#stadium workout

[vipier]

not to crossover my own OCs but you would think if you locked tristan and simeon in a room together for an hour that one of them ( simeon ) would end up dead, but the reality is that they would actually emerge doing the perfectly synchronized just dance choreo to rasputin by boney m.

[ennabear]

loser abby.. i beg and plead

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ 100% projecting here again because i am VERY experienced in being a loser lesbian… heh… i think loser!abby is more awkward instead of shy (it’s actually canon) so i’m sorry if this gives you a little bit of secondhand embarrassment…. (i swear hope it’s not too bad)

loser!abby who you first meet in the stadium library. you’ve had your eyes on her for a while, sure, but she never talked to anyone. you’ve heard through the grapevine that apparently she was single, but for someone who looks that good? you didn’t buy it.

you try striking up a conversation with her, just some small talk, but she completely dodges all of your questions about her personal life. instead, she talks your ear off for about an hour about the stadium’s dogs.

it’s almost painful, the way you nod and smile like you know what she’s talking about. like the epic time when alice ripped a chunk out of this big guys bicep, or when bear did a backflip for the first time during training. she doesn’t even notice that you’ve stopped paying attention, completely ignores every flirtatious remark with a “thanks! you’re too sweet.”

she stands up and leaves, saying “anyways, i’d better check on manny. catch ya later!” you sit and stare off into space for a few minutes. what the hell was that? she won’t answer questions about her workout routines or patrol routes, but she’ll sit and jabber about fucking dogs? and “catch ya later”? who the fuck says that anymore?

loser!abby who you see later that night sitting at a cafeteria table laughing and chatting with her friends. her hair is down for once, wet and slightly darkened from her shower. she looks like a fucking goddess like this. she could have any girl in this whole base on their knees in a second, if only she’d act like it.

you take a seat next to her, deliberately running your hands over her heavily muscled biceps. “hi!” she lights up. “i was just thinking about you.” this almost flusters you. almost. but you know she didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way.

abby’s friends are actually super sweet. they fill you in on any inside jokes you haven’t picked up on yet, gossip about stadium drama, laugh at cheesy puns, etc.

you’re having a great time until abby tells one of her own jokes. she’s laughing so hard she can barely get the words out, and what she manages to say is stupid and nonsensical. you look around at everyone in the group to see if maybe you’re the only one who doesn’t get it, but they have the same confused-but-pleasantly-humored look on their faces.

a few more months of this awful one-sided craving continues. well, technically it’s two-sided, but abby never shows it. how were you supposed to know?

she does countless more things to embarrass herself in front of you. some less embarrassing than others, like when she spilled an entire ammo box full to the brim with 1,000 bullets. and some more embarrassing, like when she got so drunk that she couldn’t walk straight, and it took 5 people to pick her up and haul her squirming body back to bed. in front of you.

but it’s all so adorable to you. the sweet pink blush that spreads over her cheeks when she realizes that she just ruined the mood for everyone. or the nervous way she twiddles her thumbs before each patrol, fearing she’ll slip up and never come home.

loser!abby who is completely taken aback when you cut the shit and admit that you like her. it goes something like this…

“o…kay? i like you too, that’s why we’re friends.”

“no, cmon, abby. you know what i meant.”

“you like me? like that? i don’t understand why.”

“because! haven’t you noticed me flirting with you for the past eight months? you think it’s normal for me to tell you that i’m in love with you? do your other friends do that?”

“well, no. but i thought you were just being friendly. and don’t you think i’m kind of an idiot? why would you wanna be with a loser like me when you could find someone cooler?”

“i don’t want someone cooler, abby, i want you.” and you smash your lips against hers before she can respond. she doesn’t really know what to do, she just leans in and let’s you take the lead.

when you pull away, she’s beet red. her eyes are huge and— is that a tear? your heart swells at this, grabbing her tightly and pulling her into a bear hug.

“i like you, too.” she says. “what does this make us?”

you smile and place a small peck on the tip of her nose. “will you be my girlfriend? or is that too friendly for you…”

[spaceshipellie]

for the ethel cain requests!! i absolutely adore this idea!! can i get one with abby and, "something they all want that only you can have"

in tlou universe! with fluff or angst! (maybe have it set in the stadium or on patrol!)

“something they all want that only you can have”

pairing: abby x reader

summary/warnings: all the girls want to be with abby but she only wants you. tlou au, fluff, flirty tension. this is really short but cute

you couldn’t blame abby for how many girls had a crush on her. or the way they’d stare with stars in their eyes at her in the gym. watching the way the muscles moved in her arms and back when she lifted weights. it was enough to make anyone swoon but that didn’t mean you didn’t get jealous.

it was crazy, really. you weren’t even dating! just very close friends who occasionally flirted and every time you hoped she’d take it a step further, she never did. right as you thought she might lean in and kiss you she’d playfully punch your arm and call you dude or something instead. maybe that was her way of flirting or maybe she just saw you as a friend. either way, you were determined to find out sooner rather than later.

“so, how was your workout earlier?” how was your workout earlier? you couldn’t be any more pathetic if you tried. you strolled alongside abby through the building you were currently investigating on patrol.

“it was good,” she chuckled, shooting you a quick glance as her hand momentarily brushed your side.

“good,” you nodded, not really knowing what you wanted to follow up with.

she spread a large hand over her shoulder and rotated it. “already starting to feel sore though, might have over done it a bit today.”

“yeah, you really seemed to put on a show for the girls,” you half laughed, half mumbled.

“what was that?” she queried but her laugh told you she heard what you said.

you tried to hide your embarrassed smile from her teasing look. “nothing, nothing.”

“you jealous or something?”

“what?! no, no–“

“i’m fucking with you.” she stopped to push a door, holding it open so you could walk in under her arm.

you both searched the new room, finding a stack of dusty books on one of the counters. you wiped some of the dust off with your fingers before wiping your fingers on your jeans.

“hey, don’t you have a copy of this?” you asked, holding up the copy of little women to show abby.

“i do, it’s a good book. you should read it.”

“hm, maybe i’ll take this then.”

she sauntered over to you, taking the copy from your hands and flicking through.

“you can always just borrow mine. besides, this copy is only part one where they’re kids, mine is the complete story,” she mildly bragged, giving you a smirk.

“oh, fancy,” you teased, “okay, i’ll take you up on that.”

her fingers brushed yours and her eye contact lingered as she handed you back the book before you set it down again. you felt yourself growing nervous under her gaze and had a feeling she was enjoying it.

“good.” her voice was low and silky.

you cleared your throat to snap yourself out from her hypnotic trance and looked down at your feet.

“we should probably worry more about infected than literature,” you tried to joke.

“eh i wouldn’t worry, think we’re all alone up here.”

“i see.”

you pretended to keep looking around, trying to find supplies or take an interest in anything that might make it look like you weren’t just burning with the urge to grab her. you spotted something on the top shelf that looked like it could be spare ammo but groaned in annoyance when you couldn’t reach it. as you were about to try climbing onto the counter you felt a warm hand on your back.

“let me,” she said, softly pushing you aside, her hand remaining on you.

you froze on the spot even when she brought the items down to show you, smiling as she then shoved them in her backpack.

“thanks,” your voice cracked.

“s’okay.”

you realised how close you two were and how she wasn’t making any attempt to move away. the urge to lean in was so strong you were convinced your body would do it against your control anyway if you didn’t do something. despite abby’s flirty nature with you, you still weren’t sure if she meant anything by it.

“so, i overheard nora talking about you earlier. coincidentally after you’d just left the gym.”

she chuckled slightly. “and what did she say?”

“she was talking to leah about how she thought you looked hot, and would die if you ever asked her out.” nerves were creeping into your voice.

“oh yeah? that’s… good to know i guess.”

your shy eyes snapped up to meet hers. “so, you would ask her out?”

“i didn’t say that.”

“why not? she clearly likes you.”

“hmm, she’s cute but she’s not really the one i’d want to ask out if i could.”

your heart sunk. she liked someone.

“huh.” your voice was laced with disappointment.

“you okay?” she asked, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards as she leaned in a bit closer.

“yeah, fine. so, why can’t you ask this other girl out?”

“oh i don’t know, might ruin the friendship.”

your breath hitched in your throat. “seeing the way they all look at you, i’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“hmm, maybe… and why are you so convinced it’s one of them? the girls that apparently love to gawk?”

“well, who else would it be?”

“take a guess, babe.”

she was impossibly close now and your insides were twisting into a pile of mush.

“i, i don’t know.”

“oh come on, try for me.”

“um, katie?”

“no.” her fingers brushed your hip.

“dani?”

“nope.” she brushed a piece of hair away from your face.

“ma–“

“i’m going to stop you before you list every girl in the WLF that’s not you.”

WHAT. “what?”

“have i not been making it obvious enough? my apologies.” her tone was sweet and her hand still continued ghosting over your skin, tempting you to lean in to her touch.

“i just thought…” you stopped yourself before you said something embarrassing.

“thought what, sweetheart? tell me.”

“i just thought… out of everyone who wants you, why would you want… me?”

you tried to look away but her hand cupped your face lovingly, making you look at her.

“i can assure you, you’re the only one i want.”

“really?”

she laughed and soaked in the way your pretty eyes scanned her face before she closed the gap and kissed you. she deepened the kiss once she felt you moving closer to her, one of your hands fisting her shirt.

“are you convinced?” she smiled against your lips.

“hmm, maybe one more will do it.”

[prodkatsu]

him as your long distance boyfriend ⨾ itoshi sae

sae call or texts you before leaving for his practice.

he is a guy who follows his routine through and through. when you two started dating back in high school, he had a habit of calling you before he left his house in the morning to go to school, even though you two were in the same school. that habit stayed even when he moved to spain.

now the time zone doesn't let him call you but he'll leave a message before he goes to practice.

sae facetime you before a big game and treat it as his good luck.

if you can't attend the match because of your busy schedule, be ready to get a call from him any time. your presence brings him good luck and even though you're not here he wants to see you before his games.

sae doesn't like giving daily updates about him but he would hate you if you don't talk about your day with him.

you would ask him to tell you about what he did today and he would reply with the same old response — "i woke up for a workout, left for practice, came home, missed you and slept."

but he would be very present to hear about your day, even though it wasn't anything grand. doesn't matter if you're talking about mundane things in your life or about the juicy gossips you heard around your office.

sae keeps the promise ring you two have around his neck with a chain.

one time after an intense game he saw his ring missing and he went crazy over it. he made everyone in his team look for it till four in the morning in the whole stadium until he found out that he had left the ring in his shower before the match.

one of the worst days in his life and to make sure it never happens, he now wears it around his neck.

sae likes to keep his life private and would rarely talk about his personal life. he once managed to let it slip that he has a girlfriend and now everyone asks him about you.

sae takes you to all his favourite places in spain when you visit him for a game or just because you miss him.

sae is a protective man who would bite off anyone's head if they ever dared to talk about you in an inappropriate way.

one time when you called him, shindo picked up and he made some vulgar comments. he also told you that he is sae's work husband and got smacked really hard by sae who snatched the phone out of his hands.

now he rarely calls you in front of his teammates.

sae, who was very happy when you got a placement in spain, and asked you to move in with him.

© prodkatsu — do not plagiarise, translate or repost my work on any other sites. the characters that i write about are not mine (sadly), they belong to their respective creators.

[retrograde-tonic]

The TWST Dorm Leaders Catch You…

Repost: from Sept. 2022 from my old blog; Anarchy-Archives. The post did well enough that I thought I should put it back up here and reshare it <3

GN reader who’s artistically trained. The boys catch you immersed in your craft, whether that craft is painting, cooking or dancing…

Heartslabyul:

Painting the rose garden on canvas. It was the perfect afternoon. Classes were still in session except for yours; Crewel had let your class out early when someone’s potion exploded. You got off unscathed, so you wandered into Hesrtslabyul’s rose garden with your art supplies, fully intending to paint a portrait of Grim but with the lovely ambiance as background, when a lone rose bush caught your eye. You immediately sat down adjacent to it and set up your canvas, mapping out all of its details. You had completed a couple roses so far and were fully immersed in your craft, not realizing classes had let out, when you heard a voice behind you…

“My, what do we have here?” Riddle stood behind you. You gasped, nearly dropping your brush. Riddle stood over your work, looking impressed. “I had no idea you were so talented. The shade of red translates perfectly from real life to canvas. I might like one of my own, do you take commissions?” You nod, smiling. Riddle explains he would love a painting to capture the unbirthday parties he hosts. “You don’t have to draw all the guests, but the decorations and the rose garden would be lovely. Of course, if you don’t mind.”

Savanaclaw:

Gymnastics. It’s a sport, yes, but it’s also an art in its own right. It’s something you grew up with, so it’s something you go back to when you have a bad day. Tumbling is a fantastic workout, and rhythmic gymnastics with music in the background always fills your soul. You were perfecting some of your favorite tumbling passes in an extra room of the Savanaclaw Magift Stadium. You added in some elegant twists and turns, alongside the back-handsprings and front-flips. You finally landed a pass you liked, and were only interrupted when they said…

“Oi, herbivore. What are you up to?” Leona was leaning against the doorway, looking sleepy. You give a light chuckle and explain that you were tumbling. Leona raises an eyebrow; “I didn’t know you could do that.” You nod, explaining that you put years of practice into it, and that you do it when you’re stressed. It’s better to keep up the craft. Leona smirks and then stifles a bit of a yawn; “You woke me up from my nap, but what you’re doing is vaguely interesting. I wouldn’t mind watching for a bit. Go on, impress me.”

Octavinelle:

Singing. It was past closing time in the Mostro lounge, and you were helping Azul clean up. Azul, Jade and Floyd were locked in Azul’s office, and you had taken to wiping down the tables. You began to hum as you worked. Your humming became slightly louder, your voice echoing off the walls of the empty room. Enjoying the sound of your vibrato in the room, you add lyrics in; now singing at a decent volume. You were exclusively focused on your vowel shapes and your work on the tables until you heard someone clear their throat behind you, making your song come to an abrupt halt…

“Well, this is quite the surprise.” Azul was standing a ways away from you, smiling big. You thank him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks a bit. “I didn’t know you could sing so well. You’re clearly trained.” Azul steps up closer to you and adjusts his glasses. You nod, explaining that you had had lessons in the past, and that it’s something you’ve practiced for many years. His face lights up so fast and so bright when he hears that, you can practically see the Madol-signs swimming in his eyes. “You know, I would love to have you perform here at the Mostro Lounge. May we make a deal?”

Scarabia:

Cooking. You had helped Jamil bring supplies to the kitchen while he was off tutoring Kalim. While you were there, you noticed the perfect set of ingredients to make your favorite dish. It was a quicker one, but flavorful nonetheless. You get to the prep work, chopping the vegetables with ease using your perfected knife skills. You heat up the pan and toss the veggies in, sautéing them with a plethora of spices. The alluring smell of the aromatics must have drawn someone in, because they startled you when they said…

“It smells soooo good in here!” You whirl around, cooking spoon still in hand, and greet Kalim’s massive smile. You thank him enthusiastically, matching his energy. “What are you making?” He steps up to peer into your pan. You explain what you’re making, and that it’s your favorite; “I could make enough for multiple people, if you’re interested.” Kalim’s eyes light up. “That would be awesome! I can have Jamil poison test it, even though I know you won’t do anything to hurt me. He can have some too!” You chuckle lightly, thinking about Jamil’s distaste for Kalim enjoying cooking other than his own. “I’ll have to go fetch him! And thank you for cooking! I can’t wait to try it!”

Pomefiore:

Dancing. It was early in the morning, and you were alone in Pomefiore’s ballroom. You couldn’t decide what to do for your workout, so you threw in your earbuds and put on some music to dance to. It was a bit early for more energetic dances, so you put on a playlist of any song with 3 beats per measure, and you began waltzing. Well, sort of. It was your own version of a waltz, with a lot of ballet influence. It was very free flowing and it spanned the entire room. Jumps, spins, dips…whatever your heart desired in the moment. You hadn’t performed in years, but your body still knew how to glide over the floor. You danced your heart out for some time, until you saw a figure standing in the doorway from the corner of your eye…

“My my, I didn’t know you could dance like that.” You stop dancing abruptly, dropping your arms to face the man in the doorway. Vil stands there, smiling as he speaks. Facing him entirely, you shut your music off, returning his glowing smile and accept his praises with ease. “If only Epel could move like you do…” he sighs, entering the room. You give a polite chuckle; “I’ve been doing this for years, so…” Vil scoffs lightly and clicks his tongue as you apparently state the obvious. “I can see that. What other styles of dance do you know?” he inquires. As you go through the styles you know, he steps up and takes your hand; “will you dance with me? I’ve been looking for a dance partner, and you seem to be the perfect fit.”

