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#career coach office hours
invinciblecareer · 1 year
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yoongiseesawmp3 · 28 days
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u got it bad - san (m)
summary: baseball player!san x reporter!reader. you've been covering your local team for years. the players, the coaches, everybody knows you. except for newbie choi san. he just joined the team, but he knows you from somewhere...maybe the bar last night?
word count: 14.5k
warnings: lots of baseball jargon, afab reader, sex (some protected some not), thigh riding, oral (barely. m receiving tho), a little cockwarming
masterlist
you love your job. as a kid, you always dreamed of working here, walking into this stadium every day, and doing what you loved most. granted, back then you were imagining yourself as one of the players, but oh well. a girl can still dream, right?
you landed the job as sideline reporter for your favorite baseball team right out of college. they wanted someone willing to stick around for a while, and you recall telling them in your interview, "if i start working here, you'll never be able to get rid of me." they loved it, and they loved that you were a hometown supporter. it made your stories more meaningful, gave you a point of view that fans could appreciate. you were able to write touching pieces on the players, give the season the dramatic arc on camera that it deserved, and you treated everyone at the team with respect. that respect went both ways, with the players, coaches, front office staff...everyone knew who you were and included you as if you were a part of the team.
you had to work hard for that respect. it didn't take long for you to prove yourself, but it did take several sleepless nights and countless overtime hours to become the reporter you are. you know everything about this team, and that's what makes you so good.
because you know eveything, you obviously know that they're close to signing star right fielder choi san. you've heard talk that it's basically done, he flew in this morning and is set to sign his contract first thing tomorrow. of course, you had memorized his past work jumping around the league as soon as the rumors started. it was your job, after all, to know these things. you knew he was great on the field, that was easy, but everyone loved him in the dugout. he's the kind of player that remembers everyone's names, brings gifts for the team around the holidays, asks about your family when he sees you. he's a stand up guy, you hear.
you've also heard that he likes to play the field outside of the stadium, if you catch my drift. he's very popular with the ladies in whatever city he deems to call home for that season, and as you walk through your favorite bar outside the stadium, you can tell the women here already know choi san is close by.
one thing you do not know is that san is in this bar, right now. yes, he's signing his contract tomorrow, but he wanted to visit the stadium today, when it was still quiet. he likes getting the feel of a team before he joins, so he wandered around the empty stadium a few times before coming here to clear his head. upon entering, he sees his face plastered on all the tvs as espn does a deep dive into what his move here might mean. he thought he was screwed, that people would immediately notice him, but so far so good. he's got a nondescript cap on and dark sweats, so he hopes his booth in the corner is enough to keep him hidden while he has a celebratory pint. he doesn't report to training until day after tomorrow, so he thought he could treat himself tonight.
as he sits and drinks, soaking in the atmosphere, he has to laugh. he wants to stay hidden, but really, with his likeness and his entire career plastered on every screen above the bar, you'd think someone would know. at least look at him and make a comment about the resemblance. but it doesn't seem like anyone here knows a thing.
except you. as you sit at the bar, swirling the straw in your glass, you take a look around. there's some regulars that smile and wave, but for the most part it's not that busy. maybe that's what makes him stand out more. your eyes fall on choi san, all star right fielder and the newest member of your team, trying to hide in the corner. but his sharp eyes and broad shoulders alert you immediately that the subject of all your recent studies is here. and he's staring at you. you stare back, and he quirks an eyebrow, almost like a challenge.
you take the bait and make your way to his table.
"anyone sittin' here?" you ask in a slight southern accent, and san smiles. it's been a while since he played in the south. he forgot how charming it can be. maybe he'll catch himself a southern belle while he's here.
"saved it for you," he smirks, and you hum as you sit across from him. he sees your almost empty glass and states, "looks like you need another."
"ah, i probably shouldn't," you shake your head. "got an early morning."
"me too," san nods, that smirk still comfortably on his face. "so what's your name, beautiful?"
"y/n," you reply. you try not to let your heart flutter at the nickname, or the way he's staring at you, but it's hard. "yours?"
"san," he says simply. "you from here, y/n?"
"born and raised," you answer. "you new to the city?"
"you could say that," he sighs. "just moved here for work, but i've visited a couple times."
"how are you likin' it so far?"
"to be honest?" he makes a face. "it's kind of boring."
"excuse me?" you're taken aback. you don't take kindly to people badmouthing your hometown, and you don't like the mischievous spark in san's eyes as he continues.
"well, girl as pretty as you not taking me up on my offer of another round, that's no fun is it?" he teases.
"ahah," you laugh halfheartedly. "sure, i can see why that would upset you."
"i'm not upset, doll, just disappointed."
"well, hate to disappoint you further, but i really do have an early morning," you say as you start to rise. "just saw a stranger sittin' all by his lonesome and thought i would say hi."
"i'm glad you did," san raises his glass to you. "maybe i'll see you around?"
"maybe," you shrug, trying to bite back a smile. "nice meeting you san."
you feel his eyes on you as you return your glass to the bar, waving goodbye to the bartender before you head to the door. you turn before you leave, meeting san's eyes across the room, and you just smile to yourself as you step outside.
-
san is the first one in the clubhouse the next day. he loves the smell of an empty locker room, untainted by the man stench that inevitably comes with a roomful of athletes. he smiles warmly as he walks in and sees his locker decorated in welcome. he's looking through all the gifts, some regulation equipment he asked for and some just goodies from the team, as the players start slowly arriving.
the first to arrive is jongho. he's the catcher, and san finds it easy to talk to him. he seems quiet, but most catchers are the stoic type, so maybe jongho will open up to him in time. the next guy in has the opposite issue. wooyoung, the shortstop, immediately claps san into a hug, babbling a mile a minute about how great it's gonna be to have him on the team.
san gets stuck talking to wooyoung for a while, which he doesn't mind. they get along quickly, but as they talk the rest of the team trickles in. hongjoong, the second baseman, waves to san from across the room. seonghwa, the left fielder, carefully places his things into the locker next to san's, then gives san a wordless handshake and a warm smile. yunho, the first baseman, is spread out at the locker to san's right. mingi, the third baseman, is next to him. wooyoung finally leaves for his locker next to hongjoong, and next to him is yeosang, the center fielder. pitchers must not report today, because san scans the room and counts eight.
he checks the time and notices he's almost late for his press conference, so he gets to work getting dressed before someone appears at his side to escort him down the hall. she works in media relations and gives him the run down of the conference, explaining that the coach will do a quick intro before san comes up to say a few words. they'll shake hands, he'll sign his contract, and then take a few questions before reporting to more press stuff. nothing he hasn't done before, but san still brushes his sweaty hands on his pants to calm his nerves as they enter.
san hears the chatter of the press die down as their eyes fall on him. it's a big room, lots of reporters and cameras, and he smiles and waves as he gets ushered to the side of the makeshift stage in the front. the coach steps up then, welcoming everyone and giving a bit of insight on why they wanted to sign san. this team desperately needed a right fielder, so in all the negotiations it was basically just their operations team begging san to come play for them. the coach paints it a different way, and san does his best to grab onto a few phrases so he can sprinkle them into his own speech. the coach calls him up and san takes a seat next to him, falling smoothly into his regular "happy to be here, excited at the opportunity" spiel. he scans the room and recognizes a few faces, so he gets more comfortable as he goes on.
"i think at the end of the day, i'm looking for a team that i can be with for a long time," san starts to conclude. "and so far, i'm really liking it here. maybe this will be that team."
he goes through the motions of signing, shaking hands, posing for pictures, and then settles back into his seat for the question portion. at his other teams, he's been allowed to pick the press he talks to, so he scans the room for familiar faces, but media relations steps in and starts calling names. the first one takes him by surprise, and a smile grows on his face as he sees who steps up.
"y/f/n, local news," you smile back at san as the recognition crosses his features. "you said you're liking the city so far? can i ask what makes you think this team, this franchise, will be the one to make you stay?"
"you were at the bar last night," he responds, and you feel yourself blush. a chuckle ripples through the crowd of reporters as san goes on. "sorry, just. this is a surprise, is all."
"i agree," you quip back. "because yesterday you told me you didn't like this city. so i'm just wondering what made you change your mind."
"honestly? the people," he answers sincerely, holding your gaze. "it's hard to explain, but things feel...different here. i've never been with a team where the players are so welcoming, the staff is so kind, and the reporters are hanging out at local bars after hours." another laugh. "so i think this franchise might have more of the culture i've been missing from those other teams i've played for. that answer your question, y/n?"
"yep," you give him a satisfied nod. "happy to have you here, san."
"happy to be here," he smiles, and you swear the lights from all the cameras make his teeth sparkle. he keeps staring at you as media relations calls for the next question, and only when his attention is no longer on you do you realize that your heart is beating too fast.
-
today's only a press day for the boys, there's no actual training that needs to happen, but that doesn't mean the clubhouse is calm. no, actually, there's more people here than there will be for the rest of the season, what with all the camera crews and a few stylists running around. oh, and the fact that everyone who works here wants to get a peek at choi san. he left the press conference and saw a group down the hall, staring and whispering. san wasn't sure which way to go to find the locker room, so he approaches the group with a smile. turns out it's front office staff, part timers, anyone who works here that needed to see san with their own eyes to believe he's really playing here. he's charming as ever, learning everyone's names, signing things, taking pictures. he even stands by happily as an older woman calls her grandsons, and they laugh together as the little boys squeal in excitement.
san stays until everyone has what they wanted, which must have taken a while, because he sees the press trickling out toward the exit. he keeps his eyes peeled for one person in particular, and when you pass through the doors and turn san's way, he smiles. you stop, eyes focused on the notebook you're furiously scribbling in, so you don't see him. that won't do, san thinks, so walks over and stops in front of you with a sigh.
"what do you want san," you ask it as a statement, eyes not moving from your notes.
"how'd you know it was me?"
"i know everything," you look up then, meeting his smile with one of your own. "and you've got cleats on, so i knew it wasn't anybody from your fan club coming to ask for my notes."
"my fan club?" he laughs, but you can tell it boosts his ego. "i think they're just fans of the team."
"are you always like this?" you ask thoughtfully, and san says he doesn't know what you're talking about. "you're not cocky, but you're humble, and you're cocky about being humble. does that make sense?" you stop to scribble that down, and san tries again to see what else you've written. you catch him this time, tugging the notes just out of his line of sight. "don't you have pictures to take?"
"how'd you-"
"i told you, i know everything," you joke again, taking a moment to stuff your pen back in your bag. that leaves your notebook unattended, and san snatches it, running a few steps down the hall with evil glee. you stomp after him and fail in grabbing it from his eager hands.
"hey, this is good," san reads, his eyes scanning the paper. "you write all your stuff by hand?"
"depends," you shrug. "i started getting bored at the end of that talk and i needed to organize my thoughts."
"oh i can tell you were bored," san smirks, his eyes flicking to you. "i like the doodle of me."
"that doodle could be of anybody," you say as you finally snatch your notebook back. you put it securely in your bag as san continues to look smug.
"i think it was a doodle of me," he says as he starts walking away. "if you ever want me to sit for another portrait, you know where to find me, doll."
"where ya goin'?" you ask him, and he stops. he looks down the hall in front of him back towards you with his thumb pointing behind him.
"to the locker room?"
"that's this way dummy," you point, and you're pleased to see his ears turn red as he corrects his steps. you're heading to the exit, so you walk in the same direction briefly. san slows his steps to keep up with you, and he's so close that his hand keeps brushing yours.
"looks like this is where i leave ya, doll," he sighs, and you wave as you keep walking. "i'll see you soon?"
"you'd like that wouldn't you?" you turn around with a smirk, watching san as you push through the doors to the parking lot. "bye san."
-
san loves the first practice of the season. he loves the feeling of walking onto a brand new field, seeing the empty stadium ahead. at his his other teams, he's had to make this walk alone, his former teammates usually more reserved or too good to talk to him. not here, though. as he takes the field, he finds himself engrossed in a deep argument with jongho and wooyoung about the best world series team of all time, and san feels giddy. he feels like he did when he was a kid, playing ball with his friends, and it's only the first day of practice! imagine what an entire season here would be like. every day, san is thankful he made this move.
another reason for san to be happy he's here is, well, you. working with the press at other teams wasn't exactly a thrill, but rather a part of the job he had to get through. here he's eager to give a statement, always willing to join a press conference, just to have the chance of messing with you.
as he makes the long walk to the outfield for warm ups, san sees someone by the visitor's dugout who's not in uniform. he squints a little in the early morning sun and sees that it's a woman, but assumes it's someone from the front office. he keeps walking, but a laugh echoes out and san turns back to this mystery woman.
