#greatest sports photographs

[chlmtsdoll]

Guys I loved writing the first short n sweet inspo fic so here’s more bc that ovulation album is too good <3

WHERE ART THOU ? WHY NOT UPONETH ME ?

౨ৎ Summary: your hosting a slumber party at Art’s mansion. But you can’t quite stay away from your pull to get the man in a room where there are no others. Inspo from Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter 🤍

+ 18 | very much smut !, unprotected sex, age gap, (reader early 20’s) dilf!Art, size kink, first daddy kink fic (omg) semi-public sex, oral (f) reviving, pet names, this made me feel a bit slutty just writing it, needy!reader, fatherly Art ;)

A/N: the fucking edits on tiktok of Mike to Bed Chem are making me go insane ! just when I thought there was no possible way for me to be crazier over this man omfg. So I had to give the girls a fic to go w it ofc <3

It was like fate. The day you met him.

Nothing could of been more perfect when the stars aligned to bring you to accompany your solid group of trust fund friends to one of his tournaments that evening. You were like most girls your age, makeup, pop music, nice ornaments for your wardrobe — you weren’t the kind of girl that could say she knew much about sports, and certainly little to nothing to be caught landing a seat at the us open... but eventually that grew to be a substantial part of what found him to be so drawn to you.

It was that day when you’d been in the bleachers watching the blonde play like it was his life’s greatest prophecy. For the first time in your still too little years of living, you’d never felt that aroused by a man you’d only saw from the mere view of him hitting a ball with a racket.

But he was unearthly.

Built like how men used to be. Face like it came straight from heaven. Serve like he knew a thing or two in bed.

You were drunk on want, need for him. You were damn lucky your friends were loaded enough to go to all the after parties with most of the star athletes. It was insane to you that you would follow the vip and your most sports driven friends (enthusiast if you will.) to where the elites spend their time. You wanted a nice hang out. Good food. Expensive drinks. But it was between you and the universe that you’d leave with so much more.

You were in a sheer dress and kitten heels when he spotted you. Just his star studded sly smile from across the event hall, when he saw you and your friends conversing in mostly a pretentious manner like most kids your age did when they could afford the lifestyle most people only dreamed of. But not you, you were entranced, pulled away. By his wide, blue eyes that you assumed filled with the same yearn you’d been struck with. And to your quick manifest, Art was gazing right back at you.

Only sharing a couple brief exchanges with the tall and stature, modest but kindly — beautiful and magnetic man around mutual friends, before you’d both been rushed to leave. Him with his team, and you with your entourage.

Like that you were tied to the tennis star in the blink of a moment. And Soon enough — being photographed with him around the heat of the city.

Games, athlete dinner parties, press events. Even photos of you two sharing more than a couple of words, maybe even kisses, behind menus at glamorous rooftop restaurants. Magazine outlets went crazy through the roof in just a few weeks time. Milking whatever they could out of Art Donaldson and his controversially younger girlfriend.

They didn’t have enough tabs on what you two had officially been to one another and that was perfect for the two of you. Because now that time has pushed you and the blonde closer and more into each other — you’d spend days and nights locked away with Art in his new found mansion post his former divorce. Home so beautifully articulated and big enough for you to be extra generous with your time with the dream boat of a man.

It would go down in history what the two of you had done in every room.

Now, a gorgeous weekend ahead of you after your week that was always filled with Art treating you to the finest cooked dinners, at home date nights filled with breezy smiles and full closeness to balance your dates out on the town. Going wherever you felt just to hold hands under umbrellas and traffic lights. With all the new adorned love in your life, and man with too much mystic taking up your time, it had been a good minute since you saw your girlfriends, caught up or shared a drink. You were just so wound up in Art and the way he treated you like a princess to, and in your own world.

So you’d asked Art if you could host a sweet little sleepover for you and your girls at the mansion — and of course he complied. It was anything for his perfect girl since the beginning.

“I could ask the chef to whip up some,” Art spoke into you as he held your hips in his vast hands running carefully over the hem of your satin bottoms as you stood in the middle of the spacious kitchen with him.

“That’s okay, I wanna do it.” You laughed softly, as you stared up at the man. “Nothing says fun girls night like making our own home made friandises”

Art had tilted his head in slight confusion with eyes in question to your tone when you’d practice what you’d been learning in your French courses on him. It was all the most adorable to you really. Your laugh echoed.

“Treats, baby.”

“I- - I knew that,” He scoffed and your giggles were infectious with delight to him.

“It’s gonna be fun. We’ll watch movies, paint our nails, share snacking tips. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the girls.”

Art grinned at the way you lit up with excitement, and his icy eyes looked down at your figure below him. He tried not to bite down on his lip at the way you were in the pajamas usually he only saw you in. Pink lace two piece jammies. Completely recognized because he got them for you. The transparency to them was way too easy on the eyes.

Arts tongue darted out to wet his lips before he questioned, “Is that what you’re wearing ? There aren’t gonna be any boys.. right ?”

“No, silly. That of course counts out you — if.. you wanna join us.” You looked up at him through your lightly mascara coated lashes, it felt as if the flirtatiousness through your gaze just hooked Art by the belt.

“No, no. I’ll give you and your friends your space, doll.” The blonde gave you a chary little smile, “I really doubt they’d want an old man around while you’re trying to have fun.”

“Quit it ! You’re not old. And they adore you.” You stood on the tips of your toes, Art met you so you could leave a sweet kiss on his cheek, with a blush to your own.

“Thank’s for letting me have this little party, baby.”

“Course, what else would be better use for all this space ? Other than for the amusement of twenty something girls.”

Art chuckled and you surely were in agreement, because when your girlfriends did arrive it was immediately shrieks of girlish camaraderie and chatter of awe as you brought them around the place of posh and eloquent nature. Your laugh could of been heard from the other side of the place where Art had eventually been stored away for the night while your hands were knee deep in cookie dough and rainbow sprinkles. Pj sets all from the brands you and your friends never stopped talking about. Having your night filled with reruns of classic movies to sipping champagne.. and the wine, red, (your pick) was certainly slipping through you as the moments went on.

You’d been with your best friend when you two had a moment alone to catch up in one of the halls of the buoyant abode. Whispers and giggles coming from between the two of you as a glass of wine hung from your palm.

“God, he was a such a cutie.” She coo’d as you two had found a very special wall of framed photos of Art from back in his prime tennis days. The blonde around your age who seemed filled with joyfully energetic faces and awards from across the globe. A smile woke upon your face as you folded your arm to admire the man you’d now call your own.

“Sometimes I wish I’d known him then,” you simpered. “But I’m beyond lucky now. Because he’s still cute, and sexier.”

You tittered fondly and your friend laughed with you as she playfully tugged on your shoulder. “You gotta lock that down, y’know… you’ll be like- - hella famous just from being a world class tennis superstars hot young wife.”

She announced as she sipped on something burgundy and you thought with a heightened grin. She couldn’t have been farther from right. And as the months go by you would fall farther and farther head over heels for Art every day. You’d be his wife in an instant. That was the dream after all, and you could certainly say you’d been living one.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait for him to put a ring on it..” You smiled with a dazed shrug as you embarked your wine glass to your lips again.

“He better.” Your friend chirped with a proud glint and you couldn’t help but stay stuck in your thought of your boyfriend who’s been just a few rooms away for the past couple of hours while you’d been enjoying all the perks of your girls making the most of their time with you. But you couldn’t help but want Art to be nearby now, and the red wine in your system maybe hit more than just your head — you couldn’t even try to fight it.

You missed your man.

So after you’d take in a few more drinks and a bit sensually themed games with your friends, you’d made your attempt escape off to find Art. Slipping away from the girls was easy when you’d have every necessity needed to execute a very graceful grown up girl sleepover provided for them.

You’d been walking down the hall heading to where his office and master bedroom would be at the end of the home, and as you passed by the lush kitchen area, to your surprise, there he was. Muscles looked enchantingly delicious in this light as they flexed to pull on the fridge handle and when he turned, his eye line met your glance staring back his way (of course you’d both arrive at the same time.) Arts lips began to curl in an amours grin when he saw your petite figure making it’s way over to him with the same like of smile across your face.

“Hi, baby. You having fun?” He glanced down at you through his blonde lashes to meet your nod, only following up with a soft titter as you stepped closer to the man. He almost immediately picked up on the lust laced within your eye and the way you slightly leaned onto the fridge door with your aura basically gooing with sex at him now. The blonde had an eyebrow furrowed as he chuckled just a bit and he sized you up.

“Are you drunk, princess?”

“No. No… no,” you shook your head.

It had been true. You weren’t drunk, but a little wine tipsy and horny ? Definitely.

Art hummed and put the back of his hand to your forehead gently as he observed your state. “Did you eat?”

“Mhm, did you ?”

“No. That’s why I came down, not to stalk you. I promise.” The man laughed, to which you did as well and you only raised your arms so they could embrace your boyfriend’s shoulders with a soft hum.

“Y’know, if you’re hungry, you can eat me.” Your finger tips grace Arts neck unashamed as you smile into the crook, and he took in a breath, proceeding to hold you close.

“Oh- -” his chuckle matched your giggle as he noticed you’d changed again. His hands were gliding up the ruffle of the even more transparent sheer cover on you’d been dressed in. Lime tinted. The shorts were near pantie like.

“Mmm, I miss you, I want you.” You peppered kisses as close as you could to his earlobe from your height and Arts breath hitched as he was weak to your slow but enticing touch to him. Fogging up his knowledge that you’d been right in the middle of the open kitchen that was just a few ways down from the living area your friends had been in.

“Here, sweetness ? Your friends- -” Art murmurs down to your ear, but you just locked your arms just above his shoulders without a care.

“And- - ? What about them ? I need you,” you whined. “I want your touch.”

“Yeah? You want me to touch you?”

You nodded again with a naughty giggle and the blonde was smirking now, his hands roamed your body. Large and groping your curves. As much as he knew what was rightful, Art just couldn’t deny your cling to him in that damn near lingerie that had him going almost unbearably hard beneath his jeans since you walked in. Feral even. It was beginning to get miserable as you pressed your dainty chest against his, he felt your nipples grow hard and sensitive against the cloth. So into his aroma, presence, like you were a moth to a torch.

He’d fallen into your pecks merging with his now. Kissing you against where the cupboards stand like your lips were candy. Your small legs stumbling as the man towered over you “Fuck, you look amazing in that set.” Art pulled away from your plump lips to view your gorgeously perfect petite body. You batted your lashes once. And his attain just couldn’t be stopped. Art slid his hands across your soft ass cheeks, massaging and kneading it in his palms before leading up to laying a solid smack which made you hiss out an excited squeal-like giggle. Your fingertips slid down his ample biceps brushed with virile bristles of hair.

“If I had known you’d like this set so much, I would of worn it much sooner for you.”

Art leaned into you and he held a sly smirk, “this was your plan all along, yeah? Wearing that to get my attention so I would come out here and fuck you in the middle of your slumber party.. you’re such a naughty girl.”

You only giggled more into his skin with a slow exhale, your freshly painted french tips exploring him as he explored you. Art took his sweet time just feeling the way your ass jiggled in his palms and you felt like you’d been going weak in the knees before his tender contact turned rough when he turned you around without warning, making you gasp.

Art made sure you could feel how hard you’d gotten him as he pressed himself to your core. Facing the counter, you lost yourself in complete bliss just to the feeling of not knowing where he’d pleasure you next — Arts restrained bulge against your clothed cunt was just something else. The blonde pushed up your sheer top just a bit and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, you made a soft noise with it.

“Feel what you do to me, pretty girl.” Art nibbled on your earlobe and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip to subtle your smile. His hands bracing your hips as he stared down at your lacy panties and your minx-like eyes followed Arts famished expression while he licked his bottom lip.

“All yours, daddy.” Your sweet voice immediately made Art go nearly lightheaded and that was it. He melted.

The man tucked both his thumbs into the fabric and pulled your panties down clean with raucousness, followed up with him getting down on his knees before spreading you with his palms and your hands reached for the marble with a soft whimper.

“That’a girl, stay open for me.. Let me taste you.” Art huffed out before he pushed one of your legs up on the counter and you breathed out at the feeling of him making your body his toy for amusement. Art took his fingers and ran them up your folds, getting them wet with the slick of your pussy. Your cheeks turned scarlet just at the wonderful pad of his index running against your core like that , making you let out a soft, “oh..” by the way he moved to rub around your clit. Arts lips kissed on your exposed inner thighs, and your jaw became unlocked extraordinarily far when his tongue finally rolled on the soft tissue.

He was splitting you clean open on the counter as tiny whimpers escaped your throat. You were lost in the draw you had to the man making you feel surpassing of even the way you played it all out in your head. “Mmm, yeah- - yes” you panted and the man flicked his digit over your bud at the same time he’d been making out with your cunt. Letting deep groans flow throughout your opening. You’d been on the tip of your toes for him. Letting him suck where you pulsed till you’d been overstimulated if he wanted.

Your head had been spinning from the friction of his perfectly sculpted nose rubbing against your sensitive area. Art was known to be gifted with his mouth so much so, you almost wondered if your friends would have heard if you just couldn’t keep your moans level — but with the way Art held your hips, fucked his tongue into your cunt like you’d been his last meal, your anxiousness washed away. All you could do was let the shake of your thighs and Arts dripping oral member lead you to a crisp pleasurable cry.

“Shit,” Art took a brief exhale as he pulled away from your entrance, dampened lips of your juices going wide with a grin and he ran his palms over your slick thighs again,

“you’re so fucking wet for me, princess. You gonna take my dick? Let me make you feel good?”

“Mmm, please. Fill me up, Art. I wanna feel you.”

“You gotta be quite for me, baby.” Art stood to his feet.

You didn’t care. All you could think about was dick. Arts phenomenal dick. You wanted him to toss you over and split you open till you were sobbing on his thick member, your wine drunk friends would understand. A girl has her needs.

The risk made your blood pressure rise as the moment went on, when Art reached over you to tug your panties dangling from your thighs all the way down — he kicked them off to the side. Taking note of his own belt buckle and undoing it quickly, which you only grew more greedy by the sound of him unzipping his fly. The blondes aquamarine orbs swam with the need to pump you fuller than you’d ever taken him.

“Bend over for me, sweet girl..” Art breathed out softly as his slightly calloused hands ran from your hip up your spine while you did so, bending over fully and displaying your sweet dripping cunt for the mans lidded eyes. He sucked in his breath and his now aroused dick twitched when it unveiled from his boxers — going barmy with just how tiny and soft you looked beyond him.

“So fucking tight and small- - your amazing with the way you take me when I barely fit in, sweets.”

You bit down on your finger as you watched Art run his hands over your ass. Take your hips and line his cock up with your hole. He hissed at the way your soaking cunt wet his tip, you almost croaked out a deep moan at his gestures to tease your pussy. Just nodding along as you’d gone cock drunk before he’d even been in you. Your nails run at the marble counter as Art slowly burrowed into your drooling core. Working you open as his cock disappeared into your body inch by inch — he pushed your thigh higher onto the ledge as you whined at the stretch.

“Ah.. mmm- - fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groaned as you adjusted to the size of his warmth finally filling you full. Art was big. And he’d never want to put you, his sweet doll in discomfort for long, never. So when he started to plunge into you, he watched as your face scrunched up from ache to pleasure in time. His name sputtering from your mouth as you clawed at the counter top and he watched your pussy lips that were just throbbing around his erection like it was begging to be so sporadically fucked by him.

“That’s it baby doll,” his own groans heightened as his hips knock into your cervix, chasing that spot of yours till you were moaning and whimpering like a slut around him. Hole so full with yours and his pre-cum and you sucked in your bottom lip, tussled hair going wild on your back. You just had to look over your shoulder to watch him — see Arts gorgeous face as he snapped against you all shimmering with light sweat as he focused on the way a ring of your wetness pooled around his base.

“You love this, hu? Getting me to fuck you while your friends carry on without you- - At your party. But you just had to come.. looking for daddy’s cock, yeah? You love being a dirty, dirty girl for me.” Art rasped as he clenched his jaw with the overwhelming feeling of your tight cunt clenching him. It made your skin feel like it had been sparked with fire, so exhilarated. He put his hands in your hair to fuck into you as your jaw dangled open.

“Oh! F-fuck! I needed that big fucking dick, daddy… w-want you to cum all over me, mmm- -” you were choking out whimpers and your pretty little hole dripped with Arts pre-seed slipping from you, making it drag out when he pulled out of your pussy to turn you around and pick you up in one swift motion. Your high pitched gasp echoed as you wrapped your legs around the mans abdomen and Art set you on the counter. His lips curl up into a smirk and his eyes met your wide doe set ones. Slipping back into you he watched you cry out his name. Rutting into your heavenly body at this angle, hands go squeezing your thighs, and Art kept them apart as he took you at a wild pace. Hitting that gooey spot till you didn’t remember your own name. “Good fucking girl. That’s it- - such a sweet thing for me, taking all of my cock. It was made for you, doll.”

You couldn’t even catch your self as you’d leaned back on the counter and let Art pound into you. Your tits bounced with each thrust and you were shuttering as your orgasm ripped through you without warning. “Yes ! Ooh- - shit, yes yes yes…” you were whining out as you came on Arts dick. He held your legs spread as he grunted and watched you soak him uncontrollably. You loved it. Feeling like his perfect little gift. Art licked over his lips at the sight of your beauty, throwing your head back in bliss, he pulled out of you and pushed up your dainty little baby doll top — making space as he pumped his throbbing dick over your stomach till he himself came hard. Ropes shooting out on your candescent skin and making sure some got on your pussy just for the fun of it, he grinned and trailed his thumb up your gentle inner calf that had been dangling by his side.