Ignihyde:

Animation. You were huddled in Ignihyde’s lounge, staring daggers at your device. You had worked on this animation for about a month now, but something wasn’t adding up. You gripped your drawing pencil in between your teeth as you stared at the animation, slowing it frame by frame. You flipped the canvas back and forth, and then you caught it. The blinking was uneven and unrealistic. You announced your victory with a little excited screech, which must have tipped them off…

“Animating again? For that new game series?” You look up from your device to see Idia standing above you. “Can I see?” You nod and play the animation. Idia’s eyes instantly light up. “Wow, talk about some S-tier stuff!” You smile and thank him. He asks you to play the animation again and again, seemingly analyzing each frame. “I’ll have to show Ortho! He’ll love it! If…if that’s okay with you?” His excited confidence falters a tad, but he regains it when you smile; “I would love to show him! You’ll have to call him over!” He grins, appreciating your acceptance. “You’re so lucky you’ve been working on that project! I can’t wait to play it when it’s done!”

Diasomnia:

Playing a classical instrument. This was your escape. You love what you do, and every time you find yourself completely lost in the music. The rooms in Diasomnia are lovely in terms of echoing acoustics. Not so great for practicing and being critically aware of your raw sound, but great for an ego boost. Today, you had decided to pull out a piece by Clara Schumann. One you hadn’t played in a while. Midway through, the tempo changed; adagio, it said, and you fluttered your eyes closed. Your fingers remembered the section well, and they took over while your eyes were closed. Your passionate playing echoed off the walls until you heard the door open loudly…

“I haven’t heard that piece in years.” Malleus’s shadow stood in the doorway, a faint smile on his face. He sounded quite nostalgic when he spoke, and he spoke slowly; “Schumann, huh?” You nod, confirming his guess. He enters the room silently, and steps closer to look at the music. “You have good taste,” he eventually says, reading the music silently to himself. You smile, and thank him. “We should play a duet sometime,” you offer. His face lights up at the request, and he accepts graciously; “I would love to hear your music blend with mine.”

[laterosal]

♤ Blind Heat | Chigiri Hyoma x Reader

▽ featuring: chigiri hyoma x fem reader … no repost on any platforms © laterosal 2024 … a female track student who jokingly confesses to (shitty? personality) chigiri … word count: 3.4k

📌 AO3 | one-shot

Sprint race, straightaway. 100 meters… Your eyes wandered down your lane. Lane 5.

“On your marks!”

You stretched out your arms, your long, wavy hair tied into a high ponytail. Another day, another run with the wind. Your spikes dug into the synthetic rubber, and you positioned yourself in the starter position on the starting blocks.

“Set!”

Your eyes are full of a fiery passion as you pull into a complete set position, with your teammates next to you. You held in your breath—

As the gun went off, you felt a sense of rush in your head, a thought to reach the end. Your legs were burning by the 50-meter mark—Were you wanting an extra boost to the end..?

You felt your steps falter, a realization that most of your teammates were in front of you now. A final push, and you made it to the end.

“15.39, L/N.” Your coach nodded as he clicked a button on the stopwatch. Your breathing grew sporadic as you stood in front of your coach, trying to catch your breath. “Consistent timing, though. Not bad.”

“Thank you.” First year in high school, and for practice, you were put in Varsity with the other girls who have trained for two-three years. Not many female students enjoyed Track and Field, after all, since most of the students only joined due to their talent or passion. For you, the latter.

“Nice job, Y/N-kun. You’ve improved since the first practice.” Your friend, Nori Ayaka, the captain of the Girls Track and Field team, fist-bumped you. “You just need a final push at the end. Overall, your form was great, so no need to worry about that.” She gave you a warm smile.

“Thank you, thank you.” You inhaled a deep breath, turning to the stands in the school stadium. “Oh—Who’s that?” You pointed at a boy wearing your school uniform with reddish-pink neck-length hair, with crutches laying on the stands next to him.

“Ah. You don’t know anything about the football people, hm? That’s Chigiri Hyoma—pretty cocky on the field, until he tore his ACL recently.” You cringed at the mention of an injury, since you often thought how an injury could ruin your life, your career on the track as well…

“Is he alright?” Ayaka stared blankly at you when she heard you murmur the words.

“What’s that about?”

“He looks…” You scrunch your eyebrows together. Sad. That didn’t seem like it fit his aura—his eyes that looked like his sole purpose of life was gone. “Defeated.” You nodded slightly, thinking that the word best suited Hyoma Chigiri’s spiraling emotions.

“I guess. I mean, yeah.” Ayaka shrugged knowingly. “It’s like for us; if you tore your ACL, it would be more difficult…” To continue your life on the track. “I pity him, honestly.” Your friend sighed dramatically. “Enough with this sad talk. Go finish up your cooldown with the others, and you can head out after. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“‘Morrow,” you murmured. “Ayaka-kun.”

You finished up your cooldown workout with the other girls, ending practice with a fistbump between each other. You turned your head around, noticing Hyoma Chigiri still on the stands, his eyes peering at each one of you guys. You made your way to the stands, plopping next to him, a towel wrapped around your neck as you brushed off the sweat still dripping down your face.

“Hey. You’re Hyoma-san, right?” You cocked your head to the left as he noticed you next to him. His dull, magenta eyes were visibly annoyed, as if he didn’t want to hear any more words coming out of you. You suppressed a sigh, knowing that it would be difficult to talk to Chigiri Hyoma.

“Are you also here to dramatize how my talent is wasted? Save yourself a breath.” Chigiri hissed angrily. You sat up straighter, your interest piqued.

“‘Also?’ Hyoma-san, are you being bu—” He shoved his hand on your mouth.

“Don’t. And I don’t need another one of you guys pitying me.” He released his hand on your mouth.

“I wasn’t even going to bring up your football career. Not that I even know anything about that.” You murmured as you saw Chigiri going for the crutches.

“Then what?” He stared at you intently. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested in being in a relationship with you.” Chigiri Hyoma huffed. “So? What else do you need, if you still aren’t budging?”

A smile tugged on your lips. “Well, I was going to ask you why you were so interested in sitting here on the stands alone.” You shrugged. “And you’ve been here for a while, since most likely before my last 100-meter dash practice to after practice.”

He frowned, his magenta eyes dimming.

“I have my reasons.” He dragged a hand along his face. “And stop bothering me.”

“If you didn’t want to be bothered, you didn’t have to say anything to me in the first place.” You retorted. You winced at the slight sharpness in your voice. “Sorry.”

He clicked his tongue, before half-heartedly waving at you.

“Later.”

He maneuvered down the stands with his crutches, and you were tempted to help him. Though, you assumed that Chigiri Hyoma would most likely refuse your assistance and call you bothersome again.

The rest of the day passed by smoothly as you rushed back home, stepping into the shower to feel the warm water trail down your skin. Chigiri Hyoma… He seemed like a pretty blunt kid. Even after you tugged on your pajamas and stuffed your dinner into your mouth, as you shut off the lamp light to go to sleep, you still thought of his words. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested in being in a relationship with you.” You kick your feet under the bed cover as you giggle yet again. He thought you were going to confess to him.

“I’m surprised you’re here in the library. You don’t seem like the type of studious person.” You grinned at Chigiri Hyoma. “Is this seat empty?”

“Rejected. Stop bothering me, dumbass.” Chigiri Hyoma didn’t even look up from the book he was reading from. He flipped to the next page, not bothering to look at you. His crutches seemed to have disappeared, too, as you noticed that nothing laid beside him.

Your mouth dropped as he called you a dumbass.

“‘Dumbass.’ Dumbass? Excuse me? And do you think I’m even trying to confess to you?” You feigned being shocked. “Oh, maybe I should pretend I’m confessing to you. Oh, my, Chigiri. Can I, like, have your phone number? You’re so cute~” You mimed gagging. “Bleh. You’re not even my type.”

Chigiri frowned as he closed his book shut. You heard him murmur for a second.

“... a first.”

You grinned at him again.

“Well, then I’ll stop. You continue on with reading your book, Prince Panther.”

He scowled as he heard the nickname, then swiveled to you, getting a better glance at you. You had your hair up in a bun; on one side, some strands that you braided were carefully tucked behind your ear.

“I’ll confess to you another day, then.” Your grin was more wide this time, full of mischief. “I’ll just continue bothering you, Prince Panther.”

“I hope that was a joke, dumbass.” He returned to his now-shut book, a loud sigh escaping his mouth.

“Okay, okay. See you later on the track, maybe?” You leaned in more forward to see what Chigiri Hyoma was reading. You crinkle your nose as you see unfamiliar—foreign words on the pages. “English? What the… English freak, Prince Panther.” You rolled your eyes as you slung your backpack on one of your shoulders again, heading out of the library. Behind you, Chigiri Hyoma looked up from his book and stared at you again. A dumbass who didn’t even look at Chigiri Hyoma romantically. A first, really. His heart fluttered as he saw your figure disappear into the crowded hallways.

A daily routine turned into a weekly, then monthly routine. Everyday after school, you would catch Chigiri Hyoma staring at you as you tried your best to improve your 100-meter times. After practice, you would tease him relentlessly and pretend you were trying to confess to him again. He would roll his eyes, tell you that you were a dumbass, and the day ended there. You noticed that instead of being so blunt like the first time you’ve met him, he seemed to speak a little more gently towards you. Although sometimes, you would let him know the day before about another track meet—so there were days you and him never met up together.

Now, it was almost summertime, the heat finally catching up to you as you trudged to school early in the morning.

“Mornin’, Ayaka.” You waved at her as you lifted up your droopy head. “It’s too hot, and I just want to jump into the swimming pool…”

Ayaka burst into laughter.

“At least the track season ended yesterday, yeah?” Ayaka folded her arms as you both walked into the school. “No more running under that demonic Sun trying to kill us. The heat, really, is unbearable.” She fanned herself with her hand to cool down.

You stared dead into her eyes.

“What? Track season ended? I thought we still had practice…” You blinked in confusion.

“You really weren’t listening yesterday, hm? I can probably tell you why.” Ayaka’s eyes twinkled in mischief.

“Oh, yeah? Why might that be? Is it because of summer? Or am I just really, really exhausted… Oh, it’s the heat. The heat is catching up to me. For sure.”

“Neither, actually. You can be so clueless sometimes, Y/N-kun.” Ayaka’s smirk creeped up her face. “You’re always so bright and full of energy every time Coach announces that practice is over. Actually, I take that back. The heat, to some degree, is catching up to you.”

“Huh?” You scratched your head. “Wait, so I wasn’t listening to Coach because I was so excited that practice would end? And what ‘heat, to some degree?’”

Ayaka rolled her eyes.

“Uh-sure, I—” Ayaka started.

“Wake up, dumbass.” Chigiri gently smacked your shoulder, then walked right past you to his homeroom class.

“Oh—Hey.” You saw Chigiri strolling past you, his reddish hair now halfway to shoulder-length.

“Speaking of the devil…” Ayaka’s grin grew wider and wider. “Man, you two have really gotten closer than ever. You’re probably his only friend in the school, you know.”

“Huh? He doesn’t have any friends from football?” You snapped your head up.

“Do you guys not text and talk about these things?”

“I… didn’t even ask him for his phone number.” You cackled as you realized that your past interactions all started because you were “pretending to flirt and confess” to Chigiri Hyoma.

“Pfft—” Ayaka raised her eyebrows knowingly. “Oh well. I mean, no, I guess, since he being the cocky bastard from before—Well, you know. Most people looked up to him and envied his talent but didn’t want to be friends with such a blunt person.”

“Oh. I didn’t…”

“Oh well. He looks a lot happier when he’s around you, you know that?” Ayaka sighed dreamily. “I’m envious of you, Y/N-kun.”

You smacked her head playfully.

“That’s enough teasing me, Ayaka-kun.” Your face was blushed, the tips of your ears reddening. “Plus, he doesn’t even like me.”

“Uh, uh. And now you’re really, really—”

“No more teasing me, Ayaka-kun.”

Both of you walked to your separate homeroom classes, waving at each other with Ayaka casually mouthing: “I’ll root for you no matter what, Y/N!”

You rolled your eyes and swatted in the air as if physically dismissing her words.

His phone number… His phone number….

During lunch, you found Chigiri Hyoma yet again immersed in another English book. His reddish hair was easily spotted in the library, and you casually slid into the seat next to him.

“So, Hyoma-san—Your phone number, please.” You batted your eyelashes at him, who still continued reading. “Hyoma-san, your phone number!”

“I don’t know if this is another half-assed attempt on your joke-flirting or not anymore.” Chigiri scrunched his eyebrows together. “So? Rejected, for every joke-confession that you have ever uttered to me…”

“Wait.” You paused suddenly, staring at Chigiri blankly. “What did you just say?” Your mouth dropped open as you processed his words.

“That I’m going to reject each and every joke-confession you’re going to..?” You grinned at him as you mouthed: “That was not a confession.”

His face flushed, and he put the back of his hand to his face.

“You thought that was meant to be another confession? No, I was genuinely asking you. Plus, what do you think will happen if I actually confessed to you?” You smiled at him, batting your eyelashes.

“Then I’ll drop you.” You groaned as he returned to his book.

“You’re no fun, Hyoma-san.”

“Neither are you. Let me continue on with reading, since you disrupt me every lunch period to bug me.”

“Whatever.” You left the library with a silly grin on your face. What if you confessed to Chigiri Hyoma, someone with the shittiest personality?

“Were you waiting for someone?” You tip-toed to get a better glance at Chigiri Hyoma. “You don’t seem like the type to wait for anyone.”

“And you don’t seem like the type to question everything I do.” Chigiri Hyoma rolled his eyes. “But you are, and you do.” The end bell had just rung, and you were tempted to run back home to get started on the anime and k-dramas you wanted to binge-watch, with microwaved popcorn and blankets surrounding you in a cozy environment. Chigiri Hyoma stood in front of the school gates, folding his arms as he noticed you with the same mischievous grin.

“Who were you waiting for?”

“You. Who else, dumbass?” Chigiri Hyoma frowned as you cocked your head to one side.

“What, are you here to bring me on a date~” You teased Chigiri Hyoma.

“Yeah.” You choked on your spit as you stared at him in shock. You froze in your step, widening your eyes.

“Okay then, date it is. Where are we going?”

“My house.” You coughed some more, inhaling a fresh breath in.

“Are you just casually inviting me to your house?” You smacked him in the shoulder, leaning against his arm. He walked a few steps, hesitated, then reached for your hand nearest to his—locking them together. You didn’t breathe the whole way you walked to Chigiri Hyoma’s house, with you nervously padding on the sidewalk. “My house…” His house… Your palms felt sweaty as you arrived at his house, hearing a cheerful voice from inside the house.

“Ma, Hyoma-chan is back! Oh, and with a pretty girl, too!” A girl, with the same reddish hair below her shoulders, smiled warmly at you. “Hyoma, is this your girlfriend?”

“Stop it, nee-san,” Chigiri Hyoma’s face was flushed when his sister teased him. “She’s just a friend.”

Your step faltered as you followed behind him. Just a friend? You suppressed a sigh, staring at his flowy hair. You seemed to want more, even after all those joke-confessions. Maybe… you didn’t just want to confess to him jokingly.

“Y/N, are you alright?” You snapped your head up as Chigiri Hyoma his hand up to your forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever… or anything.” He stared at you intently.

“I’m alright, really.” You forced a smile, the familiar eccedentesiastical manners you often showed to strangers in the school hallways. She’s just a friend. Boundaries, Y/N. Boundaries.

“Okay.” He linked his hands with yours. “Come on in. Ma made some food—and some extra, since you’ll be our guest.”

“Ah, no, it’s alright. I don’t want to disrupt—”

“Don’t be shy now, Y/N.” You snorted and finally accepted his invitation to eat dinner with his family.

The food Chigiri Hyoma’s mother made was delish—the warm miso soup and sushi she had made by hand—followed by karinto manju for dessert. Chigiri Hyoma’s eyes lit up like a child receiving a Christmas gift when he saw the plate of karinto manju on the dining table as his mother asked us all to dig in.

