered person aside.

Once you walked through the two sets of double doors, the vibe changed. Excitement and curiosity. The one and only place to practice and demonstrate superpowers. It was time to prepare for anything. “Here we go.”

As was routine, students filed in and went through the quick-change partition before heading up into the bleachers. You found that your nerves had returned as you waited for Coach Boomer to choose students to start the game. Thankfully, you were not first. Freeze girl and Jason four-arms chose to be the heroes as they went up against Sean the cyclone and Robert reflexes. Not the best of nicknames, but it was definitely one way to remember who had what power. Granted, not every nickname was permanent.

Save the Citizen was in full swing. The bleachers filled with the excited bursts of the students. The shock of a well aimed hit. The laughter from a sudden silly situation. Freeze girl and four arms won a few rounds. It was not surprising considering their abilities. As another round was to begin, Jason took a turn in selecting their next opponents. “Peace and Evans!” Chloe straightened in her spot beside you. “Whoa. See you later,” she said, standing up from the bench. “Good luck.”

As far as you could remember, you were fairly sure that Chloe had never teamed up with Warren. It was beginning to feel like an interesting display of powers was about to unfold. The four students stood ready on the court. After Chloe and Warren were submitted to being the villains for the round, Coach Boomer started the game with a yell.

From your vantage point, all you could see for a long moment were blasts of ice shrouded in puffs of white mist. Everyone seemed to be a little faster this year. Jason picked up the large mailbox and threw it directly at Chloe. With an extra arm on either side, the momentum was strong, but it proved no trouble for her. A quick raise of her arm, and unseen vibrations pulsed forward. Mid-air, the mailbox jerked back toward Jason nearly three times faster, hitting him in the chest and knocking him to the floor in a clatter. Chloe was a force to be reckoned with. When she wanted to be, at least. The cheer of the crowd rose, and you searched for the source of their amusement. Freeze girl was aiming for Warren’s feet but he was seemingly quicker. With each blast of ice targeted his way, he hurdled balls of fire to counteract it. At the rate they were going, you soon lost sight of the match. As the time ran out and the mist settled, the sound of plastic shredding echoed off of the court. The heroes had lost. Chloe and Warren had won…somehow.

Smiling, you clapped at their victory. Chloe was a good acquaintance to have. You would call her a friend, but you never actually hung out outside of a classroom to know more about her. Either way, you were happy for her success.

“Carter! Pierce! Hit the showers!” The coach bellowed, sending two of the students off of the court. “All right…hot-head, Evans, choose your opponents.” The two turned toward each other, but you obviously did not have super-hearing. And at the distance from your spot on the bleachers to the court, you could not read their lips either. Typical for the suspense of waiting. “Davis and”—

Stilling in place, you quickly reviewed what Chloe had said. Your last name. You? Taking a breath, you stood and made your way down court-side. Well, this should be interesting, you thought. You and Chloe were hoping to team up, not square up. Oh, well.

Suited up, you and Damian Davis proceeded toward the contained combat area. The boy next to you fidgeted his hands together, pulling at the gloves haphazardly. “So, uh, who do you want to focus on?” He asked. “Chloe.” He nodded briskly before the pair of you stopped on one side of the court. Glancing at Chloe, you were a little surprised that she was already looking your way. With upturned brows, she mouthed an apology. You gave a tiny shrug and smiled sympathetically at her. Everyone had a chance to play, you just were not expecting to have your turn so soon.

“Hot-head, Evans! Heroes or villains?” Coach Boomer asked from his elevated seat. It was more like a lifeguard’s chair than anything. All to get a good referee’s eye view. “Heroes!” Chloe called up to him.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at the clipboard in his hands, not fully hearing what words came out of his mouth. Three minutes set up on the scoreboard above. Four last names tumbled onto the display under the HEROES and VILLAINS sections. “Alright, you know how this goes,” he began again. “Heroes, you will have three minutes to immobilize the villains and rescue the citizen.”

