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youvebeenlivingfictional · 29 days

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the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby.

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored.

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days.

Art Donaldson.

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage.

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks.

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine.

“We’ll start with the basics.”

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go.

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.”

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him.

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you.

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace.

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.”

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days.

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches.

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?”

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?”

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit.

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.”

“Lily?”

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.”

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.”

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?”

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?”

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.”

“...He seems to be pretty busy.”

“He is.”

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?”

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound.

“It shows, you know,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.”

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm.

“Just good?” He plies.

“The best. A real pro.”

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little.

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat.

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?”

“She’s killing it.”

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it.

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.”

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds.

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.”

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.”

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.”

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him.

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw.

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap.

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies.

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud.

It spurs you to lunge a little too far.

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side.

“What hurts?”

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left.

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.”

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle.

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand.

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?”

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort.

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.”

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

“How’s the ankle?”

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again.

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks.

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.”

“Good enough to walk on?”

Hardly.

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again?

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up.

I invited Art.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all.

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days.

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely.

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room.

“Almost ready in here?” He asks.

“All set!”

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile.

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds.

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests.

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself.

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves.

“Wanted to come say hi.”

“Well. Hi.”

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours.

“He isn’t taking care of you.”

“My ankle is fine.”

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down.

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—”

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh.

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip.

“Condom?” He asks.

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.”

“Sssh.”

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip.

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—”

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.”

“Art—”

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?”

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm.

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties.

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room.

“Can I see you?”

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him.

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies.

“Where?”

“I’ll send an address.”

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk.

“...You regret it?” He asks.

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do.

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck.

“Is this Lily?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.”

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.”

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully.

“Art?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I here?”

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer.

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.”

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.”

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up.

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

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#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #the pro

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r4spb3rr13s · 14 days

Text

pro heroes meeting their feisty, mcbling gf

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, dabi

♱ pt.2 here!

note: it’s me, i’m the feisty mcbling gf 😞

Katsuki has been on shift for what feels like hours. In reality… well it has been hours. He’s been patrolling a smaller, more mundane part of Tokyo, where all he’s done is help little old ladies with their groceries and scold kids for trying to steal candy.

He was dying to get home.

So, when he heard a scream five minutes from patrol ending, the groan he let out was loud, unprofessional and frankly, really douche-y of him. But still, he flew towards the alley it echoed from.

He turned the corner, expecting a damsel in distress…

Only to see you.

Beating a man with a Juicy Couture suede bag, wobbling on platform sandals.

While this man lets out the girliest, highest-pitched screams Katsuki has ever heard in his life.

“That’s.” Hit. “What.” Hit. “You.” Hit. “Get!” Big hit!

Katsuki blinks out of his trance and takes a booming step toward you. “What the fuck’s goin on?”

You gasp and look up, and Katsuki swears his heart is echoing out of his chest.

Your s/c skin is everywhere, from your jean shorts to the cleavage practically spilling out your leopard print zip-up, and as you straighten up, he catches a glimpse of a belly ring that makes him gulp.

Your hair frames your face with a pair of sunglasses at the top of your head, showing off a fantastic scowl. Glittery eyes are met with furrowed brows, decorated with piercings-galore on your face, and two big hoops either side of your head.

“This prick!” You punctuate it with a nudge of your painted-pink toe, “Tried to rob me! I kneed him in his tiny balls.”

Katsuki raises a brow. You take a minute to glare at the guy, still whimpering, before you strut towards him with narrowed eyes.

You hate to admit it, but Dynamight was hotter in real life. Soot is smeared on his cheek and the scowl on his face sends his ruby-red lasers shooting through you.

“What? You have a staring problem?” You ask with a hand on your hip. Every ounce of confidence you’re letting off is soooo clearly fake right now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He shakes his head and looks around you to the poor guy on the floor. He’s not going anywhere, still curled up in a feral position and cradling his nads.

Katsuki sweats.

“Alright, sweetheart-”

You try to pretend it doesn’t make your heart skip a beat.

“Sweetheart?” He freezes and looks down at your cocked brow. “At least take me out for a drink first, Mr. Dynamight, c’mon.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Shit- sorry, I didn’t- look, you’re okay, right? No injuries?”

You’re inspecting your nails at this point, trying to avoid looking at the muscles in his hero costume. “Huh? Nah, but he should probably get checked out. Am I good to go?”

You sound eager to leave, but you make no move to when he nods.

Instead, you stand, scrutinising him with crossed arms. Katsuki hates to admit it, but even standing a whole foot taller than you, you’re making the blond blush.

“Okay, what? You need somethin’?” He gruffly says.

You glance back at the idiot still on the floor, and he flinches at your gaze.

“You don’t need my number for a report or somethin’?”

The words leave your mouth sooner than you can stop them, but you keep your face cool as your turn around. God, you need a smoke after this.

Katsuki’s hearts skips a beat, but his lip quirks up and he huffs out a chuckle. He reaches into one his pockets, and passes you his phone.

He’s still blushing, but God that man is grinning as well.

:::

Eijiro is mid-lat pulldown when he hears you through the full blast of his headphones. Being the manly pro he is, he takes an earbud out to hear the commotion.

“When I say fuck off, I mean fuck off! What part of that isn’t get through your thick skull?”

Eijiro watched as you scream in a steroid-fueled gym-bro’s face. You’re jabbing a pink nail in his chest, neon pink shorts matching to a sports bra and a small hoodie on your top half.

He gets off the machine, and a loud clang echoes through the gym - you don’t even notice.

“What, too much muscle blocking your brain from working?”

The guy is getting ready to respond, an ugly, violent grimace on his face. As Eijiro steps behind you and crosses his arms, the guy thinks twice.

He nods at you, and turns away, practically running.

You huff and tuck a loose piece of hair behind your hair.

“What was that?”

You jump at the voice and spin around with a shout. A chest- Jesus Christ, he’s tall. You’re face-to-chest with a man covered in muscle, a sharp-toothed smile and spiky, red hair to match it.

“Oh!”

…

He raises a brow and smiles at you.

A blush is fighting it’s way onto your face, but you’re too cool for that. Way too cool. So you clear your throat and stop staring at his adorable face for a minute.

“He wasn’t taking no for an answer,” You huff and cross your arms.

Eijiro frowns, “Shit, that sucks. Do you come here often?”

…

It’s your turn to raise a brow.

His face turns as red as his hair when he realises how stupid that sounded. It’s weirdly endearing watching such a large man blush and panic in front of you.

“N-no, like, I can get him banned if you’re a regular. I know the owners, so-”

“Where do I know you from?” You cut him off, doing mental gymnastics.

Eijiro freezes as he watches you. Your thick lashes touch your brows as you go wide-eyed, staring at him intently. So intently, he’s terrified to move a muscle.

You click your fingers and point a sparkly nail at his chest, “Red Riot! I knew I recognised you from somewhere.”

He grins and shrugs. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I mean,” You trail off for a minute, using all your self-restraint to not blush or stutter in front of this fine-ass man, “if you ever wanted to come to rescue again, I could just give you my number?”

Eijiro has never grabbed his phone faster in his life.

:::

Izuku has been caught in the midst of little fans. Children are detaching themselves from parents, flying away from friend groups to crowd around for his autograph. He’s reminded again why he always wears a cap and glasses when he goes to the mall.

He just needed to pick up a pair of boxers, for Gods sake.

A little boy comes hurtling at him, but such is the norm. What he doesn’t see is the girl sprinting after him- sprinting in platform heels that is.

Jeans cling to you tighter than your zebra print top, and the tiny handbag on your shoulder keeps slipping down. Every step you take is a loud jingle with the massive array of jewellery you have on, and star-shaped clips in your hair keep slipping out.

“Deku! You’re the coole-”

“Isamu! Get back here!” You screech. Your sister was going to kill you if she knew the one time you took your nephew out for a little trip to the mall, you lost him.

Watching him talk to a stranger was almost the cherry on top.

You come to a skidding stop, somehow not hurtling over on your open-toed death machines, and grab the 5 year old by the armpits. Isamu let’s out an excited shriek and smiles at you.

Then he points to the guy.

That guy being the number one hero in Japan.

You nearly drop your nephew.

“Oh my God-”

“I’m so sorry-”

You both speak at the same time, then shut up, and just stare at each other like two idiots. He’s not in his costume - duh, idiot, he’s at the mall?- but he looks just as good as he does with his face plastered all over Tokyo.