“Thank you for the dinner, Mrs. Chigiri.” You smiled at her after stuffing a karinto manju into your mouth, then adding: “Oh, I’ll help with the dishes.”

“No-no-no,” Mrs. Chigiri shook her head. “Hyoma, take care of Y/N. Oh, that is your name, right?” You nodded. “No need for cleaning up. You’re our guest, after all.” Mrs. Chigiri leaned in close to you. “Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Chigiri Hyoma make new friends and invite them over. He seems really happy now, with you here.”

After some waving off from his mother, you finally gave in and followed Chigiri Hyoma to his room. Happy… with you here.

“You’re persistent, huh.” Chigiri Hyoma raised his eyebrows at you. “Though I’m glad you’re willing to help.”

You shrugged, taking a look at Chigiri Hyoma’s room. Everything was organized, as even the blankets were folded neatly on the bed. The window blinds were slightly tilted downwards, the sunlight seeping into the dark bedroom.

“I’m used to doing things alone, anyway.”

“Oh.” He sat on the ground, leaning against the side of his bed. “Here, sit down next to me.”

You hugged your knees to your chest as you stared at his eyes full of energy, contrasting the eyes you noticed when you first met him. You instinctively reached for his hair, then started braiding it. He didn’t seem to mind; rather, he stared at you as you continued on with your intricate work of weaving strands of hair together.

“Would you ever get into a relationship?” You murmured as you unclipped a hair clip from your hair to clip his braid together. “Aw, look at you.”

He snorted as he touched his hair gingerly, as if viewing a valuable work of art.

“Maybe… someday.”

“I see. Waiting for the perfect girl, yeah?” A smile tugged on your lips as your eyes were laced with pain.

“... clueless.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a dumbass, that’s all.”

“What would someone say as a confession… for you to accept?” You asked quietly, fidgeting with the loose strands.

“Who cares about that?” Chigiri Hyoma drew his eyebrows together as if annoyed. “I mean, it doesn’t even matter what words they use to confess.”

“Okay. Even if the confession sounds far-fetched?”

Chigiri Hyoma shrugged, responding with: “Sure, I guess.”

“I… like you, Hyoma-san.” Blush crawled onto your face as you averted your eyes, fidgeting with your hands while feeling your heart pound against your chest. Done. And that’s all. You shut your eyes together, bracing for the worst.

You felt his hand slip under your chin, lifting your head higher.

“May I?”

Your eyes met, his soft pink eyes that gazed at your lips, a desire for a gentle kiss. You nodded gently as he leaned forward, caressing your flushed cheeks, then pressed his lips firmly against yours. Surprised, you pulled away, feeling the soft breaths between you two. The electricity of the kiss sent a shiver down your spine as his eyes longed for more.

“Waiting for the perfect girl?‘” His voice softened. “It’s you, Y/N. I already know it’s you.”

“How would you not think that my confession was a joke?” You murmured as you leaned against his shoulder in the bedroom, closing your eyes shut.

“Because… you’re you. And you never directly confessed to me like that.” He put his hand over yours as you fidgeted with your clothing. “Your eyes tell me a lot, too.” You pop open your eyes, staring at his grin. “You always seem full of energy every time you leave practice, too.”

“Oh, Ayaka also mentioned that.” Your thoughts wandered to when both you and Ayaka were walking into school, talking about Chigiri Hyoma.

“It’s not unnoticeable. Your feelings, I mean.” Chigiri Hyoma chuckled as he kissed your forehead, your cheeks heating up.

“Then why did you tell your sister that I was just a friend?” Your voice tightened as you fiddled with his hand, eyes wandering up the walls as if viewing a beautiful artwork.

He hesitated to answer.

“You’re not. I just didn’t want my sister to tease me any further. She’s… very observational.”

“So she knew you liked me?”

“Yeah. Did you not?” He stared at you in surprise, his dark pink eyes twinkling in the shadows of the bedroom. “I thought…”

“Maybe I am a dumbass, then.”

“Then, dumbass, do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?”

[dandysnob]

oliverriedel_unofficial Oliver Riedel put in a quick workout after Till Lindemann had visited him with the Puppe Cam during Rammstein's opening concert of the 2024 Europe Stadium Tour in Prague, 11.05.2024. | 🎬 by kidarctica

[alltheirdamn]

Chapter 1: Opening Day

Series summary: You've seen it all as the team's lead photographer. You're in the tunnel before the games, on the sidelines for each inning, and always around the players. When Frankie Morales is called up for the new season, you find yourself drawn to him in ways you can't quite explain. Chapter summary: It's opening day at Petco Park, and you finally meet the team's new star catcher. Rating: 18+ (Eventual smut) Word Count: 5k Tags: Triple Frontier AU, OFC! character described as having red hair and freckles, meet-cute, two big dummies bound to catch feelings, mutual pining, slow burn, future smut, duel pov, baseball terminology, etc. A/N: Hi!!! Well, welcome to the series! I'm really excited to share this lil story with you all. I've never really written an OC! before, so hopefully I don't totally butcher it. Anyway, I'm a bit nervous but please enjoy!

Masterlist | Baseball 101

Point. Click. 

Point. Click. 

The camera shutter echoes through the stadium tunnel as you settle into your usual game-day routine. It’s your third year on the media team for the Padres, and you’re beyond eager for the new season to begin. Nothing beats the thrill of baseball season, and it definitely doesn’t suck when an endless array of beautiful men in tight polyester uniforms surrounds you.

Perched on the ground, you angle your camera down the tunnel to capture the boys as they arrive. Benny Miller, the team’s starting shortstop, waltzes through the hall after a few managers get their head start. He’s got on his usual athleisure wear, a workout bag slung over his back, and his blonde hair tousled in a way that’s both messy and intentional.

Point. Click. 

“Welcome back, Benny,” you say, your camera angled a bit higher to adjust to his height.

“Hey to you too, Red,” he grins. 

America’s heartthrob, you think.

Not far behind him is his brother, Will—or Ironhead, as they all call him. He’s been a vet on the team for nearly five years and is one of the top left-handed pitchers in the league. No doubt, with last season's standings, he’ll take them far this year. He’s got the best ERA out of any team in the National League, and his brotherly dynamic with Benny is unmatched. The only difference between Will and Benny, though, is their personalities. Where Benny is outgoing—and a bit flirtatious—Will is reserved and collected. He’s the voice of reason and the glue that holds the entire time together. 

“Hey, Will!” 

You snap a quick photo, all too aware of how much he hates the attention. He gives you a subtle nod and continues down the tunnel behind Benny. 

Santiago Garcia is the next to make his entrance, his infectious smile perfect for a candid moment. Santi was the rookie outfielder last year, securing himself a spot in the All-Star Game with his defensive playing in center field against the stronger teams. You’ve never seen such an arm on someone, and the way he commands the field is wildly impressive. His gigantic ego and self-assurance are also quite impressive and sometimes a bit aggravating. But, you let it slide. He’s a sweet man through and through and has, thankfully, never hit on you. 

Unlike the majority of the sports world. 

Especially when it comes to women working in the media industry. 

You’re convinced Santi has some sort of sixth sense for the camera because the moment you line up for the shot, he’s already sporting a wide grin directed straight at you. 

“Hola, Red,” he says, waving in your direction.

“You know I have a real name, right?” You toss back.

“Whatever you say, Red.”

You roll your eyes as he walks past you, chuckling to yourself as you scroll through the photos logged into your camera. Making a mental note of which to select for the social media posts, you realign the camera back to eye level and squint through the lens. 

The team's newest addition walks straight down the tunnel, with his head low and eyes covered by the visor of his ballcap. Francisco Morales had been called up from triple just a week before opening day. You hadn’t read up much on him or his stats, but you know he’s done quite the work as the catcher for the El Paso Chihuahuas. There had been talks of who they’d have replacing Tom Davis after his season-ending injury last year, and Francisco was their best prospect. 

“Welcome to the team, Francisco!” You holler before snapping a photo.

He barely glances up, but you catch a rosy tint coloring the tanned skin of his face and a slight twitch in the corner of his lips. He’s dressed far differently than the other boys: loose khaki pants, a basic cotton shirt, and a suede bomber jacket. He doesn’t even carry a bag with him, just a plastic bottle of water gripped tightly in one very large hand. 

You’ve been with the team long enough to know his personality is far more reserved than the rest, a bit sheepish and uncomfortable, even. Maybe that’s just the game-day jitters getting to him. 

“Can I get one of you looking at the camera?” You ask before adding a polite please at the end.

He hesitates but ultimately obliges. Through the camera lens, you meet his eyes—the soft, warm brown of his irises boring into you so intensely it causes you to falter over the shutter button. Like any baseball player, he’s got that signature scruffy face, with a distinct mustache over his plush lips and a patchy beard covering his jaw. Despite his introverted demeanor, Francisco steals the air from your lungs just from a simple glance. It’s as if he’s giving you this one moment to capture who he is, and you take it without hesitation.

Point. Click.

“Thank you, Francisco. Good luck today!”

You’re acutely aware of how shaky your voice is, which is unusual given that he hasn’t even spoken to you. 

“Frankie,” he offers as he walks past.

The raspy low pitch of his voice reverbs inside your head, and you only manage to nod in agreement to his wishes. 

Frankie. You can do that. 

**

“So, what are your predictions for game one?” Ryan asks, nudging you slightly.

You’re both crouched behind home plate shooting pre-game warmup photos, the volume in the stadium growing as more fans trickle in. You switch out your sim card and set up your camera for action shots, too focused on getting the right angle of the outfielders to respond. 

Ryan has been your partner in crime on the media team since the start, and both of you got hired right out of college. While you focus more on the game-day action, Ryan usually tends to the off-day social media posts and team engagement with fans. It’s a fair trade-off, plus you’re far more invested in the sport than Ryan is ever willing to admit.

“Hellllooo?” He waves a hand in front of your camera lens.

“I don’t like giving predictions, Ryan. You know that,” you grumble.

“You and your weird superstitions, Red.”

“It’s not weird,” you counter. “Don’t you ever pay attention to the broadcasting curse? If I say something aloud, it’s bound to go the other way, and my hopes will be crushed.”

Ryan adjusts the focus on his lens, shrugging absently at your argument. 

“It’s the first game. Even if they lose today, there’s still six months left in the season.”

“No one wants to lose their first game.”

“You care too much,” he says, but there’s a lightness in his tone.

He knows you care more than you let on. Baseball has been something ingrained in you since you were just a kid. Your dad spent the greater half of his life as the pitching coach for UCLA, dragging you to nearly every game of the season since before you could even walk. You were raised sitting in the dugout with a handful of sunflower seeds in your hand and a baseball cap covering your red hair. Being a part of a baseball team in some capacity had always been in your future, but after your dad passed away when you were just starting college, you centered your entire life around it. You threw yourself into photography, taking every chance at capturing moments that could give you just a second of nostalgia. The photos weren’t just for school, a baseball team, or a social media page… they were for you. It was your way of coping. The longer you could stay on the field, the longer you could live in that bubble of the past. 

Your dad was gone, but you still had baseball. And you’d never give it up. 

“Think Morales is gonna make his mark on the team?” Ryan asks, steering the subject in a different direction.

You tense up, locked on the memory of Frankie’s big brown eyes. There’s something about him that skyrockets your heart rate, and you aren’t sure if it’s in a good way. You search the field for those dark curls, looking at everybody on the field,  trying to spot him during the warmup. Crestfallen, you give up your search and resume snapping photos.

“I think he’ll do just fine,” you say dismissively.

“His batting average in the minors was insane,” Ryan rambles. “Just hopes it sticks here in the big leagues. You know how it is sometimes.”

You did know. Too often, have you seen star minor league players appear on the big stage and choke. Something about Frankie Morales makes you believe he won’t end up like that. There was something in his eyes that told you otherwise, a seriousness that showed this game meant something to him. 

You liked that. 

“Where’s your station for the game?” Ryan asks.

“First base. I might have to step into the bullpen for some shots if they let me.”

“I’m sure the boys will love that,” he teases.

“Oh, fuck off. They’re harmless.”

“I don’t know, Red. I see the way they look at you.”

You deadpan, giving him an icy stare. None of the boys thought of you that way, and you didn’t think of them differently. This was a job. They played the game; you took the photos. 

That was the end of it. 

“I think you’re seeing things,” you argue.

“I mean, Benny is giving you fuck me eyes from across the field right now,” Ryan shrugs.

You steal a glance out to the in-field to find Ryan is, in fact, correct. With his free hand, Benny tosses you a flirtatious wave before throwing the ball back to Santi across the field. 

“He flirts with everyone,” you say pointedly. “Did you see how many girls he brought back to his hotel rooms last season?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind adding one more.”

You punch Ryan in the arm, clearly annoyed with his pushy behavior toward the subject. Grabbing your equipment bag from the ground, you toss him a quick finger and haul your stuff down to the media room under the stadium. 

**

Frankie isn’t in the right mindset when the National Anthem concludes before the game. He’s not one to get nervous before playing, but something about seeing Petco Park sold out for opening day has him fidgeting. The only saving grace is having Santi playing alongside him. 

He and Santi met back in college, playing together from Sophomore year until Senior year when they got drafted to different teams. Santi was selected in the third round by the Houston Astros and was traded a year later to the Padres. Frankie got drafted by the Padres right away in the fifth round. He spent the last four years in the minors, just waiting to get called up.

Now, the moment is here, and he’s terrified.

Frankie doesn’t like to admit it often, but he holds himself to a higher standard. He’s fucked up in life a few times, and it’s cost him his happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up now. Not when the entire world is watching. 

“Estás bien?” Santi asks Frankie as they head into the dugout. 

“I’m fine,” Frankie says, but his tone says otherwise. 

There’s a haze over his mind, a fog he can’t shake. Santi claps him on the back, giving him a comforting smile.

“It’s just first-game nerves, Catfish. It’ll pass after the first at-bat.”

Frankie doesn’t respond. He’s got a lump in his throat, and he can’t quite swallow it. The last thing he wants to do is disappoint his closest friend—or the team. He can’t be a disappointment. He has to be good. He has to be the best. 

He has to prove himself.

Frankie runs out onto the field, securing his catcher's mask over his face. The weight of his gear feels like a comforting anchor, leveraging him to keep his mind focused. There’s a roar from the crowd as he takes his place behind home base, and the applause and cheers only make things worse. He’s under the lights, he’s got thousands watching, and this is his one shot. 

The first pitch comes fast, a sinker that falls perfectly into his glove. Strike one. Will is on the mound, his face stoic and focused on the batter standing to the right of Frankie. There’s still some trust to gain between them both, and Frankie hopes he proves himself today. Will throws a slider next, down low and right past the bat. 

Strike two. 

Like a well-rehearsed dance, Frankie and Will waltz between batters. An easy one, two, three, and they’re out of the top of the first. Frankie runs alongside Will as they head toward the dugout, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

“Great job out there, Morales,” Will says. “Welcome to the show.”

“Thanks, Miller. You’re solid on the mound. Those sliders are insane,” Frankie commends. 

“Gotta keep them on their toes. Now, get ready for the bottom of the inning. Show them what you can do out there.”

As Frankie steps into the dugout, he nearly collides with a body nestled into the corner of the steps. Her red hair is tousled into a ponytail, the bill of her Padres ball cap shielding her eyes from the setting sun.

“Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, stepping out of the way.

He recognizes her from earlier, the media girl in the tunnel. Frankie was so wrapped up in his thoughts earlier he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was: bright eyes, a gentle smile, and a face covered in freckles. 

“All good,” he huffs, too flustered to choke out any more words.

“You look good out there,” she smiles. 

Frankie runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, no doubt looking a mess. He needs to focus—needs to move—but he can’t seem to make his way past her. 

“Be careful with Akin’s pitches,” she adds. “He tends to throw his fastballs up in the corner of the zone.”

“Thanks,” Frankie nods. He’s surprised at how much she pays attention.

“Yo! Catfish!” Santi calls from down in the dugout. “Get your ass over here now.”

“I’m assuming you’re Catfish?” She asks.

“Unfortunately,” Frankie grumbles. “Sorry, I’m just gonna go see what he wants.”

“It’s all good. I’m moving down to first base, so I’ll be out of the way.” 

She rises to her feet and gives Frankie one final smile before stepping onto the dirt. Frankie watches as she walks away, her ponytail swinging behind her with every step. 

Focus. 