You were whimpering like you’d gotten your brains fucked out to the sweetest soundtrack you’d ever heard. Art was so cinematic in moments like these, he leaned up to kiss at the nape of your neck, cheek, and lips.

“Pretty, perfect girl.. I love you.” Your gentleman muttered against your mouth. You smiled and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Art brought your panties up to help you slip them back over your thighs and to your feet as steady as you could. Dressing himself as well, he glanced down at you through his hooded eyes to see your impressively only slightly disheveled state. You were just always glowing, it was hard to make that go away anyways.

“You sleeping down here tonight?” Art buckled his pants again as he questioned you with a soft raised brow. You started to smirk at the way he was heading. You shrug.

“Maybe, maybe not… I’ll sneak into your room when they’re sleep, if you want.” You offered the man, the glint in your eye saying you’d suck his cock and let him have you in as many different positions as he’d like in a couple hours till you were all tapped out. The blonde only scuffed and towered over your presence that was still taken by your hoyden attitude, just to turn you back towards the door way.

“Go host your party.” he taunted almost fatherly, to then leave a light slap on your ass that made you giggle on the way out.

[sunshineandspencer]

Jolene

A/N: I’ve managed to get sick and the thing that roused me from my deathbed was hearing Jolene and going ‘yes, this applies to a Hotch fic, my people need me’ if it doesn’t make sense, blame the headache.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Girlfriend!Reader.

Summary: She desperately tries not to think that way about his ex-wife, but seeing them interact hurts way more than she thought it would.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: established relationship, cutesy nicknames, Haley is alive, barely-negative self-thoughts, angst but a happy ending

be added to the taglist!!

“I can easily understand how you could easily take my man, but he’s the only one for me, Jolene.”

Some part of her knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she’d powered through it. Aaron had kissed her softly in the kitchen and told her that it would all be alright, slowly moving her to the stairs so that she could get ready.

Smacking her ass and laughing as she yelped, disappearing into their bedroom to get dressed.

They’d been together nearly three years now, only about a month until their third anniversary, and he promised something big - but that’s not important right now.

Jack has a big soccer game this afternoon, his team - little league but still important, as both men swear to her - had made it to whatever the ‘finals’ were. Aaron coaches his team, and as much as she tries to keep up, sports have never been her thing.

Despite this, she attends every single game and cheers no matter what’s happening. Plus, she gets the added bonus of seeing her boyfriend in a loose shirt and shorts, a rare and delicious sight. All the other moms have learnt that Aaron is taken, considering he comes over to kiss her whenever he can.

Honestly, Aaron is perfect. 

Even with his job, she doesn’t mind at all. She’s a photographer, and so she does all her editing work from home, and even when she does need to travel, she does it around his work and Jack’s school times. Occasionally bringing them with her, or just Jack when Aaron is away.

She absolutely loves their little family, and every single moment they spent together, and knew early on that days like this couldn’t be avoided forever.

Of course, she knows that Aaron loves her, he tells her more than enough and he still thinks he’s lacking in that department. But he loves her so desperately that he easily makes her feel seventeen all over again.

So Aaron is not the problem, but she is.

Haley, his ex-wife. The woman divorced Aaron, and moved on a lot quicker than he had, but that’s not the problem, people move at different speeds and she fell out of the marriage a lot sooner than Aaron did. The issue that she has is seeing them together with Jack.

They’re so.. picture perfect. Clearly a family. To the point where it hurts.

Haley is utterly gorgeous, and ageing has only done her wonders. Of course, she knows that she’s also aged pretty well, but not as well as her. 

The woman exists as if the phrase ‘fine wine’ was made just to describe her, and the quiet sting of jealousy hits deep whenever she and Aaron interact. It isn’t very often, thank God, but it still sucks.

The way she still talks to him so casually, as if they were friends who didn’t have an eight year marriage between them, it sets her on edge. It feels like she believes if she wanted she could easily stroll back into Aaron’s life. And why wouldn’t she?

She’s stunning, she’s Jack’s mother, there’s nothing stopping her from taking Aaron all over again.

Except the fact Aaron has reassured her that Haley is nothing to him anymore except the woman who gave him the greatest gift in his life bar his “wonderful girlfriend”, and she believes him. God- it feels so wrong to feel jealous and small when he’s told her that Haley is nothing. It feels like she’s doubting him, and it’s not that she’s trying to, she can’t help it.

How could she, when his ex-wife looks like that?

“Where’ve you gone sweetheart?”

Blinking softly, she looked up from where Jack was excitedly talking to his mom about all the goals he scored - uncaring that half were own-goals.

Aaron had come over to sit next to her, and hesitated from placing his usual peck to her lips when he found her so lost in her own thoughts. Moving to sit next to her and immediately place a hand on her thigh, squeezing softly and pressing his thumb into her flesh by the hem of her dress.

“Nowhere, no I’m- I’m still here.” He gives her a look and she sighs, leaning in to kiss him and grumble unhappily against his lips. “Everyday you make it harder and harder to like profilers.”

Humming, he kissed her a little firmer than usual and she pulled back, looking at him confused. Not that she was complaining, but he usually had a reason.

“She may be his mother, but Jack loves you just as much.”

Her heart seized, hating that he was able to figure her out so easily, but not surprised anymore. Reaching to squeeze his hand where it still rested on her thigh and turning to look at him fully.

“Aaron, I--”

“I mean it dove, we love you. She’s had her time in my life, and that’s over, you are the only one I want for any foreseeable future.”

A bright smile drew up on her face, the one he so loves drawing out because it means that she’s getting over whatever bothered her. 

He’s not stupid, he knows how much that bothered her at the start, and it had calmed down slightly over the years, and she believes him completely. Convincing her brain to believe him, however, had been the most surprising thing to try and overcome. For her, however, he’d reassure her everyday for as long as it takes.

With her hands smoothing up his arms to thread into the hair at the nape of his neck, that little bashful smile overcame her face as she got closer. Pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Careful there Hotchner, or someone might think you’re proposing to me.”

He huffed out a small laugh and wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her even closer, kissing her deeply. Not caring that there were other moms watching and awing, or Jack making fake throwing-up noises, even though he really doesn’t mind.

Only pulling back to brush his nose against hers, smiling down at her and watching the way she couldn’t decide which eye of his to focus on.

“Just wait sweet girl, I’m not having you ruin my surprise.”

Want more?! Good!

taglist ( ˘ ³˘)♥ @peachsodameg @angelinajolie0213 @jiggly-puff-12 @khxna @kennedy2156 @trulycayla @none-of-your-bullshit @alexxavicry @meg-black @anotherpassiongirl @princessjax @gghostwriter (please tell me if this works because I have never done this and google is useless, also if your tag is here and it doesn't work, check your settings to see who is allowed to tag you or this might not work)

[dragonbarbie]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Part 2

aegon x best friend!reader ; modern!au

series summary: this fic is snippets of aegon and reader's relationship as they grow up and discover new feelings. but to let himself be loved, aegon has to first do some growing up. loosely inspired by the tv series one day!

rating: 18+, minors dni.

tags: alcohol, substance abuse, making out, titty sucking, blink and youll miss it dry humping (lmk if i missed something)

word count: 5.1k

previous part

next part

series masterlist

A/N: im so overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter! im so sorry this took so long, this chapter was originally well over 8k so ive just decided to split it, which means the next chapter is pretty much ready maybe ill have it up by wednesday. thank you so much to everyone who interacted, hope you like this. [not beta read!]

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

divider credit @cafekitsune ! title of fic is from 'peter' by taylor swift.

Age 18

“i think that’s enough pictures, mum.” y/n held up her arms to shield herself from any more photographs her mother might take. she felt self-conscious enough already, grimacing at every picture, thinking how the flaws glaringly stood out. her parents thought she looked beautiful as always though, and wanted as many photos as possible to keep as memories of their daughter’s special night. only she didn’t want to believe there was anything so ‘special’ about it anyway.

she heard an impatient car honk coming from outside, just in time for her to make her exit. “let me at least take a picture of you and your date.” her well-meaning mother attempted, earning a whine from her daughter, “for the last time he’s not my date.” not really he wasn’t, they were just going as mates, nothing more, she reminded herself as she waved her parents a quick goodbye.

then why did her stomach flutter seeing aegon leaning against his irritatingly green, flashy sports car. taking a drag of his cigarette, his platinum hair was mostly gelled back, few strands allowed to fall to his eyes either fashionably or as a result of hurry. he was dressed simply, black suit and a white shirt. but seven hells did he wear the hell out of that suit, y/n had to admit. he looked neater than usual, the light stubble he usually carried had now been shaved off, his eyes didn’t look nearly as red as she was accustomed to. he even wore dress shoes, when truthfully y/n had been betting on him showing up in his usual jordans.

she couldn’t help but beam as she realised walking towards him, that all this effort he had made for her. aegon hadn’t even wanted to go to their senior prom. he’d said he would simply throw the after-party for the prom back at his mansion, where he wouldn’t be required to ‘come dressed as a penguin,’ in his words. the entire school knew about aegon’s famous ragers by now, and the night of senior prom was guaranteed to be the greatest ‘one-last-hurrah’.

it was y/n who had wanted to go, in order to live the full high school experience before they would be forced to enter the adult world after summer. and there was no one else she would have rather taken to prom. so, after countless hours begging and pleading (and some threatening), aegon finally relented. but his acquiescence hadn’t guaranteed to her that he would even bother following the dress code. yet, here they were.

she was going to comment on what a pleasant surprise it was to see him look like a ‘penguin,’ when she saw the look on his face. his eyes were suddenly alert and his mouth slightly agape, cigarette in his hand forgotten momentarily with his hand hanging still in the air holding it.

“what is it? do i have something on my face? on the dress?” she patted her cheek in alarm, before looking down at her dress. she’d chosen a simple black, satin dress that hugged her just right, pairing it with the deepest red lipstick she could find. she smoothened the front in anxiety, scared her high heels were going to make her trip on the fabric any second.

“no, it’s just...you look nice. very pretty.” her eyes focussed on aegon’s trying to gauge his expression, but his gaze remained transfixed on her figure.

“is it that shocking that i would look pretty, that you have to go and make that face?” she snorted. that snapped aegon’s attention back to her face with an eyeroll, “i didn’t mean it like that and you know it. you look good, would it kill you to just take the compliment?” her lips turned upwards at his words, “yeah i’m just messing with ya.” she tried to hide how the praise made her feel warm inside her chest.

“you don’t look so bad yourself, targaryen. look you’re even wearing the shoes and everything.” aegon grinned at the words giving a quick twirl to show off his full look. “who knew you had it in you?” she teased.

“had to step up my game. can't let my date outshine me, can i?"

date? the word rang in her ears. did aegon think this was an actual date?

“oh, please,” she tried to maintain a cool façade, seemingly uncaring of his words, “i've always outshined you.”

“only because i let you.” he claimed, flashing her one of those lazy half smiles of his that would make her mind wander to what else he was capable of doing with those lips—

she immediately shook her head to get that image out of her mind.

“got you something. well, technically mum got you something” aegon opened the passenger seat of the car, and retrieved from it a beautiful, very expensive looking bouquet. “she wouldn’t let me leave the house without flowers for my date” there it was, that word again, ‘date’!  she thought, astonished as she received them.

did aegon think this was a date? a date-date? was he expecting something? did she expect something? her mind started to race with a hundred things.

she had to clear her throat to bring herself back to the present, “these are beautiful, tell alicent i love them.”

“great, can we go now? i want to get the boring part over with so we can properly party later at my place.”

the prom itself ended up being less dreadful than aegon had been sure it was going to be. aegon spiked the drinks, and then proceeded to get his friends leon and martyn as drunk as possible. it didn’t escape y/n’s notice that aegon himself, was merely buzzed. she even dared to hope for a second that he was limiting his cups out of respect for her, and her very known hatred of his drinking himself into blackouts.

he remained clear-headed enough to laugh about and reminisce with her over their years at the academy. “no, i remember clearly, you’ve never once said sorry about making me fall on my first day.” y/n accused as she attempted to drink the very strong punch aegon had made for her. “and i remember very clearly, you came in my way.”

she narrowed her eyes at his blatant lie. “cunt.” he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at her drunken-vitriol. “and i think that’s quite enough for you.” he grabbed the cup out of her hands in spite of protests. “good gods, aegon targaryen preaching moderation? must be the apocalypse.” she nudged him playfully.

in that moment, smiling and laughing with her best friend, she couldn’t help but realise that this time of their life was coming to an end. come fall, they would be on different sides of the country.

y/n had been accepted at her first choice, sunspear university only weeks ago, but she hadn’t discussed it with aegon. he hadn’t spoken of his plans for university either but helaena had told her that their grandfather was using his pull to get him into the family alma mater, oldtown college.

any time she had attempted to so much as talk about life beyond school with aegon himself though, aegon would get irritated and cagey, eager to shut down any and all conversations about the future. then again she couldn’t blame him, for some reason her first instinct too had been to hide that acceptance letter from him.

yet as they stood there, she had a feeling that he was thinking about the same great uncertainty that lay ahead too. thinking, that their days of being by each other’s side like this every day were numbered.

“come on” he suddenly offered her his arms, getting a puzzled look in return. “you wanted the ‘full high school experience’ right? dancing at prom is kinda the main thing.”

she let him lead her to the dance floor, feeling her cheeks going red. he brought them right in the middle, and when he placed her arms around his neck, his own hands becoming placed around her waist, she couldn’t find a word to say.

couples around them were slow dancing to some song she couldn’t quiet place, and she couldn’t believe that aegon had willingly placed himself in the scene around them. this suit, the shoes, the dancing, the flowers – none of it was remotely close to his scene. yet she had barely heard him complain. she had to give it to him, he had been on his best behaviour because he knew how much the night meant to her.

“thank you,” she finally said, looking at him with adoration in her eyes. “for agreeing to come.”

aegon’s expression was unreadable at first. after a second he seemed like he was going to lean in towards her to say something, when his eye caught something behind y/n shoulder.

she turned her neck to see who it was and felt her heart drop down in her stomach.

cassandra baratheon, the most sought-after girl at school, her golden hair and confident demeanour were hard to miss. y/n looked up to see aegon was transfixed on the tight red dress she wore.

she felt his hands drop from her waist, “get you something to drink?” but he didn’t so much as look at his friend.

“sure” she mumbled, trying to mask her disappointment, but he didn’t wait for a response before he started walking towards the blonde.

she watched as aegon approached cassandra, his charm on full display. y/n sighed, tired of how predictable his routine was. she danced with a few classmates, trying to keep her spirits up, but it wasn’t the same without aegon.

after a while, she grew tired of pretending and slipped out of the ballroom, certain she wasn’t going to be followed by the only person she wanted to be with. she started walking in the direction of her home, too angry to think to call someone to pick her up.

the sound of her heels against the pavement and the chattering of her own teeth from the unexpectedly cold night couldn’t distract her from her woeful thoughts.

she should have expected this, she chided herself. aegon’s attention had always been fleeting, especially when it came to pretty girls. but it still hurt. she had hoped, maybe just for tonight, things would be different. at the beginning of the night he’d been giving her all his attention, and making her feel as if she was the only one who mattered in that room.

yet, he had to go ahead and ruin that, by chasing one more skirt to add to his long list of distractions from anything that could actually matter.

when she reached her house she was grateful her parents had long since gone to bed, not wanting to talk about her night.  she walked up to her room and changed into some comfortable clothes.

she curled up on her bed, but sleep seemed to escape her. she tossed and turned but she could not forget the look on her best friend’s face when he looked at cassandra baratheon, ignoring her. she couldn’t help but wish that the way his eyes trailed down her figure, the open lust with which he watched her, the desire that carried him away from her – she wanted it all to be hers.

it was perhaps the first time she had admitted it to herself. she wanted this, she wanted him and not just as a friend.

her mind then wandered to that one moment of hope she had not dared to let herself dwell on. the way his hands felt rested on her back, how he looked for a split second as if he were going to lean in to her, what might that have felt like if it had been allowed to go on? would he have kissed her? would his lips have felt as soft as they looked? would his tongue—

she didn’t realise when in the middle of all these wandering thoughts her hand had slipped down to underneath her shorts. over the cloth of her panties, she could feel a wetness building as she slowly rubbed the top of her entrance, her imagination building up the tension between her legs.

just as she was getting comfortable though, she got the fright of her life when she heard her window open. “fuck me!” she sat up straight on her bed, clutching her blanket in front of her chest.

she let out an exasperated breath at the now-messy platinum hair glinting in the moonlight, that she could make out even in the darkness of her room. she moved to get up and turn on the lamp next to her bed. the light revealed a slightly different aegon to the one she had left back at the dance, stumbling into her room.

his jacket now gone, his white shirt was untucked and the first few buttons had been left undone (one of them was missing, from what she could tell), the semi-open shirt allowed her to make out lipstick smears trailing his chest. his eyes were red, and the fact that he couldn’t seem to walk straight, told her he’d returned to drinking at his usual pace once she’d made her exit.