Anticipation stirred in your gut. Even though you were two months out of practice, you were sure that it would all come back to you. Preferably sooner than later. Hopefully.

“Ready…” You took a deep breath. As subtly as you could manage, you rotated your wrists. The drinking fountain just outside of the gym held all of the water you would need, and more. “GO!” Bending your knees, you expected what you saw. Chloe extended her arm in your direction. The seismic blast was small, but still impactful. A rush of air hit your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs. You tumbled backward onto the floor. Though the armor you wore was effective, it was not exactly a cushion.

“Ugh,” you groaned from the throbbing of your back. Time to play. Reaching behind your head, you sensed it. Water. You threw your hand forward as she watched you intently. The shrill of the crowd echoed in your ears as you sent a thick stream of water at her. She dodged it easier than you would have liked. Hopping up into a kneel, you redirected the water with a few waves of your hands. With a quick flick of your wrist, you whipped the water at her legs, knocking her over. You seized the moment and stood, only to duck. An orange fireball whizzed by a little too close. A glittery smoke chippered next to you, and you side-eyed it. “Got any ideas?” Damian asked, crouching beside you. “Uh,” you stared over at Chloe as she stood. “Can you do a jump-kick thing and”— The puff of glittery smoke returned and you quickly figured out why.

Tuck and rolling to the right, you dodged another fireball. When you sprung up, you ran at Chloe. As she eyed the suspended ‘citizen’, you took initiative. Swirling the water around you, you built momentum. The movement caught her attention or course. And as she raised her hands, you lashed the water at them with a loud THWIP. Strategy and understanding your opponent. It was slowly returning to you. Walking toward the center line, you continued watering down her gloves. It was better than being flung back onto the court again.

Off to your left, you heard an irritated Warren. From the repetitive pattern of chittering and puffs of smoke, you could have only assumed that Damian was teleporting around Warren in strategic annoyance. Though you were curious as to how your teammate was doing, you were a little busy.

Pushing and pulling the water, you and Chloe were at an impasse. She would use her powers to push the water away, but you brought the water molecules back together. Not sparing a glance, you supposed that there was not much time left on the clock. Narrowly missing another seismic blast, you looped water around her leg and tugged at the empty air in front of you. The yelp you heard as she fell, however, was not hers.

“Help,” Damian plead. The fear in his eyes showed as the smoke subsided. Looking to the left, you saw Warren ignite a fireball within his grasp. His stance was firm and prepared. Your eyes widened at the sight. Swiftly, you brought the water over to you to act like a flat shield between you and the oncoming attack. In an orange sizzle, the fireball made impact. the crowd roared from the bleachers.

“Save the citizen!” Warren called over to Chloe. Seeing her scuffle across the floor, you turned to Damian. “You got this.” With a nod, he left in a puff of hazy glitter. You stood and brought the water into undulating blobs to either side of you in a wide gesture. Unexpectedly, you locked eyes with Warren. In the moment of pause, you were both firm in your stance, but shared a glint of uncertainty in his eyes. The back of your neck prickled as someone shouted. “RIVALS!” The energy around you felt different. An unsettling sensation washed over you as a few others joined in. You took a breath anyway, and launched the water at Warren first. He leaned out of the way. Only one sphere of water smacking into his shoulder. The stray droplets caused him to blink, but it did not hinder him too much. As he threw a single fireball your way, you blocked it with a swipe of water. Bringing the water back around, you whipped away another as the quick succession began.

Sizzles and steam clustered between you until the buzzer sounded, ceasing your actions. You and Warren looked over to see Chloe holding the citizen mannequin. “Heroes win!” Coach Boomer announced out into the gymnasium.

Damian teleported next to you, a little out of breath. “I’m sorry. I tried.” “You did good,” you said, giving him an encouraging smile. His eyebrows curved up. It was as if he was not expecting such a reaction.