Strong arms are straining the seams of his black shirt, and his dark hair is brushing the nape of his neck- it looks so soft-

“I’m really sorry, I should have come out with my hat on, sunglasses-”

“Please do not apologise for looking that good,” You mutter and roll your eyes. Then you freeze. Then you both look at each other, while you nibble your lip and smear your lipgloss everywhere.

“Deku! Can I have your auto map!” Isamu screeches from your arms, wiggling like a worm. It’s getting hard to hold him, so you plop him down and hold his hand instead.

“Autograph, buddy, not auto map,” You whisper in his ear.

Izuku’s heart skips a beat. You are gorgeous, silly and amazing with kids- I mean, what else could he really ask for?

He nods and crouched to Isamu’s height.

“Who am I making it out to, then?”

Isamu screams his government name so loud you want to cover your ears, but you just smile awkwardly at Izuku crouching under you.

He looks at you with his big, doe eyes and a soft smile. “What about you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want an autograph-”

“Your name?”

Oh shit. You mutter it and watch with a smile as the pro scrawls on a notebook he miraculously pulled out from his arse. His round, perky-

“There you go, Isamu. It was great meeting you,” He pats your nephew’s head, who is practically beaming. “It was nice meeting you too, Y/n,” he adds, and turns away with a wave.

As you walk away, Isamu thrusts the paper in your hand.

“LOOK AT IT AUNTIE Y/N!!”

‘if it’s not too forward, id like you text me sometime y/n :)’ and next to the note is his number.

Cheeky bitch.

:::

Dabi has no fucking idea how he ended up in a bar blasting Kesha from the speakers with millennial women screaming ‘this was my party song!’ but he hates it.

Until he sees you.

You’re in the tiniest jean skirt he’s ever seen, and your ass cheeks are so close to popping out. If you’d just stopped swaying your hips and bend over, he’d get a glimpse-

But you turn around, and he watches you twist and turn in a matching halter top, jewellery adding rhythms to the music.

Dabi swears he has never seen anything as captivating as your baby pink lips mouth along to Die Young. God, was he really thinking that? In relation to Kesha? You must be special, he thinks to himself.

He makes no move, though. He sits at the bar, watching you tip back fruity cocktails and teeter on your fur-covered boots.

He looks away for a second, he swears, and suddenly you’re on the bar stool next to him. Not just sat, but staring. Like, blatantly staring right at him.

He mirrors you, leaning on his palm and watching you.

You’d be lying if you tried to say his cerulean eyes weren’t doing something to you, but there were more pressing issues at hand.

“You’ve been staring at me all night.”

It’s a fact, he has been.

A smile curls onto his lips, and he shifts so he’s closer to you. “Have I? Didn’t notice…”

You’re drunk. Like, much too drunk, because his face is a blur- a handsome blur though. You are aware enough to tell he’s staring at your tits, though.

You click your fingers in his face and he looks back up at you. There’s a moment on his face where he looks shocked, but a bigger smirk replaces it.

“Sorry, hun-”

“Hun? What am I, 5?”

He leans forward, and the overwhelming stench of a beach fire is fighting with your Britney Spears perfume. The air starts to smell like burnt sugar around you, and it’s weirdly compelling.

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“Well, you’ll need my number to call me.”

It takes you a minute to realise how dumb that was- you’re drunk and that is not what he meant, but it made him drop the cool boy act. He stared at you for a second with wide eyes before chuckling under his breath.

“You are somethin’, princess…”

“Princess?”

“Yeah, the skirt and all the pink- very princessy,” He gestured to your outfit before pulling out… a burner phone.

You really should not have drank that much, because you don’t even care to question it as you’re typing you digits in.

note: ffs i didn’t make izuku’s gf feisty enough 😞

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steddieas-shegoes · 3 months

Text

for @thefreakandthehair (and @vecnuthy and @wormdebut while we’re at it) because sometimes you help a baseball player through French class so they can stay on the team and then they end up on the Savannah bananas and you decide to put the fictional men into situations about it *shrugs*

Eddie was going to have to transfer out of this class. This was one of his easiest classes and it was filled with every jock on campus attempting to fill their foreign language requirement with French.

And they were all failing. And annoying. And obnoxious.

And a few of them were also hot.

But Eddie wasn’t gonna focus on that!

He was gonna finish today’s assignment and then head straight to the advising office to find another class that worked with his work schedule.

“Hey,” the guy next to him whispered as the teacher droned on about conjugating verbs. “Do you have any idea what the fuck the homework was?”

Eddie turned to glare at the person, but his face dropped when he noticed who it was.

The campus celebrity: Steve Harrington.

Couldn’t quite make it on the college baseball team, but managed to make the sort-of professional, but mostly joke team Hawkins Hooligans.

Eddie didn’t like sports, never had. He could appreciate that it took skill and whatnot, but he didn’t care much to watch it or make celebrities of people who were just really good at one very specific thing usually involving some kind of ball. But he could appreciate a joke. And this team had jokes.

Steve was actually apparently good enough to play pro, had even been scouted by the MLB his senior year of high school. One week before his professional tryout, he tore a muscle in his shoulder, had to sit for three months and had to do physical therapy for another three, and voila! No pro ball for him. No college either since he missed spring training.

But he still had skill, and he still had a father with a lot of pull in the business, even if it wasn’t quite enough to get him on the Yankees or whatever.

So he was biding his time on the Hooligans until next year when he could try out for the college team again, maybe increase his chances of a real pro career.

Eddie definitely hadn’t watched videos of him during their first few games of the season where they faced the Indy Idols and the Chicago Charades.

He definitely hadn’t gotten a weird flutter in his stomach when Steve had been the one to lip sync to Hot For Teacher while pretending his bat was a guitar.

He definitely didn’t have a crush on Steve.

“Uh. Dude?” Steve asked him again, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. It was the study guide for the first quiz. Not due until next class though,” he whispered back.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Eddie turned his attention back to the professor, not really needing to pay attention since he already knew quite a bit of French.

A tap on his shoulder made him yelp, and the entire room turned to him. He waved apologetically before turning to Steve with a murderous look.

“What?” He hissed out.

“Do you understand this?”

“Yes and you probably would too if you stopped talking to me.”

Eddie was ignoring the voice in his head screaming at him to let Steve keep talking to him for as long as he wanted.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Steve huffed before sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. He mumbled something else that sounded like ‘I’m just stupid’ but Eddie couldn’t be 100% sure.

“A lot of this stuff is just English spelled a little differently.” Eddie sighed. “You could almost definitely figure it out if you took some notes.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Eddie’s brows scrunched together as he glanced at Steve’s red face.

Hm. There was definitely something to unpack here.

“You can borrow mine if you want,” Eddie offered as he watched the professor switch slides on the presentation. “I don’t really need them until the final.”

“Oh!” Steve sounded genuinely surprised by his offer, like he hadn’t been basically asking for help only a moment ago. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, it wouldn’t do much good for me anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Steve had Eddie’s full attention now.

“I’m. I-“ Steve sighed. “I’m dyslexic, man. Reading’s hard for me.”

Well, fuck. Eddie felt like an asshole now.

“Oh.” Eddie looked down at his scribbled notes, cringing at the thought of someone else trying to read them, let alone someone who already struggled with reading from a printed page. “Yeah, my handwriting is shit so it’d probably be useless to you. Shit, it’s almost useless to me.”

Steve snorted, immediately covering his mouth to avoid any more noise from escaping. Eddie could see he was still smiling though. His eyes were very expressive.

“Don’t you have accommodations?” Eddie asked him.

“Nah, my dad doesn’t believe it’s a problem.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Said I just need to focus more and it’ll ‘work itself out.’”

“He sounds like he’s a lot of fun at parties.”

Steve snorted again. “Yeah, a blast.”

“So you aren’t a natural at French?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m barely a natural at English.”

“I could help you?” Eddie was an idiot. An idiot with a crush on someone who would never be interested in anything he had to offer except tutoring.

“Help me? You’d help me?” Steve seemed eager, maybe a little desperate.

Eddie kinda liked that.

“I mean, yeah. If you’re actually willing to put in the work and not expect me to just do the work for you.”

Steve smiled. God, that was a nice smile. Eddie was absolutely fucked.

“I work well with a reward system,” he smirked. “If you’re willing.”

Eddie’s eyes widened momentarily as the realization sunk in that he’d just been flirted with.