"y/n?" he shouts, holding his glove over his eyes to see if that'll block out the sun. sure enough, you turn from your talk with the managers to send him a wave, and that giddy feeling san had walking onto the field is back. "what are you doing here?"
"my job!" you shout back, and with that you go back to work. one of the coaches jogs by san then, tossing a baseball in his direction.
"stop shoutin', son," he says. "go throw that in left field. seonghwa will take you through the warm ups, then we'll come together for drills."
"yes sir," san nods, jogging over to his teammate. he steals one last glance at you, and he swears the sunlight makes you glow.
-
san is exhausted after practice. he knew playing for this team would challenge him, but damn. he's sore and it's only the first day! he's still catching his breath as the team mills about around him, and yunho smirks as he alerts the boys to san's condition.
"i think we wore the superstar out," yunho laughs, and san throws one of his sweaty towels at him. yunho screams and tosses it back, but mingi jumps in to grab it. "what the hell are you doing?"
"this is a sweaty towel used by the choi san," mingi says with importance. "do you know how much i could sell this for?"
"guys, come on," san laughs, snatching the towel back. "i'm not a superstar."
"says the superstar," wooyoung mumbles, and san contemplates throwing the towel again but decides not to, mingi is still close by.
"no, we get it," hongjoong assures him. "just because the press is saying that doesn't mean it's true. you're a part of the team, so you're a team player, right san?"
"yes, exactly-"
"please, i hope everybody is decent!" a familiar voice shouts from the doorway, and san smiles when he finds you standing there. you've got your notebook over your eyes to hide any naked players, but a quick sweep tells san that everyone is dressed for the most part.
"wait, wait!" jongho shouts as he fights to put a clean shirt on. some of the boys chuckle at him while san says, "dude, she's probably seen a guy shirtless before."
"but she's a lady, san," jongho insists. "it's not polite. and i don't like to have my nips out when i'm giving quotes."
"that's why he's my favorite," you say, finally risking a peek. "all good?"
to be honest, san is a little shocked you're here. it's kind of odd for a reporter to be in the locker room after a regular practice, but he trusts this team and how they run things. most importantly, he trusts you. but his shock holds true as you greet the team while making your way straight toward him.
"aw, she's just here for superstar," mingi pouts, and you make him hush.
"i have to publish my story on him today and need to check quotes," you explain. "i'm coming for you next, mingi."
as mingi celebrates, you surprise san further by walking right up to him and taking the seat by his locker. you're flipping through your notebook as he watches you, and after a few seconds you look at him then pat the bench next to you.
"come on, get cozy," you tell him. "you spoke too fast yesterday and i didn't catch all of your answers."
"because you were too busy doodling?" san teases, taking a seat exceptionally close to you.
"that was after you," you explain, but san sees your ears turn red. "can you look through this and tell me if anything rings a bell?"
"y/n, you may be good at your job, but you have shit handwriting," san says after staring at the page long enough for your chicken scratch to make his head hurt. some of the boys near him laugh, and yunho pops his head in to take a look.
"oh yeah that's illegible," yunho confirms. "cute drawing of san, though."
"go away yunho."
"yes ma'am."
you're able to piece together what san said in the press conference, so once you're satisfied you take a moment to type up the changes into your phone. you send the story off to your editor, but then start working through who else you need to talk to today. san is watching all of this, and when your eyebrows furrow in concentration, he leans in.
"i know what you're thinking," he whispers, and you have to shake from your concentration to look him in his sneaky eyes.
"what?"
"i said i know what you're thinking," he repeats with a shrug. when you don't respond, he keeps going. "i bet you're wondering, hm, is san free tonight? well, i am."
"i can't use that for my story," you tell him, and he bumps his shoulder into yours.
"this is when you say if you're free."
"is it?" you ask, gathering your things so you can move on to the next player. "i'm not quite sure about that yet."
"whatever, doll," san smiles. "you know where to find me."
-
you did know where to find him. you knew he would be at the bar tonight. you knew he wasn't supposed to be there, and you knew you shouldn't go looking for him but you couldn't help yourself. after all, you've got to take yourself out for a drink - you filed your first story of the season today. you deserve to celebrate!
as soon as you walk in you can tell it's a mad house. the bar is packed, and it reminds you of how busy it gets after a game. you wonder if it's just preseason excitement that has so many people here, but you don't wonder long. you're here for a drink, so you squeeze between two guys at the bar and wave the bartender down. everyone here knows you, so you get to cut the line.
"hey y/n," he smiles as he walks up. "want your regular?"
"yeah, but top shelf tonight," you tell him. "finished my first story of the season today."
"is it any good? maybe i'll read this one," the bartender jokes as he gets to work.
"i didn't know you could read," you tease, and you smile when he tosses his head back in a laugh. the sound draws someone's attention, but you're too busy flirting with the bartender to notice.
"and to think i was gonna pay your tab myself," he shakes his head.
"put whatever she gets on mine," someone says at your side, and you physically jump when you recognize who it is.
"san?"
"told you to come find me, doll, why are you surprised i'm here?" he smirks. you can tell he's wearing league issued workout clothes, but to the regulars in the bar he's just some dude in sweats. he's got a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, and if he didn't have such striking features you'd say he was blending in pretty well. "i thought we were getting a drink together."
"are we?" you ask. "because i don't recall you actually asking me." san dips his head, knowing that you caught him in a lie.
"can i get whatever she's drinking?" san asks the bartender as he finally places your drink down, and your mouth hangs open in surprise.
"what's this sparkly shit for?" you ask, flicking at the gold pompom on the toothpick poking out of your cup. there's also swirls of gold in your drink, and the bartender shrugs.
"you said you were celebratin'," he explains. "wanted to make sure the drink rose to the occasion."
"well thank you," you say as you lift the drink to your lips, mostly to hide your blush. san is watching this interaction next to you, doing a horrible job of hiding his disgust.
"here's your drink man," the bartender says, plopping a cup down in front of san. "her's was on the house. i added yours to your tab."
"how generous," san smiles, tipping his cup toward the bartender as he walks away. san turns to you slowly, and says, "he's nice."
"you shouldn't be here."
"why, am i interrupting your date?" san quips.
"no," you roll your eyes. "you shouldn't be seen here. lots of fans, you'll probably get stopped for pictures, autographs, kissing babies..."
"they don't let babies into bars, y/n," san smirks at you. "but thanks for looking out for me."
"isn't against team rules for you to go out during the preseason anyway?" you ask, knowing full well it is.
"i don't like following rules," san shrugs.
"oh so that's why you've played for six different teams in five years?" it's your turn to quip, and san whistles.
"you got me there, ace," he sighs. "so what's this about you celebrating tonight?"
"that's nothing," you try to brush it off. "i sent in that story about you, remember? well, it got approved, so i have a tradition of taking myself out for a drink here when my first story of the season is filed."
"taking yourself out?" san shakes his head. "no, no no no. that won't do. i'm getting you another drink, unless your boyfriend tries to pay for it again, and then we're going out."
"you have to report to practice at 7am," you remind him, and he groans, dropping his head on your shoulder.
"you knowing everything about the team is totally ruining my game."
"aw, you did a fine job of that yourself," you coo, patting his cheek. you cup his chin and pull him back up, and you hide a smile when you notice the blush on his cheeks. "maybe you can owe me? take me out for real?"
"i'd like that," san nods.
"i knew you would," you tease, and san reaches an arm out to pull you into his side. he over calculates and accidentally smacks the guy behind you, who turns around in a drunken haze ready to fight.
"what the-" he starts, anger in his swimming eyes. when they land on san, you both see recognition take over his features in slow motion. "holy shit y'all! it's choi san!"
"come on," you grab san's arm, tugging him in the opposite direction. you think there's an entrance out the back, so hopefully the two of you can squeeze through the masses before too many people catch on. as you drag san behind you, you hear the bar goers talking about the star in their midst. some drunk lady grabs sans arm and won't let go, and he won't shake her off like you tell him to. you get caught, the exit you were hoping for just in the distance. people start crowding around san, trying to wedge between you, but he won't let go of your hand. he finishes signing a bar napkin for a guy who definitely used a fake to get in here, and then you're pulling san along again. the crowd is starting to push, and they're all drunk. and rowdy. and loud.
"aw, look, he's already got himself a bitch!" someone shouts, watching you cling onto san as you push him toward the exit. he stops cold, looking around for the drunken idiot. he reinforces his idiocy by stepping forward, slurring his words as he says, "didn't take you long, son-" *hiccup* "always got sluts lookin' for ya-" *hiccup* "she's a pretty one too-"
before you register what he's doing, san shakes you off of his arm. he steps closer to the man, and you feel yourself calling his name, but in the chaos even you can't hear yourself. san pulls his arm back and clocks the man in the face, splattering blood from his now probably broken nose.
"SAN!" you shout, yanking him back toward you. "let's GO."
adrenaline and shock give you the strength to drag a stunned san out of the bar, but it's so packed there were people in the alley already. they weren't aware of what went on inside, so you're able to tug san around the corner. you rush him toward the parking deck, and thank your lucky stars you moved your car from the employee lot earlier. you shove san into your passenger seat, slamming the door shut so you can rush to the driver's side. as you start the car, you look to the side and see san sinking further into the seat.
"i fucked up," he whispers. you hear a quiver in his voice, but you don't press him. "fuck. i'm gonna get kicked off the team. am i gonna get arrested?"
"you won't get kicked off the team," you tell him softly. "and i'll call the bartender in a minute, explain it to him. just pray that asshole you punched doesn't press charges."
"y/n, i'm so sorry," san says, looking to you with a scared look in his eyes. "i just. i couldn't let him talk to you like that."
"thank you san," you say sincerely. "let me see your hand."
"no, it's fine," he insists, but when you touch it he flinches.
"fuck san, how are you gonna play tomorrow?"
"i'm so losing my job," he shakes his head, sitting up like he's going to leave.
"whoa, where are you going?"
"i have to go apologize," he says, trying to open the door but struggling to do it with his hurt hand. "shit, i have to pay for our drinks, and my car! i need to-"
"san," you say sternly, and he looks to you again with those sad eyes. "i'll fix it. ok? do you trust me?"
"yes," he nods vigorously.
"good," you nod back. "can you buckle your seatbelt or do i have to do that too?"
"where are we going?" san asks after securing his seatbelt. it's a good thing he did, because you whip your car out of its spot so fast his body slams against the strap. "seriously road runner, where are you taking me?"
"we need to fix your hand," you tell him. "i live close by, so i'll fix you up and then in an hour or two i'll bring you back for your car."
"thank you," san says. "you're saving my ass."
"just be really good this season, ok?" you ask him. "it'd be fun to watch my team win for once."
"anything for you, ace."
-
a few minutes later, you've got a sheepish all-star perched on the edge of your tub as you stand over him and wipe the blood from his hand. you already sent a text to the bartender, so that's cleared up. apparently, san was doing everyone a favor by punching that guy. no one likes him, so san's not in any trouble with the bar. chances are the guy won't press charges either, he tends to start shit around town so the cops wouldn't necessarily be on his side.
the main issue now is the team. there's pictures and videos floating around, and you were right, san wasn't supposed to be out tonight. he's got a missed call from hongjoong already, and you're helping san figure out what to say to the coaches now.
"just own up to it," you tell him. "they'll appreciate the honesty. and tell them you beat that guy up because he was being mean to me, that'll help your case too."
"no," san shakes your head. "i'm not bringing you into this. i don't want to hurt your reputation."
"do it," you shrug. "i was there. i was part of it. if you don't tell them now, i will tomorrow when i do their preseason interviews."
"are you sure?"
"yep," you reply. "it'll help take some of the heat off of you. sources tell me not everyone is sold on you yet, but if they know you were defending my honor it'll get you some respect in the clubhouse."
"do you have blackmail on all these guys?" san jokes as he tries to focus on typing a text with one hand. you're done wiping the blood from his knuckles, and you've found a small cut on his hand that you need to cover. you step away for a second to bend down in front of your sink, searching through the cabinet below. san tries to hide that he's staring, but he does a poor job. he watches still as you stand up and tear open a bandaid, but he scoffs when he sees what's on it. "you are not making me wear a hello kitty bandaid."
