emmaxdelicate - Tumblr blog

emmaxdelicate · 26 days ago

Text

BACK TO YOU | op81 x reader

summary: after years apart, Oscar returnsbut you're engaged, and you've got to male a decision.

warnings: angst, making out, infidelity, unresolved feelings, the timeline is absolutely not accurate but i didn't know how to put this up.

word count: 4k

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!best friend!reader

a/n: wrote this on the train omw to see sabrina(WHATT), I picture the mom as maryl streep cause i just watched mamma Mia.

Year 2005 - 4 years old

Oscar is the first friend you ever remember having.

The day your mother decided to visit her friend's house definitely changed your whole life.

Seeing the brown haired little boy, same age as you, standing there looking at you and asking you to play with him– you didn't know it then, but it would shape your life.

After some couple of visits at your mom's friend house, you became friends.

He didn't go to the same school as you, but that was okay. Quickly, almost all of your evenings were spent with him at the playground, getting ice cream together or playing in his backyard.

Year 2007 - 6 years old

It was time for both of you to start primary school and– oh– how happy you were when you found out that Oscar was going to be in your same school. Having him by your side made everything feel less scary.

"I told you we'd always stay together" he said, smiling at you in front of the school entrance.

"You didn't tell me that," you giggled "you said we'd always be friends."

"Same thing," he shrugged "but now we get to have lunch together!"

Your smile widened, but it quickly turned into a half-frown. "What if we're not in the same class?"

Oscar's face smile for a second. "Then I promise we'll find eachother at every break."

"You promise?"

"I promise." He held out his pinky finger to you.

You quickly intertwined yours with his. His words made you feel happier.

And as you spetted in the new school side by side, you knew that as long as you two were with eachother, everything would've been okay.

2010 - 9 years old

By now, you and Oscar had become inseperable. Every morning, you would find eachother in front of school without even trying, and then in the afternoon you raced for who could get to the park first.

But some things were starting to change.

He started spending more time with the boys in your class. The ones who talked about soccer all the time and things you didn't really care about. You really didn't mind–or at least, you told yourself you didn't– but some days, you felt like he was silently slipping away.

One day, when the bell rang, you ran outside like always, expecting for him to follow. But he didn't.

You turned around, he was already walking off with them, he didn't even turn around.

You hesitated, then swallowed the lump in your throat and sat down on the swing alone.

Few minutes later, you heard footsteps approaching.

"Are you okay?" Oscar's voice cut through the silence.

You looked up, surprised "I thought you were playing with them."

"I was, but then I saw you. Why didnt you come over?"

You kicked at the dirt "Didn't think you'd notice."

Oscar frowned. ��Of course, I noticed.” He sat down on the swing next to you, bumping his shoulder against yours. “You’re my best friend.”

The knot in your chest loosened, just a little. “Even if you like soccer now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t even like it that much.” Then, a smirk. “Besides, none of them can beat me in a race across the field like you can.”

You grinned despite yourself. “Obviously.”

And just like that, everything felt okay again.

Year 2013 - 12 years old

Oscar has recently started to get into karting. He talked about cars all the time, sometimes you had to pretend that you understood whatever he was telling you– but you listened anyway, because he was oscar.

He also started racing, and you were there every single time.

"Are you nervous?" You asked him as he sat on the edge of his kart, helmet resting on his lap.

He shrugged, "Not really," but you could see how his fingers tightened around the strap.

You raised an eyebrow. "Liar."

He let out a small laugh. "Okay, maybe a little." He sighed and glanced towards the track. "I just... I want to win."

"You will." Your voice was steady, like you weren't even a bit unsure.

——

You stood on the side of the track, watching as Oscar steered through the curves with ease.

He was good. Better than you had expected.

Each turn, each overtake—it was like he belonged there. The quiet, sometimes awkward boy you grew up with had disappeared the moment he put on that suit, replaced by someone confident, sharp, and completely in control.

When he crossed the finish line in second place, you swore you had never cheered so loud in your life.

He found you right after, breathless, his hair a mess as he took off his helmet. “Second,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

“You were amazing,” you grinned.

He exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. “I wanted to win.”

You rolled your eyes. “You will. Next time.”

He looked at you for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Next time.”

And he did. It was the first of many, and you were there every single time.

But what you didn’t know—what neither of you knew—was that each race was bringing him closer to something bigger. Something that, one day, might take him away from you.

Year 2014 - 13 years old

You liked him. Not Oscar. Another boy from school. He was nice, funny, and, for some reason, he actually paid attention to you.

You're not sure when it all started. Maybe when he smiled at you on the hallway, maybe when he sat next to you in class. And when he turned to you to ask you something, you sometimes wonder what it'd be like if he like you back.

He didn't. You just had to learn the hard way.

You overheard him talking to some other boys about a girl from anothe class. About how she was so cute and nice. And just like that, every hope you had just shattered.

You didn't want it to show, so you just tried to act normal.

But of course, Oscar noticed.

"What's wrong?" He asked later that day at your house, both pretending to watch some movie.

"Nothing." You mumbled, curled up against the armrest.