By Steve Harrington.

“Oh, I can definitely work with that.”

Steve nodded once, grinned at Eddie as he picked up his pen and ripped off a small piece of his unused notebook paper. He scribbled something down and folded it once before handing it to Eddie.

“Let me know when I need to show up, Eds.”

Eddie unfolded the paper and nearly dropped it.

Stevie H. 555-555-0086 My dorm at 7? No clothes required

When Eddie looked back up, Steve was facing the front, seemingly paying attention to the lecture.

Eddie quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and put Steve’s contact info in. He could wait until after class to send him a text. He could.

Instead, he typed out something quick to hold them both over until later.

Studying naked is my favorite thing 😉

Steve’s knee nudged against his in response.

Maybe Eddie wouldn’t take that trip to advising after all.

And if he was featured on the next TikTok for the Hawkins Hooligans, with Steve fake serenading him in the stands, nobody had to know he didn’t really like sports.

He liked Steve, though. Even when Steve actually managed to play real competitive baseball. Even when Steve managed to get a spot on the Cubs.

Especially when Steve proposed to him during a game in maybe the worst recorded French of all time.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #the team names are ridiculous on purpose #and I put this in college instead of high school because I felt like it #if anyone wants to continue please do #I’m so sleepy and can’t possibly

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hmmm-shesucks · 8 months

Text

The night before Andrew’s first pro game, he receives a box from a company he is intimately familiar with. Pretty pink calligraphy branding the pristine white box with Allison’s fashion logo. It’s a rather large box, and Andrew is expecting the worst, like bright pink pompoms, but when he opens it, there are several neatly folded piles of silky material—armbands.

The first pair in each bundle is a simple black, but as he goes through them, he finds the colors changing, colors matching his new uniforms, colors Andrew would never usually wear but was informed he’d have to during specific months of the year.

At the bottom of the box lay three pairs with a note labeling them “custom.” The first pair was all black, except for a small dagger on the insides of both wrists. The second set is similar in color, except when they catch the light, subtle color shines through. A stupid rainbow. The last set Andrew knows Neil must have had something to do with as they are bright orange and white, tiny little fox paws on the insides of both wrist.

There are two of each pair, thirty pairs total. At the bottom of the box is a note branded with Allison’s logo but also a tiny kangaroo, one that is also branded just above the elbow on every sleeve.

“First look at the new sports line. I call this one Rew.”

Andrew hates her, but he plays his first game, ensuring Allison’s logo is always visible.

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lovinpelova · 5 days

Text

courtside | n. mühl

summary; when nika makes a promise she fulfils it. [SMUT]

🎵 everyday hustle - future

nika had already found her footing on american soil by the time you met, the only indicators she wasn't born in the states was her last name and accent if she spoke for long enough. you'd been assigned as part of the media team to enhance your work experience in sports during your time at uconn, the fans and your lecturers loved the content you provided and always came crawling back for more, so you decided to have a one on one interview to satiate their hunger a little longer.

you'd chosen a player at random, landing on number ten after a moment of contemplation regarding which player number to pick and immediately had nika beckoning at your call. her coach informed her of what you planned on doing, waiting for her to catch her breath as she stood with a heaving chest and hands on hips, licking her lips with hooded eyes focused solely on you. she nodded her head in understanding and introduced herself, shaking your hand formally before making a mental note of your name so she could stalk your instagram later on- that plan was executed perfectly when she asked for your number after the interview and gained your username after a couple hours of texting.

fans could tell that nika was flirting with you from the moment it started, going crazy in comments and posting all over tiktok about the way she looked at you or subtly complimented something referring to you. no matter what, nika was finding a way to steer the interview towards you, wanting to find out everything possible and not being sneaky about it in the slightest. time flew by and before you knew it you'd been together four years with nika playing her last college game, getting ready to be drafted into the wnba with you by her side.

the tough opponent was iowa in the final four, nika rearing to go and jumping in her spot since the moment she woke up for multiple reasons. she wanted to prove herself, she was one step closer to the championship game and had just been informed that the wnba were going to draft her. you couldn't be happier for your girlfriend, she'd been going on and on for years about how when she goes pro all her sacrifices were going to be worth it and she'd be able to spoil everyone she loved with the new opportunities she'd have for them.

right now, you were sitting courtside with a camera in your hand to take an occasional flick of the game. iowa truly were a tough team - you'd never seen uconn struggle like this before - but the championship game was still in sight for you all.

then the fourth quarter came along.

nothing was working anymore, iowa was clicking like puzzle pieces and caitlin clark was on the move. nika bagged assist after assist and rebounded as much as she possibly could with a gorgeous three-pointer but the buzzer had to come at some point; and it ended with iowa up by two.

of course she was upset, you were the first person she came to with tears on the verge of spilling down her cheeks and her fingers clutching the uconn '10' jersey you wore, your arms tight around her in every way she needed. either way she'd made it to the final four and played immaculately, you reminded her of that before she congratulated iowa and on the way home whenever she spoke bad about herself.

"i'mma win everything for you."

the croatian mumbled as she inhaled your scent, pulling you further into her with her head on your chest. she breathed out deeply in comfort when your fingers found their way to her hair and scratched lightly, egging her to continue.

"you're not gonna see me lose ever again. gonna go pro and everything's gonna change,"

"i don't doubt that for a second moja djevojka."

nika smiled and chuckled into your chest at the sound of croatian rolling off your tongue, knowing her odd tutoring lessons were paying off with the way you perfectly pronounced one of her favourite nicknames.

"and before you know it, you're gonna be moja žena. watching every game, getting anything you want- stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"you know i wouldn't want it any other way, moja žena. go to sleep niks, i'll be here when you wake up."

--------

a year after uconn lost to iowa, nika had stayed true to her word. she was going pro either way, but now you were basically on the verge of engagement with the way she was hinting towards marriage recently and she'd remained consistent in her career. she'd lost a few games here and there but had made up for it by winning the league already with seattle, earning a spot in the all-wnba team and being named defensive player of the year with the odd sponsorship deal coming her way.

nika truly was living up to her words, she made you feel loved every day and reminded you of that before she left for training until the moment she fell asleep with you in her arms. she'd talk nonsense about how badly she wanted you to be her wife, the pout on her lips being kissed away when you shut her down to remind her that she was too busy for such a big commitment right now, because she knew you were right. still, she had the ring hidden in her sock drawer for safekeeping.

she'd had the odd day off and always decided to spend it with you, loving your company more than any other option she had thrown her way. right now she was laying comfortably on your chest, large figure draped over yours to supply warmth no blanket could ever match as you binged your latest shared obsession on television. you'd just finished editing some shots for seattle storm not long ago, your studies paying off and gaining you an excessive interest in job prospects when you sent your folder out- but of course you had to go for seattle, it was perfect.

"i can't wait to marry you."

a murmur vibrated your chest from none other than the woman melting into your hold, your arms tightening around her as you laughed lightly in response.

"we've still got plenty of time for that."

"i keep gettin' asked about you though, makes me think about it more."

your hands tangled into her hair and gently scratched at her scalp, feeling her fingers tighten around your waist and pull you towards her as she sighed into you.

"n' what do you say?"

nika smiled as she lifted her head up, watching your hands fall to her shoulders before she gently lifted your left ring finger to her lips and kissed it with her eyes locked on yours. you grinned at the intimate action and saw her smile lightly in return, other hand caressing her face lovingly.

"i tell them you're gonna be my wife before they know it."

"every time?"

nika nodded her head enthusiastically, both of you grinning madly as she leaned in to kiss you gently.

"every time."

she mumbles against your lips, vibrations making you smile into the kiss before you wrapped your arms around her neck to pull her closer and deepen it.

"you're gonna have to show me some of these interviews."

"i'd rather show you how well i plan on treating my wife for the rest of our lives together."

nika mumbled into your neck as she kissed down it fondly, hands crawling up your shirt and tugging on it with your nails scratching her back lightly. you threw your head back to allow her more access and felt her smile into you, pulling away to slowly peel the fabric off your body as your hands pawed at her shirt to do the same, eyes immediately scanning her body as she leaned up and took it off above you. she noticed your gaze and smirked, grabbing your hands and guiding them along her toned stomach with a cocky smile whilst letting your hands wander on their own.

you quickly sat up and trailed your lips along her abs, dipping your fingers into the curve of her spine so she arched into you with a soft gasp. nika let her hands tangle into your hair gently as she stared down in admiration, mouth open to let out heavy breaths that left her stomach heaving against your lips.