"so you want to get infected?" you ask as you put the bandaid on him anyway. you trace your thumb over it softly, making sure it's laying flat, but you realize how tender this moment is. you're holding san's bruised hand in yours, standing so close to him that your legs are between his spread ones. you take a step back, but san uses his free hand to grab you by the waist.
"where you going, doll?" he whispers, looking up at you softly.
"you need an ice pack," you whisper back.
"you're not gonna kiss it to make it better?" he pouts, and you laugh to hide the way your heart skipped a beat.
"that doesn't work you know," you say as you bring his hand to your lips regardless. you place a delicate kiss to his soft skin, holding eye contact with him to watch his reaction.
"you're right, that didn't work," he sighs, and you start to let go. "maybe this will?" he asks, bringing you closer before cupping your face and pulling you down to his lips. he kisses you once, separating from you with a satisfied look on his face. "there. i'm all good now."
"nice," you squeak. "was this all an elaborate ploy to make me kiss you? because you could've just asked."
"really?" san asks gleefully. "will you kiss me?"
"just did."
"again," he pouts, and you lean down to kiss him quickly. he uses both his hands to hold you in place, his lips caressing yours as he lets out a quiet hum. he pulls back just to lean his forehead against yours and says, "yeah, that's got healing power baby."
"you still need ice," you tell him, stepping back before he can grab onto you again. "come on. maybe we can kiss some more in my kitchen?"
-
san ends up sleeping on your couch. he wouldn't let you leave after fixing up his hand, insisting that you've done enough for him tonight. he'll deal with his car in the morning. you tried giving him the bed, but it barely worked. he wouldn't even let you finish your sentence before he started covering his ears and shaking his head. you gave him an innocent kiss goodnight after setting him up with more pillows and blankets than one guy needs, and you both went to sleep.
except, he wasn't there when you got up. you set your alarm earlier than you planned, but even then you walk into your living room to find all the pillows stacked and blankets neatly folded. the only sign that san was here. well, that and the breakfast he ordered that waits for you on your kitchen table.
san had to be the first one at practice, so he couldn't wait for you to wake up. he also couldn't burden you more than he already has, so he woke before dawn and got to work. his hand feels fine, not great, but he thinks he can get through practice. he's rehearsed what he's going to say to the coaches, the team, the press, and he hopes it's enough.
-
most of your work for the day will take place in a smaller media room that's been set up for your one-on-one interviews with the coaching staff. that means you have no reason to linger outside the locker room, hoping to see san and check that he's ok. you distract yourself by going over the notes for the first interview, and before you know it, there's a knock at the door. it's the pitching coach, one of your favorite people on the team. he pokes his head in and smiles, so you welcome him as you dive into the same spiel you always do for these interviews. you're a pro, and the guys know what they're doing too, so it should be easy going. but as soon as you sit down to start, the coach stares at you with a look that's up to no good.
"so you were out with san last night," he states.
"i wasn't out with him," you explain. "we happened to be at the same bar."
"i heard he wrecked his hand defending you," the coach continues.
"he wrecked it?" you ask, more concern in your voice than you probably needed. "will he be able to play?"
"he'll play just fine," he nods. "don't you worry. we all heard what happened. shoot, some of the coaches and me were sending the videos back and forth last night. i tell you what, the boy's an idiot, but we've let men get by with worse. like i said, don't you worry."
"good," you breathe in relief. "then should we get started?"
-
it was a long day, after an incredibly long night, so when it's time for you to leave you're exhausted. you've been all over the place today, trying to keep up with your schedule, tracking people down for interviews, and you misplaced your notebook at least four times. you can't wait to get home, shower, and immediately go to sleep, but as you approach your car you realize you've lost your keys.
"shit," you hiss, dumping most of your bag out onto the hood of your car. you're mining through all your junk, wondering if it's too late to head back inside.
"hey," san says from behind you, and you jump.
"jesus!" you whip around to stare at him. "you scared me!"
"sorry ace," he smiles sheepishly. "thought you heard me coming."
"obviously not!" you screech, your heart still racing. "what's up?"
"looking for these?" he asks, dangling your keychain in front of you.
"oh my god you're a life saver," you sigh in relief, taking the keys from him gratefully. "how did you know these were mine?"
"i recognized them from last night," he shrugs. "and from the mascot keychain. i remember someone saying they had a childhood obsession with phil the bucket?"
"stop paying so much attention to me, could you?" you ask as you start shoveling your things back into your purse.
"here, let me help," san says as he joins you. he holds your purse open as you slide its contents back inside. "i owe you from last night, so consider this my starting point."
"the starting point?" you smile at him, and he nods.
"yep," he says nonchalantly. "first i found your keys, now the bag thing, and next, i don't know, maybe i take you to dinner?"
"hm, tonight?" you ask, and he nods again. "i have plans."
"then cancel them," san replies. you can tell he's joking by the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, but you know he really wants you to say yes.
"where would we go?"
"somewhere nice so i can spoil you," san says simply, closing your purse and walking to the driver's side of your car. "can i pick you up in thirty?"
"thirty minutes isn't enough time to get ready for a date, san," you frown.
"yeah, but any longer and i'll miss you too much," he pouts. you cup his chin and bring that pout to your lips, kissing him softly before you pull away.
"did that buy me another thirty?"
"twenty," he replies. "maybe twenty five if you promise to wear something sexy."
"deal."
-
as promised, san is outside your building exactly fifty five minutes later. you worried that not having his number and vice versa would make it hard to coordinate, but you're surprised when you check your phone and find that he texted you.
"i'm outside, ace," his text reads. no 'this is san' or anything to identify himself. you know it's him, so you tell him you're coming out.
you worry briefly you won't know which car is his, but as soon as you step outside you let out a soft laugh. of course he's got the most expensive car here, and of course he's leaned against the passenger door waiting for you. he lets out a low whistle as you approach, and you could act coy, but the reporter in you has to ask, "how'd you get my number, san?"
"i'm not giving up my source," he smiles smugly, opening the door for you. "you look incredible."
"it's nice seeing you in something other than baseball clothes for once," you reply. you take his hand and let him help you into the car, watching intently as he crosses the front to reach the driver's side. you're turned to him when he sits, and ask, "seriously. was it hongjoong? one of the coaches? you know they'll be on your ass if they find out you took me on a date."
"i'm not telling," san smirks again. "you gonna buckle your seatbelt or you need me to do it for you?"
"why, you a bad driver or something?" you tease.
"says the woman who gave me whiplash last night."
"i was trying to make a quick getaway before you got stormed by adoring fans again," you remind him.
"always looking out for me," he shakes his head. "i think someone has a crush." you don't respond, instead looking out the window to hide your smile. "you not saying anything isn't helping your case."
"no comment?" you reply, feeling proud at the blush on san's cheeks when you turn back to him. "so where's the superstar taking me?"
"san, the very nice young man you agreed to go out with, is taking you to one of his favorite restaurants," he replies.
"you've lived here like a week, how do you already have a favorite restaurant?"
"there was a place in one of the cities i used to play in, i went there every week," he explains as he drives. you catch yourself staring, but he doesn't seem to mind, so you continue. "the nicest staff. best food. always packed. then one day, it's gone. the owner and his wife moved so they could be closer to their daughter while she was at school, and they ended up here. he gave me a call as soon as my trade was final." you guess a couple places it could be, but they're all wrong. "so ms. know it all doesn't actually know it all?"
"don't call me that," you groan. "there's plenty i don't know."
"enlighten me, ace."
"i can't do math to save my life," you admit, and that gets a laugh out of san. "i don't know how to fold a fitted sheet. and don't tell anyone, but that new stat all the baseball pundits are talking about? it makes no sense to me."
"oh, that's easy," san says, and he falls into a comfortable conversation about baseball. you always wanted this from the guys you date, but despite your work, most guys assume that you don't know anything about sports because you're a woman. you're grateful that you don't feel that way around san, and you start to relax a little bit. you're not on a date with superstar outfielder choi san, you remind yourself. just san. just a, what did he say, a very nice young man?
that niceness continues when he parks his car, rushing to your door to get it for you. he takes your hand to help you out and doesn't let go as you walk in, and you're genuinely shocked that you haven't heard of this place before. it's fabulous, beautiful inside and out, and as soon as you walk in you're hearing san's name called. but this time it's not a fanatic, just a kind looking man and his wife.
"sannie!" she exclaims, pulling him into a soft hug. "oh, it's so nice to see you again. we were so happy when we heard you were coming here. i think it'll be good for you."
"me too," san agrees. he turns to the man then, the owner, and they exchange a manly handshake and similar pleasantries before he turns to you. "this is y/n, by the way. star reporter, loved by all-"
"and way out of your league," the owner winks at you. you feel yourself blush as san agrees, and then he's escorting you to your table. as you walk through the restaurant you notice it's surprisingly empty. didn't san say their last place was always full?
the owner helps you with your seat as his wife explains the specials, but you don't see a menu anywhere. you look at san quizzically and he gives you a look that says he'll explain shortly. after some more kindness, the owner and his wife are gone, and you get a chance to really take this place in.
"if you're wondering where the menu is," san starts, "they won't give us one. they never let me order when i come here, they just decide for me. and it's the best food i've ever had, each time."
"can't wait," you smile at him. "is this place as popular as their last one, you think?"
"i know it is," san nods. "that's why i booked it just for us."
"what?"
"i told them i was bringing a date and they offered to stay open late for us," he shrugs. "i hope that's not weird?"
"no," you reply. "i'm sure they're used to it by now."
"used to what?"
"you bringing dates here," you answer. "i can't be the only lucky lady you've done this with."
"well consider yourself lucky, ace," he says. "you're different."
"like can't be seen in public with me different?" you tease. "san, i'm flattered."
"no ace," he laughs. "i wanted this to be special, but if you want a crowd i can call the team-"
"no," you cut him off, grabbing his hand that's laid out on the table. "i like this. it's nice."
"told you i was gonna spoil you, doll," san smiles. "get used to it."
"should i?" you challenge, but san just continues smiling as a waiter brings by your drinks. you feel your walls falling more and more as the night goes on, as you and san eat some of the best food you've ever had. he's fun to be around, you think. maybe you'll give him more of a chance than you were expecting.
"so. i have a question," san says after the plates from your meal are cleared. you're waiting for dessert, but you're not sure you can eat much more.
"shoot," you tell him. "i ask you plenty, so ask away."
"in the locker room, yesterday i think? you said jongho was your favorite," he finishes with a pout.
"that's not a question," you laugh. "you'd be a shitty reporter."
"compared to you, everyone is," san replies. "but i meant, why is he your favorite? were you serious or just joking?"
"if i had to pick a favorite," you start, "i think it would be jongho. i've always liked catchers, so that works in his favor. he's fun to watch, and a lot of fun to work with."
"you have a thing for catchers?" san teases. "why?"
"not a thing," you say, wishing you could kick him underneath the table. "but maybe? i don't know. catchers do have really nice thighs."
"and outfielders?" san tries.
"never stood out to me," you reply. "it's either catchers or third basemen." you start to explain how your favorite player of all time, the one who got you into baseball, played third base, and you don't worry about sounding too much like a fangirl. you admit to the jerseys, the baseball card collection, all of it, and when you finish you look up to find san watching you with an amused look on his face. "what? too much?"
"no," he shakes his head. "i'm just thinking how good you'd look in one of my jerseys."
"try playing third," you tease. "maybe i'll buy one."
dessert comes then, and your focus turns to the amazing food again. maybe it was just you, but you felt a sort of...tension when you were talking just now. you weren't planning on sleeping with san, really ever, but that look in his eyes when he thought about you in his jersey, maybe the date won't end here.
after another visit from the owner and his wife, and plenty of take out to last you a few days, you're walking back to san's car. there's a chill in the air, so you gravitate to him for warmth. his arm circles around your waist, pulling you to his side, and he squeezes your hip. you feel goosebumps erupt on your skin, and you wonder again where the night might be going.
ever the gentleman, san helps you back into your seat and places your food carefully in the back. you're looking at him now in a new light, imagining how his hands would feel on your hips without a layer of clothes separating your skin from his. you're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't notice san has taken his seat, or that he said something to you. you ask him to repeat it, and he has a happy look on his face as he says, "thanks for going out with me, doll."
"thanks for asking," you reply. "i had a great time."
"good," he nods with finality, starting the car without another word. he doesn't even look at you again until he gets close to your building, and all those thoughts of what would happen next have left your mind. whatever vibe you caught from him in the restaurant was gone, he obviously wasn't planning on coming up to your apartment after this. your suspicions were confirmed when he pulls up to your door, turning to you with that same sappy look. "i had a great time tonight, y/n. thank you."