He didn't buy it. "Come on," he nudged your knee with his, "just tell me."

"It's stupid." You exhaled, moving it away.

And then he just stayed silent. Like he always did. Always just being there, so that you knew you could always talk to him.

"I liked someone," you admitted finally. "And he likes someone else.

He stayed quiet for a bit. "He's an idiot then." He finally spoke up.

You let out a little, quiet laugh. "That doesn't really help."

"But it's true," his voice was steady. "If he can't see how great you are than he's not worth it"

Something about how he said that made your heart twist. Too sincere– too Oscar.

You swallowed, forcing a smile. "You have to say that, you're my best friend."

He shook his head and looked at you like he wanted to say more. But instead, he just pulled you in for an hug. You rested your head on his shoulder.

The ache in chest was still there, but with Oscar by your side it didn't feel quite as heavy.

And maybe, just maybe, you were looking for love in the wrong place.

Year 2015 - 14 years old

He wouldn’t look at you. That was the first sign.

Oscar always looked at you, even when he was lying, even when he was nervous. But today, he kept his eyes on the ground, his fingers pulling at the loose threads on the sleeve of his hoodie.

You were sitting at your usual spot—your spot—at the park just down the street from his house. It was warm out, the kind of late afternoon that begged for peace and quiet. Instead, you were waiting for the moment that would change everything.

“So… I’m leaving.”

Your stomach twisted. “What do you mean leaving?”

“For karting. It’s getting serious. There’s a team in England that wants me full-time. I’ll be based there from now on.”

The words hit like static—sharp and hard to focus on.

“What? For how long?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. A while. Maybe… permanently.”

You blinked at him, trying to process it. You knew he was talented. You knew karting was becoming more than just a weekend hobby. But this—moving—leaving you—

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“I didn’t know how,” he said quickly. “I didn’t want you to be mad.”

“Mad? Oscar, I’m not mad. I’m—” you cut yourself off, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m just not ready for this.”

He finally looked at you. His eyes were soft, guilty. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

“But you are.”

Silence settled between you. And maybe that was the worst part—there was no real villain in this. No one to blame. Just timing. Just growing up.

You forced a smile. “I always knew you’d go off and do something big.”

He shifted closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re part of that, you know. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

Your throat burned. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

And when he hugged you that night—longer than usual, tighter than ever—you tried not to wonder if it was the beginning of the end.

Because if it was, you didn’t want to let go.

––

Later that summer, he left.

You didn’t cry when he told you the exact date. You didn’t cry when you helped him fold his shirts into that stupid suitcase. And you didn’t cry when his parents invited you to come to the airport with them.

But the second you saw him standing at the gate, ticket in hand, eyes searching for you in the crowd—your chest cracked.

“Do you really have to go?”

He nodded slowly. “I do.”

There was no excitement in his face. Not right now. Just a kind of sad acceptance, like he hated this part of the dream as much as you did.

“I hate you,” you whispered. It was a lie.

“I know,” he said, pulling you into his arms.

You buried your face into his shoulder, breathing him in like it was the last time—because maybe it was. He was warm. Familiar. Yours.

But not for much longer.

“Don’t forget me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

They called his flight. This was it.

You were holding back tears, teeth pressing into your lip so hard it hurt. And then, suddenly, he took your hand.

“There’s something I need to say before I go.”

He looked terrified—but not of the flight. Of this. Of you.

“I like you.”

Your heart stopped.

“I think I’ve liked you for a long time,” he continued, voice soft and rushed, like if he didn’t say it now, he never would. “But I’m leaving, and it’s not fair to ask you to wait for me or promise anything right now.”

You blinked quickly, unsure if this was real or some dream your brain would make up just to hurt you.

“But I will come back,” he said. “And when I do… I’m going to love you. Really. Properly.”

He squeezed your hand. “If you’ll let me.”

You nodded, lips trembling. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Then he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Just once. Warm, gentle, trembling.

“I’ll see you soon. I promise” He pulled you into one last hug.

And then he turned and walked away.

And you stood there, full of hope and something like a promise.

Even though part of you already feared what time and distance could do.

Year 2025 - 24 years old

It's not like you forgot about him, about your promise. You just drifted apart.

Late night calls had become less frequent, you stopped telling him about all the things your friends did at school, and he didn't tell you much about racing.

So when you opened your hotel room door and saw him standing there, it definitely took you by surprise.

He looked older.

Not just in the way his face had changed—sharper jaw, broader shoulders—but in his eyes. Like life had moved faster for him than it should have.

You stood there in silence for a second too long.

And then he smiled, just barely.

“Hey.”

You didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure you could.

“How did you even find me?”

“Took some digging,” he said with a small shrug. “I wasn’t sure you’d even open the door.”

“I almost didn’t.”

Another pause. You were both doing that thing—where your words stayed polite, but your eyes were begging for something real.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted. “A lot, actually.”

“Oscar—”

“Wait. Just let me say this, okay?”

You nodded, barely.

“I remembered the promise,” he said, voice quiet. “The one I made before I left. That when I came back, I’d love you.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“I know. But I meant it.”