**

Halfway through the batting order, you’re already onto your next sim card. You usually space out the amount of footage you take, but the game is electric. The Padres are up three to zero, thanks to a home run from Benny—obviously—and a few quick plays made by Santi and Chris Holmes. 

With two outs in the sixth, Frankie is up to bat. His first plate appearance was abysmal, with a groundout to third base. You saw his shoulders slumped as he walked off the field; he didn’t take it lightly. It’s just the first game, you tell yourself. He’ll do just fine. 

Akin throws the first pitch, a fastball, just as you expect. Frankie takes the strike and readjusts himself for the next pitch. It’s outside the zone, and he tracks it carefully. You hold your breath as he hits a full count, three balls, two strikes… and wait. Akin places a screwball down low, but Frankie manages to get a piece of it and sends it sailing into center field for a double. You startle yourself with how loud you cheer, watching his muscled body run past first and onto second base. You’re so caught up in watching him you forget to snap a photo.  

You scold yourself for missing the opportunity to capture his first hit for the team. Why are you so fixated on him? None of the other guys have ever caused you to miss a shot; no one has ever tripped you up this badly. But Frankie… there’s just something about him. He’s not self-assured like the rest. He’s not cocky in the slightest. Honestly, he looked terrified when you ran into him after the top of the first inning. Before your mind starts wandering off, you check the settings on your camera and return to shooting footage. 

The team wins five to zero. Fireworks sparkle through the night sky as the stadium begins to clear out, and you start to return to the dugout. Benny and Will are in a tight embrace as you step under the awning, your camera gear slung over your back. 

“Great win, boys,” you say, giving them each a high five. 

“Did you ever doubt us?” Benny teases, giving you a smug grin. 

“Not for a minute.”

The Miller brothers make their way down into the clubhouse, leaving you standing alone in the dugout. You peel off your ballcap and remove your ponytail, letting your hair fall down your shoulders. 

“Thanks for the advice on Akin.”

The voice startles you, and you search through the shadows to find Frankie sitting alone at the end of the bench. He’s got his glove resting beside him and his bat propped between his feet. He should be celebrating with the team down in the clubhouse, yet he’s here by himself under the stadium lights and swirling shadows. 

“I’ve got plenty more if you ever need it,” you tell him. 

Frankie doesn’t respond, but his eyes stay locked on yours. The stadium lights illuminate the rich chocolate inside his irises, making it nearly impossible to look anywhere else. 

“Shouldn’t you be with the team?” You wonder. “I’m sure they’re all celebrating the first win of the season.”

“Just wanted some time alone, I guess. Soak it all in, you know?”

You walk toward him, cautious on whether or not to get any closer. You aren’t sure if he even wants company, but you can’t seem to steer yourself away. 

“Was it everything you hoped for?” You ask. 

“It could’ve been better.”

Frankie moves his glove into his lap, offering you a space beside him on the bench. Though you feel reluctant, something inside you forces your legs to move. You want to be nearer to him, to get close enough to see past this wall he’s built up. You’re used to some players being quiet and shy, like Will. At least with Will, though, he’s fun when there’s no stress on his shoulders. He relaxes a bit from time to time and lets his guard down. Something you’ve yet to see with Frankie. 

Sliding onto the bench beside him, you adjust your camera into your lap and lay your ballcap over your knee. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Frankie’s head tilt slightly, his eyes trained on your legs. There’s still a healthy gap between you both, yet the warmth of his body swarms around you. 

“Are you with the team full-time?” He asks. 

You glance at him, studying the way his hair curls around his ears and at the base of his neck. There’s a tension in his jaw that flexes under his beard, a simple twitch that happens after every time he speaks. Despite the timid exterior, you can’t help but to notice the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. 

“Mostly just for home games,” you explain. “I only really travel with the team if they invite me on the road. They like having extra media presence for the bigger series, and whatnot. If I could be at every game, I absolutely would. Sitting on the sidelines beats having to watch it on the TV or listening to the radio.”

Frankie nods along as you talk, his lips pursed as if he’s thinking of what to say. Avoiding any more awkward silence, you flick on your camera and scroll through the photos, presenting him with a few you’d taken during his first appearance at the plate. His arm brushes yours slightly as he leans in closer, staring at the photo far longer than you expect. 

“I kind of fucked up and forgot to take a photo of you after that double in sixth,” you admit. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head. “I like this one.”

It’s a photo of him swinging at a curveball, his bat posed perfectly in the center of the box, and his muscular thighs flexed under his pinstripe uniform. You have to admit, it is a good shot—and he looks amazing mid-swing. Your eyes flick up to his, realizing he’s already looking at you. Thank God for the shadows inside the dugout, or else Frankie would see the way your face warms at his words. You don’t ever share your footage with the guys until it’s posted on the social media pages, but it feels different with Frankie. It strangely feels nice. 

“I feel like an asshole, I don’t think I’ve even asked for your name,” he says. 

“The guy’s normally just call me Red,” you shrug. 

“But that’s not your name.”

You tell him your name, and listen to his gentle voice echo it back. It’s rare you hear your name nowadays. Everyone just refers to you as ‘Red’, like it’s who you are. It doesn’t bother you, necessarily, but finally hearing someone acknowledge you makes your stomach flip. Frankie’s eyes never leave yours, and you realize how close you both have gotten. His leg is pressed against yours, and you can still faintly smell the turf on his uniform. He must notice it, too, because he clears his throat and shifts his legs inward. Shutting your camera off, you let it rest in your lap between your hands. There’s a quiet buzz between your bodies, a comfortable cocoon of shared silence that seems to swell with each passing second. 

“I, um, I should probably head down there with the guys,” Frankie says after a while. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry if I kept you too long.”

Frankie rises from the bench, his thick fingers wrapping around the neck of his bat. He offers you a hand, and you shrink under his height as you move to stand. 

“I didn’t mind the company.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, just an easy curve of his lips as he stares at you a moment longer. You should move. You should definitely move. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Frankie,” you say. “Great job out there tonight.”

“Thank you.” He says your name, again, emphasizing it as if to prove a point. A gentle reminder that you’re more than just a nickname. 

**

“What took you so long, Catfish?” Santi yells from across the clubhouse. 

He’s already showered and got on his casual clothes for the drive home, something Frankie should have been doing. Instead, he had been helplessly wasting time sitting next to the photographer he had seen around all day. 

Frankie tears his baseball cap off his head, tossing it into his locker as he unbuttons his uniform. He’s still mentally picking apart the day—what he did wrong, what he could improve on—but in each thought, her shiny red hair and doe eyes make a reappearance. Shaking his head, he strips off his undershirt and searches through his stall for a fresh one. 

“Got to chatting with the team photographer,” he says, shrugging the shirt over his chest.

Santi leans against the locker stall, his mouth quirked up in a teasing grin. Frankie already knows what he’s going to say, and he regrets ever mentioning it. 

“Distracted by Red, huh?” Santi teases. “She’s got that affect.”

“She’s not distracting,” Frankie defends. “She just came down to show me some of the pictures she took, and we talked a bit. That’s all.” 

He hopes his clipped words are enough to steer Santi away from the conversation, but Santi can see right through him. 

“Red never shows anyone her photos. None of us ever see what she’s got on that camera until they’re online.”

For some reason, Frankie loves knowing he’s the exception. He saw the way she lit up as she scrolled through the footage, clearly proud of her work. Hell, he doesn’t even care she missed his big play. She spent that time in the dugout with him while his mind was a mess, and gave him a reprieve from the clouded thoughts that the game left him with. Was it awful that he was only looking forward to tomorrow’s game so he could see her again? 

“Maybe she feels bad for me, I don’t know,” Frankie huffs.

He slips on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair before putting on his hat. Santi watches him suspiciously, tracking the tense movements Frankie makes as he gathers his stuff to leave. 

“She’s a nice girl, you know, and she knows her shit, too. Hell, half the guys have tried to grab her attention the last few years, and she’s never been interested.”

“What makes you think she’s interested in me?” 

“I don’t know,” Santi drawls out the words. “Guess we’ll just have to see what she posts tonight.”

Frankie rolls his eyes, shoving past Santi and out of the clubhouse. He steers clear of the other guys as they walk together out to their cars. No one has said much to him yet, and he’s okay with it. Frankie knows he’s the new guy and it’ll take some time for everyone to warm up to him. The only person that seems to be welcoming so far, was Red. Maybe that’s just who she was, but Frankie found himself working Santi’s words over and over inside his head. Red never shows anyone her photos. What made Frankie so special, then? Was he right to think she felt bad for him? If she hadn’t been interested in anyone else, then why did she spend that time with him? 

The apartment is pitch black when Frankie opens the door. Flicking on the lights, he takes in the empty space. Moving boxes scatter the hallway, leading into the renovated kitchen. Frankie barely got the keys to his new place in San Diego two days ago, leaving him little time to settle in before opening day. After this series he’ll be on the road for a week, without any time to get acclimated. Traveling never bothered him, but he wished he could just stop and breathe for one minute. You wanted this, he reminds himself. He’s worked too hard the last several years to let this opportunity pass. The boxes can wait, at least for now.

Tossing his jacket onto the back of the sofa, Frankie slumps against the cushions, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s been itching to look at his phone since he left the stadium, but he held off. Guess we’ll just have to see what she posts tonight. Digging out his phone from his pocket, Frankie opens Instagram and refreshes the page. Sure enough, the media team already made a post-game slideshow…with Frankie’s at-bat being the first photo. 

The same one he told her he liked the most. 

His thumb hovers over the post as he debates whether or not to look at the rest. He’s already got his one photo, there wouldn’t be any need to give fans more. Yet, as he slides his thumb left over the screen, there’s another photo of himself—from the pre-game walk through the tunnel. Even though his eyes are staring directly into the camera, he knows that wasn’t what he was looking at. His entire focus had been on the girl behind the camera. 

Frankie opens the team’s Instagram page and scrolls through the ‘following’ tab, searching for her name. It’s just innocent curiosity, that’s all it is, but as he finds her name down the list, he’s tempted to press the button. The blue Follow button taunts him, begging him to make the move. Her profile picture is a simple mirror shot, half her face covered by her camera. He wants to see more, like this odd desperation to know her past the lens she hides behind. Before he talks his way out of it, Frankie taps Follow, and sends his phone sailing across the room. It hits the carpet with a soft thud, and sits there silent on the ground. He tips his head back against the couch, pitching the bridge of his nose. God, he feels stupid. 

A soft buzz resounds through the room. Frankie slides his eyes toward his phone, seeing the carpet illuminated by the screen. Just a coincidence, he thinks. Despite the denial he spews inside his mind, he moves from the couch to retrieve his phone. 

Red has accepted your follow request. 

Red started following you. 

Frankie stares at the screen with a stupid grin on his face. He scrolls through her page, finding a surplus of photographs of the stadium, the beach, and a few cityscape shots from various cities. There isn’t a single photo of her, though. He studies each photo, wondering what she saw through the lens of the camera, wishing he could see just one of her face. As he makes his way down her page, a message notification pops onto the screen. 

Red: I hope it’s okay I posted that photo of you. 

Frankie: Absolutely. 

Red: Ok, good. I liked it, too. 

Frankie: Santi told me you don’t show anyone your photos. 

Red: Of course he did. LOL. I’m just protective over my work. I like to keep things private.

Frankie: Why’d you show them to me? 

Frankie watches as text bubbles appear and disappear over and over for at least a minute. He half considers turning his phone off for the night to avoid her response. He shouldn’t care why she showed him, but the thought of it would keep him up all night, wondering why he was deserving of it and not anyone else. His phone buzzes in his hands, and Frankie quickly opens the message. 

Red: I don’t know. You’re the only person I really felt like sharing it with. 

Frankie: I feel honored. Any time you want to share them, I’m always around. 

Red: I’m holding you to that. 

Frankie thinks of a million things to reply with, but his fingers don’t move; all he can think about is seeing her again tomorrow.

[twopoppies]

Gina, have you seen the article about Hs workout routine for LOT? I mean, we all saw the results… but I find it almost even more impressive to learn how its been done! His dedication and work ethic is so inspiring and surely part of why I adore him so much 🫠🫶

Holy hell. No wonder he’s in such great shape. Just a note that Thibo David was his old trainer with Live On Tour. I assume Brad Gould was his new trainer for Love on Tour. But I doubt his regimen was any less insane.

[…]

If you include the one-mile run and bodyweight challenge, this is the hardest warm-up I’ve ever done, but, given the intensity required for the next two elements I’m promoting them to workout status.

[…]

David says Harry Styles can run a mile in an impressive 5min 13sec—a standard some of the professional athletes David coaches can’t match—but I was urged to run my own race.

[…]

This was far closer to my wheelhouse as a CrossFit fan. I chose to tackle it in alternating sets of 10, transitioning quickly between exercises to finish within the eight-minute limit. But even commando rolling from push-up to sit-up then springing into the squats left me little time to spare.

[…]

I took 7min 39sec, and, somewhat unexpectedly, given I can barbell squat more than 300lb, it was my quads that blew up the most. Whether this was the result of the one-mile run before it or heavy front squats the day before, I couldn’t say, but my thighs were on fire by the final rep.

“I like to say that I train very smart, but you also have to be very stupid sometimes, you know? Do this type of workout in the most stupid way; go hard at the task at hand, like when you throw a ball for a dog and it goes super crazy.

“This is a very good workout for that. Very good at building everything that needs to be added after the aerobic base; aggressiveness, speed, that go-hard mentality.”

[…]

Things did become particularly spicy during round three and four though, as my body began to tire with the sustained effort.

My posterior chain (the muscles running along the back side of the body) took a battering from the kettlebell swings and sandbag-over-shoulders, my already-fried legs felt heavy during the box jumps, and my shoulders grew tired from two minutes of straight clean and presses—it was a serious test of muscular endurance.

[…] I also did 12 total rounds—I wanted the full Styles experience, after all—but I’d live to regret this. The hill I chose grew progressively steeper as I worked my way up it, and by the eighth round I felt like death. My sprints turned to slogs, and the time it took me to complete the distance I established in the first interval grew longer.

[…] The prior running and box jumps didn’t help either, but I got it done eventually in less than 30 minutes.

[…]

This was a relaxing way to wrap up a far from relaxing morning of training, and gave me a second to catch my breath after a monumental effort which lasted a little over two hours.

I swapped his day of training for one of my usual CrossFit sessions and had a lot of fun doing it. Every part of my body felt like it had been put through the ringer thanks to the muscle-burning circuit and lung-taxing running elements. I was also very, very hungry.

Another thing that impressed me was Styles’ evident fitness levels and work ethic; how he has the energy to perform for two hours during a stadium tour is no longer a mystery.

Another thing I liked about my chat with David was his openness and honesty. I often see articles online saying celebrities do a few Pilates classes or HIIT workouts each week to stay in unbelievable shape, and he was keen to dispel this myth.

“Collaborating with Harry Styles was an absolute delight; his commitment is unparalleled,” says David.

“But it’s important to note that this level of training isn’t suitable for everyone. Harry was inherently fit, but achieving the level of fitness needed for this session still required time, work and effort. Rushing into such high-volume workouts can pose risks.”

David also stressed that sessions of this intensity weren’t done every day, and the nature of his workouts will often “depend on the day and the state of the athlete”.

“It’s crucial to emphasize the significance of proper periodization,” says David. “Not every day constituted an intense session. In fact, we strategically incorporated recovery sessions which often involved a light run combined with core exercises and mobility work. Every workout was thoughtfully placed within the overall training plan.”

Read, full article here

x

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Seven

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: EAT UP FOOD IS READY !!!

Word count: 8.4k

Chapter Seven

Roy had never experienced something so visceral. He read your article again, and again, and again, and each time the words stuck deeper into the different compartments of his brain. The red alert in his mind, besides your fluttering words, was how awful he’d fucking acted, how rude, how dismissive, how fucking mean. Everyone thought he was mean because of the profanity, the bluntness, the social outing aversions, but the last person he wanted to think of him as truly mean was you.

Roy didn’t want you to leave Richmond thinking the worst about him. He wanted you to leave with your head high, with multiple new people to text and call and have coffee with, with an abundance of people to send your book to after it inevitably published in a few years. Roy wanted to be on that mailing list, too, or– better yet– to meet up with you so he could get you to sign it for him.

Roy couldn’t believe how long he’d moped for. He’d never once tried to rectify the situation, while you’d been trying to keep things normal for the sake of both of your sanities, for almost a month. You painfully said hello to him every morning still, and smiled in the corridor, and kept up with your work schedule, while he’d all but fallen after his own actions. He was a grown man, and no stranger to spats, but this hit it out of the park– all because he couldn’t own up to his own fear.