"baby,"

the croatian breathed out before licking her lips, jaw hanging low with how you were mouthing at her skin.

"tonight's gonna be about you, not me."

you heard her withhold a groan when your tongue sloppily licked its way up from her hips to the bra she wore, the point guard grasping your shoulders and weakly attempting to push you down. your mouth was doing wonders on her skin and it drove her wild, the strength she always bore withering away as she leaned back onto her heels and adjusted herself to be sitting upright against the back of the couch. your lips forcefully detached from her skin and both of you let out a matching whine, thighs going either side of her waist to let her hands guide you closer whilst she initiated a heavy kiss.

nika soon grew impatient, beginning to push and pull your hips in a rocking motion and moaning once you got the hint. your body moved against hers as she trailed her lips down your neck, hand slapping her muscular back as you felt her start to suck before she squeezed your hip apologetically and went back to simple kisses trailing down your pulse point with a soft grin. as much as you loved your girlfriend, covering up hickeys from her endeavours was a nightmare.

"why can't it be about the pro baller?"

you quietly breathed out, hands pushing her further into your collarbone by the back of her head. the brunette moaned into you at the mention of her occupation and pulled away to look up at you with swollen lips, chest heaving for air whilst she wore a cocky smirk.

"'cus it's about the pro ballers wife."

nika trailed sloppy kisses down the space between your breasts before you could respond, pulling at the strap of your bra and letting it snap against your skin to signal she wanted it off. you reached behind yourself and unclipped the bra as quickly as possible, nika trailing her fingertips under the straps to slowly peel them down your arms before tossing the material elsewhere in your shared apartment. hearing her breath out heavily as she stared shamelessly at your chest, your face grew red whilst she licked her lips hungrily and began to let her hands wander.

the croatian looked into your eyes for a moment of consent and gladly received what she was looking for, ducking her head down to connect her mouth with one of your nipples whilst her hand gently massaged your other breast. she teased her teeth against your skin and urged you to arch further into her, free hand dipping into the curve of your back as she kissed along your chest to pay the other side attention.

"niks, baby..."

the mention of her favourite nickname pulled her head from your chest, inquisitive puppy eyes staring up at you. heaving breaths left her swollen lips and she continued to let her hands trail around your back, gently massaging your hips whilst tugging at the back of your shorts in a needy manner.

"please baby,"

she murmured, head moving towards your neck once more to trail kisses down your pulse point and along your collarbone, internally grinning when you pushed her closer at the feeling of her lips sucking marks into your skin.

"molim- trebam te. želim te osjetiti, moja cura, da?"

nika began rambling in croatian whilst she nuzzled her nose into your upper chest, placing kisses between every other word and pulling you closer to show her desperation.

"da, mala- da."

your immediate response in her mother tongue made nika swell with pride at how good of a language tutor she was proving to be, quick kisses being placed down your torso before she effortlessly flipped you onto your back and positioned her body between your legs.

"nika,"

you whined as she continued to trail her hands aimlessly, her head popping up from your stomach in concern.

"shorts off and stay up here. želim te poljubiti."

your dirty talk transitioning into croatian made her groan audibly, hands pawing at your shorts and underwear after she seeked one last look of approval before tearing them off and throwing them behind her carelessly. breathing laboured as she leaned in to kiss you passionately, your hands tangled into her hair and she pushed her hips down, cursing against your mouth as she felt you throb against her.

"jebi bebu. needing me, huh?"

her croatian accent making a strong appearance when she switched back to english made your hips buck into her as you eagerly nodded your head with a whine, eyes boring into hers whilst she wore a smirk. nika grinned and leaned in to kiss you softly, digits tracing the outline of your body as she trailed them along your hipbone and towards your centre, gasping into your mouth once she felt how wet you were.

"god, it's been so long since i've had you like this."

you almost whimpered in response to her voice mumbling against your lips, all thoughts of everything and anything else being cut off when nika dipped a finger into your arousal and pulled it out to rub circles over your clit. your eyes closed in pleasure as the croatian rested her forehead against yours, watching your facial expressions intently with pride bubbling up through her at the soft moans you were beginning to let out.

"niks,"

you murmured whilst reaching up for a kiss, nika gladly reciprocating passionately as she hummed in response for you to continue. her fingers didn't let up, placing more pressure by the second before dipping into your arousal to tease.

"i need you inside me baby."

the brunette groaned with her eyes shutting in pleasure, the buck of your hips pushing her back into the moment as she pressed a finger into you. nika slowly thrusted in a steady rhythm as she prepared you for a second finger (knowing you wouldn't be able to finish no matter how deep her singular long digit was able to reach) whilst she continued to rub her thumb over your sensitive clit and kiss along your neck.

she revelled in the soft moans of her name you were letting fall from your lips, hands clutching her bare back and feeling the way her shoulder would move or flex as she thrusted as you groaned in response. you took the opportunity to feel her toned body once more, hands travelling all over the chiselled muscles she'd earned from hours in the gym and shamelessly squeezing where you felt them flex as she slowly sunk a second finger into you.

"that's it ljubav. takin' me so well- that's it, good fuckin' girl."

"nika, god..."

you trailed off into a breathless moan as your girlfriend perked her head up to level yours at the mention of her name, smiling proudly as you returned the grin and moved a hand to pull her into a sweet kiss. the croatian gradually picked up her pace and swallowed your moans with ease, watching the way your body responded to every twitch of her fingers as she slowly began rubbing them against your g-spot with every thrust.

"baby!"

you yelled out in surprise, hips bucking into hers as she continued to abuse your cunt. your nails raked down her back to feel the muscles flexing as she fucked you, eyes momentarily closing in pleasure whilst her back arched into you at the feeling of your fingertips trailing down her spine, both of you now chest to chest with your hand pulling her forehead to your own to maintain the intimacy and keep her close.

"so beautiful, sound so pretty for me. good girl."

you whined in response to her praise with your nails digging into her shoulderblades, relishing in the quiet moans she let out as her fingers continued to pleasure you skillfully.

"god you feel so good princess,"

with your heads pressed together, nika nudged your shoulder to prompt you into opening your eyes and keeping them locked on her own, knowing how much you loved eye contact. the croatian continued her deep strokes as you saw her shoulder moving rapidly in the corner of your eye, your body jolting up and down with the force she was using to drive you into an orgasm. matching smiles grew on your faces as your moans picked up in frequency and volume, nika watching in awe and bringing her other hand down to stimulate your clit.

"gonna be my wife, watching every one of my games courtside. gonna give you everything you've ever wanted, win trophies for you, take you to award ceremonies, walk fuckin' red carpets with you. all that shit- i'm doin' it with you."

"yeah niks- as long as it's with you, that's all that matters."

the point guard pulled you into a passionate kiss as she felt you tighten around her fingers, gently coaxing you through your high and continuing her thrusts to help you ride it out with soft praises whispered into your ear, lips scattering kisses all over your body. your hands dug into her muscular back and eventually relaxed, still keeping a grip as you calmed down to have one final feel of her muscles that she sadly never showed off.

"good job baby, did so well for me. such a good girl."

she whispered against your lips whilst leaving soft kisses every so often, both of you breathing heavily and calming down from the heated moment as she slowly pulled out, apologising for the discomforted whine that escaped you but immediately making up for it when she licked your arousal off her fingers.

"you're gonna be the death of me one day."

"wouldn't be a bad way to go, huh?"

"shut up and stop being so cocky."

you shoved her shoulder lightly as she mocked offense, sitting up to be hovering above you on her knees the same way she was when she took her shirt off earlier.

"can you blame me? i've got my girl feelin' me up and whenever i look in the mirror i see these guns. don't think i didn't feel those sneaky touches baby."

"shut up! you never let me touch them any other time- stop doing that!"

she started flexing her muscles in all the poses she could think of, pulling cocky faces to elicit a laugh from you as you shoved her stomach lightly to get her to stop, the croatian laughing with you. you shared a sweet kiss before she picked you up, wrapping your legs around her waist and bringing you to your shared bed before setting you down on the edge.

"what you needin'? food, water, a bath?"

she listed options of aftercare as she kneeled down in between your legs, relishing in the way your hands tangled into her hair when she peppered kisses along your naked form.

"just need you niks."

"you sure?"