You took a breath that hurt.

“You’re a little late.”

He blinked.

You hesitated—then stepped aside just enough for him to see the suitcase by the bed, the white dress hanging on the bathroom door, the ring on your finger.

He didn’t say anything for a long time.

And then finally, just–“Right.”

He nodded once. Like he accepted it. Like he deserved it.

And maybe he did.

“Congratulations,” he said. His voice cracked on the word, just slightly. “Really.”

You wanted to say something—anything—but he was already turning to leave.

"Oscar, wait."

You grabbed his wrist before you could even think about what you were doing.

He turned, slowly, his eyes already glassy, as if he knew—hoped—you’d stop him.

“You can’t just show up like this,” you whispered. “Say all those things and expect me to know what to do with them.”

He held your gaze like it was the last thing anchoring him to the moment.

“I don’t expect anything. I just… I needed you to know.”

“Why now?”

“Because I couldn’t keep wondering. I couldn’t keep pretending that I didn’t leave a part of me behind when I left you.”

You swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in your eyes.

“It wasn’t fair,” you said, voice cracking, “you made a promise and then disappeared.”

“I didn’t mean to forget you.”

“But you did.”

Silence. The kind that buzzed in your ears.

You still hadn’t let go of his wrist. He hadn’t tried to pull away.

“If I wasn’t getting married tomorrow…” you started, but the sentence died in your throat.

Oscar’s expression shifted—just slightly—but he didn’t smile.

“But you are.”

You nodded.

And finally, your fingers loosened their grip.

“Goodbye, Oscar.”

He didn’t say it back.

He just looked at you like you were something he'd been chasing through every racetrack, every airport, every city—and then walked away.

––

This was wrong. God, this was so wrong.

You were getting married tomorrow, for fucks sake! What were you thinking?

This was definitely a compromising situation. Pushed up against the wall with your childhood best friend's tongue down your throat.

His hands wandered over your hips, and your arms were on the nape of his neck.

You two pulled away to breathe. He was giving in again. "Wait– Osc."

He looked at you, breathless. "What?"

"I– Oh my god," You hid your face in your hands. "What am I doing?" You mumbled.

This s

This was wrong. God, this was so wrong.

You were getting married tomorrow, for fuck's sake! What were you thinking?

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He stood there, watching you, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything.

"I don’t know." His voice was low, broken. "I just… I missed you."

His words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. He was looking at you like he hadn't been able to breathe properly for years. And now, here you were—seconds from doing something you would both regret.

But the way he was looking at you—the way he used to—it pulled at something deep inside you. Something you’d buried away so long ago.

"Oscar…" You tried to pull away, but his hands didn’t let you. He was still there, holding on, as if somehow he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

"Don’t… don’t walk away again." His voice cracked, barely audible. It was the sound of a man begging for something he knew he couldn’t have.

"I’m getting married tomorrow," you whispered, barely believing the words yourself.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t step back. Instead, his grip tightened, like he couldn’t bear to let you go, even if you were the one slipping away.

"I don’t care," he said quietly. "I should’ve cared sooner, I know. But I didn’t. And now I do."

You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of his hands on your skin. This was wrong, so wrong—but the way he was looking at you, like he could take you back in time to when everything was simpler, made it harder to think. Harder to do the right thing.

"We can’t do this," you finally said, pulling away just enough to breathe. "I’m not that girl anymore. And you… You’re not that boy. We’ve changed."

Oscar’s gaze faltered. For a moment, you almost saw him as the boy you once knew—the one who promised to come back for you, the one who swore he’d love you one day. But that was a long time ago.

"Maybe not," he said softly. "But part of me still believes in that promise."

And it broke you. Because a part of you still believed in it too.

––

Your heart was racing in your chest like it never had before. The weight of what you've done crushing you.

You'd always hated cheaters. People who couldn't keep their promises. You weren't supposed to be like this.

But now, standing here in the wreckage of your life, you realized that you weren’t just mad at yourself for breaking your own rules. You were mad at yourself for ignoring your own truth. The one you’d buried deep inside, behind the engagement, behind the plans for a future you weren’t even sure you wanted anymore.

So, in a daze, you grabbed your phone and called the one person you always turned to when everything felt like it was falling apart.

"Mom…" Your voice cracked before you could say more.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Her voice was calm, but you could hear the worry underneath.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you whispered. "I just—I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life, and I don’t even know if I can stop it."

There was a long silence on the other end. Your mother had always been the type to let you figure things out on your own, but this time, she didn’t rush to fill the silence.

"Tell me what’s going on," she finally said.

And you did. You told her everything. About Oscar showing up at your hotel room, about the kiss, about the overwhelming weight of your engagement, your future, the promises made and broken.

When you finished, you didn’t hear your mother’s usual comfort or reassurances. Instead, she said something that caught you completely off guard.

"You don’t owe anyone anything, sweetheart." Her voice softened. "You owe it to yourself to be happy. You’ve spent so much time trying to make everyone else happy, trying to live up to what everyone expects from you… but what do you want?"

You stared at the floor, feeling the weight of her words settle over you.