“what are you doing here?” she sighed, crossing her arms across her chest, both defensively and because her bra had been long discarded, which left the tank top she wore revealing far too much for her liking.

he almost looked earnest when he answered “came looking for you. you never showed up to the party at my place.”

“yeah, well i don’t like your parties” “sure you do!” he snorted

“no, aegon i don’t! i never have. i only ever come for you and i’m miserable the entire while, and you never notice!”

he looked hurt at her accusation, blinking as if it had never crossed his mind that she didn’t enjoy getting high and causing chaos as much as he did. that hurt quickly turned into anger of his own as he shot back.

“fine, even if you didn’t wanna come to the party, why did you leave prom so early? for weeks it’s all you wanted to do, going to prom. you dragged my ass there and then just ‘puff’ i turn my back for one second, and you’ve disappeared.” he sounded almost as if he felt abandoned, wounded.

“you seemed busy.” she cooly replied.

“busy?” aegon echoed, his brows furrowing. “i was just talking to people.”

y/n shook her head, her eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and frustration. “you always do this, aegon. you leave me for the first pretty girl that catches your eye.”

he shook his head as if y/n were being the unreasonable one here “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” she demanded, her voice rising. “because it feels like you’re always looking for a distraction. and tonight, i needed you.” her eyes burned as tears pooled in them. “it was our last night in school. it meant something.”

he flinched at her words, the truth of how much he had bruised her, cutting through the haze of alcohol. “i didn’t mean to—"

“didn’t mean to what? make me feel invisible?” y/n's voice softened, the anger giving way to sadness. “it’s like you don’t care.”

aegon stood there, steadying himself by leaning against the desk, looking deflated. “i do care, y/n. you’re my best friend.” she could tell he was trying, trying to make her see he cared, trying to be a good friend. the fact that he had left his own party simply to come look in on her, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

but unluckily for him, y/n was tired of his constant trying when she knew it never led to any real change.

she took a deep breath, steadying herself. “we need to talk about something else, too. we’ve been avoiding it all year.”

aegon looked up at her, confusion and apprehension mingling in his eyes. “what do you mean?”

“college, aegon. you’re going to oldtown, and i’m headed to sunspear,” y/n said, her voice trembling slightly. “i’ve tried to bring it up, but you always change the subject.”

he looked away from her, fiddling with the rings on his fingers almost anxiously. “because i don’t want to think about it.”

“well too bad, because we have to discuss it” she insisted. “this is big. we’ve never so much as spent one summer break apart, you’ve dragged me to every family vacation and christmas dinner. but come fall, that’s over. you don’t think that’s important enough to even talk about? doesn’t it matter to you at all?”

“of course it matters!” he finally spat out, taking stumbling steps towards her. “i don’t want to talk about it because i know it’ll change everything.”

aegon’s eyes were glassy, his emotions threatening to spill over. “because you’ll be far away, making new friends, living a different life. you get to conveniently walk out on me and my fuck ups. i don’t want to talk about it because you’re leaving me.”

“leaving you?” the aegon that stood before her was shaking like a scared child, gone was the playful, laid back popular boy. for the first time that night, she could see clearly through him, the first time he’d allowed her to.

y/n moved closer, taking his hands in hers. “aegon, i could never leave you.” she promised. “you’re a part of me. distance doesn’t change that.”

“you say that now…” he mumbled, looking away as she caught tears running down his cheek.

“i’m not leaving you,” she repeated, more firmly this time, her heart aching for him. “we’ll find a way to make it work. i promise.”

“do you really mean that?” her hand reached out to his cheek, wiping away his tears with the pad of her thumb. “with all my heart,” she whispered. the vulnerability in his eyes was raw and unfiltered as he confessed “i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t,” she assured him, putting her arms around him as she pulled him into a tight embrace. “we’ll figure it out, together.” she sounded sure, determined.

he clung to her, and she could smell the weed and cigarettes on his shirt, she knew that he wasn’t as clear-headed as he should have been for the conversation they were having. “i don’t know what i’d do without you, y/n.” he muttered into her hair. she smiled against his chest. “lucky for you, you don’t ever have to find out.”

as one of his hands trailed down to her lower back, she suddenly felt her shorts were far too short for her to be having company. his other hand started to rub at her side, his thumb brushing up against the side of her breast and lingering just enough that she knew he could tell she was bare beneath her flimsy cotton top.

they’d been standing in silence for a minute when he suddenly spoke up, “i’m sorry that i mess everything up, you deserved to have me there with you tonight.”

his hand had stopped right by her cleavage, causing her throat to dry up. “it was just a stupid dance.”

“yeah, but it mattered to you.” he brought his other hand to her ass, as he pulled apart slightly to look down at her. her breathing became rapid as she looked back up at him.

in that moment, the tension between them shifted. aegon leaned in, his lips brushing against hers hesitantly. y/n responded, closing the distance again, with more passion.

there was a sense of urgency, a rush as his tongue entered her mouth. the hand on her ass moved to slip past her shorts and panties to grab at her bare skin, causing her to moan into his mouth. her own hands attempted to undo the few remaining buttons on his dress shirt, before letting her fingers roam around his exposed chest.

he pushed them back, till she felt the edge of her bed behind her making her fall back on it, pulling him down with her as she went.

his mouth moved to trail sloppy, wet kisses on her neck, and then down to her collarbone. she could feel him use his teeth, marking her for the next day.

situated as he was between her legs, she could feel his semi-hard on from under his pants, rubbing against her in the most delicious way making her wrap her legs tighter around him, to feel that friction more intensely.

his mouth broke away from her now-sensitive skin momentarily, as he lifted her top enough to expose her breasts to him. his hands roughly gripped the flesh, making y/n gasp with how cool his rings felt pressed to her skin.

his mouth then took in one of her nipples, as she whimpered at the sensation, her fingers pulling his hair as he flicked it with his tongue, before sucking on it.

when he finally lifted his head to look up at y/n, she couldn’t believe the scene before her. in that moment aegon was looking her with a hunger and wanting, that she didn’t think he’d even given cassandra baratheon.

what might come next though, made y/n nervous. she’d never gone this far with a boy before, reasoning with herself that she’d never liked anyone enough. but she could admit to herself now that she’d been waiting to share that experience with aegon, waiting for him to come around.

still, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to go all the way, or how to do it if she was.

thankfully for her, aegon reached ahead and merely kissed her lips once more, softer this time. then, even more unexpectantly, he placed a final, tender kiss atop her head, before climbing off from between her thighs and crashing down on the pillow beside her.

she blinked at the figure of him, lying next to her completely relaxed, as if what they’d just done was so routine, it didn’t warrant another thought. “get that lamp light next to you, would you?” he yawned.

as if in a daze, y/n wordlessly switched the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

she could hear him breathing beside her, close enough to block her nose with the smell of cigarettes she was sure she’d have to wash out of the sheets the next day. but with his pale hair falling like that against his fluttering eyes, she knew he was the only person she wanted, flaws and all.

drowsiness began to take over her after sometime, and she wasn’t sure if she actually heard him mumbling “love you” or if she’d dreamt it but she drifted off with a faint smile on her face nonetheless.

the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over y/n’s room. she stirred awake, stretching out lazily when her eyes fell on to the snoring boy beside her. she couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful his face looked, her hand stretching out to tuck behind the strands of platinum falling to his eyes.

she tried to be as quiet as she could in walking to her bathroom. standing in front of her mirror, she noticed the now purpling hickey right by her collarbone. she still couldn’t quite believe that the events of last night had actually occurred, but the evidence was staring her right in the face. her fingertips grazed the bruise, and the corners of her lips turned upwards automatically.

she washed her face and brushed her teeth in a haze, where all she could think about was what was going to happen next. would she and aegon have a conversation about it, or would he pretend it was nothing? oh god, what if he regretted it? the thought made her tense. instead of going back to her room she sat on the edge of her bathtub, nervously thinking about what impact last night would have on their friendship. she couldn’t imagine losing aegon, she thought. if it came down to taking whatever happened yesterday forward or saving their friendship, she would pick the latter, she determined. before she could lose her nerve, she decided to go back to her room with that thought.

upon her return she realised the object of all her anxiety was already up, rubbing his eyes with his palms and groaning, clearly nursing a hangover. her heart suddenly started to pound in her chest. “you’re up early. it’s not even noon yet.” she teased as she came to sit by him. “and morning to you too” he grumbled.

“how are you feeling?” she hesitantly asked, “like i got hit by a bus,” he said, attempting a weak grin.

she gave him a faint chuckle. she looked around the room as silence filled the space. she was hoping that he’d be the one to bring up last night, rather than making her go through the embarrassment and awkwardness of coming to that topic.

how did you even start that conversation? she wondered as she pulled at a few strands of embroidery coming untethered from the rest of her bedsheet. ‘hey last night was the best kiss i’ve ever had, let’s do it again sometime soon’? no, that wasn’t it. she stole a glance at aegon who had picked up his phone, neither of them having said anything to break the silence. i could start by telling him how i’ve always liked him? no that would definitely activate his commitment-phobia, and he’d go running out the door, she realised. sitting this long without either of them talking felt far too weird and she started to panic slightly.

she kept thinking if he was going to approach the topic, wondering if she should instead, when suddenly aegon got off her bed.

“what have we got here” he walked over to the basket where some of her old toys had been kept for her mother to donate when she went to college. “nothing just some old things” she replied, surprised that this was what he wanted to discuss now. he seemed to be entertaining himself by going through her things as if he hadn’t been in her room a hundred times before.

well, if he was going to avoid it, y/n decided she should be the one to rip off the band-aid. she cleared her throat to start speaking, when he suddenly cut her off, “do you still have that lightsabre i gave you for your 12th birthday? the one that used to light up and all?” “no, because you broke it playing with it in my garden that same day you gifted it.” she reminded him, “right…” he muttered, before going back to his rummaging.

this time she stood up and walked over to him, and started to say, “y’know i think we should talk—” “what’s ollie doing here?” grinning, he grabbed an old red octopus from the basket and lifted one of its stuffed tentacles to wave at her. “did this mean old lady steal you from me ollie?” “no, you stole him from me, remember? and alicent had to return it back” she reminded him, snatching the toy back from him in irritation. if he was going to keep mucking about, she was never going to be able finish what she wanted to say.

she exhaled a big sigh, and built up her courage again, “we have to talk about last night—” “yeah, what did happen last night?”

she could only blink, as aegon nonchalantly asked, not even bothering to look up from the box of broken, dusty toys. “what do you mean ‘what happened’?”

“as in how did i end up in your bed?” he laughed, “don’t remember much after us arriving at prom” her heart sank at his words. “you blacked out.” she said in realisation. she turned around and walked back to sit on her bed so he wouldn’t see her wounded expression.

he didn’t even remember what was possibly one of the biggest moments of her life, something so monumental that she’d woken up this morning as if waking up to a new life. all those years she'd spent unknowingly pining for him, she’d thought that now there was finally some hope that she could actually be with him. but one little sentence from him had made her memory of last night dissipate like a mirage.

what had she even been thinking, he was drunk out of his mind and was probably barely in knowledge of himself when they did what they did last night. it was a mistake, and it should have never happened. she couldn’t control the tears slipping down her cheeks, her back facing aegon to shield herself subconsciously.

“you were pretty drunk. you climbed up to my room and we talked for a while. you fell asleep here.” she answered in robotic narration, not daring a look at him. she wiped her face quickly as she heard him stop with his aimless search and come sit next to her.

“sounds accurate. i do anything stupid i should know about?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. it was the standard question he asked when he blacked out. for a second, she wondered if she should tell him everything.

y/n shook her head, smiling faintly. “no, you didn't. just needed a place to crash.”

she thought about it rationally – even if they did talk about last night, what was going to be the best-case scenario? he would be glad of what he did? but even then, what would happen next? she was going to dorne, and him to the reach, and a long distance anything was going to be impossible enough. here they were nervous about their friendship surviving the distance, but a relationship? she couldn’t see any way this would end well.

and this was considering if aegon even wanted any of it. last night may have been special for her, but if drunken fooling around and crashing into bed was all it took to get him to pursue someone romantically, half the school was ahead of her in that line.

this was the best thing for both of them, she sadly thought, to preserve their friendship.

him putting his arm across her shoulders and squeezing her brought her out of her miserable thoughts, “thanks for looking out for me, as always.”

“of course,” she replied softly. “that's what friends are for.”

aegon met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “yeah, best friends.”

a few minutes later she left momentarily to get herself a glass of water but by the time she returned, her room was empty with her window left open and her red octopus missing once again from her bed.

[captainfern]

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part One - Pink Tape •

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - your introduction to the rugby union team and your new job as their physiotherapist. and the team winger ensures you have a warm welcome lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 7k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, slow-ish burn [but not really cause ik you're here for the porn], gaz has insane rizz in this, f!masturbation, oral [f!receiving], fingering?, praise, strong language

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

Gaz is a winger, or wing – fast, agile and play on the "wing" or outside edges of the field. this position tends to score the greatest number of tries.

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

part two ->

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

When you received the phone call that you had been hired by one of the best rugby union teams in England, you were overjoyed.

It was a dream come true to be a physiotherapist for a professional sports team, and although you were excited to be apart of such an incredible work environment, you were also excited to see a significantly higher amount of money enter your bank account on paydays.

Your first day, you woke up earlier than usual, a good twenty minutes before your alarm. Nerves swirled in your stomach as you got ready for the day, completing your usual morning routine and getting dressed. Putting on the team's colours, with staff across the back made a smile grow wide across your face. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a while, butterflies fluttering rapidly around your stomach as the time ticked closer to the start of your workday.

Before you headed out, you pulled out your phone and searched the team up one last time. You tapped on the first link, and then proceeded to find the team list that had every player and their statistics available to the public. Their age, height, weight, the amount of games they've played, the amount of tries they've scored. In most of the photos, the players were posing in ways that made you roll your eyes– pointing at the camera, shouting with a fist in the air, pointing at the logo on their jersey with a huge grin. You couldn't help but laugh a little.

As you scrolled, perched on the end of your bed, four specific players caught your attention, your thumb hovering over your screen before you could scroll on. There was just something about them that made them stand out, even when they looked similar to everyone else– the same shirt, same background in the photo, same layout of statistics between them.

The scrum-half was posing like many of the others– pointing dead at the camera, a cocky grin on his face. In the photograph, he had a freshly shaven mohawk, too, the sides trimmed neat and the strands on top sitting perfectly on top of his head, as though he had got himself all done-up for picture day. Even in the photograph, you could tell simply by the way he grinned at the camera that he'd be cocky on the field. All good scrum-halves were, to be fair.

The winger held a finger to his lips, shushing the camera with a slight quirk in his lips, as though he was trying not to laugh when the camera went off. He was the only player wearing a cap, one with a Union Jack printed on the front, and you wondered whether he was allowed to do that, or he somehow managed to just keep quiet and get away with it. What amazed you the most though was the sheer amount of tries he had for his age. He was one of the younger players of the team, but his try-count for the previous season was impressive.

The number eight made your eyebrows shoot up as you took in the sheer broadness of him. His shoulders barely fit into frame, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps and pectorals grow bigger in front of the camera. He had a passive look on his face, dark blond hair recently cropped by the look of it, and one of his eyes was bruised and slightly swollen– a recent black eye. His arms were huge, one tattooed, and you couldn't help but stare a little longer at the expanse of his chest before scrolling on.

The flanker, and captain, was the fourth player that caught your attention, especially with his neatly-kept facial hair. Like the number eight, he had his arms folded across his chest and his face was void of a smile or a wink. He looked serious, definitely, and you wondered what kind of a captain he was to the rest of his team. He was in his late thirties and would be probably nearing retirement, but he had played a large number of games over the years, so his experience would be unmatched.

You looked up briefly at the small time at the top of your phone screen, and jumped to your feet when you realised that, holy shit, you had to go. It'd be so embarrassing if you were late on your first day of work.

Quickly, and with first-day nerves churning in your stomach, you grabbed your bag and all that you needed before sprinting out the door, the cool morning air kissing your skin as the sun peaked over the horizon.

•º•º•

Meeting the team was even more nerve-wracking than you thought. When you arrived, the coach welcomed you and gave you a rundown of all you needed to know about the players and other staff. He then introduced you to the other staff, assistant coaches, team physicians and nurses, sport directors and personal trainers. There were so many people that worked with this team behind the scenes, it almost made you feel a bit out of place.

Sure, you were qualified and literally one of the best sporting physiotherapists in the United Kingdom, but the idea of working with such an infamous team was making doubts worm into your head. You shook your head and took a deep breath as the coach led you into the main meeting room of the stadium, where the players talked strategy and game plan between games and during the off-season.

The room was full of players, nearly forty of them if you had to make an estimate. The main thirty-three, including the starting fifteen and the bench, as well as other players that looked to be recovering from injury or training to become apart of the main squad in the next season.

The murmur of conversation died down when you and the coach entered the room, and you suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious as all eyes fell onto you. The coach stood beside you, patting a comforting hand on your shoulder as he got his players attention with a short whistle.

"Lads, meet our new physio," he said, and then introduced you by name, urging you to smile and offer a polite wave to the crowd of sportsman sitting in front of you. The coach continued. "She's bloody good at her job, so she'll be able to get you lot into working shape quick as a flash. But, that doesn't mean you can go 'round acting like idiots and getting hurt by doing stupid shit–"

You laughed to yourself as the coach divulged into a very coach-like rant, grilling the players about looking after themselves and taking care of their bodies, especially with the start of the new season rapidly approaching. They all needed to be in top shape.