As the coach called for your team to hit the showers, you dispersed the water molecules into the air. There was no sense in taking the water with you. “Good game!” Chloe praised while the two of you walked away. You replied with a small smile. Though as you faced forward, you caught Warren’s eyes. Was that the smallest hint of a smile on his face? You were not sure, but it was nothing to worry about.

Lunch. It was not your next class, but it was next on your schedule. After a game of Save the Citizen, it was welcomed. It almost made it easier to dull out the surrounding chatter of students as you carried your tray of lunch. Aiming for a vacant table, you passed by Warren Peace. He sat on the side of a table that had his back facing you. Somehow, he was already finished with his lunch and reading a book. You wished you had time to read. The table in front of him was clear. As you approached, so did your friend Wendy, already sitting herself down. She waved you over.

“So, how’s your day going so far?” You asked, sitting in front of her. “Not bad. We’ve just been reviewing a lot of stuff from last year for now. I guess to make sure that we remember it all before moving forward to learn anything new.” “That sounds reasonable, I guess.” “And boring,” she said, poking at her food. “What about you?” You gave a dry laugh. “A lot of going over the syllabus, and what we’ll be doing this year. Personally…I’m really interested in Mad Science Lab. We’re supposed to learn more about superpowers. Like, their details, weaknesses, and stuff.” “Stuff, huh?” Roland walked over and sat beside Wendy. “Yeah,” you smiled at the sight of your friend. “And…so I overheard about you and fireman in Save the Citizen.” His brows rose in question, humored to find out what had actually happened. Wendy looked to you, and then glanced at the person in question behind you. “Something happened?” “Okay,” you sighed, preparing yourself. “He was on the Hero team with Chloe”— “The shaker, right?” Laughing, you enjoyed the feeling. It was a far difference between that and how that student shouted during the match. “She can make things quake and move by vibrations, yes.” “So…?” “I was paired with Damian, he can teleport”— “So cool.” “Kinda cute.” “And, I was against Chloe for a while…until I had to block some flying fire.” “That sounds mildly terrifying,” Roland cringed. “A little. I’m glad I have water,” you said before grumbling, “but then someone shouted rivals…so I don’t really know what that’s about.” Roland paused, drinking to squint at you. “…Fire and water?” “I meant, besides that,” you reasoned. “Maybe they saw something you didn’t?” Wendy offered gently. You shrugged. “Could be.”

Either way, you were not sure. Thankfully stuff like that did not last in school. Kinda like a one off sort of thing, where it only happens for that one time. You did not think you would have to worry about it.

Lunchtime came and went, and as you bid farewells and laters to your friends, you made your way to your next class. Language. And if you thought for even a moment that you would be ready for that class, you were in for a surprise.

Walking into your next class, you decided to sit up front near the door. It was not just because there was a water fountain just on the other side of the wall either. One student entered through the doorway and a smile swiped across his face in happy surprise. ‘Oh, hey.“ “Hi,” you greeted, watching as Will Stronghold sat at the desk to the right of you. “You were great out there today; in Save the Citizen.” “Not bad for the first day back?” You asked with a defeated laugh. “Come on, the way you lassoed the water around Chloe? And you made a shield out of water to block Warren? That was not bad at all.” He laughed and added, “I mean, at least you didn’t fall on your face like I did.” You cringed at the thought. “The redness on you face is gone though.” Will ducked his head down. The momentary embarrassment falling away. “I mean, yeah. And you really held your own against Warren.” “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to become a crispy potato chip so…” “Hah, I guess it comes with paying attention to how others use their powers.” Before either of you could continue, Damian scurried to sit behind you as class was about to begin.

Language for All Super Scenarios. You should have realized how the class was going to pan out to be. The class was either going to be fun and silly, or utterly ridiculous to you. The main objective for the class was going to be learning exclamation for various scenarios. It was proving to be interesting.