"I don’t know anymore," you admitted. "I thought I did. I thought I was ready. But now—"

"Listen to your heart. If you’re not sure, if it doesn’t feel right, then maybe it’s time to let go. I know you’ve always wanted to do the right thing, but maybe the right thing is following your own path, not the one you’ve been forced to follow."

You closed your eyes, the rush of emotions overwhelming. Your mom was right.

You had been suffocating under the weight of a life you thought you wanted, one that was supposed to be perfect, but was anything but. You weren’t sure what it would look like when you took a different path, but staying on the one you were on was killing you.

"I can’t do this to myself anymore," you whispered. "I’m not happy, Mom. I don’t want to marry him."

Your mom was quiet for a long moment, then spoke softly.

Then don’t. You’re not the same person you were when you made those plans. Do what makes you happy, honey."

And with that, something inside you clicked. You were finally seeing yourself clearly, for the first time in a long while.

You didn’t need to keep running from the truth.

––

The next morning, you made a decision.

You packed your things, your mind made up. You had a lifetime of mistakes to make, but you wouldn’t make this one.

So you wrote a letter. Left it on the bed. Saying you were extremely sorry, that you knew this wasn't a you thing to do, but you just had to.

Then you found Oscar at the lobby

He was standing by the reception, glancing around like he’d been waiting for something, someone. As soon as he saw you, his face lit up with a cautious hope, like he was unsure if this moment would play out the way he wanted it to. But when you walked up to him, he didn’t wait for you to say anything.

“You came.” His voice was softer than you remembered, and it cut through the confusion you’d been living in for the past few hours.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. His eyes never left yours, full of questions you weren’t sure you had answers for.

“Oscar, I—” Your voice faltered. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I had it all figured out. But I don’t. I thought I could make this work, this life with him, but I can’t. Not when... not when it’s not right.”

Oscar’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the room felt like it had paused. You saw the same man you had known since childhood, the one who had always been there, the one who always understood, and yet... this was new. It was different. But it was still him. And you realized, suddenly, that you were still you—the same person you had been, just someone who had learned how to make choices for herself, even if it meant breaking the mold you’d been trying to fit into.

> “Are you saying you—” he began, voice uncertain.

You didn’t need to let him finish. You took a step closer, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for his. “I’m saying that I can’t get married tomorrow. I don’t love him the way I thought I did. I love you, Oscar. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, thick with years of unspoken promises. Oscar’s breath caught, and for a moment, he looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, without another word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he had been waiting for this moment, too.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he whispered into your hair.

“I’ve always known,” you murmured, eyes closing. “But I had to figure it out for myself.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as he smiled at you, a smile that reached his eyes and softened everything around you.

"So what now?” he asked softly. “Do we... do we start over?”

You nodded, feeling something click inside you. Something you hadn’t realized was missing until now.

“Yeah, we do,” you said with a quiet determination. “Together.”

And as you stood there wrapped in his arms, you knew one thing for sure: this was the right choice. You weren’t just choosing him—you were choosing yourself, and what was meant to be.

320 notes · View notes

emmaxdelicate · 1 month ago

Text

i just saw Sabrina perform live what the fuck

#sabrina #she was sooo amazing #sabrina carpenter #Sabrina Carpenter milan #short n sweet #short n sweet tour #short n sweet milan

2 notes · View notes

emmaxdelicate · 1 month ago

Text

here's some photos of oscar from his f2/f3 days that trigger my cuteness aggression

oscar piastri i'd do anything for you 😭😭😭

#the female urge to take care of him #my shayla #WHY is he so cute tho

1K notes · View notes

emmaxdelicate · 1 month ago

Text

FALLING HARD | t.s. x reader

summary: after you get heavily injured, taylor is there for you as always

warnings: injuries, concussion, angst, intentional lowercase

word count: 2k

a/n: finally posted!!! based off this request (changed it a bit). i still don't know anything about football and i also didn't know anything about concussions so i had to make some research but i guess i learned something new lol

pairings: taylor swift x fem!footballplayer!reader

MASTERLIST

the moment it happens, the world slows down.

you see the ball first—spinning in the air, perfectly weighted, perfectly placed. it’s coming right to you, and you know what to do.

your muscles coil, and then you leap.

for a second, it feels like time stops. your body is weightless, suspended mid-air, every nerve in your body tuned in to the movement. you can already picture the ball hitting the back of the net, the roar of the crowd, the celebration—

but then something slams into your side.

the impact is brutal. unexpected. you don’t even have time to react before you’re falling, falling—

and then, pain.

your head smacks against the grass with a force that rattles your skull. a dull, ringing noise floods your ears, and for a moment, you’re just lying there, dazed, staring up at the too-bright sky.

you try to move, but everything is… off. the world tilts dangerously, sounds come in muffled waves, and your stomach twists with nausea.

you’re vaguely aware of people shouting.

the whistle blows.

there’s movement around you—figures rushing over, the thudding of heavy boots on the field.

and then—

“hey, hey, i’m here!”

a voice. her voice.