"yeah, sure," you mewl, gathering your things. "um, the food-"
"take all of it," san insists, twisting back to grab the bags. "this isn't exactly on my in-season diet, so i'm not sure how much i could sneak before the dietician clocks me for it."
"right, thanks," you nod, laden down with bags as you struggle to open your door. "well, thanks."
"you said that already ace."
"right," you repeat. "um, so, see you at work i guess?"
"looking forward to it," he smiles softly. "text me when you get in?"
"right," you say again, stepping out of his car without looking back.
-
the season starts shortly after your date with san, so you're too busy with work to think about it.
except that's a lie, you can't stop thinking about it. how could san be so flirty, act so into you, and then end the night without so much as a kiss goodbye? you don't want it to, but it's bothering you.
you don't have a reason to see him, at work or otherwise, until the first day of the season. you're set up in the dock next to the home dugout so you can get updates or a quick interview for the broadcast. you see san for the first time in days then, sitting there with your notebook and a headset, as he takes the field for warmups. it might be your mind playing tricks on you, but you swear san looks for you as he waits for seonghwa. as soon as his eyes find yours he turns around, jogging to the outfield after. you shake it off and get to work, checking your notes to make sure you've got the info right for the game. san will be the leadoff hitter, and you feel a pit of excitement in your stomach at the thought of watching him play. just from watching him in practice you know he's good, but he's electric when there's a real win on the line. still, you don't let your thoughts linger on him too long. you've got a job to do.
the game runs like clockwork, and the team easily knocks down three outs to switch sides. you don't look up when they walk to the dugout, afraid of catching san's eyes again. you don't look up until you hear the announcer call san's name, watching his back as he walks to the plate. through your headset, you can hear the commentators upstairs in the press box listing off his accomplishments at past teams, painting him in this otherworldly light. he's a superstar for a reason, his stats show that, and the way they're talking about him upstairs shows that everyone is captivated by him.
the pitcher, not intimidated by the silver slugger he's facing, sets up his first pitch. it's a curveball, somewhere in the 80 mph range, and it looks like it's gonna be a ball. but san is confident, his stance strong, his shoulders poised just so, and you watch in amazement as he rears back and completely shreds it. the ball is gone before anyone knows what's happening, and your eyes stay locked on san as he rounds the bases. when he approaches first, he looks directly at you, pointing in your direction as he turns at the bag. your heart is racing, you notice, and you shake off your surprise so you can describe the hit in your already cramped notes.
the rest of the game is exciting, but nothing matches san's leadoff homer. you could tell that lit the team up, an enthusiasm in every at bat, every play. your team wins, by a lot, and you go through the motions of finding players and coaches to interview for the post-game show as fans file out and the grounds crew comes in. the one person you're hoping to snag is nowhere to be seen, though.
by the time you're done with your work on the field, the post-game conference is already over. you're not sure if san gave a quote there and that's why you missed him on the field, but you don't care. the team won't mind, so you make your way to the locker room to find the man who's been running laps through your head all day.
san knows as soon as you enter the locker room that you're looking for him. he's showered and dressed in his outside clothes, his jersey neatly folded on the bench beside him as you approach.
"hey ace," he greets you. "some game huh?"
"it was good," you nod. "nice hit."
"glad you liked it," he replies cockily. "did it for you."
"can i quote you on that?" you ask, and san chuckles.
"come on doll, why the cold shoulder? i did what you asked, i helped your team win. figured that would get me on your good side."
"i just need a quote about that hit," you stand your ground. "i'm risking my innocence the longer i stay here, so if you could just say something arrogant on the record, i'll be on my way."
san can tell something is up, so he returns your formality with some of his own. you're in and out in less than five minutes, heading to the press room to collect your thoughts before you shoot your editor a text about your incoming story. as you stand there typing, you hear someone come up behind you so you start walking toward the exit.
"y/n, wait," san calls, and you want to walk faster. you want to leave and not look back, but he adds a quiet, "please." and you take a deep breath before you turn.
"what's up?" you ask. "i've got a deadline."
"you left this," san says simply, offering you the folded jersey from his locker. "i...whatever. it was my jersey from this game. i want you to have it."
"what?" you're shocked, aware of how much it costs for a player to give away a game worn jersey. it may not be much to san in the long run, but still. it softens your heart and you take it wordlessly, searching for something to say in thanks.
"well," san sighs. "see you tomorrow."
"san, wait!" you call before he can get too far. he looks back at you hopefully, and you jog to catch up with him. "why..." as you trail off, you look up to him and find an unreadable look on his face. "sorry for being a dick earlier, i just-"
"no worries," he shakes his head. "i get it, the season changes things, so-"
"did you take me out the other night to pay me back for helping you at the bar?" you ask what you've been wondering for a few days now. "because, i don't know. i thought we...or i, um, i felt...something. and when you dropped me off, it was like you changed."
"changed how?"
"before that, i thought you were into me," you try to say nonchalantly. "but after..."
"you think i'm not into you now?" he asks sadly, and you nod. "check your facts, ace. i think it's the opposite."
"well i wasn't sure-"
"you want me to prove it?" san asks, taking a step closer to you. "or you got a story you need to get back to?"
"i have time," you whisper, looking in his eyes. they're darker, more serious, a little hooded. that tension you felt the other night is back, and it takes your breath away briefly.
"come with me," san's tugging your hand, dragging you along behind him as he leads you outside. a quick scan of the parking lot tells him you're alone, so he rushes you to his car. again, he helps you in, rushing to toss his things in the back. you're sitting there, his jersey gripped in one hand and your notebook in the other. when he opens his door, you mumble something about your stuff, but he cuts you off. "you can get it tomorrow, ace. i'm taking you home now."
"but my keys-"
"i'm taking you to my place," he cuts you off again, looking to you as he starts the car. "there a problem?
"no," you reply meekly, and san is satisfied. he drives like a madman to his place, not far from the stadium. he parks in the deck below, bringing you with him to an elevator close by. he punches the button to his floor before he pounces, cupping your face to crash his lips into yours.
"can't believe you thought i didn't want you," he grumbles, dragging his hands to your neck, down your arms, to grip your waist. "ridiculous." he kisses you again, pulling you by the waist out of the elevator into his hallway. he only detaches from you to find his keys, hands steady as he undoes the lock. he pulls you inside and doesn't give you a chance to look around, capturing your lips in a kiss again. you finally drop your stupid notebook, embarrassed that you've been holding onto it this whole time. you start to let go of his jersey too, but he stops you. "what are you doing, ace? told you i've been thinking about you wearing my jersey."
"what-"
"put it on, baby," he coaxes you, his hands guiding yours. "let's get you out of this librarian dress and into something a little sexier."
"san, slow down," you say breathlessly, following him into his apartment. he collapses on the couch, watching you with that same fire in his eyes from earlier. "what now?"
"change," he replies. "put the jersey on."
"not fair," you pout. "i'm gonna be naked and i don't even get to see you shirtless?"
san tears his shirt off in record time, sitting back with a challenging look on his face.
"your turn, doll."
with shaky hands, you undo the zipper to your dress, letting it fall as san lets out a hiss of air. you slide your arms into the jersey, amazed that it still smells like his cologne after a game in the sun. you kind of flop your arms out after that, like a 'what now?' and san pats his thigh.
"sit," he commands.
"what?"
"you ask a lot of questions."
"it's my job," you quip back, and san lets his head fall back in a laugh.
"you said you had a thing for thighs, baby. figured you'd be jumping at the chance to ride mine."
spurred on by adrenaline and the growing pit of excitement in your stomach, you do as he says, straddling his thigh as you drape your arms over his broad shoulders.
"what now?" you whisper into his ear, nipping just beneath it to drive him insane. his hands return to your waist, and whispering into your ear, he says, "ride me, doll."
you grind against his thigh, sucking in a breath at the friction. you take it at your own pace, going slow so you don't overwhelm your senses. san's warm skin under your hands, his scent surrounding you, it's intoxicating. you let your hips move on their own accord, picking up speed as the pressure in your core builds. you let out a breathy moan when he bounces his leg, and his grip on your waist tightens.
"how's it feel, baby?" he asks, watching you intently.
"good, san, feels good."
"then go faster," he smirks. "might feel even better." you do, gasping as a hand leaves your waist to trace over your bra. his hand dips beneath the fabric, pulling a breast free before moving to the next cup to do the same. both of his hands find your chest, tweaking your nipples as he watches you unravel above him. "how's it feel now?"
"i'm close," you whine, hips jerking as your core gets too sensitive. you try to stand, to move things along, but san grabs onto your ass and guides you against his thigh.
"if you're close then why are you running away?" he chuckles. "show me how good it feels, ace."
"fuck," you whisper, grinding against him harder. "i'm almost there, but i-i can't, san, need more. need your fingers."
"you do?" he pouts. "i don't think you've earned it."
"i have," you whine, squeezing his thigh between yours. "fuck. if you don't do it i will."
"show me," he challenges, and you stand before he can stop you. you take your panties off, tossing them somewhere before sitting back down on his thigh. you cry out at the new contact, your arousal ruining his pants. you look down and see just how much you're dripping onto his leg, moaning as san guides you faster. you pop two fingers into your mouth and then reach down to rub your clit, crying out as you come.
"fuck, san," you moan, hips sputtering over him as you chase your high. "jesus." you let your head fall to his shoulder, your hand stilling at your core as you catch your breath.
"so dirty, baby," he whispers, brushing your hair away from your neck to trail kisses across your skin. his jersey has fallen from your shoulder, so he takes his time leaving a mark on the exposed skin as you come down. "you look real good in my jersey, making yourself feel good like that."
"what now?" you ask again, nipping at his ear.
"you ready so soon?" he asks. "so eager."
"i'm afraid you're gonna come in your pants," you whisper in his ear. "don't wanna ruin the fun before it even starts."
you shriek then, feeling san lift you like it's nothing. he kicks his bedroom door open before dropping you on the bed, taking a minute to admire you splayed out on his sheets as he undoes his pants. you're still breathless, watching him undress, and you feel your breath catch when he pulls his cock free.
"what, don't think you can handle it?" san asks, tearing a condom packet open with his teeth. "gotta say, i'd be disappointed."
"try me."
san crawls over you next, trapping your hands in his as he drags them above your head. he holds them in place as he guides his cock to your core, slapping it against your clit teasingly. you moan, hips bucking to chase the feeling. he keeps teasing you though, coating his cock in your arousal.
"so wet for me, baby," he groans. "are you like this when i play?"
"no," you grit your teeth. "san, please-"
"please what, baby?" he asks, stopping completely. his tip is pressed to your entrance, but he's not moving, and you squirm beneath him. "use your words, pretty girl. you get this wet when you see me?"
"when i think about fucking you, yeah," you respond honestly.
"and how often is that? just ballpark."
"sometimes."
"every day?" he asks, pressing his tip past your walls. he won't give you more than that, so you whimper, and he smirks. "tell me."
"since we kissed," you admit, wishing you could hide your blushing cheeks.
"aw, baby's been desperate that long?" he tsks. "i'm sorry, doll. didn't know you wanted me that bad."
"just fuck me, san."
"ask me."
"huh?"
"ask me how often i think about fucking you," he replies with a shit eating grin.
"how often?"
he thrusts into you, pulling a moan from deep within your chest. he leans down and kisses you, biting your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away. then he whispers, thrusting with each word, "every single day."
he keeps thrusting into you, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. you moan into his mouth, whining his name, and you twist away long enough to ask, "let go of my hands. wanna touch you."
he lets you go, and your hands grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. he groans, egging you on, and you drag your nails down his back as you say, "your shoulders."
"what?"
"your shoulders. they drive me insane," you admit. "catchers have nice thighs, sure, but, fuck, you're built like a god."
"a god?" he smiles, and you can tell you're gonna regret saying that. "what else drives you insane?"
"hm, everything about you?" you reply. "you're infuriating."
"and you're close already," he smirks. "i can feel you clenching around me, baby. this feels good too?"
"so good," you nod. "can i come?"
"wait," he hisses, pulling out as you whine. "patience, baby. wanna try something else."
you let san move you how he wants, sitting up further on his bed as he props your legs open. he slides his hands beneath your legs, almost folding you in half as he cups your head. he moves you so you can see your dripping pussy, shining in the low light of his room.
"help me out, ace," he says, and with shaky hands you guide him back to your entrance. he thrusts, both of you watching as he enters you, and you moan in sync as he thrusts all the way in. he stills for a moment, loving the way you clench around him, and he speeds up, fucking you so fast you can't catch your breath. "shit. look at you, taking me so well."