"And remember," the coach said, and then pointed at you. "Physiotherapists are not doctors or nurses, so don't be crying to her with a cut finger, got it? You roll an ankle or strain your neck, or something– god forbid– worse than that, then you make an appointment to see her, got it?"

There was a collective murmur of acknowledgment from the team, many eyes still focusing on you. You smiled politely, and thanked them for their time before the coach was gently leading you back out of the room and into the spacious hallway. The walls here were lined with photos and trophy cabinets detailing every win and award this team has ever had.

The coach shook your hand one last time. "It's a pleasure to have you on, miss. I appreciate you taking the job at such short notice, too. Our last physio..."

You stifled a laugh at the disbelief on the coach's face. "What?"

"Our last physio got scared off," the coach almost laughed. "She was an older lady, real nice too, and had been with us for a while. But we've got a new wave of younger players that do stupid shit and get themselves hurt, so she wasn't exactly happy when they'd turn up every day with a new muscle to be strapped up."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "How was she scared off? Surely a bunch of twenty-something year old union players aren't the scariest of people."

"You'd be surprised," the coach joked. "Nah, I'm kidding. She retired, but what I said is true. A lot of the younger players'll probably be knocking at your office door within the next couple of weeks, so prepare yourself for that. Most of them you can just give an icepack and send them on their way, though."

You smiled, nodding. "Right, sounds easy enough."

The coach smiled too. "You will probably have regulars, too, by the way. Players that have had pretty bad injuries that need weekly physio, but the info's all in your books. If you have any questions, come and find me. Or ask Price, I'm sure he'll help you."

"Price?"

"The captain. John," the coach said. "Most of the boys call him Price, or cap, but you can call him whatever you feel comfortable with."

You nodded, eyes drifting down the hallway, admiring the gleam of the silver and gold trophies stacked in trophy cases along the wall. You turned back to the coach. "Do a lot of the players have preferred names?"

"Some, yeah," the coach nodded. "But they'll tell you when you get to know them a bit more. And don't stress if you don't remember names within the first week or so. You have plenty of time to get used to it."

You smiled, the nerves in your stomach beginning to ease. "Thanks, coach."

After the talk in the hallway, the coach led you to your office, which had a large window overlooking the training grounds. The field was in immaculate condition, mowed to perfection with a light veil of due covering the grass. The white goalposts reflected a couple of fragments of golden, early-morning sunlight.

Your office was a good size, which surprised you. You had your desk and shelving units that were stocked full of books and folders, no doubt about each player's injury record for the past hundred-odd years. And on the other side of the room, the carpeted floor shifted to linoleum, cabinetry and a medical bed placed in the centre of it. There was a door beside it, no doubt leading to the cupboard where all your physio equipment would be kept.

"Is this alright?" The coach asked, gesturing to the room.

"Is this alright?" You said in slight disbelief, looking around the room. "This is amazing. Thank you so much."

The coach smiled again. "No worries. Come get me if you need anything but otherwise, good luck and have a great first day."

He left the room and allowed you to be alone with your thoughts for a moment. You took a deep, calming breath, taking a good look around the room. You then looked out the window, where the players were now jogging out onto the field for their first practise of the season. You smiled softly, watching them interact with each other, throwing balls and pushing the scrum-machine out onto the field.

The nerves in your tummy were almost completely gone now. You were going to be just fine.

•º•º•

Your first two weeks were eventful, especially when getting used to a whole new working environment. You spent most of the time researching current players injury history, particularly those who had repeat injuries, or injuries that required extensive physio over the season. A couple of sprained ankles, a few over-worked muscles in the back and shoulders, even a torn ACL which had been receiving extensive physiotherapy for the last one and a half years.

Early into your third week with the team is when you met Gaz.

He had sauntered into your office with the sun streaming through your window, the rest of the team out doing warm-up drills on the training field below. He smiled widely at you, flashing his perfect teeth, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

He wanted to make an appointment for a possible strain to his wrist. He emphasised that it had happened over the weekend after a bit too much to drink. You asked him to elaborate and he simply told you he fell out a window. A window.

"How on earth do you just fall out a window?" You asked, beginning to book his appointment on your computer.

He shrugged, eyes watching you carefully. "Not sure. Can't remember much."

"I thought you weren't meant to be drinking during the season?"

He smiled bashfully. "Yeah, I'm not. You're not going to tell coach, are you?"

He battered his eyelashes, and you rolled your eyes. "I won't. But I'll take a look at your wrist now, if you want."

Of course he wanted you too.

You deducted that it was simply a strain, and nothing that a good, tight bandaging won't fix. You bandaged him up and told him he was good to go.

"Will... will I need to come back to make sure it's healing well?"

"No," you told him. "It's a pretty simple strain. Just make sure to change the bandages, especially after training. You should only have to wear the bandages for a week or two."

"Uh..." He looked from his wrist, back to you. "I... I don't know how to wrap my own bandages."

You raised your brows. "Really? A rugby union player can't tape himself up?"

He shrugged. "Nope."

You sighed, shaking your head. How was it possible that a professional sports player couldn't wrap a simple sprain-wrap around his wrist?

"Fine," you conceded, patting him gently on the arm and slowly leading him towards your door. "I can change it after each practise, but you should definitely learn how to do it yourself, okay?"

Gaz beamed. "Thanks, doc."

"I'm not a doctor, Kyle," you said. "I'm a physio."

"Same thing," he smiled wider. "See you after practise, doc."

And that's what happened. For the next two weeks.

He claimed he just couldn't wrap it himself. It hurt too much, you see. You were the only one who could wrap it secure enough that he felt safe to play.

"I thought I told you to learn to do this yourself, Kyle." You said, wrapping fresh pink tape around his wrist, smoothing your fingers across his hand and lower arm in the process. It was just a few days after he initially came to you.

"You can call me Gaz, doc," he corrected, eyes watching your hands. He trailed the movement of your fingers, before his eyes shifted upwards and scanned your face. He watched you with his warm brown eyes as you fixed the strapping tape into place. "And I just can't seem to do it as well as you."

You scoffed. "Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere, Gaz. You need to learn to do simple strapping by yourself, got it?"

"Will you be proud of me when I finally learn?" Gaz joked, eyes still on your face as you finished strapping his wrist.

"Very," you said, pulling away and examining your handiwork. It was good, as usual. "Does that feel secure enough."

Gaz was still looking at you, his eyes drifting over your face as you looked down at his wrist. He hummed a reply, and that prompted you to look up and meet his gaze.

"Gaz?" You questioned. "Does that feel good?"

The warmth of your fingertips ghosted over the pink tape, and Gaz could feel the ticklish sensation beneath it, his skin warming beneath the bandage. "Oh, yeah," he blinked, then looked down at his wrist. "I– what–? Doc, pink tape?"

You smiled. "What's wrong with pink?"

"Nothing, nothing," Gaz shook his head. "Yeah, uh, that feels good. Thanks."

•º•º•

The very first game of the season came in your fourth week as the team's physiotherapist. It was against a team from Scotland, that had travelled down to play the team on English soil.

You found yourself skimming your teeth nervously along your nails, your stomach drawing tight and heart racing as you sat on the bench beside a couple of medics, their medical bags at their feet. The sky was a steely grey, the smell of rain lingering in the air and the wind picking up a tad, blowing icy wind across the field. No doubt, if the rain decided to fall today, the field would turn to mud.

The game was held in a much smaller stadium than usual, not like Twickenham in London that could fit upwards of 80,000 people. Nevertheless, the stands were packed full of whistling and cheering spectators. The shouting and waving of colourful flags increased when the teams jogged out onto the field in a line, and you found yourself clapping alongside the crowd. You found Gaz immediately, his wrist bound in white tape rather than the pink tape you had bound it in a couple of days ago. You smiled to yourself, realising that he had bandaged it up himself.

You hummed to the national anthem, too nervous to open your mouth and sing. You had watched this team play a million times before, but this was different. The anxieties were stacking up within your conscious, and you wondered whether it would have been better to have a strong drink before you came.

The game started and within minutes, Gaz had the ball. He avoided one, then two opposition players, before breaking into a sprint along the sideline. You watched him speed past the bench, the benched players up on their feet and cheering. But it was short lived– Gaz was spear-tackled by one of the Scottish players, tumbling off the field and skidding through the grass. The crowd and bench turned from cheering, to jeering.

You sprung to your feet to get a better look, watching as the Scottish player helped Gaz to his feet, giving him a firm slap on the back as Gaz handed him the ball. He looked pissed off as he jogged back onto the field as the Scottish players readied their lineout. You watched as he rubbed at his wrist, flexing his fingers a few times with a grimace on his face.

"Ah, shit..." you mumbled, noticing the way he held his wrist close to his body. Some of the bandaging was slowly peeling away, making you sigh through your nose. Maybe you should have just done it for him, for goodness sake.

England won the lineout, and the ball was passed rightwards through the team. The captain grabbed the ball from the air, taking it to ground as two Scottish players wrapped their arms around his legs and midriff. Other members of his team came to his aid, a ruck building as more and more players attempted to volley the ball back into their possession. But England held on, with Gaz spotting an opportunity when the ball was popped out of the ruck by the scrum-half with the mohawk.

Gaz broke into a sprint just as the scrum-half turned and saw him, throwing an impressive pass over the top of other players' heads. The entire bench let out a sound of astonishment when Gaz leaped, snatching the ball from the air with one hand and managing to hold onto it. The crowd erupted into cheers as the winger dodged one Scottish player, and then took off down the sideline once more.

Take two, and he seemed to be more successful– speed building until opposing players were dropping behind, unable to keep up as his legs blurred with his pace, grass kicked up behind him. He reached the try-line, diving through the air near the corner and slamming the ball down, his body sliding through the grass behind it. The crowd cheered louder, and so did the bench– and you, too. You were on your feet alongside the subbed players and the other medics, clapping as both the captain and the scrum-half ran up alongside Gaz, patting him on the back and the top of the head.

Sitting back down as one of the water-boys ran the tee out for the conversion, you looked up to find Gaz running towards the sideline, beckoning at you to come closer.

You scooped up your medical bag and met him just over the sideline.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and Gaz answered you by outstretching his arm, offering his wrist to you. The tape was beginning to peel off, brushing against his forearm, and Gaz's brows were pinched, jaw clenched.

"It's painful still?" You asked another question as you quickly began to unwrap the tape.

He nodded, wincing when you ripped the rest of the tape off, taking a couple of his arm hairs with it. You whispered an apology as you kneeled down, unzipping your bag and pulling out a fresh roll of injury tape– bright pink, of course. You heard him groan as you stood back up, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"What's with you and pink tape, doc?" He asked you, voice a bit hoarse. Probably from yelling at his fellow teammates over the past ten minutes. The boys all tended to just shout at each other when they wanted something done, which you found incredibly amusing.

"I like pink," you told him, making quick work of re-taping his wrist as the kicker lined up his kick and concentrated on his conversion. Your eyes flicked up to Gaz's face for a moment. "I thought you said you didn't mind me using pink tape?"

Gaz offered you a cheeky smile, and you realised the two of you were quite close. You could see the thin layer of sweat covering his dark skin, his face glistening beneath the strong overhead lights. He flashed his charming smile as he began slowing his breathing, moving out of puffs, the rise and fall of his chest calming. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and smell the light tang of sweat beneath his cologne.

You felt something flutter in your stomach as a smile stretched onto your face. It didn't last, and you immediately felt embarrassed– instead, you dropped your head back down and quickly finished strapping the bandage just as the kicker converted a successful two points.

"No, I like pink," Gaz said after a prolonged pause, eying you carefully as you stepped away and scooped your medical bag off the ground. "It reminds me of you, actually. And it might be my good luck charm, you never know."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you backed off the field. "Whatever, Garrick."

Gaz flashed his smile again. "If I score another try, it'll be because of this pink tape." Then, he winked and jogged back to where the game reset was taking place.

You found yourself shaking your head, smiling to yourself as you return to the bench. A good luck charm. Whatever.

•º•º•

A couple of hours later, you were back in your office, running through a few extra things before heading home. The team would have nearly finished celebrating their 31 – 14 win, and would soon begin to head home, ready for a new day of training in a couple of days time.

Typing one last report into your computer, there was a knock at your door. It opened, and Gaz stuck his head in.

"Hard at work, doc?" He asked, slipping into the room. He gently shut the door behind him, leaning up against it.

You smiled at him. "I'm finishing one last report, then I'm heading home for the night. Are you boys finished your celebrations?"

Gaz grinned. "Yeah, just about. Just thought I'd pop over and say thank you for redoing my bandages.”

You noticed he looked bashful when he said it, his eyes darting away from yours when the words left his mouth, roaming around your office. His eyes found the medical bed in the corner of the room, staring at it as he finished his sentence.

"It's okay, Gaz, don't worry," you told him, reassured him. "It's my job, anyway." You finished with a laugh, and his dark eyes found yours again. You began packing up your belongings when he shuffled further into the office, his wrist on full display. The pink tape was soggy and mud-stained, and you frowned at him when he held it out to you like a shy child showing they had broken something.

You didn't say anything. You didn't have too. You simply beckoned him towards you, urging him around the desk as you picked up a half-used roll of pink tape from one of your desk drawers. You made him peel the old bandage off.

"I don't understand how you got that so... wet," you remarked, casting a look of disgust at the old bandage now sitting in the waste-paper basket near the base of your desk. "This tape is meant to be water-proof."

Gaz barked out a quiet laugh. "It's probably got a bit of beer on it. And I did spend... you know, a bit of time in the shower, rinsing off the mud and all that."

"Right..." You mumbled, slowly wrapping the pink tape around his wrist.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, except for the low buzzing of the overhead light, and the distant voices from other players beginning to go home.

Gaz watched you silently, his eyes never once leaving your face as you wrapped his wrist. You felt the weight of his stare, the warmth of his gaze, and it made your body slowly begin to heat up, something tight pulling in the base of your gut. You ignored him at first, focussing solely on reapplying the tape. But when you had finished, you made the mistake of looking up and into his deep, dark eyes while still standing in close proximity with him.

His pupils had expanded, his eyes darting all over your face as you gently held his wrist. His fingers had grabbed hold of your arm, the searing heat of his fingertips making heat prickle on the back of your neck in nervousness.

"Does that feel secure?" You managed to whisper, throat drying. "I– does it feel–"

"You gonna let me kiss you, doc?" Gaz whispered an interruption thick with lust, his tongue darting out to swipe against his lower lip. "Please let me."

You bit your bottom lip, eyes scanning his face and waiting for him to tell you that he's joking. But it didn't come. Instead, you were left there, standing in a haze of his cologne and shampoo, his entire body radiating a warmth that made your legs begin to tremble.

"Kyle..." You murmured.

He groaned, eyes closing for just a second. "God, you're killing me here, doc."

"Gaz," you corrected, barely above a whisper. "I– we can't. I'll lose my job–"

"You won't," he responded instantaneously. "You... you won't, doc, I promise. Just... god, just one. Let me just–" he cut himself off with a low groan as he lowered his mouth to yours, brushing his lips so gently against yours that you weren't sure they even touched. He hummed, eyes fluttering shut as he spoke against your lips, his words ghosting across your face. "Just once... one kiss, that's– that's it."

He closed the gap all the way this time, slotting his mouth against yours with a hum from the back of his throat. You were still surprised, struck across the face with confusion as he moved his lips against yours, the warmth of his mouth making your brain short-circuit. His hands moved to cup your head, holding your face to him as he licked your bottom lip and attempted to slip his tongue into your mouth.

"God, you're so good." He whimpered against your mouth, before shoving his tongue further inside, yours meeting his with force.

But with a low whine, you stopped him– placing a hand to his chest and pushing him away. He grunted, breathing hard as he opened his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours. He dropped his arms, grasping at your hips instead, trying to bring you closer, but you resisted with a stab to your heart.

"We can't..." You breathed, slowly backing away. Gaz dropped his arms and watched you shift away from him, the corners of his mouth downturning.

Gaz exhaled with the tip of his tongue pressed to the inside of of his cheek. "I know."

"M'sorry–"

"Don't you dare apologise," Gaz said sternly. "I'm sorry. I'll... I'll see you later, doc. Have a good weekend."

You sighed. "Gaz–"

But he was already gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the rich smell of cologne in his wake, lingering around your office like incense.

•º•º•

You thought about the kiss the entirety of the weekend, and it was like it was eating you alive. Every time you got a message from the staff group chat, or an email from the coaching administration, your heart lurched out of your chest. Not because you were scared that you'd somehow been found out, but because seeing the name of the team pop up on your lock-screen make you think about him.

The winger. Gaz.

You couldn't help it– he was just so warm against you, his mouth soft and inviting as the solid, wet heat of his tongue slipped into your mouth and drew the breathiest of whimpers from you. Your body grew hot at the memory, and the memory of his hands on your face, holding you, cradling you as though you were the most perfect thing on earth. All for him, too.

You expected a wave of regret and humiliation to his you over the weekend break, but nothing came. The only thing that did come was, pun absolutely intended, you.

You just couldn't help it. The memories of the way he made you feel, how he felt, had been festering inside your brain long enough that it needed to be expelled someway. And that way was best fit for the later hours of the night, when you were curled up beneath the covers of your bed, your fingers teasing the wet hole of your cunt, another on your puffy clit.