Taylor.

your eyes flutter, trying to focus, but everything is too much. too loud, too bright, too blurry.

taylor drops to her knees beside you, her hands hovering uncertainly, like she wants to touch you but is afraid she’ll make it worse.

“you’re okay,” she says, her voice shaky. “i’m right here, baby. just breathe.”

you try, but it’s hard. the nausea is getting worse, and the pounding in your skull makes it difficult to concentrate.

someone kneels next to Taylor—a medic, speaking quickly, asking questions you can barely process.

“what’s your name?”

“do you know where you are?”

“can you tell me what happened?”

you barely open your mouth, but the words get tangled before they can leave your throat. your tongue feels heavy, and when you finally manage to mumble something, it comes out slurred.

Taylor’s fingers tighten around yours.

“she’s not making sense,” Taylor says, her voice edged with panic. she looks at the medic. “is that normal? that’s not normal, right?”

“it’s likely a concussion,” the medic says calmly. “we need to keep her still.”

Taylor nods, but she’s clearly barely holding it together. then you try to comprehend what's happening around you, and she looks at you with those eyes, those eyes you'd recognize even if the whole world was there.

you try to smile, but even that feels like too much effort.

everything around you feels distant, like you’re underwater, and then, suddenly, the dizziness spikes.

your stomach churns.

the field spins violently.

and then your body gives out.

your head collapses back onto the grass, head lolling to the side. your vision tunnels, darkness creeping in at the edges.

the last thing you hear is taylor’s panicked voice, calling your name over and over.

the ambulance ride is a blur.

you’re in and out of consciousness, drifting in a fog of pain and exhaustion.

but Taylor is there.

she’s gripping your hand tightly, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in frantic, repetitive motions, like she’s trying to ground you—or maybe herself.

“stay with me, love,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “just a little longer.”

the medic says something about your vitals being stable, about the concussion not seeming severe, but Taylor barely looks at them. her focus is entirely on you.

“talk to me,” she pleads. “tell me what you need.”

you swallow, trying to force your brain to cooperate. “hurts.”

her face crumples for half a second before she composes herself. “i know, baby. i know.”

the ambulance hits a bump, and pain flares through your skull. Your whole body tenses, and Taylor immediately moves closer, cupping your face gently.

“shh, i got you,” she whispers. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and you believe her. even as exhaustion threatens to pull you under—you believe her.

the hospital is cold and sterile and way too bright.

doctors come and go, asking you questions, shining lights in your eyes, running tests.

through it all, Taylor doesn’t leave your side.

she stands next to your hospital bed, arms wrapped around herself, shifting from foot to foot like she physically can’t stay still.

when the doctor finally confirms it’s “just” a concussion and that you’ll be okay, Taylor lets out a breath so heavy it sounds like she’s been holding it since the moment you fell.

she nods, thanks the doctor, and then, as soon as they leave, she sits on the edge of your bed and buries her face in her hands.

you frown. “Tay?”

Her head snaps up immediately. “i’m fine,” she says quickly. “you’re the one who—” she stops, shaking her head, exhaling sharply. “god, you scared me.”

you reach for her hand, and she grips yours like she’s afraid to let go.

“i’m okay,” you whisper.

Taylor lets out a humorless laugh. “yeah? tell that to the part where you collapsed in the middle of the field and scared the hell out of everyone.”

Your fingers tighten around hers. “but I’m here.”

Her eyes soften. “yeah,” she murmurs. “you are.”

for a moment, neither of you speak.

then, finally, Taylor shifts closer, pulling your hand to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“you have no idea how fast i ran onto that field,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “the second i saw you go down—nothing else mattered.”

you offer her a weak smile. “guess i should get injured more often if it makes you that fast.”

taylor groans, pulling away just enough to give you a look. “not funny.”

“a little funny.”

She glares, but the corner of her mouth twitches.

You squeeze her hand again. "i’m sorry i scared you.”

Taylor studies you for a long moment, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, careful to avoid the tender spot where you hit your head.

“just don’t do it again,” she whispers.

you hum in agreement, your body finally succumbing to exhaustion.

Taylor stays.

even when visiting hours end. even when the nurses tell her she should go home and rest.

she just shakes her head, pulls her chair closer to your bed, and laces her fingers with yours.

“i’m staying,” she tells them simply.

and when you drift off to sleep, the last thing you feel is the warmth of her hand in yours, grounding you, keeping you safe.

no matter what happens—Taylor will always be here.

and that’s all you need.

———

one week later

concussions suck.

that’s the first thing you’ve learned since getting out of the hospital.

it’s not just the headache—though, to be fair, the headaches are brutal. it’s the way everything feels off. how your vision blurs when you stand up too fast. how loud noises make you wince. how reading a text for too long makes your brain feel like it’s melting.

the doctors said it would take time. no training, no screens, no overexertion—just rest.

which, in theory, sounded nice.

in reality? it’s hell.

because if there’s one thing you hate more than losing a match, it’s sitting around doing nothing.

unfortunately for you, Taylor is very committed to making sure you follow the rules.

“you’re supposed to be resting.”

you groan, flopping back against the couch. “i am resting.”