"can i come now?" you whine, but he shakes his head again. "san!"
"wait for me, baby," he insists, thrusting faster. you can barely take it, but then his hips jerk, and you know he's close. "now, come on my cock, fuck-"
"san, oh my god," you cry out, bucking forward until your forehead is pressed against his, watching as you come around him. you feel him come with you, and you stay trapped in his hold as he slows down. he kisses you softly before he lets go, his hands carding through your hair as he helps you lay down.
"be right back," he whispers, kissing your forehead before he disappears. he comes back with water and a wet washcloth, handing you the cool glass as he cleans you up. you hand it back to him when he's done so he can take a sip, and then he leaves again to toss the condom. he collapses back into bed when he returns, immediately pulling you into his chest as he nuzzles his head into your neck. "can't believe you'd think i didn't want you, doll."
"this might be the first time anyone's proved me wrong," you tease, yelping when you feel him bite your skin. "mean!" he moves to lay his chin on your chest, looking up at you with warmth in his eyes. you brush some of his sweaty hair from his forehead as he speaks.
"do you wanna stay the night?" he asks. "please say yes. but if you don't want to, give me a minute and i can drive you home. but i really want you to stay."
"i'll stay," you nod, cupping his cheek as you stare at him. "you're really handsome, you know?"
"am i?" he smiles. "tell me more."
"that's all you get," you say as you flick his nose, and he scoots up the bed to lay his head next to yours. you're both quiet for a minute, thoughts flooding your head. you don't realize you're frowning until san whines.
"what's that face for?" he pouts, propping himself up on his arm as he stares down at you. "you want to go home."
"no, i'm just thinking," you pout back.
"about?"
"what will the team say if they see our walk of shame?"
"about time," he replies, kissing you before he lays back down. "i talk about you all the time, so i'm sure they'll be thrilled to know i finally got some."
"you're sick," you giggle, pinching him. "but maybe you should go in first. just to be safe."
"whatever you want ace," he hums, looking at you again. "you gonna sleep in my jersey, or can i give you another shirt to wear?"
-
despite your exhaustion from your night with san, you still had a story to write. it wasn't yet midnight, so after san gave you a shirt to sleep in you stayed up, furiously typing on your phone to get the story done in time. you thought san had fallen asleep beside you, his quiet breathing providing a sort of metronome to keep you focused. but as you got to a certain point in your story, you realized you need your notebook. you can't remember where it might be, so you try to quietly slip out of bed and go looking.
"come back to bed," san grumbles, making you jump.
"i thought you were asleep," you whisper, looking at him from the doorway. the sheets have pooled around his waist, and his chest is flushed. you wish you could just lay down with him, rest your head on his warm chest, and fall into the deepest sleep. but you've never filed a story late, and you're not interested in doing so tonight.
"i'm not going to sleep till you do," he answers, rubbing his eyes. he pulls the sheets away and slides out of bed himself, shuffling toward the door after you.
"what are you doing?" you ask, taking a step back.
"if you leave me alone in here i might die," he says seriously. "you looking for your notebook? i put it on my coffee table," he explains, placing his hand at the small of your back while he guides you through his apartment. you barely have a second to grab it from the table before san is pulling you down onto the couch with him, locking you in his hold on his lap.
"um, san?" you ask. "i need my arms." he groans as he loosens his grip, and you try to scoot over to take up the ample space left on the couch.
"uh uh," he shakes his head, looking at you with sleepy eyes. "you're staying right here until you finish."
"but you'll distract me," you pout, which san tries to kiss away.
"distract you, or motivate you to hurry up so we can go to sleep?"
"fine," you sigh, getting comfortable in his lap as you prop your notebook open on his chest. "keep that there for me."
"yes ma'am," he mumbles, closing his eyes as you work. you flip through a few pages and find what you were looking for, trying to concentrate on transcribing the quote, but it's hard. you're not comfortable, so you keep shifting. san's hands tighten around you, but you ignore it. just a few more minutes and you'll be done, but damn, is your leg cramping? you try to move again, but end up yelping when you feel san pinch your thighs. "baby," he whines. "stop moving. i'm getting hard."
"jesus, really?" you ask, shifting again to see for yourself. "oh hello there."
"stop," san chuckles, looking at you with hooded eyes. "are you almost done?"
"i've got a few more sentences, then i need to proofread it," you reply. "so kinda."
"alright," he nods. "keep working, ace." so you do, reading back a few lines to catch your train of thought. you frown though, feeling san's hands trail up your thighs to play with the material of your panties.
"san, stop," you tell him. "you're being a distraction."
"ah, no i'm not," he says, cupping you in his hold as he sits forward. he fidgets with something for a minute before resting back against the cushions, and you gasp when you feel his cock against you. "i'm motivating you, remember?"
"san, what are you doing-"
"just keep working baby," he coos, pulling your panties to the side before sliding his cock through your folds. "want you to sit on it until you finish."
"funny," you twist his nipple, and he hisses.
"ah, no pun intended," he smiles, "but happy coincidence. come on, i'm bored, and if i don't do this i'll fall asleep."
"then sleep! i won't be able to focus with you...in me."
"try," san kisses you, sitting back with a smirk. "i believe in you baby. now keep working."
you look at the time and groan, because you don't have time to argue with him. you watch as he lifts your hips and sinks into you, letting out a shaky breath once your hips are slotted against his. he keeps his eyes on you, taking in every wince, every jolt, every bite of your lip to stop from whimpering. you feel so full, and san is so warm, and you can't focus but you're almost done-
"read the story to me," san says next, breaking through your thoughts once again.
"hold on," you say, completing the final sentence before you scroll back to the top. "on the record i think you're insane."
"that's a weird way to start an article about baseball," san smirks, so you roll your hips to get him to shut up. you start reading your story, and he listens like he's hooked on every word. at the first mention of his name, he lifts you up slightly before bringing your hips back down and you stutter on your words. "come on ace, keep reading."
"fuck you," you breathe out.
"you are," he smirks again, and you grit your teeth as you continue. you speed through the story, but san keeps slowly fucking you as you go. you find a typo and he stills while you fix it, but as you get to the end he picks up speed. when you finally read the last word, you place a hand on his chest and he stops again.
"let me send this to my editor, please, and then you can keep defiling me," you beg.
"i learn so many new words being around you," san jokes, but you're not listening. you manage to send the story at 11:59 exactly, and you toss your phone away before grabbing onto san's shoulders.
"you need a hobby or something," you get out between moans as he starts fucking you again. "fuck. feel so full, san."
"yeah?" he sighs. "you feel incredible. so tight, so warm for me."
"shit, you're not wearing a condom," you realize. "get out."
"hold on," he whines. "i'll pull out. just give me a minute. are you close?"
"very confident in your skills," you point out. "we haven't been fucking that long."
"but i can feel you dripping around me," he says, pinching your hips. "feel you squeezing me. i know you're loving this baby."
"i'm almost there," you fess up, rolling your hips against him to get some more friction. he brings a hand around to your core, his thumb tracing over your clit so teasingly it's driving you insane. you collapse in his hold, your head resting against his shoulder as you let out breathy moans. he slows down, just to tease you more, and you bite his shoulder.
"ow!"
"keep going," you groan against his skin. "gonna come, fuck-" and you feel your high crash into you, hips jerking against san's as you come. you're quick to hop off of him, which he protests, but you sit before him on your knees as you stroke his cock. he's got to be close, so you bring his tip to your lips to suck him into your mouth. he lets go almost immediately, gasping above you as he comes into your mouth. as soon as he's done, he pulls you off of him with a huff.
"show me, doll," he rasps, and you stick your tongue out to show him his release. you swallow most of it, some drips sneaking past your lips so you sit up and wipe them off on the edge of his boxers, still caught around his knees. "hey!"
"you can deal," you tell him, standing with his help. your legs are shaky, and the exhaustion is really hitting you now. "come on, let's go to bed before you keep us up all night."
-
for the next week or so, you and san fall into a habit of going home with each other after each game. the first two series of the season are at home, so it makes things easy for you. you don't have to talk about what you are to san or vice versa, it's just understood that any free time you have will be spent with each other.
you're getting nervous, though, because the first away series is this weekend. you're strictly a local reporter, so you don't travel with the team. you'll report solely based on what the broadcast team on site is saying, or by bugging the team with phone calls. a little piece of you is nervous that san will fall back into his superstar ways, because he did have a reputation before coming here for having...friends...in every city. you try to push that feeling away for now, but it keeps nagging you at the worst times.
like now, san has cornered you in the clubhouse, kissing you in between questions for your next story and all you can think about is the trip this weekend. you're trying to focus on the story, really. the team is on an unbeaten streak, and some of the guys have cited san as the reason for that. word around the team is that his energy and passion for the game has made them better. you're trying to get something heartfelt out of him, but he's distracted.
"baby, i'm doing some of my best work here," he mumbles against your lips. "can't the questions wait?"
"i'm on a deadline san, you know that," you say as you put your hand on his chest and push back. "two more questions, and then i'm all yours."
"fine," he sighs, taking a step back. his hands stay on your waist as you talk, his thumbs rubbing your skin beneath your shirt. you're able to get what you need, so you stop the recording on your phone and put it away.
"you know, if anyone ever hears those, i'd be fired," you tell him as you drape your arms over his shoulders.
"good thing i'm loaded," san smirks. "i can buy their silence and you can keep your job."
"you know i used to be a clean reporter?" you pinch his neck. "you're really blurring my ethical lines here."
"i won't tell if you don't," he whispers, kissing you again. you stay like that, lips locked together, until a buzzing in san's pocket interrupts you. "ah, i should get that."
"who's calling? you don't have friends," you tease him, your uneasy mind wondering if it's one of his usuals from out of state.
"it's the equipment team," he explains, "they've never packed my stuff for an away trip before so they want to confirm before they ship out."
san answers the call, but keeps a protective arm hooked around you so you can't leave. you distract yourself with a stray thread on his shirt as he talks, and when he hangs up he places his hand over yours.
"whatcha thinking about, ace?"
"when do you leave for the series this weekend?" you ask nonchalantly, avoiding his gaze.
"day after tomorrow," he replies. "i figured we'd get an off day here, but they want us to come in for an extra practice to stay sharp."
"gotta keep that win streak going on the road," you tell him. "like you promised."
"exactly," he smiles. "so when will you leave?"
"huh?"
"for the series," san asks in an equally confused tone. "you're coming with us, right?"
"i don't travel with the team," you shake your head. "so i'll be here, wasting away."
"aw, you're gonna miss me," san coos, pulling you into his side as he walks you down the hall. "guess i gotta fit in as much y/n time as i can before i go."
"seems like it," you give him a tightlipped smile before pulling away. "i gotta go back out to the field, i'm doing a report in a few minutes. so i'll text you when i'm done?"
"sure," he nods, kissing your forehead before you go.
-
you went back to your apartment at the end of the day, tired and mind racing. you're not even dating san, why are you so concerned about what he might get up to on this road trip? you try to busy yourself until san comes by with dinner, so you're in the middle of washing dishes when there's a knock at your door. you let san in, stepping to the side in your small entryway to let him through. it leaves him standing incredibly close to you as you close the door, but once the space is cleared he stays where he is.
"you can come in, weirdo," you laugh. "do you need me to move?"
"no hug? no kiss?" he complains, pouting his lips as if waiting for a smooch.
"my hands are wet," you say as you hold them up, "so no hug, but-" you stand on your toes and aim a kiss perfectly on top of lips, spinning around quickly after to go back to the kitchen. "put everything on the coffee table, i'll get plates."
you walk into your living room to find a feast laid out for you. how'd you miss san carrying in so much food? you place plates down for you both, sitting next to san so your thighs touch. he piles food on your plate as you tell him about the rest of your day, but when he keeps going you make him stop.
"do you think i never eat?" you laugh. "why the mountain of food?"
"i'll be out of town for a while," he shrugs. "gotta make sure you're taken care of before i go."
"right," you nod. "thank you, but this is plenty."
"want me to feed it to you?" he asks with a sappy look on his face, but you know he's serious.
"i'll kick you out if you even try."
"then what about you feeding me?"
"are you excited for the first road trip of the year?" you change the subject.
"i am," he says slowly. "not much to see there, though, so it'll be a boring trip. especially if you're not coming..."
"can't," you remind him. "the big man won't allow it."
"but let's say, i don't know, a player on the team had an extra ticket to the game...then what?"