If he’d just fucking read it sooner, then it wouldn’t have got to this point. If he’d just bit away his pride and breathed through the terror, he’d still be driving you home after work, and hearing your cheers in the stands for the team that you both loved dearly. He’d taken that solace away from you–

And he knew he had to fix it as soon as possible.

The day after he’d read your article, you were absent at another weekend match. That was four in a row, Roy counted sullenly. This simply wouldn’t do. Come next week, he’d bear his soul on his fucking sleeve. You’d done it so effortlessly during the argument, putting your feelings on the line while he’d all but smacked them away.

When he drove past your building on Monday morning, he had the most insane urge to stop and knock on your door. He had to hold himself back, instead opting to floor the accelerator just to get your apartment out of his eyeline. He parked and slammed his door strongly, dead set on his route to your office as soon as he entered the stadium. His heart was in his throat as he rounded the hallway and approached your door.

Your name was already on the tip of his tongue when he burst through the doorway, ready to lay it all out and apologise profusely, to explain how shitty he’d been and not excuse it, to spill his guts on the grey carpet for you to understand fully–

But you weren’t there.

He stopped and held his breath when he saw your empty desk. There was no laptop, no bag, no cup of coffee from the cafe or a stray pile of books that were all half read. Without trying, he could imagine you sat there, peering up at him with wide eyes that would only make him fucking melt on the spot– but instead there was nothing.

He recomposed himself, clearing his throat a little, before he turned and left your empty office. He headed to the locker room like normal, and stalled his inevitable outburst until the time you arrived later.

When you hadn’t shown up by lunchtime, Roy’s anxiety hit its peak. He tried to keep up with his workout normally, putting one foot in front of the other on the elevated treadmill, peering through the window at the tiny sliver of your office he could see from this position. Usually, you’d be tapping away at your keyboard, or leaned back in your chair looking at the ceiling, but there was nothing today.

It was one thing having you absent from games, but a whole other can of worms when you weren’t at the stadium at all. He didn’t fucking like it, and it grated on him extensively until he found himself storming into Ted and Beard’s office from lack of what else to fucking do.

He didn’t knock when he cut into their office through the locker room. Ted smiled with his teeth as soon as Roy was in the room, and Beard looked at him silently with his feet up on the desk and a book in his hand.

“Roy! What’s shaking–”

“If you finish that sentence with Kevin Bacon I will fly my fist through this fucking wall,” he cut over Ted strongly, pointing at the wall immediately to his right.

Ted recoiled instantly. “Alright, you’re definitely not one for rhymes. Noted.” He shuffled at his desk, and placed his hands together on the top smartly. “What can we help you with?”

“Where is she and why is her office fucking empty?” Roy wasted no time. He didn’t even have to say your name for them to know who he was talking about.  

Ted and Beard shared a knowing glance. Beard cleared his throat and adjusted the cap on his head. “Called in sick this morning. Got a cold, she said.”

Having a cold was the oldest fucking excuse in the book for calling in sick. Roy knew that well, considering he’d done it at school too many times to count.

“Will she be in tomorrow?” Roy asked sternly.

“Don’t know, Barry Manilow,” Ted said, and he winced immediately afterwards. “Sorry, that one just popped out without me even thinking.”

Roy clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. “Fuck!” he exclaimed suddenly, loudly, but Ted and Beard were so used to it by now that they hardly reacted.

Beard pouted quizzically. “You read the article, then.” Roy sent him a pained look, but it was enough to explain everything. Beard looked back at his book and let out a sassy mhm in recognition.

“Four games. She’s missed four fucking games,” Roy said, losing some of the edge from his tone. “It’s all because of me.”

Ted nodded, humming to himself in understanding. “I think you might be right about that, Roy.”

Beard let out a sigh. “Probably got something to do with the fact you yelled and dismissed all her hard work directly to her face.” Roy shot a deadly stare at him, but Beard simply licked his finger and turned to the next page of his book.

Ted bobbed his head to the side. “And then took a month to read said work and haven’t even attempted to apologise yet–”

“I fucking get it,” Roy cut over him. “I fucked up.”

“Royally,” said Ted.

“To oblivion,” said Beard.

“Fuck!” Roy exclaimed again, but this time to the floor. He was so angry with himself. He was so sad that he’d made you so sad.

“Now, I know yelling profanity into the stratosphere might be a great coping mechanism for you, Roy, but I’m not so sure that’s going to help clean up the rest of this here mess.” Ted stood slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets, as he rounded his desk to stand opposite his team Captain. “What did you think?”

Roy forced himself to look at his coach. He clenched his jaw. “Of what?”

“The article,” Ted urged.

There were so many words that Roy would use to describe what you’d written. Lovely, passionate, the nicest thing he’d ever fucking read, and the nicest thing he’d ever had done for his sake. But the words he chose were ones that he’d slept upon since he’d first read it.

“I don’t deserve it.” He sucked in a rattling breath. “Those words in that order were something I have never fucking deserved to have written about me, especially by her.”

Ted shrugged. “Well, I personally don’t think that. Do you, Coach?” He turned to Beard.

Beard shook his head with his face buried in his book. “Nope,” he said. “But, I can definitely see why you’d think that.” Beard’s voice trailed off quietly.

“We’re in agreement there, for sure, but–” Ted turned back to Roy, and smiled at him gently. “I think all of us can accurately say that, if her opinion of you is as high as she wrote in that article, then it’s gotta be gosh darn true, now, doesn’t it.”

Roy tried to digest Ted’s words, but none of it was making him feel any better. He didn’t need people telling him he deserved nice things at the best of times, but after the way he’d acted that was the last fucking thing he wanted. All it did was cement how badly he’d overreacted, how badly he’d misunderstood your intentions and feelings.

“She isn’t the kind of person to lie, Roy– especially not about someone she regards highly. And I think you know that very well, already.” Ted furrowed his brows softly, and Roy finally relaxed his hands.

His arms felt shaky with how much he’d been tensing his muscles. His chest felt lighter when he breathed in and out, filling up his lungs with fresh air, as he tried to rationalise and believe everything that Ted was saying.

“My apology isn’t going to be enough to fix this,” Roy said lowly. “Saying sorry seems like a fucking waste after all I’ve done.”

“Maybe so,” Ted acknowledged. “But, it’s a heck of a good place to start.”

Your head pounded painfully. Your limbs ached incessantly. You didn’t think it was possible to contract a cold in the Spring, but your body had proved you wrong. All you could realistically do was lay in bed, but you did so with your laptop propped atop your duvet covered torso, just so you could still answer emails and get some work done.

If anything, the quiet of your apartment felt calmer. It was different to the quiet that you experienced at the Dogtrack, especially after the fight last month. Roy hadn’t so much as said two sentences to you in that time, but neither had you to him, so both of you were as bad as each other.

Oddly, though, you felt at peace. You’d made yourself clear, and given him the option to keep up or fall behind. When you looked at him now, all you saw were the remnants of your confrontation, playing over and over in his head constantly. You wondered if he’d read the article, or if he would never. You wondered if you’d ever get back to the way you were before all of this bollocks started.

You kept thinking before that you wished you’d never written the damn thing, but that wasn’t necessarily true. You were proud of it, even if Roy wasn’t. You were being noticed after it had been published, and it had flowered a few opportunities— post MA— for you. It had worked out in your favour. It could work out in Roy’s too, if only he’d open his damn mind.

There was part of you that didn’t even want to fix this, but whenever you found yourself thinking of that outcome you felt guilty. You knew Roy, or thought you did, and wanted to say for certain that he’d try to resolve this. But, as the days dwindled past, that outcome was getting further and further away from you.

If anything, being ill had given you a bit of a break. Sat in bed with your laptop, you weren’t overly anxious about seeing Roy’s face in the hallway, or in the locker room. You didn’t feel the need to be quiet when he was present, or felt the painful pang of your heart whenever he looked straight past you. Instead, you were comfortable under your duvet, dosed up on cold and flu capsules, and ready for a nap despite it being the early afternoon.

You were stripped from your relaxation as soon as your buzzer went off. You groaned as you got up, trying to keep yourself steady on your weak legs. When you clicked the intercom, you let out a disgruntled hello.

“Hey, it’s Eli from the upstairs flat! Sorry, I forgot my keys. Can you buzz me in?” your neighbour asked. You let out a pent up breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, because– for a split second– you’d thought it might’ve been Roy. Just maybe.

“Of course,” you breathed out. “Come on in.” You unlocked the main door with your intercom buzzer. You heard it click open outside the door of your flat, and slam closed again. Eli’s footsteps bound up the stairs and into his own apartment.

You turned around and leant against your front door. You shivered as your back hit the subtle cold of the wood, and you let out a colossal sigh as you fluttered your eyes shut. This needed to stop. Thinking of him, expecting him to behave in the way you’d always thought he was capable of, because all you got from it was disappointment. Maybe he’d decided to bin this all off, just so it made his life easier. Maybe you’d utterly misjudged the situation, and he thought you were a mental case.

Either way, Roy wasn’t going to come to your front door. He wasn’t going to beg for forgiveness, or apologise, or look at you with his dark eyes like he couldn’t fucking stand the fact he’d made you sad. Roy Kent wasn’t going to do any of that.

And you just had to accept it.

You composed yourself enough to stand up straight again, and when you opened your eyes you took in the state of your fucking apartment. It had become a mess over the past month, since you’d found yourself almost unable to complete the basic house chores and tasks that you usually did. It was just too hard to do your laundry now, or run a hoover around your floor, or make yourself substantial meals. All of it proved to be entirely too much when you were reminded of just how fucking sad you felt. You knew it was silly to hold onto these emotions, but when they were further perpetuated every time you stepped into your workplace, it made it all the more difficult to shrug it aside.

You went to let out a sigh of frustration at yourself, but that abruptly turned into a shocked gasp when your intercom buzzer went off again. You clutched a haste hand to your heart, before you swivelled around and pressed down on the receiver.

“Hello?” you let out.

“Hey.” You stopped breathing when his croaking voice hit your ears. It was only made more static through the speaker, but you’d recognise it anywhere.

You gulped away the shock of it all as fast as you could. “Roy?” you asked. It was a stupid question, you knew it was him already.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

“What are you–?” you said, but stopped yourself when you realised how frantic your voice sounded. You took in a quick and shaking breath. “What’s up?” you settled on, in the spirit of seeming cool and composed, despite being the absolute opposite.

“Can I come in?” Roy asked, and you were struck by the immediate want to reject him. You and your flat were a state. You were still in your fucking pyjamas.

“I’m… not very well,” you said, but you winced as you did so. It sounded so bad, and you truly wanted to see him, just not like this. Part of you had started aching even more so after you’d realised it was his voice over the intercom.

You thought he’d growl, or swear, or do anything else than what he actually did. “I don’t care,” Roy said lowly. “I’ll take the risk of catching whatever you have, just please let me in.”

You lowered your forehead to your front door again, your heart racing. Was this really the right time for him to see you at rock fucking bottom? A mess, inside and out, ill and full of snot, as well as sleep deprived? You didn’t want him to enter only to want to immediately leave again. Not now. Not after it had been so long. Not after he’d finally plucked up the courage to make an effort.

Exhaling through your nose, you clicked down on the intercom stubbornly. “Okay, come in.” You pressed the buzzer to the front of your building, and quickly unlocked your own door, all the while trying to stop your fingers from shaking.

Roy pushed the door to your building open, and as he did, you debated whether to open the door for him, or get him to knock. You shuffled on your bare feet before your door, hearing the slow and intentional footsteps of him outside, but you still couldn’t decide–

That’s when he knocked.

And you let out an abrupt. “It’s open.”

He let himself in as you quickly launched yourself at your cluttered coffee table. You started picking up mugs as the door opened, and before you could even lay your eyes on Roy before you, you dashed to the kitchen with them in your arms.

They clattered on the worktop as you placed them down. One fell into the sink and the handle almost snapped off. You tried not to think about the fact you looked like a mess, or how entirely unprepared you were for this at the moment. This had been the last thing you’d been expecting today. Your heart wasn’t ready to be put on the line again, not after the month you’d just endured.

You hunched your shoulders to your ears as you leaned by the sink. Roy shut the door behind him and clicked the lock from habit.

“Hey,” he said again, and his voice reverberated throughout your apartment. When it hit the back of your neck, you shivered.

You gulped, and forced yourself to be as normal as possible. “In the kitchen!” you said cheerily, but even Roy knew you were lying. You got deja vu from the night of the charity ball when you heard his steps on the floor.

He strolled around the corner and stood by the counter behind you, a few metres from where you were hunched over the sink. You could feel his presence, a warm feeling on your back, that made your hairs stand up on end. Goosebumps prickled on your arms, alongside a few drops of sweat on your forehead that could have been from your raised temperature, or just from the fact that Roy was in your fucking flat.

You slowly picked up one of the mugs to your right and started washing it up. The water was cold, but you didn’t care.

“Coach said you called in sick,” Roy started.

You inhaled sharply. “Yeah, I’ve definitely been better.”

“I thought I’d… come and check in on you,” he said. You closed your eyes, fighting against the urge to run your mouth or say something entirely stupid.

Quickly, you dropped the mug you were holding and turned off the tap. You turned around to meet his eye, before leaning against the sink behind you, keeping your shoulders hunched up defensively.

“Thank you, but I’m just fine.” Your throat felt like sandpaper as soon as you allowed yourself to finally look at him properly.

Roy’s eyes were glassy, glassier than you’d ever seen them before. He had this almost pitying look on his face, but you knew that Roy Kent didn’t pity anyone, least of all himself. He looked chastised, he looked guilty, and the way his hands were balled at his sides made you want to take them in your own and delicately swipe your fingers over his distressed knuckles.

“I thought you were lying about being ill,” Roy explained.

You scoffed, only to give yourself an excuse to look at the floor. His stare was too intense, too exposing. “Why would I lie about that?”

“To avoid me,” Roy said immediately. You froze, and you frowned.

“Do you really think I’d do that, Roy?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, as you caught his eye once more.

Roy shook his head. “It’s something I would do,” he said, before he winced at himself. “It’s something I fucking did, your first week on the job.” Realisation slapped him around the face. “I wouldn’t blame you—,” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did that to avoid me.”

You swallowed the want to vomit. Maybe it was from the excess amount of paracetamol and ibuprofen you’d consumed over the past three days, but you heavily doubted that. It was because all that you’d thought wouldn’t happen was actually happening. Roy was here, and he was looking at you like he knew just how badly he’d fucked up and hurt you. He was looking at you like he was on the brink of confessing his deepest, darkest secrets.

And for once, you weren’t sure if you wanted it. It had taken him a month to take initiative. Was that really something you were willing to excuse? Even if it was Roy?

“I wouldn’t avoid you like that, Roy,” you said gently. “Being on the receiving end of it was more than enough.”

Roy took a gentle step forward, but stopped when he saw your chest stutter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft and full of feeling. “I fucked up. And none of it was fair on you.”

You peered up at him, and tapped your fingers against the counter top. You didn’t know what to say, and somehow you couldn’t find the strength to say you forgave him immediately.

Roy took another step forward. “I shouldn’t have led you to believe I was okay with the article, and I shouldn’t have blown up at you after Keeley submitted it. I shouldn’t have ignored you, and avoided you. I should’ve— fuckin’— said something. I should have said that it wasn’t your fault, and acknowledged all the shit I was feeling, and not fucking—,” he stopped, and breathed in and out deeply. “I read it.”

Your heart stopped. “When?”

“On Friday night,” he said. “You didn’t come to the game on Saturday, and then when you weren’t in today, I just—,” he choked on his words, and your gut lurched. “The guys miss you.”

You didn’t care about the guys. Not right now. Not about this. Maybe that was his way of saying he missed you too.

Roy took another step forward, bridging the gap between you just a little more. “What you wrote, well it’s… not what I was expecting. I was scared, and I lashed out, and for that I can’t say sorry enough.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. “Thank you,” you croaked. You didn’t mean for it to be so, but your throat had all but closed up.

“Ted and Beard gave me a fucking grilling,” he said. You scoffed so abruptly that it took you by surprise. The faintest smile appeared on Roy’s lips. “Sam and Isaac told me to read it. I should have done it sooner. I should have done this sooner.”