You just couldn't help it. Rethinking the kiss again and again as you sunk two fingers inside yourself, pumping them at the phantom feeling of Gaz's lips against yours, the muscular plains of his chest and abdomen pushed up against the soft curves of your body, his hands keeping your face against his. He felt so good, smelt so good.

The noises slipped from your mouth as you fucked yourself with your fingers, the sheer amount of your arousal evident by the soft, wet squelches and the sensation of it rolling in pearls down your bare thighs. Your clit was so puffy, so sensitive, that you were coming around your fingers in barely a minute, moaning Gaz's name into the dark emptiness of your bedroom.

You needed him. So bad.

And that's why you called him the following morning. Why you picked up your phone, still in bed with your blankets bunched around you, and dialled his number. Why you waited patiently until he replied with a deep, sleep-clogged voice and why you invited him over. Why you got excited when he accepted almost right away, and why you showered with your heart thrumming, buzzing, racing in your chest. Why you answered your door with a bright smile and allowed him to crowd you back into the entrance hall of your flat, closing and locking the door behind him. Why you let him back you against the wall, his hands straight away grabbing your face, fingers warm on your soft skin, and especially why you let him slot his mouth against yours.

You weren't thinking about anything but him at that point. Not about your job, the coach, the captain or any other player. You were thinking of Gaz, the winger, the rugby union player that was currently dropping to his knees in front of you and pulling your trousers down with him. He kissed your bare legs as he helped wriggle your trousers away from your ankles, kissing the sides of your knees as his hands roamed up your legs.

His face trailed up your inner thighs, dragging his nose against the smooth skin, eyes flicking from your clothed core to your pretty face. You partially gaped down at him, chest heaving, your palms flat against the wall to ground yourself. Gaz's mouth found your core through your underwear, already soaking the fabric, and he nudged it with the point of his nose, catching on your clit. He smiled against you as he pressed a kiss to your clothed cunt, and you rewarded him with a pretty little moan that echoed through your quiet flat.

"Mm, jus' so wet already," he said it as though he was in genuine disbelief, but the smile never left his face as he placed another hot kiss to the underside of your underwear, his hands now kneading the fat of your arsecheeks, pushing you away from the wall and closer to him. "Soakin' these pretty little things, hm? Don't want to ruin them, do we, baby?"

You mewled down at him, one of your hands settling on his shoulder as he gently shifted your underwear to the side, exposing your glistening core. He groaned, low and breathy, eyes transfixed on where your leaking hole clenched around nothing, your clit sitting all pretty between your puffy lips. He groaned again, pushing you closer to him and settling his face right up between your legs, his mouth immediately attaching to your clit.

He sucked it into his mouth with a gentle scrape of his teeth, a scrape that sent bolts of electricity through your system, your back arching off the wall as Gaz's hands returned to your arse, groping. You could vaguely feel your underwear pushed into the crevice of your thigh, but you weren't focussing on that– you were focussing on the way Gaz circled your clit with his tongue, before he dragged his tongue through your wet folds and around your hole.

You moaned loudly, and Gaz hummed in response against you, his tongue running in tight circles around your slick hole, licking over it. The sensations were making your body light up, fiery hot pleasure coursing through your veins and you were worried that you were going to come before he even put his tongue inside you. You gripped at his shoulder as finally, finally, he slipped his tongue inside you, a loud whine ripping from his throat.

You could barely keep your eyes open, trying desperately to remain eye-contact as he held your gaze, tongue moving in and out of you, lapping up each drip of your arousal. He was vocal, too– grunting and whining as his tongue moved, his lower-face no doubt drenched. His hands gripped at the flesh of your arse like it was his lifeline, his fingers squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing each time his tongue licked into you.

The world around you was spinning, the morning light streaming in from the small window above your front door. You can't believe you were in this situation. But here you were– leaning against the wall of your hallway, one of England's best rugby union winger's gripping your arse, his face buried between your legs and eating you out the best you'd ever had.

"Gaz, Gaz, oh my god–" You whispered, honeyed with your on-coming orgasm. It was building, burning hot inside you, slowing the thoughts of your brain and forcing you to hone in on the feel of Gaz's solid, wet tongue inside your cunt.

He only broke the movements of his tongue for a moment, his nose still nudging your swollen clit. "Tha's a good girl, baby. Say my name while you're comin' round my tongue." Then, his tongue was back inside you, thrusting in so deep that stars burst behind your pupils and your body wracked with shudders.

You came, moaning out a blissful "Gaz–!" as your orgasm washed over you– no, slammed over you. You gushed around him, your legs trembling in his hold, sweat beading along your hairline as the warmth overtook you. You moaned out again, stretched around a desperate whine, as he licked you through it, sucking up as much of your arousal as he could before he reluctantly pulled away, placing one last kiss to your clit before sliding your underwear back into place.

His entire lower face was wet, glistening with you. You groaned, shutting your eyes as he got to his feet and proceeded to kiss you, rubbing your slick all over your face as well. He smiled into your mouth, tongue probing for yours, meeting it and passing on more of your slick. You moaned, and he moaned too.

"Been wanting to do that for so long," Gaz said in between kisses, his hands on your hips now, rubbing you against his front. You could feel the tent growing in his trousers, and a whimper escaped you. He dragged his mouth down your neck, sucking and biting and licking, spreading more of your sticky arousal across your bare skin. "Pretty little thing she is too, isn't she?"

One of his hands dragged down between your legs as he said that, fingers rubbing through your folds over your soaked underwear. You whimpered, and he hummed, increasing his speed. He still didn't move your underwear, just kept rubbing at your wet, puffy clit with his fingers, his hand moving back and forth between your legs.

"I– I take it your wrist is all better now?" You questioned him, almost out of breath as he rubbed your clit. He was using his injured wrist, the pink tape still visible working between your thighs.

Gaz smiled against your neck. "I had a great physio, didn't I? The best physio..." he increased the speed of his fingers, rubbing you quicker, circling your clit. Your arousal was further dampening your underwear, small whimpers falling from your lips, overstimulation creeping up. Gaz licked at the pulse point behind your ear. "You're just so good, doc. Such a good girl. So fuckin' good letting me play with this pretty pussy, hm? So fuckin' good."

You mewled, turning your head so you could kiss him. This time, it was your tongue shoving into his mouth, and he moaned quietly around your tongue as your lips moved together. His fingers sped up, circles deepening.

"M'gonna come, Gaz..." You whispered, and he shushed you with a kiss. When he pulled away, he did so with a low whine, eyes raking down your body, absorbing each and every little bit of you with his dark eyes.

"You can come, baby," he told you softly. "Come in these pretty things–" he punctuated his sentence by pinching at the fabric of your underwear, pulling it back and letting it slap against your clit, before resuming his previous movements. "–and ruin them for me, yeah? Come all over them and I'll take them home, how's that sound?"

You moaned loudly, clawing at his clothed back.

He chuckled deeply. "Yeah? You like the thought of me takin' these home and wrappin' them around my cock? Hm? Want me to fuck them while thinking about this pretty pussy? O'course you do, doc, cause you're just such a good girl for me. So good, 'n such a good fuckin' pussy too."

That made you come– slick flooding the gusset of your underwear, soaking through and dampening his fingers. He hummed, pleased, against you, his mouth roving over your neck and jaw again as you came. You were breathing hard, and the weight of Gaz's hard cock was making you even more breathless, pushed up between your thighs.

Heaven on earth, it felt like.

But it ended all to soon. Way to fucking soon. Gaz's phone began ringing in his pocket, and he fished it out with his fingers still tacky with your arousal. He kept you pinned to the wall with his body as his eyes swept over his phone screen and he sighed, showing you the screen too. It was the coach, and he mouthed an apology as he answered.

The phone call felt like it went on for an eternity (it was probably just over a minute) and you watched as Gaz's brows drew together in frustration. When he hung up, he angrily shoved his phone back into his pocket and rested his head against your shoulder, groaning as his hands circled your hips, massaging the pliable flesh there.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and he groaned into your neck again.

"I forgot I had sprint training today."

"Oh..."

"Yeah... fuck, m'sorry–"

"Don't apologise," you said, taking his head into your hands. "You need to stay at the top of your game, don't you? And you don't want to make coach mad, either."

"S'pose you're right," he mumbled, and then leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. "See you tomorrow?"

You smiled. "See you tomorrow."

•º•º•

When you got to work the next day, you found a new set of folders on your desk. Placing your belongings down, you picked up the next folder, which had a new patient for you to begin working with, who had received a small injury during the last game that had gotten a bit worse over the weekend.

Your mind was still lingering on thoughts of your and Gaz's encounter yesterday morning, but you picked up and opened the file anyway, intent on not letting sex, and that handsome winger, distract you from doing your job.

"Pulled muscle in the calf, hopefully not a tear..." You read through the file. You flipped the file shut, reading the name on the front. "MacTavish, nicknamed Soap," you laughed. "What kind of name is Soap?"

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

my first chapter of this series. let me know what you thought, and stay tuned for the next one !!

[starkwlkr]

always an angel | mick schumacher

yes, this is named after a boygenius song 🫶🏼 anyways this is going to be a two part imagine in my senna!reader series also I’m just picking the candian gp because it’s this weekend lol

update: this has been in the drafts that’s why it says canadian gp^^

Michael Schumacher. One of the greatest drivers in motorsports. There’s a reason why he’s a seven time world champion. Not only was he a great driver, but he was an even greater dad to Mick and Gina Schumacher. You could tell that becoming a dad was ten times better than winning a world championship to Michael Schumacher.

The love he had for the sport was passed onto his only son, Mick. Soon, the young Schumacher was competing in f3 then f2, winning the 2020 FIA f2 championship then making his way to where he was meant to be, f1. Along the way, Mick had managed to fall in love with the daughter of another great driver that was taken away too soon. Y/n Senna had respect for every driver who competed, it didn’t matter if they had won or not. She would never step foot in a garage after the death of her father.

It was after she started talking to Mick that she reintroduced herself to the word that her father loved so much. They had gotten in touch a year before the pandemic started and stayed in contact ever since. Then years passed, team changes, retirement and a new life was brought in the world.

Mick was more than excited to show his daughter, Emmeline or Emmy as he loved to call her, the wonderful word of motorsports. Emmy was born into a racing family much like her parents. Mick had already gotten questions if he wanted his daughter to follow in the family footsteps. He knew if she ever did then it would be too much pressure on her seeing as she had Schumacher and Senna blood in her.

He had seen all the articles and tweets about his performance in f1. He remembers how he felt in that moment when he read all the rude comments. Y/n had to take his phone away for some time because he constantly checked twitter.

He didn’t want Emmy to go through that.

It was summer when they decided that bringing Emmy to a race was okay, the race being the Canadian Grand Prix. Mick and Y/n had arrived to the Mercedes hospitality a little earlier since they didn’t want Emmy to be scared by fans and photographers.

“I talked to Gina the other week.” Y/n said as Emmy slammed her hands on the table, getting irritated that her soppy cup kept rolling away from her.

“Yeah?” Mick grabbed the plastic cup and positioned it infront of Emmy.

“Yeah, she says she misses Emmy and she might visit soon.” Y/n finished.

“Emmy misses her Aunt Gina too, right Em?”

Emmy just made noises and kept on hitting her cup on the table. That caught the attention of George, who had just entered the hospitality.

“Hey miss Emmy, what did the table ever do to you?” George teased, walking up to the little family. “How is the royal racing family?”

“You’re hilarious, George.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

“Thank you very much,” George smirked. “But I’m only here to see the best Schumacher slash Senna in the paddock. Hi, baby Emmy!” Emmy giggled when George ruffled her hair. “I know it’s too early, but do you think Emmy will one day say she wants to be a formula one driver?”

Mick hoped she never said those words. The world was a harsh place. He remembers the feeling all too well.

[atinystraynstay]

Lover - Choi Jongho

Synopsis: "I thought a love like yours could never be experienced."

Pairing: Choi Jongho x reader

Genre: so much fluff! can't help it when it comes to imagining what domesticated life with Jongho could be like

Word Count: 1.5k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

"Sweetheart? Do you want honey in your tea?" Jongho called out from the kitchen. "Yes, please!"

You were currently situated in the living room, a throw blanket over your lap. Your mother had just sent you photos from your childhood that she found extras of. You asked her to send them to you because you wanted to give Jongho a glimpse of your childhood. You had them in a small pile for the two of you to look through.

You overheard the clinking of what you assume to be a spoon against the cups. Jongho was the type of guy that never overlooked any detail. He liked to be precise, especially when it comes to you. His greatest pride was his ability to look after you.

Glancing up at him, you watched him slowly move into the room. You couldn't help but giggle as he looked nervous that he might slip some of the tea into his head. To help him, you moved the photos to beside you so you could stand up to take one of the mugs from him.

He silently thanked you before setting his mug on the coffee table. Jongho always preferred to let the tea cool down slightly, so he wouldn't burn his tongue. "So how old are some of these pictures?" He asked curiously. "I think some of them are from when I was just 3 or 4, so I was pretty young, so you've been warned."

Jongho rolled his eyes playfully before leaning over to press a lingering kiss into your head. "Would you please stop talking bad about the love of my life, hmm? I quite love how she looks," he murmured into your skin.

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, letting his fingers run up and down your forearm comfortingly. You nodded your head, accepting Jongho's request. You just weren't the biggest fan of your more awkward stages of life.

However, if it was one thing about Jongho, he would always be there to affirm your worth. Your confidence has only grown since getting together. But maybe that was because he quite literally was everything you wished for when you were younger. Setting the photo album in your lap, you opened the first page. There was a photo of you, maybe less than an hour old. It was the photograph of you right after your birth. You were red in the face, probably from all the crying you did being so new to the world. Your hands were closed in tiny fists, eyes squeezed shuts. You cringed slightly seeing your newborn self. Jongho, on the other hand, was in awe to see the beginning of your life.

The next few pages were filled with photos before you entered school. They were photos of you dressed in Halloween costumes, like the one where your grandmother insisted you and your cousins should be pumpkins together when you were 3. Or your favorite when you were 2, the duck costume.

"Mom told me that I basically lived in that costume for the rest of the year," you laughed.

Jongho laughed along with you. He loved seeing the joy on your young face. In nearly every photo, you had a wide smile on your face. You were innocent, not exposed to the stresses of life. All that concerned you was being able to wear that fluffy duck Halloween costume,

As you go through the pages, you were introduced the the versions of yourself you seemed to have forgotten about. There were several photos of you playing different sports - soccer, taekwondo, swimming, and even a summer playing t-ball. Some of the photos were taken by your father at the sporting events, while others were photos taken by a professional photographer to mark the season.

"I always knew my girl was outgoing," Jongho commented. He leaned over to kiss your cheek lingeringly. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but it didn't hide the smile curling on your lips.

Flipping to the next page, you noticed your are entering the school photos. You groaned at the photos from kindergarten and 1st grade, especially. You felt like you were an awkward kid. Your mom cut your hair short when you were younger because you refused to let her help you brush it. You also began to wear glasses. Not to mention the braces that would come on later. A trifecta.

There were of course good memories from your childhood. But you wished to forget these more awkward moments. You were bullied quite a bit in your younger years which took a toll on your mental health well into your adult years.

"Have you ever considered cutting your hair short again?" Jongho asked.

You quickly looked at him, frowning. You pulled your now long hair over the front of your shoulder, looking down at you. That was part of the reason you were so hesitant about getting a haircut now and then. You were afraid of too many inches being taken off and not feeling confident. Your long hair was opposite from what it was when you felt like you were at your lowest. "Do you not like my hair now?" You whispered.

This time, Jongho looked at you. A frown was evident on his lips. He honestly could care less how long or how short your hair was. He thought you were adorable as a child. From just looking at the photos, he could see the bold color of your eyes. That was the first thing he fell for when it came to you.

"No, sweet girl, I love your hair now. But I also like the short hair on you when you were younger. It showed your gorgeous face off to the whole world," he explained. His voice was gentle. He was trying to put the pieces together for your reaction. The last thing Jongho ever wanted to do was upset you.

"Yeah right, Jongho," you sighed as you went to go flip to the next page.

However, he stopped you. His hand rested on top of yours, fingers gently caressing the back of your hand. "I mean it, pretty baby. You were adorable then, you're adorable now. It's amazing to see your journey through photos of how you've grown into the person you are today." His free hand ran over one of the photos.

"You're too good to me, honey," you sighed. Your head rested on his head on your shoulder. "It's the truth," he pouted. "Why don't you believe me?"

You peered up to see Jongho looking at you. You sat up the moment you could tell he was genuinely upset. You furrowed your eyebrows as you turned your body towards him, so you could have a proper conversation. Your left foot was tucked underneath your right which was dangling over the edge of the couch. Your gaze fixated on your hands as you fiddled with them a bit, your anxiety starting to increase.

"I guess I just never saw my worth as a kid, you know? I had people telling me that I wasn't good enough, that I wasn't beautiful. It was hard growing up in my small town where it seemed everyone fit in except me," you explained. "Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I never fit into the mold, but it was still hard."

Jongho gently reached over to hold your hands in his. He lifted them up, kissing your knuckles lingeringly before setting your joined hands in between your bodies. His thumbs gently caressed the back of your hands to try to ease any negative emotions stirring inside of you.

"My sweet girl, my love," he cooed. "Believe me when I say this. You were beautiful then, you are beautiful now. I'm honestly jealous of the people who got to grow up with you because they were lucky. But I guess I'm the lucky one that gets to experience your present and future."