The bell ran throughout the school. It was finally time for Free Period. A time to reset, socialize, and further into the school year, a time to study and work on assignments. “Well, that class should be interesting,” Will said as you made your way out of the classroom together. “Golly, Stronghold,” you altered your voice, “do you really think so?” As he laughed, you wondered when those sort of Hero-like phrases would case repeating in your mind. “See you later?” “Sure,” Will said, looking hopeful. “What class do you have after this?” “Math.” “Oh.” He paused before asking again. “After that?” Not having your schedule completely memorized yet, you checked. “Uh…Secret Identity and Heroic Persona. Kinda a long name for a class.” He smiled and held up his class schedule. “Guess I’ll see you there.” “Cool,” you too smiled in pleasant surprise. It was nice to have someone to talk to in Hero Classes. “Later.” “Later.”

Making your way over to your locker, you were happy to have some free time during the day. Sure, it was turning out to be a day full of going over syllabi, but that was still a lot of new information to process. At your locker, you dropped off another new textbook. More like a floppy workbook. Those proved to be difficult to hold at times. At least your bag was lighter again. After stopping by a water fountain to refill your bottle, you sought out the exit doors near the rear of the school. Those set of stairs outside were always less crowded than the main one up front. As you went left, you headed toward the shaded walkway. It was much quieter there. You hoped no one would just so happen to take up your favorite spot there. Just in the shade, with a view of the school grounds. It was nice. Someone was there after all. Thankfully, it was Wendy and Roland. They sat on the concrete with welcoming smiles.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted, plopping down to join them. “Hi.” “How’s class?” Wendy’s nose scrunched up in thought. “Kinda feeling…” “Undervalued?” “That,” Roland pointed in agreement. “How about you?” Wendy asked, looking to you curiously. “Language class…not so practical—for me at least—but, holy exclamations, this is gonna be great.” “The sarcasm here is strong,” said Roland.

The small talk went on for quite a while. Together, you each gave your own insights on how your day had been progressing. As discussion topics lessened, you each took time for yourselves. Retrieving a book from your bag, you read for the remainder of the Free Period.

It was not long until the school bell rang again. After a farewell to your friends, you went to math class. The class was…well..full of mathematics. Afterwards, it was not until the class was ending that you remembered that Will Stronghold would be in the next and last class of the day.

Going around a corner, Damian nearly ran into you. “Whoops! Sorry!” He quickly apologized. “No problem,” you assured, the sound of squeaking shoes echoing in your mind. “Are you okay?” “Yeah,” he ran his hand over his hair, “sorry. Didn’t see you there.” You shrugged, continuing your walk to class. “Neither did I, my back was turned.” “So, uh, what’s your last class? Mine’s that secret identity one.” “Me too.” Relief clearly showed on his face, replacing the uncertainty in his eyes. “I guess we’ll get to learn about having a work and life balance.” “Probably.”

Getting into class was easy enough. Most of the students had yet to arrive, leaving the seat options open to your choosing. Not that the wooden chairs were that appealing. You sat at the first possible seat. Closest to the board in the front of the class, and the only exit. Kinda a win-win scenario. And as Damian took up the seat in the row just to your left, it was apparently no problem for him. Not everyone liked to sit at the front of the class. You understood why. There were many reasons.

As you were taking out a folder from your bag, Damian let out an awkward cough. “I-uh, I forgot to thank you—for earlier. Your idea for me to teleport while I was already in the middle of fighting was really helpful,” he rambled sincerely. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” You could not remember anyone ever thanking you in such a manner. Heck, maybe no one had ever taken the time to consider his powers. There was no way for you to know. And you were not about to ask a personal question like that. “I mean, you have the ability to teleport. No one but you knows where you’re going to appear next, right? So, you might as well use that to your advantage.” He rested his chin over his hand thoughtfully. “Yeah…my mom said that I should work more on being offense rather than using my powers as an escape.” “There’s no reason that you can’t use it for both,” you suggested. “But that’s ultimately up to you to decide.”