This. Apologise. Put his heart on the line. All of it.

This was a step in the right direction, you knew that, but something held you back from fully accepting his words. The hurt he’d caused had done damage, and as much as you had closure now, you still needed time to heal.

You nodded again, and caught his eye strongly. “Thank you for saying so, Roy. I… yeah. Just thank you.”

Roy nodded at you, before he shuffled a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket. What emerged was a bright blue and red Richmond shirt. He hovered it towards you, before he draped it open so you could see the number and name on the back.

“We had Nate make this for you,” he said.

Before you, you read the number 1, and above it read WRITER. Your heart swelled. You were part of the team in more ways than one now.

You breathed out through your nose gently as you took the shirt from his hands. You smiled, properly, for the first time in ages.

“I finally have something to wear on match days,” you said, and the smile that Roy shot your way was more than enough for you.

The moment ended abruptly when a dizzy spell hit you hard. Your face went sheet white and your gut dropped, similar to a feeling of falling. You clutched onto the kitchen counter with all your strength, just to keep yourself from keeling over.

Roy witnessed it all, and abruptly lunged at you. “Fuck,” he said quickly, as you gently brought a hand to your waist to keep you standing. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, breathing deeply. “I guess my diet of cold and flu meds and water for the past three days has finally hit me,” you let out, trying to keep things light.

“What can I do to help?” Roy asked.

You shook your head. “I just need to sleep it off.”

“Come on,” he said, as he proactively twisted himself so he held up your bodyweight with one arm. You draped your arm over his shoulder to make it easier, and the two of you gently started towards your room.

Roy could tell you were burning up. Your body temperature radiated onto him tenfold, and the clammy look on your face was enough to know you had a raging fever.

“I can’t believe I thought you fucking lied about being ill,” he said, and you let out a breathy chuckle. “You can’t even fucking stand properly.”

“I don’t like lying,” you said, as the two of you rounded the corner to your bedroom door. “I’m fine, really.”

“Doesn’t like lying but just tried to gaslight me. You’re one of those fucking sneaky ones, aren’t you?” Roy teased. You didn’t have the strength to laugh back as much as you wanted to, so you settled on a simply whispered ha. “For the record, I don’t like lying either,” he stated.

You gently placed your hand on his chest to stop him from walking you straight to your bed. You didn’t want to seem utterly pathetic.

“I’m alright, really. Just had a moment,” you said. Roy nodded, but he still stayed close after he let you go. You leaned against your door and peered up at him softly. “I’ll try and be back at work tomorrow, anyway.”

Roy furrowed his brows at you intensely. “If your arse shows up at Nelson Road tomorrow, I will personally shove you in my car and drive you straight fucking back here,” he said sternly.

You tried to stop yourself, but your lips curled upwards into a small and mischievous smile. It was funny when Roy got angry for the sake of your well-being. It was even funnier when you remembered you were still in your fucking pyjamas.

You raised your hands in defeat. “Alright,” you agreed without a fight.

“Okay,” he said, backing down. He took a few steps back towards your front door, but you stopped him by standing up straight.

“Wait,” you said, as you shuffled towards him and reached out behind him. You plucked his jacket from the peg on the wall to his left, and hovered it in front of him. “Just before I forget.”

Roy took his jacket from you gently, and folded it over his arm, imitating the football shirt over your own.

“I wonder how you even dealt with the fact I had that for more than five fucking months,” you said jokingly.

Roy shrugged. “I bought another one to match my suit.”

You widened your eyes at him, astounded. He’d known you had it all along. Maybe there was something to be said about that, about wanting you to always have a part of him.

“Fucking idiot,” you breathed out.

Roy smiled at you like the sun. “Go and rest,” he said, as he gently grabbed the door handle and opened it up.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay.” He nodded.

And then he was gone. After you locked the door behind him, you crawled back into bed. You could still feel his presence as you wrapped yourself in your duvet, and as you closed your eyes, all of his apologies replayed themselves beneath your eyelids.

As you recovered from this fucking flu, Rebecca let you work from home for the rest of the week. It was needed, and you still managed to stay productive in the daytime, without the need to be exhausted by social interactions. Sam texted you everyday, sending you well wishes and updating on what the guys were up to. They had another match coming up that Saturday, and the threat of relegation was even more so. With less than two months until the end of the season, and their final match being against Man City, you knew that they were all feeling the pressure.

You felt bad that you hadn’t been there to spur them on over the past month, but you realised almost reluctantly that you’d needed the time away. To reflect, to manage your emotions, to not hold back when Roy eventually apologised. Despite his kind words and accountability, you felt like you were almost back at square one with him–

Back to those first few months, before the charity ball, before that unspoken something had begun, but it was ten times worse now; because both of you knew that there was something there, but neither of you dared cross the line after the fight. The threat of losing the other forever was far too prominent, but you still felt yourself melt at the small things.

Roy texted you during the week at random times, with the most random of things.

Ted just told the team he thought bangers and mash was a famous porno film.

Just told the guys you’ll be at the game on Saturday and Isaac pulled down his pants in excitement.

Nate’s getting promoted to coach but he thinks Rebecca is gonna fire him. It’s fucking hilarious.

You replied accordingly, but that last one got you pumped up. Nate had always been a funny one. Too shy to properly open up to you, but sweet and kind in his own way. The amount of awkward interactions you’d had with him were enough to indicate his skills with women (or lack thereof) but you still enjoyed his company. He’d helped you during countless visiting sessions with the Diamond Dogs, and definitely liked gossip just as much as Higgins.

When you walked into the Dogtrack on Saturday, Richmond shirt donned and a skip in your step for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were coming home. It was that mixture of nostalgia that you got when you visited your family at Christmas, or when you saw someone you knew from secondary school. Excitement, but also the knowledge that you were stepping into an environment where you were properly known. Properly loved, even.

That’s what the Dogtrack felt like to you now, in all of her glory, with those creepy fucking pictures of the guys that dotted the walls on the stadium; the one of Roy always caught your eye when you entered the manager’s office. It was right by the door, and from Ted’s desk, you could see it if you turned your head to the left. It was like he was looking straight at you through the glass, arms crossed, jaw tensed. Roy fucking Kent.

You followed the familiar hallways of the lower level, headed to the locker room. There was a buzz in the air that you’d become accustomed to after multiple games, and you knew you’d arrived right on time for one of Ted’s pep talks. You heard his voice as you approached the door, and knew that you’d enter into the guys sitting on the benches, listening intently to their coach.

“Now fellas, I don’t need to tell you what’s at stake here. That’s not what I’m here for, and that’s the last gosh darn thing I need to be telling you, when I bet you’ve all been thinking about it in your own time,” Ted said, and you caught a glimpse of him through the door. Hands in his pockets, a small smile making his moustache look like an upturned moon on his face. “You all know that you’re capable. When you’re in the flow, well… that’s some of the most beautiful football I’ve ever seen in my, albeit small, time as your coach.”

“It is like a modern dance,” Dani said from within the room. You could practically sense the nods of his teammates around him. “Let us play like we are on stage at the ballet, yes?”

“Well said, Dani!” Ted encouraged. “You know you can do it, and all I’m asking y’all to do is–”

“Believe,” you said suddenly, raising your voice, before you turned the corner and revealed yourself in the doorway. Your own confidence took you by surprise, but it paid off as soon as you saw the faces of the guys.

The energy in the room tripled, and their smiles shone on you like a goddamn spotlight. Ted was the first to approach you, placing a hand on your shoulder gently as he guided you further into the room. He didn’t need to say anything for you to feel the love they were exuding. And as much as you wanted to yell support at them, you knew you had an apology to make.

You turned to guys, urged on by Ted’s hand on your shoulder. “I know I haven’t been to a game for a while, and I’m sorry for that.” You shot the smallest of stares at Roy, only to find his gaze stuck on you already. You breathed out and continued. “But, I’m here now, and–” You turned around quickly, and pointed at the number and name on your shirt. “I’m Richmond till I fucking die!” you yelled, and Nate flinched next to Beard.

The team erupted like young volcanoes. Isaac jumped up first and fast, and bombarded towards you before you’d even fully turned around. He wrapped his arms around you strongly, and lifted you from the ground in a hug of epic proportions. Your feet dangled above the floor, but you simply accepted your fate and hugged him back.

They broke out in song– Richmond till we die, we’re Richmond till we die. We know we are, we’re sure we are, we’re Richmond till we die.

When Isaac finally dropped you to the floor, you stayed back to admire them. You did this whenever you could, just watched them as they pumped each other up, as they intertwined their emotions and got ready to fight a battle on the football pitch. It was a sight to behold, and one that you felt privileged to be able to see.

Just like at Everton, you were thrust from the scene by a tap on the shoulder by Roy. You whisked yourself around to face him, and regarded him thoughtfully. His eyes flicked back and forth between your own, before he peered down your shirt.

He raised his brows subtly. “It suits you,” he said.

You chuckled silently through your nose. “Liar,” you joked.

“It really brings out the neon glow on your face,” Roy said, sticking a hand out to gently prod one of your cheeks. You swatted him away, smiling to yourself as you did so. “Really though, have you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“Fuck off!”

“You’re sweating like you’ve just played ninety-minutes,” he teased.

“I was nervous, okay?” you chuckled out, and Roy’s own laughter melded into the mix.

He dropped his hand to his side, but you almost wished he’d kept it close by. As the last of the laughter trickled between you, a tense feeling hit you in the gut instead. You were reminded of his impromptu visit on Monday, and it all came flooding back to you before you could dam it up. There was something soft that transcended words between you, full of all the prior laughs, the yells, the stares that neither of you ever noticed from the other. The secretive ones, the ones that you were certain were private, until the other abruptly turned around from the feeling of being seen.

Roy cleared his throat, adamant not to blow his fucking cover. “It’s good to have you back,” he said, but as the words fell from his lips so too did the rest. The want, the need and everything in between.

You gulped down his words like you needed them to survive. “It’s good to be back.”

Everything fell back into place after your return. Richmond won the match that Saturday, and drinks were shared in the locker room until the early hours of the morning. You spent the Sunday after at your flat, writing your novel non-stop as a tsunami of inspiration struck you from out of the blue. Typing on your keyboard, you lost sense of time entirely, and found yourself writing for more than five hours before you got up to do anything– eat, drink, take a piss. Bursts of inspiration were a rarity for you, so you knew you had to bleed yourself dry before it lapsed.

As the last of your assignments were due, you took pleasure in the peace of your office at the stadium. You tried not to think about how fast time was running out. As the weeks rushed by, the inevitable end of your placement was fast approaching, but you weren’t going to let it get you down. You knew that, despite leaving Richmond, you had made friends for life. You’d be damned if you and Sam didn’t share book recommendations beyond your time working there, and you were determined to be a true Richmond season ticket holder from here on in.

They were your team, your family, and deep down you knew you’d always be welcomed back with open arms. You could already imagine yourself strolling the corridors after a game, or randomly dropping in on the guys during a lunch break. That craving wasn’t going to fade away anytime soon. You would embrace it.

Richmond’s match win upon your return was joyous, yes, but it wasn’t enough. As the final month of the season hit you, whispers whittled around the corridors of the lower levels of the Dogtrack. You knew the rumours, the whispers, the mutters, and it wasn’t just because of Higgin’s love of gossip–

It was written all over Roy’s face.

There wasn’t anything that triggered it, so to say, but his form was becoming more noticeable with every game that the guys played. For years, Roy had been a staple of AFC Richmond, but as Coach Lasso finally spread his wings across his players, it was clear to see there was a difference in performance when it came to their team Captain.

You noticed it alongside everyone else, one practice, when you’d decided to take your laptop outside and sit in the stands. As the guys ran drills, Roy’s abrupt curse words and incessant effing and blinding only exacerbated the levels of his struggle. This was exactly what he’d spoken about in your interview– the inevitably that he was slowing down, that he simply couldn’t catch up with his younger teammates anymore.

You saw it when he urged himself forward, through pain and stiff joints and hurt. You saw it when he avoided team outings after more failed plays during games. Eventually, there had to be a final straw, and it came in the form of Roy causing the team to lose during the penultimate match of the season.

It was too much to be ignored, and everyone knew it.

After the game, you entered the locker room as players started trickling out to head home. You hadn’t wanted to bombard them afterwards, least of all Roy. You sent Sam a small smile as he called it a night, and you found yourself sitting in the locker room with your back against Roy’s cubby. He was nowhere to be seen, and you’d heard mutters about him taking an ice-bath in the treatment room.

Ted strolled towards you from the manager’s office, and sent you a stellar smile as he sat next to you on the bench.

You breathed together in understanding. It was impossible not to feel the realisation of it all, and as much as you wanted Roy to keep going, you were afraid he was going to kill himself trying, instead.

“What’re you thinking about, writer?” Ted asked, and you huffed through your nose.

The team had been calling you writer after Nate had your shirt made. It was their nickname for you, despite it sounding like nothing affectionate. To you, though, it meant a lot.

“I don’t know,” you let out. “What’re you thinking about, Coach?”

Ted leaned back into Sam’s cubby, and sighed deeply. “I’m thinking about far too much to be able to pick just one thing, if I’m being honest,” he said in his familiar Southern drawl. You’d grown fond of it over the past eight months. “It all comes down to next week.”

“Relegation, you mean?” you asked. It was pointless to, but it was almost like addressing the elephant in the room.

“Relegation, indeed,” Ted said lowly. “Lemme ask you this.” He sat up straight, and turned to face you on the bench. “What would you do if you had to choose between the– objectively right– opinions of your fellow coaches, or the dignity and pride of one of the greatest football players of your generation?”

God, he was fucking talking about Roy. In any other moment, you’d be happy to talk about Roy until your voice was nothing but a crack, but if it was about benching him; you didn’t want to talk about it all. It was impossible to navigate, and even more impossible to accept that reality. Benching Roy before the final game of the season would affect more than just his feelings, and you were glad it wasn’t you that had to make Ted’s decision for him.

As much as you wanted Roy to play, there was part of you that wanted to scream at him to look at the bigger picture. This game wasn’t worth that pain. It wasn’t worth hurting himself to keep up with his teammates. If it was too much, that wasn’t anything to be ashamed of in your eyes, but you suspected that was very different on Roy’s part.

You sighed deeply, stuck at a crossroads. You suspected Beard and Nate had already been on Ted’s ass to get him to pull off the bandaid, to just say it to Roy and get it over with, but you didn’t want to add anything to the mix that would sway Ted’s decision further. It was hard enough as it was.

“That’s a decision I couldn’t possibly make, Coach,” you said finally, and shot him a knowing smile. “I’m not in your shoes, and if I was–” you stopped, struggling to get the words out. “Well, that’s just it. I’m not. I wouldn’t be able to decide. Not when I love them all so much.”

“The guys, you mean?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Amongst others, yes.”

Ted smiled at that, getting what you were hinting at. You loved them all. The guys, the coaches, Rebecca, Keeley, Higgins. Ted’s smile quickly turned into shock and realisation. “Oh, heck! I totally forgot about you.”

You squinted at him in surprise. “What about me?”

“Your placement finishes next week, don’t it?”

You gulped away the want to cry. “It does, indeed,” you mimicked his Southern drawl to break open the sadness and tension you felt, but Ted saw straight through you.

He leaned in gently, and bashed his shoulder against yours. “You really think they’re all gonna let you go that easy, huh?” he said jokingly, but the knowing look in his eyes made you feel seen. You suspected he felt it himself, too. With the threat of relegation mere days away, you didn’t doubt that the subject of Ted resigning had come up before.

He was actually thinking about it then, as the two of you shared a look that was impossible to ignore. In one glance, you both said the same thing– you’d both miss Richmond beyond belief when your time there came to an end.

“He’s in the treatment room,” Ted said suddenly, changing the subject. “Roy.”

“He probably wants to be left alone,” you said, staring off to the manager’s office door. Above it, Ted’s believe poster lit up the room.

“Oh, he definitely does, don’t get me wrong,” Ted said, before he stood up from the bench. “But, I bet he wouldn’t be opposed to you keeping him company for a little while.”

As Ted strolled back to the manager’s office, you got up yourself. You breathed deeply a few times, before you slowly crossed the hall to the treatment room. The lights were off, but the large bin for ice-baths was set up inside, with the glare from the TV screen on lightening it. Through the window, you spotted Roy’s eyes just over the lip of the bin, and you gently entered through the door.