Your heart swelled at his sentiment. You still kept your gaze locked on your interlocked hands. Noticing, Jongho squeezed them which caused you to finally meet his eyes. Your lover was smiling at you with endearment.

"Why don't we stop looking back at the past for a moment? Hmm? We can focus on our future, talk about everything you want to accomplishment and do in this life because I'm not going anywhere," he teased teasingly.

You nodded at his suggestion. Leaning forward, you pressed a lingering kiss into the side of his face. A soft "thank you" was whispered into his skin which caused his cheeks to heat up. Even after all this time, he still blushed like he did on the first date. If anything, the emotions he felt towards you were stronger than ever before.

That night, the two of you cuddled up on the couch. You talked about your goals for the next five, next ten years. While you were uncertain of the obstacles you might encounter, there was a reassuring aspect knowing Jongho was in it for the long haul.

He was devoted to you. He was in love with all parts of you - past, present, and future. And he would spend the rest of his days reminding you of that.

That's what he wanted, at least - to be your lover unconditionally.

[doromoni]

Hunting Affections

Charles Leclerc x photographer!reader

Max Verstappen x photographer!reader

Epilogue

fanfic + smau fic

faceclaim : Hwang Eunbi

warnings : nothing ig?

A/N : UP FOR EDITING 🤍

masterlist

<previous

Summary; Love is but a concept — just connections of neurons that take part in the brain … and yet, why is it the most painful when one falls alone?

or

Loving someone who doesn’t love you back , until you can’t no more. Maybe then they’ll actually know what they’ve lost.

Certainty is not a word to describe life, as change is constant, and nothing can tell what tomorrow may bring. No day is perfect, and no day is the same as the ones before. Everything changes and not all people in our lives actually stay, and not everything that we planned is fated for us — but maybe it’s actually for the best.

I thought that I had lost myself when a person that I loved parted from my life. I thought that my everything was over when Charles Leclerc left me.— well I did, and it did, but I found a better version of me in the end.

Now, I could honestly say that I’ve forgiven all that had been done. I am truly thankful for everything that had happened in the past, for what I have now couldn’t have happened because of it.

y/n_stills.

likes are hidden

y/n_stills. Everyone, we would like for you to meet our sweetest angel, Jilian 💙.

We’ve decided that it was time that you all get to meet our most precious, baby girl. During the first few years of our baby, we have decided that it would be the best to keep her out of the spotlight and keep her to ourselves for the meantime. We hope that you understand and respect our decision and that everyone will show kindness to our angel.

comments are restricted

“Mommy, please hurry up! I don’t wanna miss Daddy’s race” and there goes my most precious little girl stomping her feet as she sped towards my legs hugging them in a death grip.

“I know, I know , my sweet . Mommy just needs a minute to fix my hair , then we’ll go see daddy, alright? Why don’t you choose which car you want Mommy to drive” I said trying to placate the pouting girl. Nodding eagerly, she dashed towards the garage.

She was a carbon copy of her dad, from her features to her attitude — She really was her daddy’s daughter alright. She even got his love for cars and his passion for the sport — I love her even more for it.

Hearing the small footsteps coming back, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. Seeing my daughter bounce in excitement as she clutched the car keys in her tiny hands has brought the greatest of warmth to my heart. Zooming towards me she then pushed the keys to my hands, then making her way back to the garage. Looking down to key, a chuckle left my lips. As expected, my daughter knew what she wanted , her favorite — and of course it’s her daddy’s Ferrari 488 Pista.

After buckling my baby in her car seat, I drove us to the race circuit. Today was her first ever actual race and appearance to the public. Her father and I had agreed that it was about time to desensitize her to the motorsport world, since both of us are still active in our fields … plus she’s been begging to come with us rather than staying in with her nanny.

Feeling the excitement from my baby , as the circuit came nearer and fans wearing the colors of their teams rushing past our car — with some sending waves our way.

“Mommy, why are they saying hi? Are they friends?” My daughter asked with big eyes as she tried to take everything in.

“Yes sweetie, they are our friends! They also support daddy and other uncles’ racing.” I explained as I parked the car in the private lot.

y/n_stills. 2mins

viewed by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton and 1,636,162 others

story replies

landonorris MY NIECE! MY NIECE! MY NIECE!

landonorris your favorite unkow wando is hereeee

y/n_stills. Hmmm favorite… sure.

oscarpiastri Mom! You brought Jillyyyyyy~ please let me babysit later! 🥺

y/n_stills. Well she did miss you

oscarpiastri YES! I promise I won’t leave her with lando!

Grabbing everything we need, I picked up my daughter and placed her on my hip. Her tiny arms circled my neck tightly growing shy from the attention we were getting from the fans as we walked through the paddock

“It’s ok baby. Mommy is here, their not gonna hurt you. Remember, they are our friends! Let’s go find your Daddy, hm?” I said soothingly as I placed a kiss on her forehead. Sensing that she was starting to get overwhelmed, I planned to move quicker to our motorhome, when a familiar voice shouted catching our attention.

“Y/N! Mon Petit Jillian! “

My Jillian physically perked up at the voice. Suddenly giddy , she squirmed at my hold. With a soft smile and with no choice but to let go , I looked at my daughter run towards the man with a squeal.

Jillian ran straight into the arms of Charles Leclerc.

———

“Charles, let’s talk please”

Here we are, where everything had all began. We are once again sitting beneath the stars , hidden from civilization, on the same beach where we poured our soul out for the world to hear.

He remained quiet as he looked at the crashing waves up ahead. Charles looked so peaceful, as if everything had finally fallen into place. Then a soft smile suddenly appeared on his lips as he looked straight into my eyes. Patting the place next to him as he looked back into the ocean, I then complied and took a seat beside him.

We sat their in complete silence, only savoring the peace that the both of us missed. He then spoke , his voice blending in with the sound of the waves crashing ahead of us.

“Do you really love him?” Charles had asked earnestly, there was no anger in his voice. His eyes were clear, holding only tranquility and peace.

“Yes, I do. I do love Max, so so much.” a smile growing , as I answered without a doubt. Charles turned silent again , this time closing his eyes. Yet , again a smile had shown in his lips, this time it reflected understanding acknowledgment, and then finally… acceptance.

“I was really a fool for what I did to you, Y/N. I’m sorry for being selfish and hindering you from your happiness . To be honest, I haven’t been alright for a while … even I don’t understand myself. I felt miserable and I felt that it wasn’t fair … and others should feel the same.”

“When I saw you getting along with everyone, I grew jealous and vindictive, specially when my entire family loved you instantly, I could never do that you know? I was blinded by my own faults, so I blamed you instead because it was easier. I had the mindset that you were mine and I that we should be hurting together… that you shouldn’t be happy when i’m not. I took everything out on you and you didn’t deserve any of it. Not at all. You deserve the entire world and more.”

Charles then looked back at me with the same eyes that looked at me when we first met — the same eyes that filled with the same spark… the spark of freedom.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry for everything …. I’m letting you go. Be happy“

My tears gushed endlessly, as i choked on my sobs. Now Charles and I chanting a different promise to the same stars that witnessed our journey.

———

5 years had passed, and a lot has changed. All of us had moved on and had gone through with our lives. Everything has changed, all of us had matured to what we are now.

“How is my favorite little girl, doing? Did mommy let you play with the present I gave you?” Charles had lifted Jillian to his hip as he caught the toddler mid run. Rolling my eyes at the Monegasque driver, I went towards them.

“Noooooo , Uncle ChaCha! Mommy didn’t let me play with it yet! She said that I could play with it when I’m five!”

Seeing my daughter act petulant to her favorite uncle (Don’t tell Lando) brought a chuckle to the both of us.

“What? How dare Mommy say no to a princess?” Charles acted exaggeratedly

“ Well Mommy is the queen , and Daddy said that everyone should follow her orders” My baby said smartly.

“And Daddy stands by his statement! Mommy is always right!” Then the voice of my husband boomed behind me, and our daughter automatically jumping into her Daddy’s arms.

There stood with the biggest of smiles with our bundle of happiness, joy and love , our daughter settled in his arms, Max Emilian Verstappen , my husband, the father of our child, and the love of my life.

I didn’t need to hunt for affection any longer , Now I am surrounded by it .

Fin~

Thank you for reading, everyone 🤍

[lil-shiro]

Article: LANCE STROLL ON F1’S FUTURE & THE NEW ASTON MARTIN VANTAGE

As always – article highlights under the cut with pics included, full one linked in title

Aston Martin Aramco F1 Team's Lance Stroll reflects on how far he's come, the team's current direction, and the new Vantage in an interview with BH.

The Canadian youngster emerged as the Italian F4 Champion with Prema Powerteam in 2014 before becoming Toyota Racing Series champion in 2015. A little later on at the 2015 FIA Formula 3 European Championship

[FIA Formula 3 European Championship / Thomas Suer]

Lance Stroll would ink his page in history as the youngest Formula 1 rookie to ever record a podium finish (P3) at the 2017 Azerbaijan Grand Prix. And at the 2020 Turkish Grand Prix, he’d earn his maiden F1 pole position. To date, he’s collected 285 career points across 155 race weekends.

Stroll has had the good fortune of partnering with elite-calibre veterans, four-time champ Sebastian Vettel and two-time champ Fernando Alonso, during their respective tenures at Aston Martin F1. So what exactly has he learned studying at the proverbial feet of these world-beating masters?

“From Seb, I learnt a lot about how to go about a weekend,” Stroll explains.

“He was very detail orientated; he wanted to know every little detail behind any decision. He also did a lot for the sport over the years, which I really respect.”

“Fernando teaches us all about passion and motivation. That’s what makes Fernando who he is. Like all great athletes, he’s constantly pushing himself to get better every day.”

Posed with the hypothetical scenario of being able to partner any driver in history — apparently something F1 athletes get asked “a lot” but not something they ever really think about — he replied:

“Growing up, I was a huge fan of Michael Schumacher. I used to get up super early in Canada to watch him race against my current teammate, Fernando. So, I think I’d go Michael.”

Aston Martin F1 is in a crucial transition stage. One that could inform its success as a constructor for coming half decade.

“It’s like you said, we’re in this building stage and there’s such a lot to be excited about right now,” offers Stroll when I prompt him.

“This is a team that is really pushing hard, and it’s an amazing thing to be a part of. We have the Honda partnership from 2026, a state-of-the-art campus with a new wind tunnel, we’re working on our own gearbox… There’s so much to be positive about.”

“The goal has always been to build a team that’s capable of fighting for — and winning — World Championships. That’s a goal that I really believe in, and one that I want to help the team achieve.”

If there’s one statement Lance Stroll wanted to make about both himself as professional driver and Aston Martin as a brand… what would it be?

“We’re doing things with focus, dedication, attention to detail. Aston Martin is a 111-year-old brand and it’s part of British, and international, culture. We want to uphold that tradition and quest for excellence by creating a Formula 1 team that represents the very best.”

“I’m proud to play a part in that, and I’ve been incredibly excited by the progress we’ve made and the developments that have been coming to turn us into a team that can represent one of the greatest brands in the world on the global stage.”

[All non-archival images included in this article have been captured by photographer Simon Emmett. Lance Stroll dressed by BOSS Menswear.]

[letsgetrowdy43]

The Timeline ☆—

Au Masterlist!!

Honey was born and raised in Plymouth, Michigan.

Her father was the equipment manager for the USNTDP U18 team, meaning that she spent a lot of time surrounding the sport and the culture.

Her whole life revolved around training camps, away games, spending most of her Christmases in other countries to attend the world juniors

With this lifestyle of constantly being on the move, she spent a good portion of her life taking in new cultures, learning and admiring travelling around the world, which led to her love of photography

Quinn was the first Hughes she met in Michigan before the rest of the family moved down for Jack to follow in his footsteps.

The other Hughes' moved into town and basically took over the hockey scene, meaning that she spent a lot of time around the family of five

When Quinn and her had originally met it was around their sophomore year of High school and Quinn was all heart eyes for her.

The poor boy could not form a coherent sentence around her, everything was mumbles and whispers until she was asked to photograph some portraits for the USNTDP

Her father had gotten her an internship with the communication team for the program, and after many complaints about how the teams needed better graphics, they finally gave her creative liberty over the Instagram page.

So now they sat in an overly lit room, a camera in her hands and him in full gear as she listened to his coach's wishes for the photos.

At this point in their life, they had only ever talked within classes when their moms were carpooling their brothers, or in passing.

So the moment the coach left the only noise remaining in the room was the humming of the air-conditioning.

Quinn's mouth ran dry as she put the camera up to her eye to size him up in the viewfinder, her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink as she examined his side profile. Quietly thinking to herself "omg this guy is like extremely attractive" her eyes roamed around his features.

"I had no idea you were into photography," he said sheepishly as she messed around with the lighting and the backdrop, she moved over to reposition his stance and position now, fixing the jersey that draped over his frame to better show off the Team USA logo

"It's a hobby I picked up in junior high, while in Sweden for a tournament," a smile danced on her lips as he mimicked the pose she wanted him in.

Memories of that particular WJC flashed through her mind as she remembered her and her older brother opening a gift each on Christmas Day, hers being a new Canon camera. Something she'd never expressed an interest in, but something that soon became one of her greatest passions.

"The media thing is something my dad wants me to pursue" She shrugged as she found herself standing in front of him, fingers raking through his hair to make it sit just right.

She had barely noticed that she had done it until her eyes met his, shock displayed across his features as his cheeks turned bright pink.

From that day on she had basically been attached at the hip to Quinn, wherever he was, so was she.

The nickname stemmed from Ellen calling her honey, Quinn thought it was endearing thus forth he claimed it as his own.

Luke and Jack had settled for the nickname Hun, at first it was mockingly, but then it just stuck.

She was his best friend throughout his time on the U18 USNTDP Team, his runs at the WJCs, his draft day, and up into his time in the NCAA

Her original plan was to attend MSU and gain a degree in communications through their program, but the thought of growing apart from her favourite Hughes felt too bitter

So instead, and after quite a bit of convincing from Quinn, she followed him all the way to Umich to pursue a career in media and sports management.

The summer going into their sophomore year was his NHL draft, the entire Hughes family was in Dallas, nerves racking their brains as they awaited Quinn's name to be called.

Honey sat prettily, dressed up in his favourite colour (to match his suit) as his name was picked to go 7th overall.

A wide grin on her face as she watched him hug all of the friends and family around him, landing lastly on his best friend who he just smiled at softly and hugged tenderly, allowing her to place a kiss on his cheek before he walked up to receive his Canucks jersey.

they began to date in their sophomore year, after a lot of dancing around the subject Honey.

Honey was the one who made the first move as they unpacked his thing sin his and josh's new dorm room. A shy smile of his face as she pulled away breatlessly, smirking at the flush on hi cheeks.

they dated throughout their sophomore year, it felt like they were on a tightrope for a good amount of the year though, knowing that by the end of the school year, it was more than likely that Quinn was to be sent out to Canada.

And just as expected Quinn was in Vancouver by the end of the spring semester.

The long-distance was definitely not kind to them, with the time difference and the fast pace of their lives, both decided it was best for them to take a break.

They sat down during Christmas of her junior year and his off-week and decided it was for the best for them to break up, and then possibly pick up where they left off after she finished her schooling

That didn't exactly go to plan, because as soon as the off-season started and she was home for her summer break the two of them were literally attached to each other once again.

Let's just say although they were not together they were definitely taking advantage of being able to hook up at any given opportunity

Luke and Jack definitely chirped the fuck out of Quinn, they had seen and heard their fair share of the couple over the summer

The summer came to an end, and although it had been a whirlwind of emotion Quinn thought it was still a better idea to let Honey go out and be single for her last year.

On the day of her graduation Quinn showed up on her front door step in a suit and a gift in his hand, he didn't know how she still felt about him but he wanted to make it known that he wanted her.

she opened the door, a grin on her lips as he blushed at her pretty appearance, and pressed a small gift box in her hand.

"I do not expect you to uproot your life for me, but I want you to know that I want you in my life" he whispered, as she opened the gift box in her had to reveal a key to his apartment.

Two months later and the two of them were packing up all of her essentials and sending them off to Vancouver.

Honey started a job as a media manager for a Bridal store, acclimating to the life of an NHL girlfriend (too which she slayed)

The following Christmas (2021) was when they found out that they were expecting warren, too which prompted Quinn proposing to her

I love a good shotgun wedding and 100% this wedding was an outcome of the unplanned pregnancy but Quinn and Honey were on cloud 9 the moment they find out that they were going to be parents

Ellen and Jim were just over the moon, they love Honey, they love Quinn, and they love the couple, and they were just so excited to be grandparents.

Warren was born in October, in Vancouver, both sets of in-laws flew in along with the couple’s brothers.

Parenthood came on extremely easy for Quinn, and a little less easy for Honey, but eventually, they worked out the kinks and she finally figured out motherhood but in her own light.

They had their second baby in the summer of 2024, welcoming their baby girl Hayden into the world

Life was perfect for them, their two babies, and their happy marriage, and then a media manager position opens up for Honey which opened many more opportunities for the content family

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

The 1965 Lotus-Ford that Jimmy Clark drove to the 1965 Indianapolis 500 Championship.