"m'sure."

you pulled her up with a smile as you got comfortable on the bed, pushing into her arms when she opened them for you and ensuring your bodies were as close as possible whilst you drifted off into sleep together, no doubt going to dream about finally marrying the love of your life.

#nika muhl #nika mühl #nika mühl x reader #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl smut #nika mühl smut #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #seattle storm #seattle storm wbb #wnba #wbb #womens basketball

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zegrasdrysdale · 6 months

Text

[ one day ] j. hughes

paring : Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) accidentally distracts Jack while he’s being interviewed in their home for a day in the life of a Devils player documentary that's being filmed, and Jack brings up the idea of a proposal

warning(s) : a quick mention of suggestive content but no actual sex

author’s note : i don’t understand how this plot came to be and tbh it's kinda stupid but i’m taking it and running with it

༺═──────────────═༻

Jack being one of NHL's most popular players has it's pros and cons. Today is one of those cons that they both hate. Jack is being followed around for the day to film a Devils documentary that follows players during their off days. Jack being one of the Devils' star players means he had to do the documentary.

That was before (Y/N) talked him into it. She didn't realize how intense it would all be. An entire film crew has set up in their living room with big cameras and lighting. They have made themselves very much at home after knocking on their door at the crack of dawn.

The two of them were having a really good morning in bed together when the film crew came knocking. Lots of naked cuddles and kisses were exchanged when a knock rang out through their apartment. It ruined both of their moods.

They stand in their kitchen and watch the crew finish setting up from the island counter. Jack is now dressed in a dark grey Devils hockey t-shirt with black sweatpants that have a Devils logo on the pant leg.

"Do you want me in this?" (Y/N) questions. Jack looks over at her with a confused look on his face. "I mean, we've been mostly quiet about our relationship so I completely understand if you don't want me to be apart of your episode of the documentary."

Jack shakes his head as soon as the words pass her lips. "No, I want you in this, (Y/N)," he tells her. "It's a documentary about a day in my life and you're a really big part of my life so of course I want you in this. Just let me do the interview really quick then we can act like it's a normal day."

The woman doing the interview is one of the Devils reporters, but (Y/N) can't remember her name at the moment. She sits opposite Jack in the comfy chair. The camera over her shoulder is pointed at Jack.

While Jack is being interviewed, (Y/N) goes to her room to get ready for their insane day ahead. She needs to put on some actual clothes too. All she's been wearing since she got out of bed is one of Jack's t-shirts and a pair of really small shorts. Not exactly what she wants to be wearing if she's going to be followed around for most of the day by people that work for the Devils.

She can hear some of the questions being asked while she's getting changed. They're the usual questions. Asking about how the season is going for him, how he's been recovering from that shoulder injury that kept him off the ice for a handful of games, and how it's been having his brother on the team with him. Sometimes Jack's sassy side comes out. He's never been the one to hide how he's feeling when answering questions.

To mess with Jack a little bit, and to kind of surprise him when he's done with the interview, (Y/N) grabs Jack's Devils hoodie that he wears to practice sometimes. His number sits on her chest and it's a little too big. She pairs the black hoodie with a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee. She throws her hair up into a high ponytail and puts on light makeup just to cover any blemishes or pimples that'll pop out on camera.

When she leaves their bedroom, Jack is talking about how amazing it is to be considered one of the league's best players.

"It's always the goal to be one of the best in whatever sport you play," Jack is saying as she walks through the living room. "I, um, didn't think it would happen, uh, so early on in my, um, career." (Y/N) looks over and sees that Jack has his eyes on her. "Sorry. Got distracted." There's a smile on his face when he sees what she's wearing.

The reporter turns and looks at (Y/N). "I didn't know your girlfriend lived with you, Jack," she says as she turns back to him. (Y/N) smiles and starts to make some coffee.

"One of the best decisions I have ever made," Jack says from the living room. "Getting to fall asleep with her in my arms and waking up with her wrapped around me is an honor. We've been together for over two years now and it's been incredible. My parents and brothers all love her, but not nearly as much as I do."

(Y/N) smiles to herself as the coffee brews. Her back is to him at the moment so he can't see the smile.

The way Jack talks about her sometimes makes her fall in love with him a little more. She talks about him like that all the time to friends and family, but knowing he's saying all of this in front of a camera for a documentary makes what he'[s saying a little more special. He isn't holding back because he's on camera.

"That's so cute," the interviewer says. "Could we be expecting a Jack Hughes proposal soon?"

"We'll see what happens," Jack replies. That causes her to spin around immediately and look at Jack. The smile that was on his face is still there as their eyes meet from two different rooms. Her smile grows bigger.

They've never talked about marriage. Both of them are very happy with where they are at in their relationship so they both not rushing to walk down the aisle. Plus, they're 21 and 22 respectively so they're still really young. They don't have to get married right now.

The interview goes by without another mention of marriage, or (Y/N). She's okay with that because this is about Jack and his accomplishments as NHL's rising star. He's come a long way since his rookie year.

(Y/N) was around that year but they weren't together. They were close friends at that point so she saw every day how Jack struggled his rookie year. He struggled with hockey and he struggled with what people were saying about him online. Calling him a NHL bust despite being drafted first overall.

They grew closer that year and it was during his sophomore season when they got together. She's been super supportive of him since he got drafted, but especially after his rookie year.

Jack quickly excuses himself before he gets mic'd up for the rest of the day. She's pouring coffee into two mugs for both of them when Jack comes up behind her and wraps his arms around his girlfriend.

"I know we never talked about it but-"

"Yes, I'd like to get married to you one day, Jack," (Y/N) interrupts as she turns in his arms. He presses her against the counter with one hand and takes his hot coffee in his other. "We don't have to rush into anything though. I'm happy with where we are and you're still trying to prove yourself in the NHL."

"So one day?" he asks.

She leans forward and kisses him softly and quickly. "One day."

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes fanfiction

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disneyprincemuke · 3 months

Text

the overachiever * fem!driver

she's just a little competitive, that's all

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!driver, sebastian vettel x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, liam lawson x fem!driver

notes: YAUUUR i'm back with em femdriver updates dawg

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

oscar leans to the side as he avoids the ball hurled at him at seemingly an alarming rate — could have possibly taken his head off if he hadn’t moved fast enough — then turns back to the pair on the other side of the court. “oi!”

“loser!” she pumps her fist in the air and hops over to her teammate on her side of the court, hand lifted for a high-5. “do better.”

oscar rests a hand on his hip, chest heaving as he whirls around to where the ball had bounced to. “this was supposed to be a chill game. what is your problem?”

liam laughs, clutching his stomach as he threw his head back. he catches the girl’s hand and nods. “sore losers, aren’t they?”

“isn’t this your first time playing padel?” logan scowls. “how are you already so good at it?”

she shrugs as she puts her racket between her legs, readjusting her ponytail. “you know i can’t stand when i’m bad at things. of course, i prepared myself for today.”

when oscar had invited them out for a game of padel, he had expected it to be a first out of many short games. what nobody had expected, though, is for the girl — who claimed to know nothing of the sport just a week ago — to be absolutely dominating them on the court.

there is a reason they hadn’t invited the rest of their friends or anyone else from the grid. they just wanted to slowly take their time to learn the ropes of the game so that when the season goes underway, they don’t embarrass themselves when they get invited to games by other drivers.

but of course, the overachiever did her research and is already excelling to a certain extent. it’s just something they’d had to endure over the years: her in-explainable need to be good at everything immediately. if she’s not good at it from the get-go, she loses interest quickly.

“how? how could you have possibly prepared yourself for a game of padel? you didn’t even have a racket until 3 days ago,” logan scolds, throwing his arms in the air as the frustration slowly gets to him. there’s just something about her beating him in absolutely everything that’s sort of absurd. “i was literally with you when we went to get your stupid racket!”

“there’s this thing called youtube?” she hums with an eyebrow raised with the roll of her eyes. “and i asked fernando for some tips. so i’m kind of… like… a pro.”

“doesn’t make you a pro,” oscar scowls with a frown as he shakes his head. “makes you a bit of a nerd, though.”

“well i am graduating with a degree in information technology in a couple of months. so, perhaps, i could be a nerd,” she hums, with a giddy grin, “at least if the whole racing thing doesn’t work out… i have a way out. unlike you dropouts!”

“a woman in stem!” liam cheers. “if you graduate first class, i’ll buy you a car. what’s your current grades?”

she presses her lips together, nodding as she tries to formulate a plan for her education. “if i study harder for my final exam in a week, i could make that happen. i’m a pretty solid b grade student.”