He didn’t say anything as you pulled up a stool and sat next to him. Only after a moment did he stir, and sit himself up so his head poked out of the ice cold water. You both sat and watched the TV for a bit, as a broadcaster whittled on about Richmond’s latest match.

You winced when they mentioned Roy’s fuck up. Pundits on screen discussed his plays, and his losses. You hated how they were talking in past tense– Roy was, instead of Roy is. It made you angry enough to grab the remote quickly and turn off the screen, before you dropped yourself back onto the stool next to him.

Gently, he turned his head towards you. You stayed frozen, not wanting to meet his eye just yet, because you didn’t want him to gauge your expression. As much as it annoyed you, Roy’s ability to read your face like a fucking book was also a sign of something more. It started after the night of the charity ball, when he’d calmed you down in your kitchen, and had only grown since then. As much as that invisible wall still stood between you, even after you made up from your fight, you knew he’d still be able to know everything about you in a single stare.

Roy flicked his eyes over your profile. You felt every hair on your body stand up,

“Just tell me to fuck off, if you want,” you said, breathing out deeply.

“Okay,” Roy said plainly. You thought that meant yes.

You turned to him and caught his eye bluntly. “Go on, then.”

“I don’t want you to fuck off,” he said, furrowing his brows at you questioningly. “Do you want me to tell you to fuck off?”

You huffed in frustration. “No,” you said. You didn’t know how to tread this, didn’t know what to say. Maybe the guys thought you were good, empathetic, a great listener, but when it came to Roy you didn’t know what you could say to make it better.

Probably nothing, which was what you struggled with.

“Okay, then,” he said, before he turned back to the blank screen.

You both stared at it together, sitting in each other’s silence with an understanding that floated through the air. You didn’t want to bring it up, and Roy knew that. He also didn’t want to bring it up, which you were perfectly fine with. So instead, you simply sat, and you said nothing. The air felt warm despite the ice cubes floating in Roy’s ice bath, or maybe it was just you.

You hadn’t been alone like this since he’d shown up at your apartment, and after something as severe as his last game, you were under even more pressure to say and do the right thing.

“What are you thinking about?” Roy croaked out gently.

You sighed. “Everyone’s been asking me that today,” you let out.

Roy shuffled in the ice bath, hoisting himself up so he could drape his bare arms over the back of the bin. “What did you tell em?”

You met his eye finally, and shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. I have no fucking idea what I’m thinking about.”

“All the time?” Roy asked, and you ignored the way his gaze flicked up and down your face, just for a second.

You huffed gently. “All the time.”

“Ask me what I’m thinking about,” he said.

You flicked your gaze over his stoic face, only now, it didn’t look so stoic. It looked raw, emotional, and soft. All the things you knew that Roy Kent wasn’t on the outside, but what he’d been like to you after that night.

“What are you thinking about, Roy?” you whispered, and his lips upturned into the smallest and most imperceptible of smiles.

“I’m thinking about how much that fucking shirt suits you,” he said, referring to the Richmond shirt that you wore. “It suits you more than it’s ever suited me.”

You turned away quickly, feeling your cheeks warm. “Oh, fuck off,” you breathed out, trying to hide how flustered you were.

“I mean it,” he said gently, and you allowed yourself to peer back at him. “It’s going to be strange without you here.”

You’d been counting down the days. Only six remained until your final Friday working in that office, next to the gym, with the guys laughter, and tears, and hurt, and pain, and all the rest.

“I’m going to miss it,” you let out, and your voice almost cracked.

Gently, Roy hoisted an arm out of the ice bath and reached towards you. Gently, he prodded a careful finger onto one of your warm cheeks, just for a second, hardly felt by you apart from the immense cold that rushed over every inch of your body. A shiver of him.

“Me too,” he said with a finality, before he retracted his arm.

The two of you looked back at the blank screen before you, sat in darkness, hearing the soft huffs of your breathing as the room stayed stuck in time.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes​ @20th-centu-fairy-girl​ @royalestrellas​ @weakmoony-stuff​ @ironmanmagnetfridge​ @lemonpiegurll​ @hellomagicalsouls​ @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld​ @old-enough-to-know-better73​ @djarindroid​ @afraidofshrimp​ @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses​ @sogoodtoheritsvicious​ @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke​ @onceuponaoneshot​ @jamieolivia27​ @dadbodfanatic-x​ @kelp-dreaming​ @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist​ @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming​ @toomany24s​ @kashee-h​ @infinetlyforgotten​ @secretnook​ @cluelesslilsharkie​ @callmecasey81​ @deepdarkvelvet​ @twiceinabluemoon​ @cardeegans​ @golden-hoax​ @kingleahhh​ @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6​ @ellouisa17​ @thesestrangerslikeme​

[octuscle]

Cursed Ken, part 4: Baschy, the ice hockey center star

Sebastian strolled through the flea market. He didn't really have any particular reason. No particular destination. Just to have a look… The stall with the young Arab was a real eye-catcher. Not necessarily because of the goods. But because of the Arab. A giant, a muscleman. Tattooed, short-cropped hair. Masculinity oozed from every single one of his pores. All the more astonishing was his merchandise. Lots of junk. But in between a small army of dolls. In the style of Barbie's Ken. But somehow also different. Many far removed from what you would expect to find in Barbie's dream house. Surprisingly, hardly anyone seemed to be interested…

"So, stud? Which Ken do you like?" Shit, the guy's voice went through Sebastian's bones. The guy pushed up his T-shirt and scratched his hairy chest. Sebastian's cock licked Precum. With a dry throat, he said he was interested in the ice hockey player. "I see. They're real men. Sports with a lot of physical contact. Makes every guy horny." The Arab laughed boomingly. "Twenty-eight dollars for you. Because I like you!" Sebastian had no choice. He was far too excited to negotiate. He already had 30 dollars across the wallpaper table and took the doll. And he knew what he wanted to do with it. He wanted to give it to his son. His son from a relationship from ages ago. His ex-girlfriend didn't want his son to meet his father, the damn faggot. But Sebastian had secretly watched him from time to time. He knew that he played ice hockey in the juniors. He hoped he would be happy about the doll. But Sebastian had no idea how to present the gift.

His son trained on Wednesdays at 4 p.m. in the ice stadium Sebastian knew that much. There should be some opportunity… With the doll in his coat pocket, Sebastian strolled on through the flea market. After a few minutes, he had forgotten about the doll, his son and the hot Arab. Sebastian was hungry. Shit, he was actually always hungry. Anyone who consumed as much energy as Sebastian did had to eat a lot. And Sebastian consumed a lot of energy. An hour's run in the morning. At least an hour of gym in the evening. Training on the ice three times a week. The next time was Wednesday at 18:00. Before that, he trained the juniors as a temporary coach.

The trip to the flea market was a nice change of pace on Sunday afternoons. But now it was time for the gym. And then early to bed. He had to be fit again in the morning. Sebastian had left his gym bag at his buddy Kemal's stand. He was eagerly awaiting Sebastian. It started to drizzle, Kemal wanted to dismantle his stand and no more customers were coming. Sebastian helped his friend to stow away the goods. The prospect of lifting weights with Kemal and relieving pressure in the shower after training was worth postponing the workout a little longer.

You have to hate your coach. And today Baschy, as his teammates call him because of his Swiss roots, hates his coach. Shit, if Baschy is at the end of his tether, it's been a tough training session. And after the youth training session, there was another training session on the schedule. Baschy tries to focus his anger on his stick and puck. And he sends the puck towards the goal. His colleague in goal has to take a real beating. And by the time the juniors, some of whom were barely up to his belly button, come onto the ice, his anger has been vented.

Baschy loves training with the kids. Even if it's a completely different thing to play ice hockey skillfully than to teach someone how to do it. And his kids adore him. When he's not at training, their motivation is at rock bottom. Especially with the one little guy who Baschy is convinced is born to be great. But even if nobody can say why, the two of them simply have a very special relationship.

[xhollandlilsx]

Handmade - Leah Williamson x Reader

Warnings: N/A

“You can’t just throw glitter on it”

Lucy argued as we were making posters for each other, for the game against America, they wanted posters of us up around the stadium.

Handmade ones.

“Well Luce, it’s not exactly winning any awards is it!” I half shouted playfully, as I slapped some glue on there and just dumped a handful of glitter on it. I’d tried to make her look a little less intimidating, but it started to go downhill so glitter was my saviour as much as I hated the stuff, “Not my fault your photo looks like you’ve taken Liam Neeson’s daughter”

A few of the girls burst out laughing, as I fanned myself with my hands as all the arts and crafts business was making me sweat. I only had a zip up thermal jumper on and my Nike sports bra underneath, so when I ditched my jumper, and returned to the table I saw a few almost shocked faces.

“Damn Y/L/N, since when do you have abs?!” Kiera heckled with raised eyebrows. In the corner of my eye I saw Leah’s head shoot up, as I shot a wink to Kiera and laughed. Nobody knew except Georgia and Lucy that Leah and I were together, we hid it the best we could, not wanting all the interrogation, and wanted to keep it private in the first few months.

“No seriously I can count them, drop the workout routine” Lauren laughed astounded. I shook my head looking down with a slight laugh. I never knew how to take compliments so I usually just laughed them off or replied with my usual cocky comments. There were a few more comments thrown around about my figure and a few flirtatious comments that were purely a joke. Things like:

‘Wouldn’t kick you out of bed’ and ‘Damn It’s a good day to like women’.

I carried on trying to save the poster of Lucy, to no avail as it looked like a mess but I loved it either way.

“Tah-Dah” I held it up to the camera with a big toothy smile, “So for my artwork I did the amazing Lucy Bronze, I added some of these, and those, whatever they are. And yeah. I’m proud of it. She now looks a little less crime documentary-ie”

I laughed as I walked passed Georgia who was complaining about Leah’s poster of her.

“Y/N look at this. So this is my picture, I went with, everything you can see, that’s really nice and quite truthful about Leah” Before she then reached over to grab hers that was on the table as Leah was cutting something out.

“No no I’m not done!” Leah protested making me laugh slightly, “I’ve got to rearrange things”

“Leah’s altering it because I wasn’t very satisfied. I got devil horns” She moaned looking between the camera and myself, I let out a laugh and nodded crossing my arms.

“I think that’s quite cool” Leah argued, nobody else would be able to but just from the way she avoided eye contact with me I could tell something was up.

“Yeah it’s cool but… I give her, a tiara.” She told me expecting me to tell my girlfriend off, to which I just shook my head patting Georgia on the back twice.

“I mean you’re not exactly an angel on the pitch Stanners” I laughed as I walked back to my work bench, where Ellie had leaned against it and started talking to me, we were just talking about going for food tomorrow but with the hushed tone and the closeness I could see where Leah came from when she stood up, dusting her hands off and walking out of the room.

I looked at Georgia with a frown asking her what’s up, to which she shook her head and nodded toward the door where the blonde had just left.

After dusting my own hands off and grabbing my shirt again, I excused myself and followed after her, I searched the first corridor not seeing any sign of her, as I pulled my shirt over my head.

But spotted her when I turned the next, she was leaning against the wall in a sort of squat position with her hands on her knees looking down.

“What’s up?” I asked walking over to which she looked up and me before standing up straight, I tried to make out the look on her face but I couldn’t.

“Nothing, Y/N” She shook her head going to walk past me when I stopped her placing a hand on her chest.

“Leah.”

“I’m sick of this.” She blurted out, to which I looked at her as she motioned between the two of us, my heart sinking.

“What?” I asked trying to keep my voice steady, as I now crossed my arms, swallowing hard.

“This, the sneaking around, the secrecy” She sighed, looking down.

“Leah…” I whispered before taking a deep breath and looking up at her again trying to be strong, “Do you wanna break up?”

“No! No god no.” She looked at me with wide eyes, to which I let out an audible breath I didn’t realise I was holding, “I just. I don’t wanna hide this anymore. I can’t sit there and be quiet when people are saying things like that about you”

“They were only joking Leah” I smirked at her jealousy, trying to hide the grin on my face.

“I didn’t find it funny.” She argued, “I wanna tell them.”

“Are you sure?” I asked with an almost wince, as I looked into her bright blue eyes.

“I’ve been sure since the game against Japan, I wanted to run over and kiss you when you scored with that bicycle kick.” She smirked, a goal I’d never live down, and never be able to recreate. I smiled slightly at her proud face.

Letting out a small sigh smoothing out my ponytail, and swallowing hard, “Yeah… yeah okay”

With that she finally let a small smile wash over her features as she pulled me into a kiss, her lips soft against mine as I felt her hands go under my shirt and against my abdomen, trailing down. One of my hands was on her cheek as the other placed itself on the small of her back.

“Don’t be shy” I rolled my eyes sarcastically, making her take her hands from my stomach. With a smile I placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Now come on before Georgia decides to do her own poster” I laughed taking her hand in mine and kissing the back of it as we walked.

A/N:

Only a short one but here you go 🤗

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Male and female Barca players are now playing at the same time as females are getting recognition in the football industry. Pedri and reader (who is a three time ballon d’or winner and two time golden girl winner for Barca) start fooling around, to which reader ends up pregnant. When she finds out she doesn’t tell anyone and keeps the secret for two months (she is still playing, since she’s really good she able to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or the baby). Pedri decides to go check up on her as well as to see if she’s ok, since she’s been really quiet at practices and everyone noticing that she’s not her usual happy self. She then tell him the news (despite thinking he would reject the baby, since he says he doesn’t want a relationship and doesn’t really want kids) however, she gets the opposite reaction and the support from him, as well as him scolding her for playing two months straight despite being pregnant. Two years later they are at the Barca stadium (idk if it is called camp nou or not, however you can name it the original) celebrating her and his champions league win and they tell the world the two little angel they have and play with their kids, as well as everyone pointing out her ring on her finger.

Not The Best Start - P.G8

Summary: Random hookups can lead to something more.

You knew what you were getting into when you felt his lips collide with yours for the first time; you knew he didn't want a serious relationship, both of you so young with only twenty-two years.

P whole life ahead, your whole career in front of you and it all crashed down when you saw that little stick with the words pregnant on it.

You laughed, you screamed and you cried.

You didn't wanted to give up on football not when it has finally broke the stereotypes and women could train and workout along the men team, both being treated as equals by everyone, media, fans and galas.

You broke the stereotype when you won two years in a row at the age of twenty, a Balloon D'Or Femení and two years before that, two Golden Girls, all of them at the club of your dreams, FC Barcelona. You, along your teammates were and are inspiration to the little girls who liked football and wanted to be like you when they got older.

You had so much to achieve... And you got pregnant. And best news, you weren't in an established relationship with the dad of your baby.

And the baby daddy was none other than Pedro González López, better known as Pedri, number 8 of the Barça's male team and also the 21 of the Spanish team. The man, who everyone loved, screamed and prayed nothing that bad happened to him.

He was also starting his career and you couldnt do that to him. If you had to stop your career, then it would be just yours, because youre not as selfish as youd like to be and neither wanted to make him choose, mostly because you wouldnt like to hear how he would choose his career over a few hook ups that ended up badly. He wasnt ready to settle down, he said it himself. And nothing can tie down anyone.

Thats how you hided it, you didnt tell anyone; not even to your best friend, that you were expecting a little one, especially because you didnt know how people would react and because you wanted to enjoy the little time you had left for football before your belly became noticeable and force you do some motherhood leave.

But as a result, you started distancing yourself from your teammates, from the guys of the male team, shutting every hang out down and just being in your own little world. Which you didnt know but it grabbed a certain Canario's attention.

"Aitana" Pedro called "Is everything okay with Y/L/N?" He looked towards where you, Ronald, Lewy and Mapi were training.

The brunette girl shrugged her shoulders "I really don't know, Pedri. She has been in her own world, we try to talk to her but she backs out again and again"

Pedri sighed heavily, he hated seeing you like this. Truth is, you have been too busy pushing everything and everyone out that you were also pushing him out, when in fact, he had missed you deeply the past few weeks and he longed to see you, spend some time with you just chatting or making a new recipe you wanted to give a try.

He was comfortable with you, he loved being around you and the first week you haven't reached out for him, he was confused but let it go thinking you needed some alone time, still he kept on texting you. And when he saw you didn't replied his messages, didn't answered his calls and made no attempt to look out for him, he started to feel his chest heavy and soon he got the news you had left Spain because of a family emergency.

Now that you were back, he tried to talk to you but you kept on getting away and with your guys's busy schedules, he hasn't been able to make the effor he would like to do.