Taylor raises an eyebrow, arms crossed as she stands in the living room, watching you like a hawk. “you were trying to sneak out for a run five minutes ago.”

you sigh dramatically. “it was just a light jog.”

Taylor gives you the most unimpressed look you’ve ever seen. “ph, just a jog? with a concussion? no big deal, right?”

you grin at her. “exactly.”

she rolls her eyes but walks over, sitting beside you on the couch. her fingers brush over your forehead gently, like she’s checking for any sign that you might collapse again.

you cover her hand with yours, squeezing lightly. “i’m okay, tay.”

she doesn’t answer right away. instead, she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, right beside the spot where you hit your head.

“i know,” she murmurs. “but you still scared me.”

your heart clenches a little.

Taylor had been strong through everything—staying by your side, holding your hand through the worst of it—but you know how much it rattled her. how hard it was for her to see you hurt and not be able to fix it.

you shift slightly, tucking her against you. “i’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss into her hair.

she lets out a soft sigh, melting against you. “just… promise me you won’t push yourself too hard?”

you hesitate.

pushing yourself is kind of your thing. you don’t know how to sit still, how to take it easy. it’s not in your nature.

but the way Taylor is looking at you—worried, pleading—makes you reconsider.

“…okay,” you say finally. “i promise.”

Taylor exhales, like she’s been holding her breath. “good.”

then she kisses you.

slow, soft, lingering—like she’s reassuring herself that you’re really here, safe in her arms.

and for the first time since the injury, you let yourself fully relax.

two weeks later

the headaches aren’t as bad anymore.

your vision doesn’t blur as much, and you don’t feel like throwing up every time you stand up too fast.

progress.

but you’re still not cleared to train, and it’s driving you insane.

Taylor knows it, too.

that’s why she finds ways to distract you—little things to keep your mind off football.

one day, she brings home a stack of books she thinks you might like. another day, she convinces you to bake cookies with her, even though both of you are terrible at it.

(“these are inedible,” you say after one bite. Taylor shrugs. “at least we tried.”)

but the best days are the quiet ones.

like today, when you wake up from a nap to find Taylor sitting on the floor beside the couch, her head resting on your stomach as she hums softly, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

you blink groggily, your hand finding its way into her hair. “what time is it?”

Taylor shifts slightly, looking up at you. “late.”

you frown. “did i sleep all day?”

“pretty much,” she says, smiling a little. “which is good. you need rest.”

you groan, rubbing your face. “i’m so tired of resting.”

taylor chuckles, sitting up so she can properly look at you. “i know, baby.”

you sigh, reaching for her hand. “i just… i miss playing. i miss moving.”

her fingers squeeze yours. “i know,” she says again, softer this time. “but you’ll be back soon. you just have to give yourself time.”

you sigh, but nod.

taylor shifts closer, tucking herself against you. “wanna watch a movie?”

you hesitate. “i thought I wasn’t supposed to look at screens for too long?”

she grins. “i’ll narrate it for you.”

you laugh. “like an audiobook?”

“exactly.”

and that’s how you end up spending the rest of the night with Taylor curled against you, dramatically narrating Finding Nemo while you try (and fail) to take her seriously.

one month later

you finally get cleared to train again.

it’s a light session—nothing too intense—but just being back on the field feels like everything.

you get home afterward, still a little tired but happier than you’ve been in weeks.

taylor is waiting for you in the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand, a grin on her face.

“to your glorious return,” she says, handing you a glass.

you chuckle, clinking your glass against hers. “it was just training.”

“doesn’t matter,” she says firmly. “it’s still a win.”

you take a sip, then set your glass down and pull Taylor into your arms.

she smiles against your shoulder. “you’re in a good mood.”

you hum. “feels good to be back.”

she pulls back slightly, looking up at you. “you were patient. i know that wasn’t easy for you.”

you smirk. “are you proud of me?”

“so proud,” she teases.

you lean in, kissing her softly. “thanks for taking care of me.”

she smiles, running her fingers through your hair. “always.”

and for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.

you’re back.

and Taylor is still here.

that’s all you need.

#taylor swift #taylornation #emmawrites୨୧ #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift x y/n #taylor swift x fem!reader #swiftie #taylor swift fluff #taylor swift angst

27 notes · View notes

emmaxdelicate · 1 month ago

Text

TAYLOR SWIFT MASTERLIST

one shots and drabbles

karma is my girlfriend (fluff; wc 560)

delicate moments (s; wc 720)

breakfast in bed (f; wc 760)

cheese problems (f, c; wc 430)

smaus

guilty in love

series

football AU

#taylor swift #taylornation #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift x y/n #emmawrites୨୧ #taylor swift x fem!reader #taylor swift fluff

11 notes · View notes

emmaxdelicate · 1 month ago

Text

footballer AU | taylor swift x reader

taylor swift is now dating a player of the female english soccer team!