“i meant a toy car, you freak,” liam frowns, scowling at her. “you think i’m getting paid loads as a reserve driver?”

“i overheard the team discussing you the other afternoon. who knows? we very well may be teammates next year.”

“i sure hope not,” logan butts in with a snort. “that wouldn’t do anyone any good — two idiots in the same team.”

she tilts her head, blinking innocently at him. “what do you mean? williams seems to be doing great with that kind of lineup this year.”

logan clenches his jaw, puckering his lips as he looks at her. “okay.”

“enough fighting,” oscar rolls his eyes. “ready to lose again, logan?”

the american sighs. “yeah, i guess.”

“god, don’t you know what a demonstration means?” max clutches his stomach, hunching over as the pain shoots through his torso. he watches the ball slowly bounce on the ground, right after hitting him in the stomach.

beside her, penelope giggles as she approaches max in concern. “are you okay, maxie?”

max shakes his head, glancing at the young child before dropping to his knees as he groans. “no, p. she bullied me!”

“she’s so strong!” penelope cheers, hopping over to the older girl with a screechy giggle. “but you should say sorry, maybe!”

“you’re right,” she grins, patting penelope on the head. “i’m sorry, max.” she leans down to max’s ear out of penelope’s hearing range. “that you got outplayed by a girl.”

max lifts his head to glare at her. they were just teaching penelope how to play football, the older girl describing earlier how to score effectively after she expressed interest in the sport. when she was asked to demonstrate the move, max didn’t expect her to kick the ball so hard.

“i knew that was coming. you’re so harsh!”

he was expecting a semi-strong kick to his stomach — something that he could catch and bear before they continued their small game of football. but no, she kicked the ball as hard as she could and almost incapacitated him.

though, perhaps incapacitated is too strong of a word. but he still does feel it in his gut, stumbling back in confusion when the ball came into contact with him.

can he really blame her, though? he sort of gets it: the need to be good at everything to please people. maybe it’s the eldest sibling trait.

“i was in varsity when i was in primary school,” she presses her lips together with a small smile. she holds her arms out to the younger girl and gestures towards her parent’s house. “i could get blythe to make us orange juice, p. do you want some?”

she sighs and drops her hands. “you can do better than that.”

logan drops his stance, his hands resting by the side of his body. “what do you mean? i don’t want to hit you so hard.”

“why? it’s not our first time sparring,” she scowls, wiping the side of her face on the sleeve of her shirt. she lifts her hands again, inside a pair of boxing gloves, and protects her face. “come on. hit me like you mean it.”

“i’m not going to hit you,” logan mutters. “we’re just warming up until benny and noah get here, right? that’s what you said.”

“yeah, but,” she darts a hand out, barely missing logan’s face when he leans back to avoid her punch, “i want a real challenge before they get here. come on, logan.”

but logan doesn’t fight back. instead, he takes several steps back when she tries to approach him, both arms darting out in an attempt to rile him up into a real spar.

“stop trying. i’m not doing this with you,” logan sighs, touching gloves with her everytime she tries to reach forward for him. “i know you were in martial arts growing up too, but i wasn’t. i’m just here because you asked me to be here.”

she grins. “exactly. so, fight back. don’t be a coward.”

“you’re not going to rile me up into a fight. i’m not you.”

“it works sometimes.” she dips down slightly and throws a punch into his stomach, prompting a huff as it hits him. “hit me back.”

“no way. stop asking me to do that.”

“coward.”

“okay.”

she touches his thigh with her feet, the taller boy stumbling slightly. “you’re just gonna let me do that to you? do something.”

“you’re not gonna get anything out of him.” a familiar voice makes both of you turn your head towards the door, benny walking in with a small smile and a gym bag over his shoulder. “very patient, this guy.”

“you clearly did not live in the same house as him for years,” she laughs, running over with her arms opens to get a hug. “will you spar with me until noah gets here? logan is so boring — he never hits me back.”

“hey!”

“sure! but you can’t cry when you lose.”

“maybe.”

sebastian tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows. “are you sure go-karting is what you wanna do over summer break? don’t you have other things to do?”

“we’ve done everything she wants to do,” oscar says begrudgingly as he puts his helmet on. “she cried this morning saying she misses racing.”

logan also looks tiredly at sebastian, shaking his head as he takes his helmet out of his bag. “i woke up to her sleeping on the couch hugging her helmet, by the way.”

the girl scoffs, punching logan’s arm as he unveils a secret he was sworn to never say to anybody else just this afternoon. “no, i was not!”

“ah, don’t be so shy about it,” sebastian smiles. “i also felt like that in my rookie year. all i could think of was being out on the track.”

“i guess i could study for my exams.” she exchanges glances with the 3 men around her before shrugging. “oh, well. time to race and beat your asses.”

“oh? you think you could be a 4-time world champion?” sebastian raises his eyebrows. “i’d like to see you try.”

“you clearly haven’t met me,” she hums, stopping in her track to turn around and face sebastian. she holds a hand out between them. “hi, i’m the most competitive girl you’ll ever meet. and i will beat you at go-karting today.”

while that doesn’t actually happen that evening, sebastian laughed as he climbed out of his go-kart at the end of their 10-minute race. she swears to him that someday she will be good enough to beat him in equal machinery (a go-kart).

which oscar begs to argue that she’s simply overdramatising the situation. but she just knows it’ll happen eventually.

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#logan sargeant x reader #oscar piastri x reader #liam lawson x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader

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kaiijo · 1 year

Text

HE HAS A RIVAL FOR YOUR HEART — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: itoshi rin, mikage reo, nagi seishiro content: fem! reader, reader is a pro-athlete in rin’s but there’s no physical descriptions, feat. miya atsumu + bokuto koutarou (hq!!), kagami taiga (knb), characters are pro-athletes so i envision them as being in their 20s in this notes: when can this be me?

⋆｡° itoshi rin

Rin glanced around the stadium, taking in the lights and spectators and other athletes with disinterest and a mounting annoyance. He loathed having himself and the rest of the team paraded around like show ponies, but he supposed he could play nice (well, as nicely as he could) given that this was a charity event and that you were here.

You were the starting setter for Japan’s women’s volleyball team, and someone who Rin had taken a recent liking to. He found you to be pleasant to be around, never irritating or pushy and you were kind and talented. He had a certain fondness for you, not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

He spotted you a few yards away in the stadium. The charity event had professional athletes competing in something like a field day, and you were all grouped by the type of sport you played, which meant you stood with both your own team and the men’s national volleyball team.

Rin’s eyes trailed over you, a small smile making its way to his face as he admired how you looked in your uniform. His mood soured when he saw who you were talking to: Miya Atsumu. He had only met Atsumu a handful of times, usually when you invited a couple of friends to hang out, but he knew the two of you were close, if Atsumu’s frequent presence on your social media was anything to go by. Rin’s lips would curl into a sneer whenever he’d see Atsumu’s smirky face appear on his Instagram in a post from your account, envy clawing at his throat when he saw Atsumu’s arm thrown around your shoulders as you two took a post-practice picture together.

His eyes, unfortunately, met Atsumu’s gaze and Rin scowled at the smug smile and wave Atsumu gave him. He tuned out most of what the host of the event was saying, only listening in again when they announced that Japan’s men’s volleyball team would be going up against the national men’s soccer team in the first game.

His eyes met Atsumu’s again, and he glared when he saw you give him a high-five and wished him good luck. Then, you turned away from him and made your way over to Rin. He stood up straighter as you approached and you grinned at him, clapping your hands together. “Good luck, Rin.”

He replied, “I don’t need luck to beat these mediocrities.”

You just smiled and nodded and said, “I’m sure but I wanted to say good luck anyways.”

Rin paused for a moment, watching as his teammates began to get into position for the first event. You said, “I should get to the sidelines.”

You turned to leave and then Rin asked, “Don’t I get a high-five?” You snorted but raised your hand up anyway. Instead of simply hitting his hand against yours, Rin took your hand in his and intertwined his fingers with yours.

You stared at him as he grew a second head. “What’s this, Rin?”

He released your hand and shrugged. “Soaking up your supposed good luck.” He met Atsumu’s gaze for the third time and this time, it was Rin’s turn to smirk.