"huh?" you look at him confused. "what are you saying?"
"if i told you i got you a ticket to the game, would you come?" he asks sincerely. he grabs your hand and squeezes, saying, "i need my good luck charm there."
"san, i don't know," you shake your head. "how would i get there? where would i stay?"
"you could travel with the other wives and girlfriends," he answers. "apparently it's a whole big trip, they do this every year for the first away series."
"but i'm not a wife or a girlfriend," you tell him. "i'm a reporter."
"then why don't you leave the notebook at home and just come to the game as my girlfriend?"
"your girlfriend?" you smile. "i think i can do that."
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octuscle · 11 days
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From tutor to rookie of the year
Hi, my name is Jake. My company has hired me to tutor a few students with poor grades. That's not necessarily the reason why I started working at the auditing company. But first of all, I'm new here and I'm not going to refuse right at the beginning of my career. And secondly, becoming a teacher had actually been an option for me. Maybe it's fate now or something.
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The first lesson gets off to a very promising start. I almost have to tear myself apart to leave your office and get to school on time. But when I arrive, there is a yawning emptiness in the classroom. Only after fifteen minutes I hear noise in the corridor and a couple of football jocks barge in the door. A few still in football gear. And all obviously unshowered after training. Phew, it stinks. And as I look into the handsome, square-cut faces of the boys spraying with testosterone, I'm suddenly back at school. The small, clever but shy boy who, at best, the stars of the football team overlook and, at worst, stuff into the toilet. I clear my throat and say that I'm not here for fun either and that I'm asking for some attention. The boys barely react. Damn it, it's not my problem. I explain a few linear algebra problems on the blackboard and ignore the paper airplanes. I have my school-leaving certificate. I have my master's degree. And my bonus doesn't depend on the grades of these idiots. At least I hope so.
After the debacle of the first tutoring session, my appetite for the second is very dampened. But it was already hard enough to get this internship. The firm is one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the city. And if my pro bono job as an intern is tutoring the idiots on the football team twice a week, I'll survive. Apart from the 60 hours a week in which I have to pore over balance sheets, that doesn't matter any more.
These days, the musclemen are even on time. And somehow nicer than last time. They even ask me reasonably sensible questions like whether you can predict the trajectories of footballs. I take this as an opportunity to tell them something about vector calculus. They collapse with laughter. "Bro, I was joking. And football isn't math. Football is strength and speed." I'm about to take a breath and say something about Newton and the relationship between force and speed. But instead of listening to me, the jocks start bragging to each other about their heroic stories on the field. And I can't help but listen to them spellbound. When the lesson is over, I look after them with fascination. I wish I could have been more like them at school.
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Shit, because I'm the only nerd on the senior team who isn't a complete failure at sports, Coach made me give math tutoring to the football team. He thinks the Meatheads might have a little bit of respect for me. Shit! Them for me? I for them might be more correct! The thought of explaining math to my secret crush forms a wet spot in my Calvin Klein shorts.
I expected the boys to keep me waiting. If they were also punctual and disciplined off the pitch, they wouldn't need any help. And I don't want to tutor them any more than they want to be tutored. We reach a compromise. You listen to my math tutoring for half an hour. And then we'll go out onto the pitch for half an hour and play a bit of football. God knows I'm not unsportsmanlike. But soccer has somehow never been my sport. I'm more of a swimming pool or gym kind of guy. Team sports? Not really.
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Shit, yeah, I'm no rocket scientist in math. But I have quite good grades in English and history. I'm not going to fail this year. Why the fuck do I have to go to tutoring with the other bros from the football team? I have no idea. But seriously, the tutor is a total loser. A beanpole in a stuffy shirt. The idiot even wears a tie. Seriously, who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear a tie, I'd change jobs. Or if I had to shower after training. Shit, these are just rules that can come from old fat men. Bros like me and my bros smell like test… Testo… Well that hormone stuff. Sweat, musk and Axe. If I didn't have to go straight to detention again, I'd let the loser smell my armpits… But I'm a sophomore on the team right now. Let the juniors and seniors do that.
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"Jack, bro!" This is Chuck. The QB on the team. I can tell by his voice. And by his smell. And I'd also know it by the taste of his cheesy boner…. But he stays locked in his jockstrap cage right now. What a damn shame! "Bro, where were you in tutoring? The dean was there. You're in fucking trouble!" Shit, tutoring! I was at the gym. The other guys are all so pumped. I don't want to lag behind any longer. "Shit, dude, we said you were in the bathroom. The loser tutor didn't dare contradict us. But I think you have to let him suck you off so he doesn't tell on you." Hehehehehe, I like that idea. There are still 40 minutes until football practice… And I haven't cum yet today. "Is the loser still in the classroom?" I ask. Chuck nods. I fist bump him and say that I'll sort it out quickly.
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If Chuck and Matt go to college next year, I have a good chance to be the QB. But until then I still have to build up a lot of mass. Those two are just in a whole different league. And I'm damn jealous of the hair on Matt's chest. You should see the bush under his arms. Dude, the man is going to be a fucking gorilla! Shit, I'm not half the man those two are. You can tell immediately by the size of the bulge in our compression shorts. Nevertheless, neither of them mind if I fuck them. But they like fucking me even more. Without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!
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We skipped tutoring again today. Coch covers for us while we're in the gym or doing our laps on the cinder track outside. Nevertheless, it's still up in the air whether Chuck and Matt will be at college next year. And whether I'll be a junior by then. But screw it, NFL pros don't need to know math.
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leah-lover · 10 days
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Closed for maintenance . Leah Williams × reader
Reader embarks on a new journey with a new club. Part 1.
My day started out like any other in the past 4 weeks. The beeping sound of my alarm wakes me up, I dread the thought of getting up even though I still do, I get my shit together, I leave for training, come back a few hours later and go to bed early.
My days have been blending in ever since that heart shattering break up. However, today had a little twist to it. As I was leaving the gym to go to the physioroom I got called into the Manager's office. Upon getting in, the coach said “hey, so I called you here to let you know that we are going to transfer you. You have been an absolute killer for our team. You will always have a place between us. The thing is your dynamic with the team has been off which has been causing some tension. And the best thing I thought to do was to transfer you this January.” Shock couldn't describe the state I was in. Running on autopilot, I got out of the coach's office, got my things and departed home without talking to anybody, which has been my pattern this past month.
My head was in the clouds for the entire drive, and when I got home I threw myself on the coach and started sobbing. About 20 minutes later I called my best friend the only person I trusted more than anything.
“Hey are you okay? The girls are worried about you, tell me what is going on please”said kristie with a worried tone
“Well tell Sam and the team not to worry anymore. Emma has decided to ruin my life and get rid of me. I won't be at Chelsea anymore. I am basically fired.” I replied, now more angry than sad.
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you transferred where? when? How ? Are you okay? Did you tell her?.” She asked.
“I think it will be announced tomorrow at the meeting. I don't know anything kristie Chelsea is home. Niamh is home. I can't live without them.” I replied, memories of Niamh and I fludding my brain.
“Sure you will. I love you bubs no matter where you go.” She said, “Me too buddy, me too.” I added, sadness creeping into my heart again.
—-------—---—------------------------------------
It has been an eventful week. It was announced that I would leave Chelsea for Arsenal. The topic has been the talk of the town. From newspapers, Instagram pages, fans on Twitter, Arsenal fans were excited to have me. However, Chelsea fans were bitter I was let go. Most of the mean comments were directed at Emma and Chelsea which I thought was fair. I was the leading goal scorer in the WSL and we were on a great track record to win the league again.
I got a new apartment, and a new car. I tried to begin again. A clear slate and a focus on winning with my new team, the gunners.
Today was the first day of practice. The girls are really nice. This team, this family, seem really gelled together and they seem to start getting me out of my dark hole.
“Hello you.” Said Beth, “I hope you are well and I well we want to let you know you are very welcome and we hope you have a great time with us here.” she added. “Me too “ I responded.
__________________________________
It has been over 2 months since that last interaction with Beth, who I can call my best friend now. Her, Steph ,Katie and I have been inseparable. Arsenal have been on a winning streak since I got here. I seem to enjoy the way they play and interact with each other.
The player I enjoy hanging out with the most is my second Captain, which I can never fully admit.
Leah has been fun, heart warming, safe and a friend and a good one. I can't let whatever is happening affect my career again. I dated a teammate before it ruined my career, or so I thought.
“Ladies, how are we feeling about a party? We won again thanks to wonderful strickers. Let's have a party, we deserve it.” Said Katie on the bus. Shortly after a plan was made.
We went to a bar, we drank, sang, danced, and it was that time of the night where I got hungry for warmth. Human connection however unmeaningful. So I kissed the first girl I fancied.
That's when I felt a hand separate me from the girl and drag me outside.
“You are drunk, let's go home before you do anything you will regret.” Said Leah with an angry tone. “ Let go of me, I am lonely. I need this, please let go.” I pleaded with the alcohol affecting my judgment.
“ You are a fool if you think I would let you put yourself in danger. You are important to me, you should know that. Now let's go.” She ordered.
“ I am not going anywhere with you, you are not my girlfriend.” I protested.
That's when she pulled me in for a small kiss. That felt reassuring but not abusive of my drunk state.
“ You are not kissing anyone or going anywhere tonight. Home it is. Now stop complaining and get in please.” She said with a pour on her face. I did as she said, my mind still on the feeling of her lips.
This is going to be a lot to unpack in the morning.
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jisungsdaydreamer · 10 months
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Anti-Romantic | TEASER | CHAPTER 3 OUT NOW!!
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«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»
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Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!reader Genre: non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, dysfunctional relationships, taboo couples/relationship therapist and patient dynamic
P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡
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As the most beloved dating coach in the sunny state of California, Hyunjin has dealt with all kinds of nightmares— from real desperate housewives and their indifferent husbands to toxic shotgun marriages doomed to fail— and he’s fixed them all. Dubbed the “Love Doctor,” Hyunjin has a PhD in both sociology and broken hearts. Every single day for Hyunjin ends the same: yet another flashy career success and to celebrate, sliding on his rose-tinted glasses and sipping on pink champagne, his perpetual poison.
That was all before you, of course.
For your entire life, you’ve been unlucky in love. From your endless unrequited high school crushes to your situationship who turned out to be gay, love has just never been in the cards for you. It’s all changed you from a hopeless romantic into a pessimist who doesn’t believe in true love. You now make fun of every couple you see, religiously watch wedding fails on Youtube, and absolutely hate romantic comedies. 
But no amount of lackluster girls’ nights or hours thrown into your crappy job can fill the hole in your heart. You’re absolutely lonely. In one last attempt to give love a chance, you ditch your Tinder dates and decide to turn to L.A.’s famous “Love Doctor,” this hotshot relationship therapist all of your friends rave about. 
Barrelling into Dr. Hwang’s office like a cyclone, you bring along your signature stormy attitude and want a remedy to your emotional dry spell, even though you still believe in your heart that counseling won’t work for you. You don’t expect, however, your new intimacy expert to be hotter than hell, definitely not a middle-aged woman ready to lecture you about putting out.
No, Dr. Hwang is more like the Grandmaster of love, the amorous warlock of the West Coast, and with the way he silently strips you with his bedroom eyes the moment you walk in, perhaps even the sex scholar of the Valley. As he slowly disarms your defenses, you do your best not to let him know of your inappropriate fantasies about him. But even worse than your impossibly vivid wet dreams, you’re falling in love with your fucking therapist. Or Hyunjin, as he so charmingly commands you to call him. 
And you try to keep your feelings for him at bay, you really do. But Hyunjin just doesn’t give up, relentlessly tugging at your mind and heart and taking up every quantum of your life. Because after all, the Love Doctor loves a good challenge.
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«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»
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TAGLIST @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi
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📢 ©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.