It was uncertain as to whether or not Damian was going to say more. But when his gaze glanced behind you with a moment of wide eyes, your attention redirected. Among the small influx of students entering the classroom, Will Stronghold entered the room. When he made eye contact with you, he smiled in recognition. “Ready for another class?” He asked. “I think so,” you replied honestly. You held no expectations for the class. But the mystery of it would soon be answered by another syllabus, you were sure.

Behind him, Warren Peace walked straight to the back of the room. And presumably, your row. The expression on his face was simply content. You could only guess that his day was going well since Save the Citizen.

As Will situated himself two seats behind Damian, a student looked to you as they entered the room. “Hey,” Kate smiled at you and Damian, “awesome performance in Save the Citizen.” “Uh, thanks,” you looked up for just long enough before she passed by the pair of you. It elicited a brief look of surprise exchanged by Damian and yourself. An awesome performance? Sure, it was a great compliment to receive, but was that all gym class really was at the end of the day? A display of powers? Before you could think too deeply on the subject, the bell rung, and the teacher took the attendance and attention of the room.

Secret Identity and Heroic Persona. The class was intended to give Sophomore students a head start on creating and balancing their future hero and civilian lives. It was never too early, apparently. From possible, and flexible civilian careers, to a hero’s headquarters. Honestly, who was going to fund and construct one of those? Much less any equipment. Blazers to super-suits, the syllabus listed. You had a feeling that you would be taking, and keeping, a lot of notes. Choosing a color for your super-suit seemed easy enough. Most hero class students already wore a certain color palette. It was a strange realization when the thought had occurred to you. Something like that could not be coincidence…right?

When the long list of subjects were finally read through, class was already over. It was a rare moment that a class did not drag on. Maybe it was because of your growing interest? The secrets behind creating and keeping the secrets were going to be revealed? Though you had found that you enjoyed what was to be the class, you always managed to pack fast. Pulling your bag’s strap over your shoulder, you held this sense of accomplishment. Another class complete. And now, so was the school day.

“Later,” a small voice to your left spoke up quietly. Damian. You smiled. He was still stashing away his things into his bag. “Later,” you said before standing up from the desk. Though, just as you did, you froze. You were staring at black fabric for a second. And as soon as you made eye contact, you were already automatically apologizing. You were staring into the brown eyes of Warren Peace. Breathing in an unfamiliar warm scent, your lungs stilled. The corner of his mouth curved up into the tiniest half smile as you continued to stare. It felt like the longest moment. An eternity. With a subtle nod to you, he finished walking out of the classroom. Soon after, Will Stronghold followed after him. “Later,” he waved to you, unintentionally helping to snap you back into reality. “Yeah—later.”

Finally, you left the classroom and briskly made your way over to your locker. With all of your new text and workbooks, you couldn’t leave them behind. Especially not when some work was assigned. There was always that one teacher. Though you were not entirely happy with the added weight to your bag, you found yourself smiling at the call of your name. Wendy and Roland reunited with you for the end of the day. “Ready to go?” Asked Roland. “Yep,” you said, spinning the dial closed on your locker. “Cool, then let’s go.” With a bounce of her locks, Wendy lead the way out of the school building.

“Day one back at Sky High, check.” Roland slashed the air with his finger. “And how many more to go?” Wendy asked with a teasing smile, hopping off of the last step. “Do you want a real answer? “From you? I—Oh, see you tomorrow, Layla!” Wendy waved at the grinning green wearing Layla Williams. The fellow sophomore was also headed to the buses lined up on the pavement ahead.

You could not help but the sigh contently. A day’s end was sometimes relieving. especially depending on how a day personally went. And even though there were over one-hundred more days to go before the end of the school year, you were hopeful. What could possibly happen?

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

As of posting, I am already in the middle of writing Part 2! So, hopefully I can post that within the month :)

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