⋆｡° mikage reo

Reo glanced over the crowd of people in his apartment again, spotting his own teammates as well as other friends and friends of friends. He frowned when he didn’t see you anywhere. Chigiri, who he had been chatting with, patted him on the back and said, “Be patient, I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”

Reo sighed and offered him a tight-lipped smile. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket a few moments later and he reached for it frantically, a message from you on his lockscreen. He swiped across the screen to open it.

You [10:32 PM] sorry i’m running late!! you said u were ok if i brought a friend right?

Reo typed back a quick reply. Of course! The more the merrier hahaha

You [10:34 PM] perf! we’re about a block away

When you said you’d be bringing a friend, Reo had expected it to be one of your girl friends. When he opened his door, however, he didn’t expect to see the semi-familiar, six-foot-three form of pro-basketball player Kagami Taiga standing beside you.

You beamed at Reo, throwing your arms around his shoulder in a hug. “Thanks so much for the invite,” you said. You pulled back to introduce the two of them, and Kagami said, “I think we’ve met before. Mikage, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Reo chuckled but he could hear how strained he sounded. There were a thousand thoughts racing through his head, though the loudest one was Who is Kagami to you? You had called him a friend, but really, what did that mean? Was he just a friend or was he a friend?

He realized he had been just standing there, so Reo moved to the side and said, “Sorry, come in.”

As the night progressed, Reo found himself torn between being happy you wanted to spend time with him and irritation that you also insisted on dragging Kagami along with you. He forgot that you had spent a lot of your childhood in America, where you apparently had known Kagami. When you moved to Japan for high school, when you and Reo met, you lost touch with Kagami and only recently reconnected.

As you regaled him with stories about you and Kagami, not only from when you were kid but also from the past few months after you got in touch again, Reo resisted the urge to frown. The two of you sounded close and he didn’t appreciate the affectionate glances Kagami threw you when he thought no one could see. Was this it? Was he going to lose you?

“So,” Kagami asked, “how did you two meet?”

“Oh!” You smiled so brightly at Reo and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Back in the first year of high school, I saw Reo buy a drink from one of the school vending machines but it didn’t come out, so I offered to stick my hand up and grab it.”

Kagami snickered. “Were you successful?”

“Yup!” You wrapped an arm around Reo’s waist, leaning into him. “That’s how we became friends.” As you launched into stories about yours, Reo’s, and later on, Nagi’s exploits in high school, Reo couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through his chest as you spoke fondly about him. Maybe there was a chance for him, after all.

⋆｡° nagi seishiro

All Nagi had wanted was to have a lazy Saturday with you. They had been given a brief break in training and he immediately asked if you wanted to hang out with him, to which you enthusiastically agreed and asked if he wanted to come over to your apartment to watch movies, play video games, and relax all around. Nagi couldn’t have jumped quicker at the opportunity.

What he didn’t anticipate was one of your other friends, a pro-volleyball player named Bokuto Koutarou, weaseling his way into these plans too. Apparently, his team was also giving their players a week’s reprieve from practice and training. And suddenly, your two person plan became three and Nagi’s hope for a peaceful day was shattered because, as he quickly discovered, Bokuto Koutarou was very loud and very energetic.

Nagi pouted from behind his phone, peeking up at you and Bokuto, who were animatedly discussing something one of your mutual friends did. He didn’t even really care that he wasn’t in the conversation given that he had no idea what was going on; what he did care about was how Bokuto monopolized you and the way your eyes were so bright around him. Was that the kind of guy you liked? Hyperactive and noisy?

Nagi’s frustration only grew when his phone screen flashed a big GAME OVER sign at him. Then, he watched as Bokuto leaned close to you, reaching towards your hair and pulling out what he claimed to be a piece of fuzz or whatever, and Nagi felt his tenuous patience snap. Time to get serious, it seemed.

Nagi stood up from the chair he was sitting in, plopping on your other side on the couch and draping his large body of yours. Both you and Bokuto startled a little and Nagi felt a sick sense of pleasure when he saw Bokuto’s eyes narrow at him. Nagi’s voice came out in a low purr, feigning drowsiness as he asked, “Can we watch that Netflix movie we planned on today?” His eyes flickered up to Bokuto’s face, his silent message clear: Let’s watch the movie we planned on before we were rudely interrupted.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #mikage reo x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #rin x reader #reo x reader #nagi x reader

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kroosluvr · 25 days

Text

royal trio tennis au sketches and notes and stuff YAYYY YAY

EDIT ALSO I HOPE EVEYRONE LIKES THE SIGNATURES I CAME UP FOR THEM IN 2 SECONDS ON THE LAST SLIDE

(for clarification there r actually 2 persona tennis aus housed in my head

1) this one where royal trio are pro players striving to become intl stars

2) like a persona q3 thing where everyone plays team tennis @ their respective clubs/schools and its fun and awesome)

more notes under the cut

these r gonna be stream of consciousness bear w me ill keep it short bc imlazy

goro is born into the sport bc shido is like an intl tennis superstar but as with canon he dgaf about goro at all. his mom is dead too. etc. he probably never sees his dad except on tv and hes probably tossed around various boarding schools/tennis camps/etc so goro strives to become even BETTER of a player than his dad so 1) shido looks at him and acknowledges him and respects him 2) he can SURPASS him. thats his entire goal. anyway he prob shoulders huge expectations like oh thats ur dad so u must be a good player right and then those expectations he inflcits on himself.

sumire picks up tennis maybe around age 9-10 or so, when before that she did rhythmic gymnastics with kasumi. but even from an early age she was discontented by how Good kasumi was, almost intrinsically, and she had a gut feeling that made her switch tracks to tennis - also a sort of independent sport where SHE HERSELF can succeed on the court, without needing to depend on others. yet she still feels pressured by kasumi's success which gets in her way a lot. she feels determined to carve a name for herself bc THIS is the path she chose, so she better fucking make it count. those expectations on herself weigh heavily as well. in addition i think her parents literally dont gaf like if she becomes an intl superstar (not maliciously they just genuinely want sumire to be happy and dont demand success of her) but she kinda is like "wow they dont expect anything of me because im bad at it? then ill just have to become AMAZING so theyll have to be astounded" kinda thing

meanwhile akira was always a sporty/athletic kid, he doesnt have much attn from his parents so hes just doing whatever. soccer baseball basketball the works. but he picks up tennis at maybe age 13 and hes GOOD. so he immediately gets like scouted and Trained and he like improves in record time. hes real chill and relaxed about it though because he never Needed tennis the way sumire and goro do. hes just out here for fun and games literally. if he wins he wins - but the thing is, akira kurusu hates losing. thats the thing that propels him to the top.

shujin academy is still the same private school we know but they also house a tennis academy known as the shujin tennis academy yeah yeahyaeeayhah and they just train the coolest of players and the royal trio r their pride and joy etc

cont'd here

#cele draws #cele talks #(bc i do talk a lot here. damn)#royal trio #akira kurusu #goro akechi #sumire yoshizawa #persona tennis au #persona 5 royal #p5r

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babyleostuff · 5 months

Text

ICE PRINCESS | CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

warning | one, slightly dirty joke at the end

“It’s because of my knee.”

“Your knee is fine now, Cheol. You just suck at skating!” You laughed at your boyfriend, who had trouble standing on his own two feet, wobbling in every possible direction and looking like a little giraffe who was learning to walk. “Stop making excuses.”

“I’m not mak- FUCK!” He shouted as the tip of his left ice skate got caught in the ice, making him fall forward in the most unfashionable way you could’ve imagined.

“And there goes your idol image,” you giggled, skating up to him quickly. He looked adorable lying there on the ice like a little clumsy child, but at the same time, it was hilarious seeing little kids who had barely learned to walk and were already skating around, passing your boyfriend like pros.

“I told you to hold my hand,” you said softly, fixing his beanie that fell over his eyes when he fell. “But you always know better, Choi Seungcheol.”

“That’s not true,” he whined, looking up at you with his famous pout and big puppy eyes, melting any annoyance his stubbornness caused you. “I’m good at sports, I am,” Seungcheol said, clearly irritated. “Why do I fucking suck at skating then?”

“Baby,” you sighed, cupping his cold cheeks in your hands and mentally making a note to take a photo of him later, because with his bread cheeks covered with a pink blush, he looked so adorable it was insane. “You can’t be good at everything. Besides, ice skating is like the only thing I can think of that you’re not that good at.”

He looked at you with disappointment, as if his inability to skate made him any less of a man. You knew Seungcheol thrived off being the strong and capable in your relationship, so when there was something he wasn’t excelling at, it always made him upset.