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penaltyykill · 10 days
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what if i never scratched another itch for the rest of my life? (part one) | john marino
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🎧 fic playlist
📓~1.7k words
📝 author’s note: first time writing in a while, be kind :) slow burn with spicy content in part 2 ❤️‍🔥
⚠️ warnings: none other than cursing
🎧 title/song inspo: itch by quinnie
the chilly november monday morning was no different than any other as of late, as you slipped into a turtleneck bodysuit and plaid pleated skirt with thick tights to keep you warm at the practice rink where you’d be doing some tiny mic interviews that day. you loved your new job. you got to actually have fun and escape the boring office routine you had gotten so used to with other jobs you’d had in the past. changing your career at 27 years old was never going to be easy, but everyone was so welcoming and nice in the new jersey organization which you started to call home. it was only the third month of your new job as a social media manager for the new jersey devils but it was starting to feel like things were all falling into place in your life.
you pulled up to the arena about an hour before practice was set to start, gathering your things you’d need for the day out of the back of your car and heading into the practice rink. you were excited to see the team in high spirits. they had a day off after their win the other night and were holding a practice on their home ice before heading out for a road game in buffalo later that same day.
the boys started to trickle in, alex holtz giving you happy “morning!” as he headed to the locker room. you nodded at him with a smile, and observed some of the other younger guys walk in and laughed to yourself how similar they all were. luke and jack glued to their phones, and dawson and nemo looking like they just woke up, hair a mess and some crazy energy drink in hand.
being that you were a bit older than them, you sometimes found it hard to connect. gone were the days of college frat parties, staying up all night and little responsibility. you were established, had your own apartment, a great job, and experience in the real world. but you fell in that weird gap between feeling like a kid and feeling like an adult. call it imposter syndrome, maybe.
however, there were a few guys on the team closer in age to you, still untethered by marriage or family responsibilities. with john, nate, nick and dougie, you forged a real connection, bonding over shared interests in movies and music and nostalgia from when you were younger. they were a little more mature than the rest, and it was a nice escape from the daycare you felt like you were running when trying to wrangle them up to answer your silly little questions or whatever prompt was trending that week on social media.
you shifted in place when you saw john walking towards the glass door at the front of the building. he was dressed casually. grey, well fitting sweatpants and a heavy flannel jacket, with a beanie covering his curls. he gripped his coffee cup and car keys in one hand as he opened the door, holding it for one of the assistant coaches behind him. the morning winter sun illuminated his pretty brown curly locks that peaked out of his hat on the sides and in the back. his hair was getting longer and it looked so soft… you both locked eyes and you immediately glanced down to your feet. you had just realized you were staring at him. why does he make you so nervous? he was the only guy out of your micro group that was single, but it shouldn’t matter. you guys didn’t talk about that kind of stuff, you were basically coworkers, in a sense. “oh god,” you thought to yourself, as you looked up and saw him walking over.
“you out on assignment today?” john smiled as he spoke to you. he took a sip of the black dunkin’ donuts iced coffee he was holding. he was a massachusetts boy after all. you tried not to focus at the way his lips looked wrapped around the straw…
“oh yeah…riveting stuff…going to be revealing the new jersey devils hot takes on pineapple on pizza.” i said sarcastically.
“ugh, gross.”
“you tell em, johnny. let them see your italian-american side shine.” i said with a smirk.
“nah, that side is just for you,” he took another sip from his coffee. “i’ll catch you later.”
“bye johnny” you sighed, but he had already started to walk away. what the hell did he mean by that? probably nothing, but you’d lay awake thinking about it for the next few nights, you’re sure.
***
you spent the rest of that afternoon editing video assets from the day at your desk back in the office. you were about to leave for the day when an email came in from your manager. you felt your stomach drop when you read the title: “EMERGENCY TRAVEL UPDATE”
you opened the email and read it carefully. your manager had gotten sick and was unable to make the road game trip to buffalo tomorrow.
she usually covered the road games, and you stayed back, not quite experienced enough to take it on alone. but she needed you to step up, maybe prove yourself a little, and get good content for socials. she had sent over the itinerary and you scanned it, taking in all the details. “oh shit,” you thought. you were booked on a flight out that left later tonight.
you quickly left the office and got in your car, and made the drive back to your apartment in jersey city. while you were packing, your phone buzzed. the name on the screen was john’s. which was odd, because you guys didn’t usually chat outside of the group chat you had with your little group.
you waited a minute before opening the text, for some reason your heart felt like it was pounding. you felt stupid. he probably texted you by accident. just open it, you thought to yourself.
“heard i’ll see you tonight.” it read. you smiled, inadvertently. your stomach twisted in a weird way you hadn’t felt in a while. you weren’t sure what it meant, or how he knew. you paused, trying to find the words to respond.
“considering i land around 1am…will you be seeing me?” you wrote back, and hit send.
the three dot typing bubbles immediately appeared and then disappeared. was he waiting on your response? your stomach did that thing again. your phone vibrated.
“ok fine, i guess i’ll see you tomorrow then?” he wrote. you were weirdly disappointed, even though you walked him right into that one. why did he want to see you all of a sudden? you were wondering if you’d missed something, but couldn’t place it. was he being bold, or just being friendly? something inside you secretly hoped it was the former.
you let out a deep breath and continued to throw clothes into your suitcase. it was only a two day trip so you didn’t need much, but something inside you convinced you to pack your favorite outfits, the ones you felt the most confident in. you told yourself you were dressing for yourself but deep down you know it was for someone else, but you couldn’t admit that to yourself yet.
***
the plane ride was short, only about 90 minutes. you arrived to the hotel around 1:30am. the game was the next day at 7pm and the boys had a morning practice you needed to cover. you greeted the front desk concierge with a sleepy hello as you gave your name to check in.
“sorry miss. i’m not seeing that name in my system.” he said apologetically.
“that can’t be…my manager booked it for herself and changed the reservation to my name when she couldn’t make it. can you check again?”
a few moments went by as the man clicked around on the computer but he returned to face you with a frown.
“i’m so sorry miss, i can’t find anything and we are unfortunately all booked tonight. i can call another location and—“
you cut him off. “thank you, just give me a minute,” you said, frustrated. you were tired, and needed to be up early. you didn’t know the area, and you didn’t know what to do. you tapped your foot. you then had an idea, a stupid one, that came from your heart, and not your head.
you opened your phone and opened the message between you and john. your fingers hesitated on the keyboard before you took a deep breath and decided to just call him. it rang twice. you could feel your eyes welling up because you were so tired, frustrated and alone in a place you’d never been before. then he picked up.
“hi, you. did you land ok?” the voice at the other end said in a raspy and quiet tone. he sounded like he was sleeping but was trying to cover it up.
“johnny, i’m so sorry, did i wake you up? i’m at my hotel and they said they can’t find my reservation and i don’t know what to do and i’m sorry i’m calling so late—“
“hey, relax. take a deep breath. what happened?”
you explained the situation again, clearly and slowly. he asked you what hotel you were at, and you gave him the name.
“i’m coming to get you.” he said and hung up before you had a moment to argue. you began staring at the glass doors you had walked in, waiting to see an uber pull up and for john to come and save you. you felt so foolish, why did you call him? you woke him up just so he could do what exactly, ride with you in an uber? you began to fill up with regret when you heard the elevator ding behind you. you turned around and john stepped out. he was wearing an oversized hoodie and shorts. long socks and slides. his hair was everywhere, surprisingly not covered up by the beanie he so loved. he looked so, so cozy…
he yelled out your name with a big toothy grin.
“john—you’re staying at this hotel?” you said, with a twinge of excitement in your voice you felt embarrassed by. he nodded.
“let’s go. they gave me a big suite with a pull out couch, more than enough room for you to crash. we can figure this all out tomorrow.” he grabbed your suitcase and began rolling it into the elevator. you were stopped dead in your tracks, running back the words he had just said to you, wondering if this was really happening. it felt too good to be true and fucking scary at the same time.
john looked back at you, his big brown eyes hooded and sleepy. “you coming?”
🕊️
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Old-Fashioned
A sequel to Just Do It because we're all pretty thirsty for Jamie's grandad ❤️
Roy Kent x Reader
0.6k words
Warnings: Language, mentions of age gap (ages not mentioned, but reader is in their 20s, Roy is early 40s), Roy being a little insecure
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Roy gulped as he watched you walk down the hall at the Dog Track. From your first day at Richmond, it was obvious that he wasn’t the only person who couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. But, after that night at Ola’s and drinks at his favorite pub, he definitely found himself noticing more often. Especially when the people gawking at you were young, handsome footballers who were half his age and still in the prime of their careers.
Sure, you smiled at them and joked with them, you accepted their invitations to party after matches, sometimes you even accepted their sweaty hugs, but they weren’t who you were sneaking into the boot room and empty offices to kiss. And they weren’t who you were winking at now as you passed each other in the hall.
It dawned on Roy that he hadn’t taken you on a proper date yet. Yeah, the two of you had texted pretty much nonstop since that night when you both admitted to your feelings, and you’d grabbed drinks after work a few times now, outings that usually ended up with heavy kissing and petting in his car, and one time you’d even stopped by his place with some paperwork and ended up staying for hours, sitting in his kitchen and laughing over a shared bottle of wine.
But none of that satisfied him. Roy was more old-fashioned than that. Hookups and one-night stands were old hat to him, but this situationship- a vocabulary word Keeley had taught him when she was reading Cosmo during lunch one day- was not something he was used to. He liked knowing where he stood with a woman, whether that was as a boyfriend or just as someone to buy their drinks before paying him back in the bedroom. With you, he had no fucking idea what was going on other than the fact that you sent him TikToks that actually made him laugh and that you seemed to enjoy pulling him into the boot room when no one was watching.
Deciding that he’d had enough of whatever this was, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, prompting raised eyebrows from you.
“Need something, Coach?” The smile that played on your unfairly kissable lips made Roy’s heart twitch.
He cleared his throat, letting his hand fall back to his side, immediately missing the feeling of your skin. “I, er, was wondering what you’re doing Friday night.” He shifted his weight onto his good leg. “I’d like to take you out.” He stopped, glancing sideways, his eyes hitting a poster of one of those young, handsome Greyhounds who’d probably do a much better job of this. “On a date,” he clarified.
How did your smile manage to light up even brighter?
“Was wondering when you’d ask,” you teased, giving him a playful shove.
Relief flooded his chest, enough for him to tease you back. “You could’ve fucking asked, you know,” he countered with a smirk. “It’s the twenty-first century. Feminism and whatnot.”
Down the hall, a voice called your name, summoning you into some meeting. “Be right there!” you called over your shoulder. You turned back to Roy, mischief sparkling in your eyes. “I know. But I wanted you to ask. I’m kind of an old-fashioned girl that way.” Not caring that a group of players was walking by, you stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his scruffy cheek before turning around. “See you later, Coach.”
Roy felt like a statue as he watched you saunter away, wondering if the jaunty spring in your step was for his benefit. He was pretty sure he had his answer when you paused at the doorway and glanced back at him, offering him another one of those winks. He relished the look of astonishment on the young players’ faces as he turned on his heel and walked back towards his own office.
Roy Kent definitely still had it.
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heladodecerezq · 6 months
Text
Dead to Me <3
Will Graham (Hannibal NBC) x Reader
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Minors, do not interact
Author’s Note: N/A
Type: Restored
Description: While working overtime at the Bureau at the orders of Jack Crawford, you find yourself being eyed-up by a temporary transfer of another office...
Word Count: 1,394
Warnings: Please be mindful of the tags! Unwanted advances and flirting, mild depictions of violence, insinuated violence, attempted asault
By clicking or tapping on “Keep Reading”, you consent to viewing/consuming this media. Minors do not interact. The cultivation of one’s internet experience is up to the individual, and any other personal preferences do not dictate the creations of others nor myself. The recreation, reformatting, re-posting or distribution of this content on other platforms is not welcome and I ask that any and all parties would keep from doing so, thank you.
“Rookie.” 
That deep, condescending voice could only belong to one person. Plastering on your most placating smile, you stopped your journey down to the restroom to greet a glowering Jack Crawford. 
“Afternoon, Jack. You look delightful as always!”
His eyes visibly narrowed. “Can it, Rookie. I have a favor to ask. Jimmy Price needs some help analyzing some fingerprints found at the scene of a quadruple homicide. I’ve told him you’ll help along with Robin Reyes who is visiting from the Chelsea office. Three sets of hands, lighter work. Maybe if you’re quick you’ll be out by eight. You’ll be there, right?”
Nervously clicking your tongue, you assumed Jack wasn’t so much asking as he was telling you what to do. And though he was nothing if not abruptly rude and constantly calling you ‘rookie’, when you had, in fact, been in the bureau for five years in a row, refusing Jack Crawford was not an option. 
“Alright, you can count on me.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ll let Jimmy know.”
Not giving you a second glance, Jack continued down the hall and back to his office. 
Great.
 Analyzing prints. Just what anyone would want to be doing on their Friday evening. It wasn’t like you had a life completely separate from work. Turning away from the restroom, you figured it could wait until you finished photographing and examining the other cadavers waiting for you in the lab. 