Jim Clark was a 2 time F1 World Champion and Indy 500 Champion

Jim Clark died because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. On 7 April 1968, Clark should have been at Brands Hatch giving the DFV-engined Ford F3L its debut in the BOAC 500 sports car race. But he had been double-booked that weekend, and instead spent it at Hockenheim in Germany for a big European F3 meeting where Lotus was fielding its works team, to oblige sponsors Firestone.

Clark was a sheep farmer from the Scottish Borders who had started competing in sprints in his Sunbeam Mk3 saloon in 1956. He won his first event. He raced friend Ian Scott Watson’s DKW Sonderklasse and Porsche 356 1600 Super before graduating to a Jaguar D-type run by the Border Reivers team.

In 1958 Scott Watson bought one of the first Lotus Type 14 Elites, and at the Boxing Day Brands Hatch race meeting Clark had Lotus founder Colin Chapman in his own Elite all but beaten, until a backmarker spun in front of him.

Clark’s smoothness and mechanical sympathy meant he could often get a Lotus to last a race distance where other drivers could not

By 1960 Clark was a Lotus F1 driver, and he won his first championship race at Spa in 1962. It was one of three wins that year, leaving him in contention for the world championship at the final race of the season in South Africa – but his Lotus failed him, and BRM driver Graham Hill was crowned champion.

There was no mistake the following year. Clark won seven of the 10 races in 1963 – the most any driver had won in one season – and took his first world championship win in dominant style.

Chapman was renowned for building cars that were as light as possible, but often their reliability was suspect. Clark’s smoothness and mechanical sympathy meant he could often get a Lotus to last a race distance where other drivers could not, but it didn’t always work out: in 1964 a strong of retirements robbed him of the chance to defend his F1 title. He was back in 1965 with the new Lotus 33, and six race wins guaranteed him his second world championship.

Graham Hill joined Lotus for 1967 – typically, Clark insisted they were both paid the same salary – and carried out much of the development work on the new Cosworth DFV engine. It was obvious that the DFV-powered Lotus 49 was the class of the field at its debut race at Zandvoort, so Hill and Clark tossed to decide who would win. Hill won the toss, but his car expired, leaving Clark to win – in a car he had never seen before that weekend.

Clark had immense natural ability: he often struggled to understand why other drivers couldn’t keep up

Arguably his greatest race came in the 49 at Monza later that year when he suffered a puncture while leading. The pit stop to change the tyre left him a lap down but he fought past the leading group to unlap himself, belying some commentators’ opinions that Clark wasn’t a racer, and was only any good when controlling a race from the front. He lapped faster and faster, caught up an entire lap, and passed the front-runners again to re-take the lead. But the epic win was not to be: the Lotus ran out of fuel with a couple of laps to go, and John Surtees won in the ‘Hondola’ RA300.

Clark had immense natural ability: he often struggled to understand why other drivers couldn’t keep up. When he had a big enough lead he would keep himself amused by setting the car up in a big slide for the benefit of trackside photographers. His feel for the car was legendary: driving the Lotus 49 for the first time at Zandvoort in 1967 he was convinced something wasn’t right with the car, though there was nothing obvious amiss. But when Team Lotus tore down the car overnight they found one of the wheel bearings was just starting to fail.

Clark won the first F1 championship race of the 1968 season in South Africa, where he beat Juan Manuel Fangio’s all-time record of 24 world championship Grand Prix victories. He was well-placed to win more F1 races and maybe become champion again in 1968, but then came Hockenheim…

His Lotus 48 F2 car was up against a strong international field and Clark was running eighth after the first four laps. On the fifth lap the Lotus headed uphill out of the stadium section of the course and into the woods, was seen to twitch, and flew off the road into the trees. Though the cause of the accident was never established beyond all doubt, it’s likely that a rear tyre failed, possibly due to debris from a previous incident. The Lotus hit a tree, and Clark died from a broken neck and fractured skull. He was just 32.

The whole motor racing community was numb. At Brands Hatch the news was announced to a stunned crowd. Colin Chapman was so destraught he considered giving up motor racing for good. Chris Amon, one of the greatest drivers of his era, summed up the general mood among the drivers by saying if this could happen to Clark, “What chance have the rest of us got?”

The shockwaves from his death were felt not just in Europe, where Clark was a superstar in F1 and touring car racing, but also in the US. Clark had been denied victory in the Indy 500 in dubious circumstances in 1963 but returned, and dominated the race, in 1965 – becoming the first F1 World Champion to win at the Brickyard.

But for a few quirks of fate, Clark could have been F1 champion 1962-1963-1964-1965-1968 and might even have gone on to race and win in the slicks-and-wings era of the early 1970s, which brought two world titles for the Lotus 72. He was, without doubt, one of the greatest drivers ever to race in F1.

Family and community meant a lot to him: his gravestone in Chirnside lists his occupation as ‘farmer’ before ‘World Champion motor racing driver’.

Jim Clark's grave in Chirnside, Scotland. 

Jim Clark – winner 1968 Australian Grand Prix at Sandown, Melbourne.

In 1967, Lotus and Cosworth were reshaping the sport of Formula 1 with the assistance of Jim Clark and Graham Hill.

Jim Clark - Lotus 25 - French GP (1965)

French GP, Clermont Ferrand, 27 June 1965 .Winner Jim Clark, Lotus 33 in practice(he raced Lotus 25)

1964 Goodwood TT, Jim Clark, Lotus 30 Ford

The Flying Scotsman Jim Clark

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Why I Do Not Celebrate “LGBTQ+ Pride Month” But Mourn It

by Robert A.J. Gagnon

Not only is pride generally a sin, but also there is nothing to be proud of in the so-called "LGBTQ+ Pride Month." Let us love persons with same-sex attractions and gender-identity dysphoria by rejecting that facet of their existence that dishonors the persons whom God has created in his image.

We should also show sympathy for their struggle with sinful desires, and applaud the way God can use the mortification of such desires to deepen a relationship with himself and others. Yet no one should take pride in such desires or the behavior that follows from gratifying them.

I. What is there to be proud of?

Why should one take pride in being erotically aroused by the distinctives of one's own sex, which is either narcissism or self-deception (viz., the failure to apprehend that one is already fully one's own sex)?

Should people also take pride in being erotically aroused by close kin (incest, i.e., attraction to a kinship same, akin to attraction to a sexual same) or by multiple persons concurrently (which Jesus rejected based on the logic of God's intentional creation of a sexual binary)?

Why should one take pride in rejecting the messaging of one's body as designed by God by identifying with a "gender" at odds with one's biological sex? A complaint against one's Creator is nothing to be proud of, but rather an expression of idolatry.

II. Social harm and the condemnation of Scripture

The "queer" lifestyle is one marked by disproportionately high rates for sexually transmitted disease and higher numbers of sex partners (especially for homosexual males), as well as higher relational turnover and increased mental health problems (especially for homosexual females).

These risks correlate with known male-female differences; expected results when an intimate relationship lacks true sexual counterparts or complements. Same-sex unions don't moderate the extremes of a given sex; they ratchet them up; don't fill in the gaps, but widen the breach.

Scripture (including Jesus and the apostolic witness to him) views homosexual practice and transgenderism as abhorrent sexual immorality ("abominations") that can get unrepentant offenders excluded from God's kingdom. Such behaviors assault the foundation of sexual ethics as defined by Jesus himself, his Scripture, and his apostles.

III. The dangers of “LGBTQ+” politics

The "LGBTQ+" political agenda is the most illiberal and hateful agenda in politics today. It is characterized by efforts to stifle free speech and the free exercise of religion. It is the greatest threat to these freedoms in the Western world today, and has been for decades.

No political lobby has concentrated more on canceling and censoring others, indoctrinating school children, and even mandating compelled speech (the hallmark of totalitarians). People's jobs are being put at risk who dissent from "LGBTQ+" dogma: teachers, doctors, nurses, psychologists, florists, photographers, small business owners, lawyers, corporate executives, etc.

Children are being directed toward chemical castration and mutilation surgery, an obvious instance of child abuse being pushed by the state. Indeed, the state is now moving in the direction of regarding parents who fail to affirm their child's "LGBTQ+" identity as perpetrating child abuse (we know who the real child abusers are), requiring the state's intervention to take your own child away from you.

Men identifying falsely as women are invading women's restrooms, locker rooms, sports, shelters, and prisons, even being celebrated with misogynistic awards declaring them to be better women than real women.

The very idea of faithful Christian education is being put at risk, with calls for tying federal student loans, grants, and accreditation toward lock-step compliance with "LGBTQ+" ideology.

IV. Moral rot and true love

Science is suffering at the hands of a movement that teaches that men too can have periods and give birth. A gnostic spirit pervades the land, declaring entrapment in bodies not designed to express their sexually immoral desires.

This is not a month to be "proud" but rather a month to mourn. Mourn the moral rot pervading our country. It has harmed not only the nation as a whole, but especially those who in their self-delusion celebrate what is injurious to themselves, and to their relationship with others and God.

As Paul told the Corinthians, they should not be "puffed up" or "inflated with pride" over their ability to tolerate an egregious act of sexual immorality (there a case of adult-consensual incest). To support the "queer" life is a manifestation of functional hate, not love.

Therefore, I choose rather to love, to love truly, those who identify as "gay," "lesbian," "bisexual," and "transgender," rejoicing in the truth rather than in the lie, whatever the cost for doing so.

[halogalopaghost]

Kodak Moment

read on AO3

“Whatcha got there?” April put her hand on Splinter’s shoulder as she sidled up beside him at the kitchen table.

Splinter nearly jumped out of his fur—the book in his hands dropped the short few inches to the table.

“Sorry!” She withdrew her hand and took a step back.

He half-turned toward her, a smile on his kind face and a paw pressed over his heart. “Miss O’Neil. Sneaking up on an old ninja?”

She grinned sheepishly, then took a seat beside him. She’d noticed the four boys being a little jumpy the last few days they’d spent with her in the apartment. She chalked it up to worry about their home, but this seemed like a little more than that. “I thought you’d hear me coming,” she admitted.

“I must confess, I am unused to the sounds of footsteps on carpet. And all the noise outside, the building settling—how do you stand it?”

“You get used to it,” she said with a shrug. She tilted her head to get a better look at his reading material. “Oh, that’s my sister’s baby album.”

He pushed it toward her reverently, ears pressed against his head. “Forgive me, Miss O’Neil. I did not mean to intrude.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” She gave him the warmest smile she could muster.

She couldn’t express in words how much she wanted him and his sons to be comfortable in her home, or how badly she wanted to protect the little family. Instead, she opened the book and scooted closer to look with him.

“My sister thought she was the cat’s meow.” She pointed to a picture of her wearing a fluffy tutu, plastic tiara, and gap-toothed grin.

She watched his eyes soften as he looked over the photographs. “It seems that the two of you were very loved.”

April wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him that his sons were clearly loved too—just because he had to provide for them differently didn’t mean he loved them any less! She took a deep breath instead. “I bet the boys were adorable babies.”

He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness to it. “They were very sweet.” Splinter gently touched the face of a three year old April in a photo. “I have no pictures of them. That is perhaps my greatest regret.”

April blinked.

“My memory of them is shot through with who they have become. I’m sure it’s less accurate with each passing day.” The smile fell from his face and he withdrew his hands to his lap. In the nearby living room, a couple of the boys were arguing about the rules of whatever sport they were watching. “I fear that I someday will not remember at all.”

April drummed her fingers against the table. “Wait right here.”

Without waiting for Splinter to respond, she left the table and slipped down the stairs with her keys in hand, headed for the shop. Her father’s old polaroid camera sat on a shelf beneath the checkout counter, alongside a few dusty cannisters of film. He’d primarily used it to take pictures of particularly valuable antiques to be sent to auction, he had a nicer camcorder for family events that her sister had on the other side of the country. As April turned the camera over in her hands she remembered watching him point it at vases, stacks of china, and other curio that ended up in the store. He sometimes had her or Robin stand in the photos ‘for scale’. She wondered how many New York auction houses had photographs of their gap-toothed grins in their archives.

Her father would never have expected her to one day point the camera at mutant turtles. She smirked.

She took the stairs two at a time on the way up and marched right past Splinter into the living room. Mikey and Leo were still discussing the finer points of the game’s rules while Raph had moved closer to the TV in order to have a chance at hearing it, and Don was off in his own world on the floor nearby, surrounded by paper. Mikey had his head in Leo’s lap even as they bickered. Near the TV, Raph sat crisscross on the floor with his hands on his ankles—it was kind of adorable.

She held the camera up to her eye, aimed, and immortalized the scene.

The camera flashed the room white and brought her presence to the center of the ninjas’ attention. They went still and silent, only the mumble of sports announcers on the TV remained.

Leo was the first to recover, blinking. “Did you just…take our picture?”

She pulled the undeveloped photo out of the front of the camera and gave it a good shake. “Sure did. You boys have a problem with that?”

Don and Leo shared a look, then Leo and Raph, then Mikey and Don.

Donnie eventually shrugged. “We’ve never had our picture taken.”

Mikey leapt from the couch and scrambled into the camera’s view. “Get one of just me!” He leaned in conspiratorially, raising one hand to hide his mouth from his brothers, then spoke loud enough that they were all sure to hear him. “Careful, Raph’s indelicate visage might crack the lens.”

Raph leapt to his feet. “I’ll show you indelicate—c’mere!”

“Eep!”

They took off across the short length of the apartment and Mikey threw open the door. They both flew down the stairs, leaving the others to listen as the scuffle turned into cries of uncle, uncle!

April turned to the other boys, raising the camera. “How about we get in a few of you boys before Mikey hogs the film with glamour shots?”

They both laughed, and her heart swelled.

She had never known what it was like to be the older sibling until she met these boys. Before it all, she couldn’t have even imagined the love and endless protectiveness she would feel for them. Never in a million years could she have guessed what she’d be willing to do for their sake after just a couple of months.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Don said awkwardly. He had put aside his notebook and pen, but there was still a ream’s worth of loose paper in piles around him.

“Strike a pose!”

He just looked at her, brow knit in the center.

She swung the camera’s strap over her head and let it dangle there as she guided Don to his feet, then pushed him to stand against a wall near the window. “Here, this way there’ll be plenty of light. Just do whatever feels natural to you.” She encouraged him with a smile, then backed up to ready the camera.

By the time she put her eye to the viewfinder and got Don in frame, he was holding his bō in both hands and smiling nervously. Well, she did tell him to act natural. For an oversized, sewer-dwelling turtle in New York City, she supposed that maybe this is as natural as it would get.

She snapped the picture. He blinked a few times, then came to stand at her shoulder while she shook out the photograph.

“Here.” She reached into her back pocket and held out the first photo. “That’s what it’ll look like when it’s done developing.

He tilted his head, examining it. “Do I really look like that?”

She peered down over his shoulder. “Well, sort of? It’s a little distorted because I was so far away from you. It’s not a great representation of your color, but yeah, that’s you.”

He took it very delicately, holding it by the white frame with only two fingers. It always amazed April how he had such large hands, so clearly scarred and calloused by his short lifetime of learning and building and providing, yet he managed to be so gentle with small and fragile things. He brought it closer to his face to study it, then traced the curve of his own shell with a finger.

“I’ll make you a deal,” April said quietly. “You can keep that one if I can keep this,” she held up the now-developed photograph of him. It was a much better representation of both his color and his character.

He considered it for a quiet moment, then nodded. “Deal.”

She grinned and winked at him. “Okay Leo, your turn!”

He waved his hands out in front of him and pressed himself further into the cushions of the couch. “No no, that’s okay April. Take some more of Don.”

“We need some of you too, silly.”

He grinned nervously, eyes darting around as he mapped his exit. “No, that’s alright.”

“Camera shy,” Donnie muttered. “Huh.”

April got a picture of Splinter, then one of he and Don together before Raph and Mikey made it back upstairs. There was a new tear in Raph’s mask, one of Mikey’s kneepads was facing the wrong direction, and there was a telltale red mark on Raph’s arm where Mikey must have gotten one good smack in before he was pummeled into the earth.

April pressed a hand to her mouth as they casually passed into the living room.

“Boys,” Splinter muttered to himself.

Mikey peered over Don’s shoulder to look at the original photo, then laughed. “Raph, you look like—”

Raph growled a low warning, already on the couch beside Leo.

“—A very handsome turtle,” he finished. “Probably the handsomest dude in the room.”

April held up the camera. “Are you ready for your glamour shots?”

His face lit up like a thousand watts. “Shell yeah, girl!”

Mikey stood against the same wall by the window that Don had and pulled a series of poses that had April nearly crying with laughter. Among them was a James Bond-esque pose with one side of his brow quirked and his hands posed like he was holding a pistol, a tongue-stuck-out face, an eyelids-inside-out face, and a voguelike pose that had Master Splinter fully hiding his face in his hands. He dragged Don and Raph into it eventually, standing at April’s shoulder and coaching them. She got a few good shots of the three of them that way, and one candid of Splinter sitting at the table watching with an idle, unbelievably fond smile as he watched them.

Not only did Leo steadfastly refuse to join the photoshoot, but he disappeared halfway through. April turned to ask him one more time, and his spot on the couch was just empty. No Leo, no katana, no trace. Raph shrugged it off and advised her not to take it personally.

“Leo’s just weird like that sometimes,” he said.

“Raphie is weird in different ways,” Mikey helpfully added.

She got a good noogie picture out of that one, even if it was a little blurry.