001. dating the girl on the football team (fluff; wc 890)

002. from the sidelines (fluff, comfort, light angst; wc 1k)

003. falling hard (angst, comfort; wc 2k)

#taylor swift #taylornation #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift x y/n #emmawrites୨୧ #taylor swift x fem!reader #taylor swift fluff #swiftie #taylor swift angst

19 notes · View notes

emmaxdelicate · 1 month ago

Text

FALLING HARD | t.s. x reader

summary: after you get heavily injured, taylor is there for you as always

warnings: injuries, concussion, angst, intentional lowercase

word count: 2k

pairings: taylor swift x fem!footballplayer!reader

MASTERLIST

the moment it happens, the world slows down.

you see the ball first—spinning in the air, perfectly weighted, perfectly placed. it’s coming right to you, and you know what to do.

your muscles coil, and then you leap.

but then something slams into your side.

the impact is brutal. unexpected. you don’t even have time to react before you’re falling, falling—

and then, pain.

your head smacks against the grass with a force that rattles your skull. a dull, ringing noise floods your ears, and for a moment, you’re just lying there, dazed, staring up at the too-bright sky.

you try to move, but everything is… off. the world tilts dangerously, sounds come in muffled waves, and your stomach twists with nausea.

you’re vaguely aware of people shouting.

the whistle blows.

there’s movement around you—figures rushing over, the thudding of heavy boots on the field.

and then—

“hey, hey, i’m here!”

a voice. her voice.

Taylor.

your eyes flutter, trying to focus, but everything is too much. too loud, too bright, too blurry.

taylor drops to her knees beside you, her hands hovering uncertainly, like she wants to touch you but is afraid she’ll make it worse.

“you’re okay,” she says, her voice shaky. “i’m right here, baby. just breathe.”

you try, but it’s hard. the nausea is getting worse, and the pounding in your skull makes it difficult to concentrate.

someone kneels next to Taylor—a medic, speaking quickly, asking questions you can barely process.

“what’s your name?”

“do you know where you are?”

“can you tell me what happened?”

you barely open your mouth, but the words get tangled before they can leave your throat. your tongue feels heavy, and when you finally manage to mumble something, it comes out slurred.

Taylor’s fingers tighten around yours.

“she’s not making sense,” Taylor says, her voice edged with panic. she looks at the medic. “is that normal? that’s not normal, right?”

“it’s likely a concussion,” the medic says calmly. “we need to keep her still.”

you try to smile, but even that feels like too much effort.

everything around you feels distant, like you’re underwater, and then, suddenly, the dizziness spikes.

your stomach churns.

the field spins violently.

and then your body gives out.

your head collapses back onto the grass, head lolling to the side. your vision tunnels, darkness creeping in at the edges.

the last thing you hear is taylor’s panicked voice, calling your name over and over.

the ambulance ride is a blur.

you’re in and out of consciousness, drifting in a fog of pain and exhaustion.

but Taylor is there.

she’s gripping your hand tightly, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in frantic, repetitive motions, like she’s trying to ground you—or maybe herself.

“stay with me, love,” she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “just a little longer.”

the medic says something about your vitals being stable, about the concussion not seeming severe, but Taylor barely looks at them. her focus is entirely on you.

“talk to me,” she pleads. “tell me what you need.”

you swallow, trying to force your brain to cooperate. “hurts.”

her face crumples for half a second before she composes herself. “i know, baby. i know.”

the ambulance hits a bump, and pain flares through your skull. Your whole body tenses, and Taylor immediately moves closer, cupping your face gently.

“shh, i got you,” she whispers. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and you believe her. even as exhaustion threatens to pull you under—you believe her.

the hospital is cold and sterile and way too bright.

doctors come and go, asking you questions, shining lights in your eyes, running tests.

through it all, Taylor doesn’t leave your side.

she stands next to your hospital bed, arms wrapped around herself, shifting from foot to foot like she physically can’t stay still.

when the doctor finally confirms it’s “just” a concussion and that you’ll be okay, Taylor lets out a breath so heavy it sounds like she’s been holding it since the moment you fell.

she nods, thanks the doctor, and then, as soon as they leave, she sits on the edge of your bed and buries her face in her hands.

you frown. “Tay?”

Her head snaps up immediately. “i’m fine,” she says quickly. “you’re the one who—” she stops, shaking her head, exhaling sharply. “god, you scared me.”

you reach for her hand, and she grips yours like she’s afraid to let go.

“i’m okay,” you whisper.

Taylor lets out a humorless laugh. “yeah? tell that to the part where you collapsed in the middle of the field and scared the hell out of everyone.”

Your fingers tighten around hers. “but I’m here.”

Her eyes soften. “yeah,” she murmurs. “you are.”

for a moment, neither of you speak.

then, finally, Taylor shifts closer, pulling your hand to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“you have no idea how fast i ran onto that field,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “the second i saw you go down—nothing else mattered.”

you offer her a weak smile. “guess i should get injured more often if it makes you that fast.”

taylor groans, pulling away just enough to give you a look. “not funny.”

“a little funny.”

She glares, but the corner of her mouth twitches.

You squeeze her hand again. "i’m sorry i scared you.”

Taylor studies you for a long moment, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, careful to avoid the tender spot where you hit your head.