“I hate this,” he mumbled, covering his face with his hand. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“That’s enough, Seungcheol,” you said angrily, grabbing his hand. “Yes, you’re no ice princess, but it’s not embarrassing to fall. Take a look around you,” you grabbed his chin, tilting his head to the side where a couple just fell down, the girl landing on the guy. “See? You’re not the only one that isn’t a champion at ice skating. This isn’t the Olympics, Cheollie.”

He watched as the girl helped the boy up, their laughter audible even from a distance, and he looked back at you with big eyes. “Will you hold my hand this time?” Seungcheol asked with a shy smile on his lips.

“Course I’ll hold your hand,” you said and intertwined your fingers, earning a quiet giggle from your boyfriend.

…

“Look at me, baby!” Seungcheol exclaimed happily, his arms extended awkwardly out to the sides, as he slowly but surely skated over the ice. “I’m ice skating!”

“Yes you are, Cheol,” you smiled, following his every move in case he’d fall again. His knee was doing much better now, but you didn't know if it would survive another fall onto hard ice. “You’re doing great.”

He looked back at you with a big grin and grabbed your hand again, pulling you towards him, so your bodies slightly crashed at the impact.

“After all, I just might be an ice princess,” he smiled at you proudly, showing off his dimples.

You scrunched your nose, not being able to handle his cuteness as he pulled you closer to his chest. “You’re full of surprises, Choi Seungcheol.”

“Don’t call me that,” he pouted, his breath over your lips. “Okay,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth teasingly. “Choi Seungcheol.”

He huffed as his sweet smile changed into a well known smirk. “You’re in for a night, baby.”

“Will I have to call you ice princess instead of daddy, then?”

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @f4iryjjosh @isabellah29 @hafsah-ali @mrswonwooo @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @chillseo @bangantokchy @hrts4hanniehae @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng

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kindestofkings · 6 months

Text

tongue-tied (sunflowers)

lando norris x reader

dets: reader is a pro golfer, a massive f1 fan and best friends with lily muni he. will she enter her wag era?

authors note: I litch dont know a thing about golf and I know you can tell lol xx ENJOY

faceclaim: madeline argy

yourusername

liked by lilymhe and others

yourusername just wanted to assure everyone im still alive ! just working away and falling more in love with lilymhe, better watch out alexalbon xxx

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lilymhe my love !! training is always so fun with you

alexalbon heyy you're meant to say stop falling in love with me! ive a boyfriend 😑 lilymhe eh why bother :))

ynfan1 can't wait to see you in action on the green!!

ynfan2 🔥🔥🔥

lilymhe

liked by alex_albon and others

lilymhe the mixed weather has not stopped us getting some practice in! (its impossible to keep her attention when there's a gp on 🙄)

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yourusername but it's the azerbaijan grand prix! I never miss a grand prix!

lilymhe first alex now you 🙄 🙄

f1fan1 can alobono fight? CAN HE FIGHT??

alex_albon you mean i'm not the only f1 lover in your life???

yourusername oi I was the first mister ! been a mclaren fan since birth 😤 lilymhe tbf she isn't lying... ynfan1 it is sooo common knowledge that yourusername is a ride or die mclaren fan lol yourusername yeah get with it albon

yourusername

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yourusername home and showered in time for the miami grand prix this is a full time job !

kind followers this pact of doritos is a secret between us, got it? so if my personal trainer asks you saw NOTHING, got it?

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ynfan1 yn and lily being f1 fans is so cute !

lilymhe oooh but doritos are your sad snack ? whats happening

yourusername the fav ended in p17 😭 congrats to albonononono tho, i guess alex_albon wow could that have been anymore heartfelt ! lilymhe sush shes a mclaren girlie, don't kick her while she's down!! f1fan1 soooo me coded. its a hard time for us mclaren girlies rn.

yourusername

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yourusername greens beautiful as always! unfortunately inviting alex_albon along with us backfired entirely cause albon didn't bring an papaya wearing f1 friend, so I just thirdwheeled for the day .

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alex_albon oh sorry I think oscar was busy today :(

yourusername thats not who I meant and you know it ! 😑

lilymhe at least you look cute tho!

ynfan1 im litch not a golf fan but I'm obsessed with you lol

ynfan2 I feel so seen, I recognise a lando norris fan when I see one !

landonorris

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landonorris freshhhh

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f1fan1 lando finally past his puberty danny ric is proud

f1fan2 he so fine

landofan1 😳❤️

yourusername

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yourusername it's the monaco grand prix and not only am I not missing it, I'm here! thank qqqq mclaren <33

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ynfan1 ahhhh OMG I hope you meet lando finally

lilymhe babe come williams garage xx

yourusername on my way bestie! gotta tell you about the most awkward encounter EVER lilymhe 🫢🫢

mclaren so glad to have you with us today!

landonorris just followed you!

yourusername

liked by lilymhe and others

yourusername attended my first grand prix after being a fan of the sport my whole life! was so chronically awkward I'll never show my face in public again, I've turned to the drink and am hiding away xxx

unrelated: is there a support group for people who embarrassed themselves in front of their celebrity crush??

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lilymhe it can't possible have been THAT BAD

ynfan1 you looked so pretty tho!

ynfan1 also have you forgotten you're a PROFESSIONAL sportswoman yourself lilymhe they are so right ! you slay always yourusername 🥹🥹

mclaren please come join us for another weekend ! celeb crushes can go both ways you know ....

ynfan1 OH OH OH NORIZZ has a crush on you YAYYY

alex_albon leave you both unsupervised for a DAY and you implode

yourusername you said you would be my wingman, I was unprepared 😔😔

landonorris if you do find one can I also get the number to that support group?

osarpiastri please for the well being of everyone, I cannot hear a recap of this meeting alex_albon we should have stuck with the original plan and gone golfing ffs landonorris kick a guy while he's down why don't you yourusername hello ! hi guys just gentle reminder this is my comment section so I can like ... see everything.... landonorris hi 😳 alex_albon oh ffs help lilymhe

britishgq

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britishgq meets yourusername in our next edition. yn is the pinnacle of modern women, with titles like the 'people's princess' circulating. we believe it's high time for a proper catch-up.

oh, and did we mention she's currently britain's highest-ranking female golfer?

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yourusername ahh this is surreal, I had so much fun!!

britishgq 💓💓

lilymhe I say thats my bestie and I am PROUD

lilymhe a model and a killer sportswoman, someone wife her up before I do ! f1fan1 hahaha thats landos warning

ynfan1 I feel so proud omg!!

ynfan2 oh hello lando lurking in the likes

alex_albon oh?

landonorris

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landonorris have been getting some private lessons in between races, watch out carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 aye you'll need a miracle

landonorris and who says I haven't got one...

alex_albon you'd wanna start returning my calls mate

landofan1 oh hello WHO ARE YOU SOFT LAUNCHING

ynfan1 *whispers* please be yn please be yn 🤞

lilymhe BESTIE STEALER

ynfan1 ahh its SO is yn

yourusername

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yourusername golf golf golf, also I drove a fancy car and didnt crash! waiting for that call from mclaren any second now xx

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lilymhe look at you all adorable and loved up <3

alex_albon these kids are growing up so fast ! f1fan you are everyones parents xx

mclaren getting rid of our first driver as we speak !!

landonorris you are leaving out the detail that you mounted the curb...

yourusername and I can leave the detail of you out of my life if you dont watch ynfan1 HE KNOWS THE DETAILS

landojpg

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landojpg summer break well spent.

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ynfan1 I spot my hero !! must be dating if she's on holiday with the friends

landofan1 ew is lily's friend hanging out of him AGAIN?? get a job christ

ynfan1 you do realise shes a professional golfer right?? ynfan2 there's this thing called holidays ....

lilymhe please give her back to me... you can take alex!

landojpg he's not as cute tho 😔 alex_albon so you're saying I am cute tho? 😎

landonorris added to their story!

the prettiest papaya supporter🧡

replies:

yourusername ah give a girl some warning before you hardlaunch her to your millions of fans... yourusername kinda so cute tho Ill let you away with it <3 lilymhe AH hardlaunch on main danielricciardo does landonorizz have ... rizz??

_finished_

as always would LOVE to know you're thoughts! come chat about this fic or even ideas you have for my next one??

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #lando norris fanfic #f1driver!reader #smau

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