All three boys eventually lost interest—even Mikey, who was distracted by a particularly good play in the football game he’d nearly forgotten about. The evening carried on in relative normalcy, and April sat down with all the photos for Splinter to go through.

“I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, Miss O’Neil. My sons clearly care for you very much, and I must admit…I did not ever think they would make such a steadfast human friend. I owe you a great deal.”

“Oh please, you don’t owe me a thing. They saved my life, remember? Besides…” She trailed off, shuffling through the photos and smiling. “I’m pretty fond of those goofballs too.”

A bit of silence passed as they sorted through the photographs, broken by a thoughtful hum from Splinter.

“What?”

“You are not in any of the photos.”

Her heart swelled so full that she thought it might burst. “That’s okay. When I go out for dinner, I’m going to pick up a few more rolls of film. I want to see if Mikey can get Leonardo to pose for just a few pictures.”

He chuckled. “I would not count on it. When Leonardo sets his mind to something, I’m afraid he can be the most stubborn of my sons.”

April smirked. “I’m up for the challenge.”

April did indeed get some cameras while she was out, three bright yellow Kodaks each with twenty-seven Kodak Moment opportunities. When she got back to the apartment, she found that Leo had mysteriously reappeared while she was gone, sitting on the couch between Mikey and Donnie. The latter two boys looked up when she entered, but the first kept his snout pointedly in his book. She jerked her head toward the kitchen, and they both jumped up to follow her.

She pulled the boxes out of the paper bag and gave them their cameras stealthily. “These are for operation: picture of Leo. Give this one to Raph. Obviously you can use them for anything else you want too, but whoever gets a picture of your brother first gets brownie points in my book.”

Mikey’s face lit up. “Brownies?”

“No, brownie points, Mikey. It’s a term that originated in the Girl Scouts. No actual brownies.”

He pouted.

Dinner passed uneventfully in front of the TV, watching some corny old monster flick that Donnie was clearly itching to pick apart. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, Raph would pat his shoulder in a way that was somehow both placating and patronizing. He grew visibly irritated with the continued disregard for basic physics principals, and eventually April was having more fun watching him than the movie.

She and Donnie took the empty plates to the kitchen while he aired all one hour and twenty minutes worth of grievances to her. On the way back in, she made pointed eye contact with Mikey. He winked at her.

They all parted ways for sleep, and by morning April had forgotten about the whole ordeal. She walked past the boys doing their drills in the living room, honestly not an ideal space for it, and waved as she yawned.

She prepared her breakfast in a sleepy stupor, pleased to find someone had already brewed a pot of coffee. She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, and that was when it happened.

There were scuffling sounds from the living room that made her eyes a little more awake, and then pounding footsteps in her direction that brought her to her feet. Mikey whizzed past, nothing but a blur of orange and green, and to her surprise, it was Leo who chased after him.

“Mikey!” he yelled, wrenching open the stairwell door that Mikey had slammed shut behind him. “I’m going to use your shell for a punch bowl!”

There were more pounding footsteps, this time on the stairs, and eventually several loud thumps followed by a flurry of ow ow ow! and uncle!

April stuck her head into the living room, wide eyed and looking for the answer.

Raph shrugged, perplexed but amused. Splinter had his hands folded together and his head bowed, she could recognize by then that it was his I’m not going to kill my sons meditation.

Donnie was the one who held out the bright yellow chunk of plastic. “He got exactly two before Leo went for his throat.”

She took the camera, laughing. “I’ll make sure this gets to a safe place. Proof of the urban legend, Leonardo Ninja Turtle!”

April pored over everything she had. Newspaper clippings, files salvaged from Don’s computers, old meeting places and communication methods. She even tried old friends, going to the homeless encampment where she had first met the Professor Donnie spoke so highly of.

There was simply nothing. They were gone without a trace, vanished into thin air with only their ruin of a home and some old pictures to prove they ever existed. She and Casey had picked over the rubble as much as they dared, calling for them and checking every nearby tunnel in case they had somehow escaped. The only comfort she had was that some of their heavy machinery was gone—the tunneler, the sub, and Raph’s shellcycle were all missing in action. April wasn’t stupid, it had occurred to her that the foot may have simply destroyed those too, or took the toys with them, but she hoped that wasn’t the case.

She looked over the photos again. She had plenty of the rest of the family, but only one of Leo—the one Mikey had risked his life to snap. It was a candid, Leo holding a sword and looking toward the camera as though his brother had just called his name. He looked happy, idle smile on his face and katana gripped tightly. That picture had been a priceless artefact only a few days later, when they weren’t sure if he would live or die. He had pulled through though, and survived worse battles since then. But now, all these years and wounds and scars later, he might be the only one alive.

He very well could be the last of his kind. It wasn’t a possibility she could ignore, no matter how many times Casey stubbornly insisted they had to be alive somewhere. It wasn’t like they could look any further with Karai’s little soldiers watching their every step, but he still insisted. Where could they possibly have gone? She knew Raph had that one friend, Mrs. Morrison, but she didn’t think they would bring danger to her doorstep like that. Besides herself, Casey, and the few in that homeless camp, they had no one to turn to. Nowhere to go.

Alone. Scared. Hurt. Without their leader, and most importantly, without their big brother.

She took a deep breath to fight back the tears gathering in her eyes. There was no sense in mourning until she knew they hadn’t made it, and she had more faith in her boys than to give up so soon. It had only been five days, she told herself. Only five days, less than a week. They had survived entire months alone in the Cretaceous period, surely they could handle a few days of New York.

Her little brothers were out there somewhere. She just had to keep hope.

[eiightysixbaby]

we’ve heard of Eddie having a cheerleader gf but what about Steve or even Jonathon? How would they act with their preppy and popular girlfriend?

for Steve I feel like it makes so much sense that he’d have a cheerleader girlfriend. especially season 1 Steve, like c’mon. King Steve dating the head cheerleader? it just makes sense. he’s the boyfriend that comes to every sporting event you cheer at, always sitting in the crowd cheering you on. he hates when he has to miss a game because of work or something, because one of his greatest joys is watching you do what you love. he drops you off and picks you up from practices, or brings you lunch during long days of try-outs. you’d be the couple in the school hallways that everyone envies, Steve worships you the way anyone would want to be worshiped.

Jonathan definitely doesn’t seem like the type to seek out a popular cheerleader girlfriend. he’s so shy and reserved, I don’t think he’d put himself through the potential embarrassment of making the first move on you. you’d have to ask him out, make the first move, be the bold one. once he had you, it’d probably take a while to get him out of his shell. you’d slowly introduce him to your social circle, not wanting to overwhelm him. don’t get it twisted though, he’s still sitting in the bleachers at games just waiting for you to do your cheer routine. he couldn’t care less about the sports - he just wants to see you shine. he always brings his camera and photographs you in your element, cheering your heart out in your cute little skirt.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Shutterbug

[That photographer Dew AU I mentioned from last night. The origins of Dew's hobby and his first encounter with something... strange. Dew joins Ghost on tour as a guitar tech only to uncover the band's gimmick is more than meets the eye. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

He supposes it started when he was young, maybe eight or so; Dew's father had purchased a new camera and had, on a whim, gifted his old one to his son, assuming the boy would fiddle with it for a time and then do as he often did with old, broken things and take it apart to better understand how it worked.

Instead, something had awoken in him the moment he held that old camera in his hands.

The weight of it slung around his neck had felt comforting, familiar, like it was always meant to be there, and something about viewing the world through its lens had lit a fire in his chest.

Dew had been small for his age, and failed attempts at enrolling him in various sports activities had proven... emotionally scarring if not also physically.

So a hobby that got him to go outside didn't seem all that bad, especially not to his parents, who had made it no secret that their marriage was falling apart, and that, perhaps, having something to do away from home while they sorted out the details of their impending divorce would be a good idea.

And, indeed, photography had been an excellent escape for Dew.

But over time Dew's outdoor adventures, taking pictures of wild growing daisies and frogs by the creek in the woods behind his house, would be replaced with other interests and hobbies that kept him locked up in his bedroom for hours on end.

Music may not have been his first love, but it was his greatest, and his desire to engage with it on all levels had thoroughly trumped his desire to trek through fields of tall grass in the early morning to capture pictures of the sunset in the park across from the small apartment his father had moved into when his parents finally did separate.

His camera would make its home in a shoebox in his childhood bedroom at his mother's house, buried under a haphazardly sewn quilt made of old band t-shirts and a box of action figures and other bits and bobs he'd cast aside as he grew up.

So why, after so long, was he yearning to hold that dusty old thing again?

Well, like so many others, Dew had fell into the trap known as nostalgia as he was cleaning his room.

He'd come to visit his mother for a short period of time, preparing to go on the road with a touring band as a guitar tech, and something had drawn him upstairs to his old bedroom despite having made his bed on the couch in the living room.

The upstairs of the house had been largely untouched for years now, his mother having moved into the room that had once been his parents' home office after a bad fall had left her with a prominent limp that made walking, let alone climbing the stairs, quite taxing.

Normally, he wouldn't bother going up there at all during his visits, wanting to stay on the same floor as his mother just in case she needed his help grabbing something, or if she called out to him because she was cold and needed another blanket, or simply wanted to be parked by the window to watch the birds... but it was late, and the older woman had long since gone to bed.

There had been an itch.

A desire to immerse himself in his past, if only for a moment, to pick through bits and pieces of his childhood so he might feel at least a little homesick while on the road.

To feel like he had something to miss while he was away, and not the other way around, as he had come to see hotel rooms and crowded tour buses and vans more like home than his real one.

Stepping into his bedroom after all those years had felt like opening a tomb, and he had treated it as such up until he realized, as if having completely forgotten, that it was his bedroom and he needn't be so cautious or respectful with the things left inside of it.

He'd flopped down on his old bed and found the sheets smelling a little dusty, but otherwise clean, and stared up at his ceiling, at the glow in the dark stars littered across his ceiling, at the stickers plastered over the blades of his ceiling fan...

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the room.

And with that, he'd sat up and gotten to exploring.

His closet was the last place he looked through, for no reason in particular other than that it was easier to explore everything that was left out in the open first before opening the door, but the moment he did, he felt that itch again.

Stronger now, urging him to reach for the pile on the top shelf -ignoring the large, padlocked chest on he floor, which he knew was full of "contraband" he preferred not to unpack at the moment- and reach he did...

"Aw, shit-"

...spilling everything onto the floor with a loud thud that he prayed his mother couldn't hear from the other side of the house.

And there, mixed in with his ninja turtles and matchbox cars, on sat on top of the pile unscathed, was his camera.

.

.

.

"God, my fuckin' dick is going to freeze off if we have to stand around waiting for the bus another goddamn minute..." Alpha bitches, gritting his teeth and hissing as another cold breeze weaves through the gathered band members and crew.

He's been complaining ever since the got off the plane, and while Dew understands his displeasure, he's trying to make the most of his time, occupying himself by fidgeting with his camera, making sure nothing had broken during travel.

"Say 'cheese', bitch." He says, aiming the camera off to the side and clicking the shutter button, earning a startled yelp from the lead guitarist as the flash goes off.

"If my hands weren't so cold, I would strangle you." the other man threatens, prompting Dew to stick out his tongue, "You little brat-"

"Al, lighten up a little, if you're so cold, come stand next to me," Omega huffs shaking his head at the others' antics, opening his coat slightly so Alpha can shuffle inside, "and, Dew, don't rile him up, it's too early."

"Sorry, Meg." Dew apologizes, then, in a moment of either bravery or stupidity, raises his camera again and snaps a picture of the two men huddling together.

"Dew-"

"It's for my scrapbook!"

Omega sighs, and rests his chin on top of Alpha's head, swaying them both back and forth to soothe the seething guitarist in his grasp, "I'm starting to wonder what sort of scrapbook you're making, considering the pictures you've taken so far..."

Dew gives a devilish grin, recalling some of the more scandalous photos he'd taken during the tour thus far, photos he couldn't wait to have developed in the dark room he'd thrown together in the second bathroom of his apartment...

The one that comes to mind first is one he's particularly proud of, considering grabbing the camera had been an after thought, but the image of Omega getting absolutely dominated by Mist had been too delicious to pass up, even if he had had to crawl to retrieve it because of how jello-like his legs had become thanks to the man currently having to be rocked like a cranky infant.

"Those images are strictly for the spank bank." he says, turning his camera towards Mist, who shoots him a smile, posing a bit, "My scrapbook's for... I dunno, I haven't really settled on a theme yet, but so far it's mostly pictures of truck stops and food."

"I was wondering why you were taking glamour shots of your microwave breakfast sandwich..." Omega hums, "How can you tell how the pictures are going to come out?"

"Just have to wait and see." Dew shrugs, "I can check the ones on my other camera since it's digital, but half the fun of using film is waiting for the results."

"Ever capture any ghost pics?" Mist asks, rolling her eyes when Dew gestures broadly at them all, "Not us, you nerd, I mean, like, paranormal activity style shit."

Dew thinks for a moment, "Hn... Uh, well, this one time I was taking pictures in the park and saw- Oh! Hey, the buses are here!"

"Thank fuck-"

.

.

.

Dew has been hunkered down in his bunk for the last half an hour or so, idly scrolling through albums on his digital camera in order to find some "paranormal activity style shit" for Mist to look through the next time they have a chance to sit down and shoot the shit again, but nothing has really jumped out at him as being even remotely spooky so far.

He'd gone back to the very first photos he had taken on his camera when it was brand new, cringing at accidental selfies from when he was trying to figure out how to navigate the menu, and one intentional dick pic to try and see the birthmark on his inner thigh for fear that it might of gotten bigger.

The spoiler alert on that one was that it hadn't, he'd just never seen the full thing before because of the angle, and the only reason he'd become aware of how large it actually was was because one of his previous partners had spread him out in front of a mirror and he had panicked at the sight of it.

With a sigh, he switches to his most recent album, filled with pictures from the tour so far, expecting to find nothing of note, before letting out a startled gasp at the sight of something grotesque staring back at him through the screen.

"What the fuck..."

It's a picture of him standing next to Alpha, except something is very wrong with his face, and he doesn't mean that in a rude way, it's just...

Alpha's face is... floating?

It looks faded out, blurry almost, but it seems like it's sitting lower than it should be.

Dew zooms in and tries to figure out what could have caused such an odd distortion.

Maybe Alpha had moved or bobbed his head?

But surely Dew would have noticed something like that sooner, right?

He taps the picture and moves it into another folder he labels, "For Mist" deeming it weird enough to show his friend later on, and returns to scrolling, only to pause again when he finds a group photo of the band huddled together under the awning of a restaurant.

All of their faces, even some parts of their bodies, are distorted and off the way they were in his picture with Alpha.

He frowns, disappointed, "Man, I really liked that one..."

As Dew flips through the rest of his pictures, the only ones that seem messed up are the ones with the ghouls in them, all of his other photos are crystal clear, even the ones he took of Terzo are still intact.

"Huh..." Dew drags the images into the new folder and decides to take a couple test shots of his face and the inside of his bunk to test and see if there's any kind of distortion going on, but all of them come out fine.

Deciding it must have been a glitch or the result of his own shaky hand movements, Dew snaps one more picture of himself and tucks the camera back into his bag.

"Weird." Dew yawns, "I'll figure out what's wrong with it tomorrow."

[rabbitvintage]

Stanley Kubrick is considered one of the greatest film directors of all time....but he actually got his start taking photographs for LOOK Magazine in 1947 when he was seventeen.

One of his pictorials was the story of the Shoe Shine Boy. The story followed Mickey, a 12-year-old boy from Brooklyn who shines shoes for 10 cents to help support his family, including nine brothers and sisters. One day, Kubrick followed Mickey throughout the city, photographing him playing sports, going to the laundromat, interacting with his family, and shining shoes.

Many of the 202 photos Kubrick took of Mickey went unpublished, including this one.

Also see:

. Museum of the City of New York

. Vanity Fair, March 2005, Eyes Wide Open

[todaysdocument]

Photograph of Sports Celebrities Gathered for Bond Drive

Record Group 56: General Records of the Department of the TreasurySeries: General Records Relating to Bond Sales Promotion

This black and white photograph shows a group of men and women standing together on a stage with a closed curtain behind them.  Some of the men are in suits.  One wears a military uniform.  Others are dressed for their sport.  Eleanor Holm wears a two piece bathing suit, Baby Ruth is in a New York Yankees uniform, and Alice Marble is in tennis whites and holding a racket.

Original caption:

SPORTS STARS SHINE FOR WAR BOND DRIVE NEW YORK......IN WHAT WAS PROBABLY THE GREATEST AGGREGATION OF SPORTS STARS APPEARING ON ONE STAGE IS THIS ARRAY FROM SPORTSDOM AS THEY "SHINED" TONIGHT AT THE "STARS FOR VICTORY' SHOW AT THE WALDORF-ASTORIA TO STIMULATE SALES OF BONDS IN THE CLIMAX OF THE FOURTH WAR LOAN DRIVE. LEFT TO RIGHT; WALTER "RED" BARBER, CLEM MCCARTHY, NAT HOLMAN, EARL SANDE, CARL HUBBELL, ENSIGN SID LUCKMAN, ENSIGN GREG RICE, ELEANOR HOLM, LT. COMM. JACK DEMPSEY, SGT. BARNEY ROSS, GENE SARAZEN, ALICE MARBLE, BABE RUTH. IN FRONT HOLDING BALL IS SAM TAUB AND TO HIS RIGHT IS STAN LOMAX