"Training's done! We can go home now and girls, good luck on tomorrow's match!" Pedro heard your coach said as all of you smiled and thanked his support. You inmediately went to the girls bathroom so Pedro couldn't chase you and when he was done with himself you were already gone.

"¡Puta madre, joder!" (Holy shit, fuck!) He said frustrated to no one in particular

"Hey, Pedri. Are you coming to the match tomorrow?" Ona asked him with a small smile

"Yes, of course" This was his chance to talk to you.

...

"Another goal from Barcelona's 7, the amazing Y/N! The Camp Nou is roaring along her!"

"That goal was beautiful and look at her doing her freeze signature, her teammates joining her and look at that! Half Camp Nou joined her too!"

"The power this girl has is insane, another hat trick added to Y/L/N's long list!"

And that night you girls won, Pedri along his brother watching you with a long smile on their faces. Pedri told his brother he would get down to congratulate all of you girls when he saw you getting out of the changing rooms

"Y/L/N!" You freezed when you heard his voice and then picked up your pace making Pedri follow you "Wait, I need to talk to you!" Eventually he catched up on you "Hola"

You stayed quiet just looking at him

"How are you?" Nothing "You did great today" Still nothing "Is something wrong? I've been trying to contact you but you keep on distancing yourself. We all have noticed, we are worried, I'm worried Y/N, we were good one day and the other-"

"I'm pregnant" You said cutting him off

"What?"

"I'm pregnant" You repeated "and it's yours" Now it was his turn to not say anything "That's why I have been distant, I'm trying to get my head around it and I know you may not want it but I'll keep it and you don't have to worry about it, if you don't want to... Like... I know you aren't ready to settle down and a baby is a huge responsability and I know you don't have feelings for me in that kind of way" You laughed nervously "I have been trying to know how to say this to you since well you're the father of the baby but I totally understand if-"

Now it was his turn to shut you up, however he did it differently.

You were shocked when you felt his lips on top of yours and his arms around your body bringing you into him.

"Gracias" He said smiling "Making me a dad, you're incredible, bonita!" You were confused "What were you thinking tho? Playing football around while being pregnant? You know what could happen if you get fouled or something?!"

"I-"

"Y deja de decir tantas locuras" (And stop saying nonsensed things) He whispered against your lips "We'll be parents" He pecked your lips once again "And a little thing, I have been in love with you for a long time now" You smiled

"I don't want to tie you down or pressure you with this, two months ago you weren't sure about having a baby until you were twenty-seven!"

"Number over here, another number over there, it doesn't matter anymore. We'll have our baby, together. Like a couple if you want"

You smiled "Of course I do" He smiled

"Then I'm glad you had THE greatest performance ever because that will be your last one for now"

"Ni de coña, Pedro. I still have more months to go before baby gets bigger"

"We'll see about that"

... TWO YEARS LATER ...

"Barcelona, winners of the Champions League!"

"Both, female and male team have outdone themselves for this; bringing to the Camp Nou, not only both LaLiga's, Copa del Rey and la Reina but also Champions League. What a season!"

"Ready for the show, bonita?" Your fiancé, Pedro asked you with a smile on his face as he held Alba on his arms as you held, Matías. You smiled at your twins and at your fiancé.

"Ready"

You both got in line with your respective teams to step into the Camp, both kids in each others arms. You were presenting your babies to the world after two years and not only your babies but also your relationship with Pedro.

You had to fake an injury to be able to do your motherly leave and not be pressured by the media constantly, having a whole year off, doing some training at home and dribbling with Pedro in your backyard. You were back this season and you still got it, helping your team win three titles in a single season.

It was a bit hard with the kids and the travelling from both sides but you made it work always. And no one suspected a thing.

Until now.

You received congratulations from both teams and your staff while headed to do some interviews with your babyboy whilst Pedri was with your babygirl. Both kids had a respective parent jersey number and both of your last names together.

Questions were thrown left to right but you didn't answered the ones about your private life or baby's like their names, people can guess. After a long while of press (The one where you received a lot of praise for your looks now in motherhood and for your crazy skills at football), you were able to reunite with your lover and babygirl.

"It was a craziness" He said making you laugh as you peck his lips

"It was but nothing we can't handle" You say and he laughs nodding when Matías started to fuss as his eyes were glued to the ball "¿Jugamos, mi vida?" (Wanna play, my love?)

"Si" He said smiling at you as you left him on the floor and soon Alba was groaning too

"Yo también" (I do too)

"Venga pues, vamos a jugar" (C'mon then, let's play) "Hey" Pedro called you making you turn around "Te quiero y gracias, bonita" (I love you and thank you)

"Y yo a ti, cariño" (And I you, darling) You smiled into the kiss, Pedri pulled you in to before making your way with your twins.

At the end of the day, everyone, fans and those who weren't fans, were going crazy at the amount of content they were getting with their now favorite couple and family.

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

[thedirtygridd]

PRE-SEASON TRAINING TURNS DIRTY WITH CARLANDO AND YOURSELF.

WARNINGS - 18+, strong sexual content. Lots of sweat.

Summary - You’re just gonna want to start reading when I say it has a LOT of sweaty Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris involved.

There he was. The man of your dreams. Running around the track, you noticed his sweat glistening off his olive skin. The sight of him made your mouth water. You wanted to feel every indentation of his muscles. You wanted to feel his sweat on your skin. You wanted to taste him.

He finished running around the athletic track. The small stadium was empty, and only Carlos, Lando and yourself were there. They had hired it out for the evening, for their pre season workout training.

Carlos had just finished doing 5K around the track, while lando was setting up to do some boxing training.

“Come over here and box with me carlos!” Lando shouted

You sat on the sidelines and watched, still admiring the view of the sweaty Spanish hunk.

You craved him.

They began boxing with each other. You heard landos boxing glove slap on the chest and Abs of Carlos. The sound almost sounding wet as he did it. You had never felt so jealous of a boxing glove…you wished that was you.

“Fuck it’s hot” lando complained, while stripping his own tshirt off.

You were taken by surprise at the sight of lando with no tshirt on. He was much, much musclier than you imagined. His body just as good as sainz’s. You immediately began to crave his body too.

As they boxed, you noticed their muscles tensing up - every punch exposing a different muscle in their arm, or chest.

Carlos’s abs looked incredible.

The boys both exchanged playful talk to one another.

Carlos mentioned “you’re such a pussy. Hit me harder”

Before lando added “haha! A pussy! At least I don’t actually have one”

“Oh yeah?” Carlos replied smugly before adding “then what’s this?”

His hand slid into his shorts and immediately whipped out a lengthy, girthy cock.

You stared in shock. Did Carlos really just whip out his length in front of both of us?

Lando was quick to respond. “Well look at this then”

He responded by taking out his own length.

They both glanced at one another, weighing each others cock sizes up

“I get a lot bigger when I’m hard” added lando. “I’m a grower for sure”

“That’s what they all say lando. I’m Latino. That’s Spanish for big fucking cock” replied Carlos while smirking

“Oh sure, I bet your girlfriend can’t even feel it when you’re balls deep inside her” lando responded

“Well my girlfriend is on the other side of the planet at the moment. But we could try with -“

They both stopped and turned to you. They have each other a nod of approval and then Carlos called you over.

“Hey, lando and I are just wondering, who’s bigger?” Carlos asked

You blushed. “Erm….well you’re both muscly!” You replied

Up close, Carlos looked even sweatier. You could see beads of sweat dribbling down his muscly chest and in between his abs.

“We don’t mean muscle. Although that could be another test for us” lando replied.

“Okay then how about this? We’ll both stand here and you can weigh up who is bigger and better with all parts of our body” Carlos said before adding “starting with our feet”

Carlos smirked as he pulled off his training shoes. Lando did the same.

They both stood there with their feet in front of you. At first glance they both looked as big as each other.

“You really want me to decide who has the bigger feet?” You asked

“Yeah, then we’ll do biceps and then….we’ll you’ll see” Carlos added

You took Carlos’s foot into your hand and placed it next to landos to try see the difference.

“Erm… you are both simil——“ before you could finish, Carlos started moving

“Fuck this …. Let’s play instead” he said

He pushed you onto the floor and immediately placed his foot onto your face. You didn’t know what to do. What was going on?

He smothered his sweaty, masculine foot all over your face. The smell almost hypnotic. He rubbed it all over you, while lando pulled down your dress and began licking you out.

What on earth was going on

“Suck them” Carlos replied. “There’s nothing better after a long workout”

You took his big feet with a hand and began licking them. You took his toes into your mouth when you realised you were actually enjoying it. The taste of his sweat, the smell of his scent. The feeling of his toes in your mouth , as lando licked you out.

It was disgusting. But because of that…it was deliciously sexy.

“Oh fuck yeah you enjoy that do you dirty girl?” Carlos asked as he continued to flex his toes In Your mouth.

“Here…taste these now” Carlos added

He leant down over you and placed his sweaty , hairy armpit in your mouth. His scent was overpowering. You felt your juices pour out of you as you took in his scent. You came all over landos pretty face, but he continued to lick you out while you worshipped the Spanish hunk.

Your face now a combination of sweaty feet and sweaty armpits. You had never ever experienced anything like this before.

“My turn now lando” Carlos shouted, while pulling lando away from you. Carlos was quick to get into position, laying down on top of you, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

He slid his hard, throbbing cock inside your tight hole. He fucked you relentlessly.

You had never been treated so badly by a guy before (but in a sexy way). You felt dominated and you loved it. Your hands gripped onto his sweaty back as he fucked you.

In the meantime, just as you caught your breath. Lando slid his just as hard cock inside your ass. Both guys now fucking both of your holes.

You were completely filled up with rock hard meat.

It didn’t take long before you heard them both moan “we’re gonna cum”

And then just like that you felt a warm, gooey fluid shoot inside both your holes simultaneously. You noticed how hard Carlos’ abs became as he tensed while filling you up.

They both pulled out of you slowly. You felt the warm liquid ooze out as they retreated.

They both sat down beside you, out of breathe. The scene of Carlos’ sweat still on your face. A smell like nothing else.

“Fuck. Let’s do that again” Carlos said while getting back up on top of you.

[imoonf1]

MASON AS A F1 DRIVER BOYFRIEND

open request

The most competitive couple in the world without a doubt, there is literally competition for everything you can think of, from washing the dishes, who trains the most, whatever you can imagine

Despite this competitiveness, both of them support each other, he goes to some races and you go to the Old Trafford Stadium, although you still don't get over Chelsea, but anything for your man.

Mason would play against you sometimes, you get him VIP passes as a special guest and he goes to talk to other drivers, its like "where is mason? he can be with Max, with Charles or Lewis, even between the wheels that you are going to use

This man literally takes it upon himself to bring all his people to celebrate with you at the end of the race, whether you have a podium or not, and if you climb any of those steps, the team area would be a total disaster and lack of control, imagine having a small group of football players there, so noisy indeed

He really likes to participate in the designs of your helmets when you let him, he is not a great draftsman or designer, but with a few arrangements his ideas are great

He loves coming to the paddock together and even more so when you two wear matching outfits, no pics please

He likes to be part of the preparation before the race

"okay Mase, you have to throw both tennis balls, it can be at the same time or one at a time"

"i know i know, i have seen your coach several times doing this" while taking the two balls from your hand, he stands in front of you with both hands floating while he stares at you

"Can you stop staring at me so intently? you are getting me nervous"

"Why I should? I'm making you work with pressure, literally the entire workout" while he drops the ball from his right hand which you managed to grab despite looking at him

"cause if you don't I'm going to make you eat the tennis balls" throwing the ball at chest height while you settle down again

At the end of the busy weekend, he takes it upon himself to make a reservation at a good restaurant and spend a quiet night together

[igglemouse]

As sunlight streams through a few kitchen windows on an ordinary Tuesday morning, I find myself in my zone, right in front of a stove and preparing what hopes to be a delectable breakfast.

Today, my craving calls for a special oatmeal creation that only a chef's touch can perfect because I plan to fold in a generous amount of berries and a few swirls of cream, maybe even a sprinkle of cinnamon? Who knows, sometimes when it comes to cooking its more about a feel and a whim to create a symphony of flavors that will get my taste buds dancing and singing.

As for Pascal, he was busy working out. Always working out. That is one dedicated man but that is one of the main reasons I'm attracted to him. I do love a man that has a goal, that has something driving him and Pascal definitely fits that criteria.

After my breakfast and after his workout we meet up on the couch.

"I'm so happy that you've been staying over,” he starts. “You know, you can stay over as long as you like, right?”

"I think you've said that before,” I reply, but I do like hearing him say it again.

"Well, it's true! I don't mind you being over here. There are many pros and I can’t think of any cons but I guess there might be a few.”

"Oh? A few cons, really?" I challenge.

"Nah, just kidding, no cons at all now that I think of it."

"The pros then?"

"The food is always amazing and the company is somehow better than the food."

"And by company you mean?”  He gets just a little closer as I ask, close enough that our shoulders brush up against each other and he puts aside his patience and brings me in for a kiss... 

And he kissed until somehow some way my clothes were off...

After our little romp I was reminded that I'll be needing clean clothes for the week and for some reason the man doesn't have a washer or dryer. I think he mentioned that he relies on the equipment manager at the stadium or something? For a professional athlete, he sure does live modestly, I’m not sure if financially this is a good or a bad thing but lets go with bad since it leaves me here washing my own clothes in a bucket of water under the hot Oasis Springs sun. 

Being filthy rich was never my goal and I don't want to just tie myself to him in the hopes that his next contract will be the thing that makes him wealthy but...it wouldn't be so bad, would it?

At least there would be a washer and dryer.

Right after handling my laundry I receive a text from Irene. She's asking if she can come over to hang out. It is a good idea since I don't have much planned for today, so it would be great to catch up with her and spend some time together.

But that won't be till later as right now is about lunch.

The enticing aroma of tamales drags Pascal from presumably whatever workout he was in the middle of and right into the kitchen. A big goofy grin on his face contradicts the accusatory look of his eyes, directed right at me, or rather, past me and at the stove. "Actually, this is definitely one of the cons."

"Didn't you say earlier that my cooking was a pro,” I say, playfully desperate to defend myself but thankfully my tamales are ready to go to help in my defense.

"Yes, but your cooking will make me fat and slow. I'll be cut from the team in a few months!"

"Pascal! You told me you didn't want salads so-"

"Cut in a year, Frida, think about that..."

I just laugh because no way this guy is going to put on weight with how much time he spends on the treadmill and working out.

Right as I finish my lunch I’m pulled to the door by a gentle knock which I correctly assume is Irene. Seeing her does put a smile on my face and I hurry to wrap her into a hug because I feel like there is an instant connection between us.

Instead of inviting her inside I led her to the side of the house as the weather really was too perfect to stay inside. 

Irene was eager to talk about my food or more specifically, the tacos I had for sale.

"I absolutely adored them!" she tells me but I could tell just by the look in her eyes. “Just a very classic taste and texture to them and-”

"Some foods just don’t need much experimentation," I offer because its true. I don’t try to reinvent the wheel with my dishes I simply try to make the car go faster.

"You're right about that you know but I've been trying to spice things up, you know? Fusion tacos, trying to mix things up and create a signature dish."

"Oh, hows that been going? What about that man ummm...your boss?" Remember him, Martin Lucena? He tried to hire me and was very very upset when I told him no? 

"Yeaaaa, he's not much for experimentation," she says with a laugh and I think more about my run in with the man just last night. Hard to imagine ever working for him. "But you know, I do it on my own time. One day I'll be on my own, like you are, and having a signature dish or two will help me stand out."

"Hmmm," she has a point there. I could use a signature dish myself. After all, a flying car must be better than one that just goes faster, right?

It was nice to spend more time with Irene but the day grew late and left me with Pascal who was at this time making love to his treadmill once again. I decided to bother him and annoy him a little because why not? He was having none of it though and decided to use the art of telling corny jokes to fend me off. 

"Why did the striker bring string to the game?" he asked. I froze in pure fear of what the answer might be, pleading with a look for him to not continue. "He wanted to tie the game!"

I cringe, already throwing in the white flag. "Okay Pascal, I don't-”

"How does a player stay cool during the game?"

"Water?"

"No, they stand near the fans!" He said, jubilant, as if he had scored a championship winning goal.

"Why does-"

"Noope! You enjoy your workout!" I get out of there just in time. 

So yeah, I really am enjoying my time over here...

Frida Varela Index ~ Next 5.2