“just don’t do it again,” she whispers.

you hum in agreement, your body finally succumbing to exhaustion.

Taylor stays.

even when visiting hours end. even when the nurses tell her she should go home and rest.

she just shakes her head, pulls her chair closer to your bed, and laces her fingers with yours.

“i’m staying,” she tells them simply.

and when you drift off to sleep, the last thing you feel is the warmth of her hand in yours, grounding you, keeping you safe.

no matter what happens—Taylor will always be here.

and that’s all you need.

———

one week later

concussions suck.

that’s the first thing you’ve learned since getting out of the hospital.

the doctors said it would take time. no training, no screens, no overexertion—just rest.

which, in theory, sounded nice.

in reality? it’s hell.

because if there’s one thing you hate more than losing a match, it’s sitting around doing nothing.

unfortunately for you, Taylor is very committed to making sure you follow the rules.

“you’re supposed to be resting.”

you groan, flopping back against the couch. “i am resting.”

Taylor raises an eyebrow, arms crossed as she stands in the living room, watching you like a hawk. “you were trying to sneak out for a run five minutes ago.”

you sigh dramatically. “it was just a light jog.”

Taylor gives you the most unimpressed look you’ve ever seen. “ph, just a jog? with a concussion? no big deal, right?”

you grin at her. “exactly.”

she rolls her eyes but walks over, sitting beside you on the couch. her fingers brush over your forehead gently, like she’s checking for any sign that you might collapse again.

you cover her hand with yours, squeezing lightly. “i’m okay, tay.”

she doesn’t answer right away. instead, she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, right beside the spot where you hit your head.

“i know,” she murmurs. “but you still scared me.”

your heart clenches a little.

you shift slightly, tucking her against you. “i’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss into her hair.

she lets out a soft sigh, melting against you. “just… promise me you won’t push yourself too hard?”

you hesitate.

pushing yourself is kind of your thing. you don’t know how to sit still, how to take it easy. it’s not in your nature.

but the way Taylor is looking at you—worried, pleading—makes you reconsider.

“…okay,” you say finally. “i promise.”

Taylor exhales, like she’s been holding her breath. “good.”

then she kisses you.

slow, soft, lingering—like she’s reassuring herself that you’re really here, safe in her arms.

and for the first time since the injury, you let yourself fully relax.

two weeks later

the headaches aren’t as bad anymore.

your vision doesn’t blur as much, and you don’t feel like throwing up every time you stand up too fast.

progress.

but you’re still not cleared to train, and it’s driving you insane.

Taylor knows it, too.

that’s why she finds ways to distract you—little things to keep your mind off football.

one day, she brings home a stack of books she thinks you might like. another day, she convinces you to bake cookies with her, even though both of you are terrible at it.

(“these are inedible,” you say after one bite. Taylor shrugs. “at least we tried.”)

but the best days are the quiet ones.

like today, when you wake up from a nap to find Taylor sitting on the floor beside the couch, her head resting on your stomach as she hums softly, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm.

you blink groggily, your hand finding its way into her hair. “what time is it?”

Taylor shifts slightly, looking up at you. “late.”

you frown. “did i sleep all day?”

“pretty much,” she says, smiling a little. “which is good. you need rest.”

you groan, rubbing your face. “i’m so tired of resting.”

taylor chuckles, sitting up so she can properly look at you. “i know, baby.”

you sigh, reaching for her hand. “i just… i miss playing. i miss moving.”

her fingers squeeze yours. “i know,” she says again, softer this time. “but you’ll be back soon. you just have to give yourself time.”

you sigh, but nod.

taylor shifts closer, tucking herself against you. “wanna watch a movie?”

you hesitate. “i thought I wasn’t supposed to look at screens for too long?”

she grins. “i’ll narrate it for you.”

you laugh. “like an audiobook?”

“exactly.”

and that’s how you end up spending the rest of the night with Taylor curled against you, dramatically narrating Finding Nemo while you try (and fail) to take her seriously.

one month later

you finally get cleared to train again.

it’s a light session—nothing too intense—but just being back on the field feels like everything.

you get home afterward, still a little tired but happier than you’ve been in weeks.

taylor is waiting for you in the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand, a grin on her face.

“to your glorious return,” she says, handing you a glass.

you chuckle, clinking your glass against hers. “it was just training.”

“doesn’t matter,” she says firmly. “it’s still a win.”

you take a sip, then set your glass down and pull Taylor into your arms.

she smiles against your shoulder. “you’re in a good mood.”

you hum. “feels good to be back.”

she pulls back slightly, looking up at you. “you were patient. i know that wasn’t easy for you.”

you smirk. “are you proud of me?”

“so proud,” she teases.

you lean in, kissing her softly. “thanks for taking care of me.”

she smiles, running her fingers through your hair. “always.”

and for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.

you’re back.

and Taylor is still here.

that’s all you need.

#taylor swift #taylornation #emmawrites୨୧ #taylor swift fanfiction #taylor swift x reader #taylor swift x y/n #taylor swift x fem!reader #swiftie #taylor swift fluff #taylor swift angst

27 notes · View notes