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, with the prospect of working more overtime hanging over your head. For a very brief moment you considered feigning an oncoming illness to get out of the commitment you had been pushed into accepting, but Jimmy didn’t deserve to be left on his own, especially with the new consultant from Chelsea.
When six o’clock came, you packed up your backpack and headed down to meet Price, anxious to get the next few hours out of the way, so you could make the most out of your weekend. 
“Hey! Glad to see you could drop by!” Jimmy called as you entered the lab. “Reyes got here early so we got a jumpstart. Come join the party!”
Though you were half-way through your fourth coffee, and already plenty exhausted, Jimmy’s pleasant demeanor was infectious, bringing a tired smile to your face. 
Walking over to Price’s cluttered desk, you could see Reyes had already finished analyzing a set of prints and was on his second set. 
“Hey, Reyes.” You greeted him, finding yourself a seat at a computer. 
“Hey yourself.” He smirked looking up from his work. “Wish you were here earlier. Would have made things go by a lot faster, but glad to see you’re here now.”
“Alright, alright.” Jimmy interrupted, lightly slapping Reyes’ shoulder. “No flirting with my lab assistant! I didn’t coach them through their internship and the last five years of their career here just to have some first-year try to put the moves on em’.”
Offering Price a quiet thanks, you turned to your own work, doing your best to ignore the quiet glances that were sent your way. In spite of Jimmy’s frequent chatter and Reyes’ shameless attempts at flirting, you completed your analysis within two hours and moved on to submitting the prints into the database. 
“Dammit….Sorry guys.” Price sighed, looking up at the mounted wall clock, “I have to split. I forgot I have to meet my brother. He’s moving in late with me tonight and I promised I’d help lift his TV stand. You can both pack up and go–”
“Oh, we don’t mind closing up for the night.” Reyes looked towards you with an all-too innocent smile. “You go and help your brother. We’ll catch you Monday.”
As much as you wanted to strangle Robin, you bid Jimmy farewell, reminding him to lift with his legs and not his back. Reyes, it seemed, had been serious about cleaning up the lab, but once all the files were neatly tucked away you could feel his near-predatory gaze lingering too long for your liking. 
Slinging your backpack around your shoulder, you hastily walked towards the exit, feeling him close behind. 
“Oh, it was good to work with you, but I’m gonna call it quits for tonight.” You said quickly.
Reyes hand gasped yours as it wrapped around the door handle. “Why call it quits?” He purred, pressing his body against yours. “Now that we finally have a moment alone, I can tell you how I really feel.”
“Robin.” You breathed, your voice shaking. “This is unethical. You need–You need to stop.”
His hands smoothed over your sides, tugging at your shirt, trying to pull it free from your trousers. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be like that. No one would really mind if we had a little fun in here…”
Reyes became more bold, pawing at your zipper, his fingers slipping under your clothing…
“ROBIN STOP!”
Wrenching yourself away from his grasp, you turned sharply to sprint through the exit. 
“Oh hell no.” Overwhelmingly powerful arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into the lab. “Can’t have you making a scene, now can we?”
“Let go! SOMEONE HELP!”
Reyes was impossibly strong, making your defensive measures completely futile.
There was no way this was happening. 
Maybe if you hadn’t given in to Crawford’s pressure. Maybe if you’d been a bit of an asshole and insisted Jimmy stay and ditch his brother. Maybe if you had simply cut Reyes off completely when he first started flirting with you…
“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Them.”
Standing in the doorway with an unusually calm expression was none other than special investigator Will Graham. Using Reyes' shocked state to your advantage, you pushed him away, moving behind your unexpected rescuer.
“Leave it to Will Graham to ruin another guy’s fun.” Robin scoffed, trying to maintain control of the situation. 
“Well, I’m sure Jack Crawford will be thrilled to hear about the fun you’ve been trying to have at someone else’s expense.” Taking a step towards Robin, Will showed no sign of wavering. “You should leave. Now.”
Without much dignity left, your assailant left, deciding not to anger the infamous Will Graham any further. Relieved to be free from further degradation, you relaxed somewhat, leaning slightly on Will. 
“Will, I–I owe you. If you hadn’t come he could have done something really fucking awful.”
With his previously threatening demeanor fading, Will gave you a sympathetic look. “I hope you’re alright…Well as alright as you can be... If you’d like, I can help you in filing a report.”
Re-adjusting your clothes, you found it hard to look Will in the eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea. He’s from a different office and Jack trusted him enough to ask him to help with some fingerprints.” Taking in a strangled breath, you paused. “A report might cause more harm than good and if I’m being honest I don’t need the extra trouble.”
His face fell. “I could understand that.” Noticing you were still visibly on edge, Will let the topic go. “If you’d like I can walk you to your car?”
“Yeah.” You agreed, still feeling quite shaken. “That would be great. Again, thank you so much, Will.”
Reyes was nowhere in sight as Will Graham escorted you to your vehicle.
 Lucky him.
 If that bastard had lingered, Will would have had half a mind to make him pay for his transgressions right then and there. 
“What were you doing here so late?” You asked while unlocking your car. 
“Working late on a case for Jack Crawford.” Will admitted. “ Nothing new.” 
Shrugging, you opened your side door, sliding into the driver’s seat. “That makes two of us….Look, I know I sound like a broken record here, but thank you. Truly. See you around.”
Will waved you off, watching as your car drove out and away. 
Pulling his phone out of his back pocket he pressed the most recently used contact, knowing well enough his call would be picked up after the second ring. 
“Hello?” Came that familiar voice on the other end. 
“Doctor.” Will greeted him evenly. “I think it's high time we shared a meal together. There’s something I’d like to add to the menu.”
“Sounds invigorating. By all means, for such a special meal, you should invite a guest.”
“Oh, trust me, Doctor. I have someone in mind.”
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systlin · 1 year
Note
how does one get a job telling people they can't come into a building? is there something i need to put on my resume (very contrary, good at sitting, etc) to make hiring managers find me more appealing for the role?
So my actual day job is as a security officer; I'm the supervisor for my shift.
Telling people to go away has been an integral career skill for me. Telling angry people who are screaming to leave and not come back is a job skill. The best part of my job is that it is an express part of my job to NOT BE NICE TO RUDE ASSHOLES.
Now, tbh being a contrary asshole won't make you automatically good at the job. You still have to get along with your co workers, the clients at the site you work, ect. And for access control, a good deal of it is perfectly innocuous service providers or deliveries who have all the proper permissions and training and you just make polite small talk with them as you contact their site contact and direct them back to wherever they're going.
When I applied for the job....fuck, was it 8 years ago? No, fuck, 9...when I applied for the job nine years back, the things I put on my application that caught the hiring manager's eyes were
Customer Service skills
Willing to work nights and weekends (we don't get weekends or holidays off; sites are usually manned 24/7/365. Schedules vary, but I work 12 hour shifts and that works out to 3 days on/3 off, 4 days on/4 off. I do often work holidays. Holiday pay is higher.
Multitasking skills
Can keep calm in chaotic situations
Not easily intimidated
Basic computer skills. This last one is huge. You would be amazed how many people I've had to coach step by step through saving a word document during training.
MOST of the time, I am perfectly nice and pleasant. I've received regular commendations and bonuses from the security companies I've worked for because so many people comment on how nice and helpful the security lady was. Most people who show up at sites have a job to do there and want to do it and get paid, same as me.
HOWEVER, despite that at least weekly I deal with an asshole. My shift lets me. My boss jokes that it's like rolling a pumpkin full of ground beef into a lion enclosure. Best part of my job. I once worked retail, and telling asshole dudes to get off company property before I have them removed and/or banned from every other location of the huge multinational company I am stationed at is SO excellent.
Now. The important thing to remember as well about security is that yes, a lot of it is sitting for hours watching cameras or doing rounds through the same place over and over. It can be monotonous and boring.
HOWEVER, then sometimes you get a call like "PLEASE SEND HELP THE ENGINE IS ON FIRE" from a driver getting loaded in the plant. The plant which is filled with explody shit and human lives. This happened last Thursday. That, friend, is where I earn my pay.
I did my job. Sounded alarm, notified fire team, locked down the plant to keep anyone else out, ran accountability to make sure everyone in the plant had checked into shelter areas, all that stuff. Fire was out in 5 minutes. But you have to be able to not panic in that moment when you get that call, because otherwise everything can go to shit VERY fast.
So. Hope this helps!
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kewpie-aisle · 28 days
Text
𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕𝕤
Moving to Japan to start a new career is never an easy step. But it's a once in a lifetime opportunity, and somewhere along the way you find a spark like no other
pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x PhysicalTherapist!Reader
notes: suggestive language, professional f!reader, formerathlete!reader, took a lot of creative liberties with the reader character, OCs included. Words in bold are inner thoughts
wc: 6288 words
I potentially may make this a series - let me know!
dividers made by cafekitsune
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The soft sound of your alarm starts shifting and growing louder, as you fumble in the dark to hit the stop button. Opening one eye to see the sun’s rays lighting up the room in a low orange glow. The light breeze through the curtains and the light is enough to get you up and begin your morning stretches with a groan. The morning routine becomes a blur as you navigate through the usual of showering, getting dressed, and eating a quick breakfast before heading out to work. Most people dread the morning commute, but it’s your personal solace to tune out the world and enjoy an hour of time to yourself. Headphones on, music blasting, daydreams carrying you through Osaka as the subway zips through the city. A buzzing sensation from your pocket interrupting your peace, but you already have a guess on who’s trying to get your attention this morning. Glancing at your phone screen, you catch the message banner before your phone goes back to sleep. Exactly on time.
Coach Foster: What’s your arrival? Y/N: Take a guess Coach Foster:...Y/N. Y/N: You’re messaging me at 6:45AM, come on now. Entertain me. Coach Foster: Knowing you, you’re probably already on the train. So, about ten minutes away? Checking your map estimate, you huff out a quiet chuckle. Damn, he’s good. After a brisk jog to your destination, you’re pushing through the doors of the athletics facility Coach gave you directions for, to see the man already waiting by the inside entrance for you. 
“Are you finally going to admit that you’re my assigned FBI agent? You have to be tracking me, how else are you still this good at knowing my whereabouts Fossy” you tease as you’re pulled into a hug from the older gentleman. Samson Foster, the head coach for the MSBY Black Jackals, in his black tracksuit pulls away and looks down at you with a warm smile on his face. It’s been quite a few years since you’ve seen him, but the few greys peppered through his normally blond hair is the only telltale sign of time passing. “Let’s keep the nicknames at bay in front of the team please? I don’t need mutiny in this team too.” He shakes his head with a grimace, as he steers you inside to give you a tour of the facilities. “We can play catch up at your welcome party tonight, but for now let’s get you started on your first day.” Coach Foster begins running through the itinerary, you both make quick work of getting through the necessary formalities with onboarding. As you make your way to the medical team offices, you hear the distant shuffles of sneakers and a whistle blowing. Making a note that the courts must be closeby, Coach opens a door leading you into a room that reminds you so much of the principal’s office. Standing to the side are two individuals quietly discussing over a clipboard before looking up at you.
“There they are. You were right Foster, she’s exactly on time.” An older gentleman in a white coat looks at his watch, breathing out a laugh before bowing for introductions. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. We’ve heard only wonderful things about you from Coach Foster. I’m Dr. Preston Burke, the team physician for the MSBY Black Jackals. This here is my colleague, Iwaizumi Hajime.” You shake the doctor’s hand as you look over to the other man to his side. As you reach your hand out, the other man bows quickly before taking your hand in a firm shake. “Iwaizumi Hajime, last name comes first in many Japanese introductions as it’s standard to go by last names here. I’m the athletic trainer for the team, it’s nice to meet you.” Handshake firm, your eyes follow the hand up a strong tanned arm, to the face of a god. Ok girl, reel it in. Yes he’s good looking. The man in front of you quirks an eyebrow in reaction to a small chuckle escaping your mouth, shaking off your inner thoughts, you smile. “Thank you Iwaizumi-san, for the cultural explanation. I’ve done some prep, wouldn’t want to come into another country and disrespect anyone. Please correct me at any time if I’ve done something wrong. It’s nice to officially meet you. I’ve gotten a lot of notes from Coach Foster.” Letting go of each other’s hands, both your attention is turned to Dr. Burke’s mention of the day’s itinerary. Although the majority of the day consists of introductions, the medical staff team has some blocks to discuss structure and strategy to help you get adjusted. Thankfully a lot of the material had been shared ahead of time, so you’re able to hit the ground running today. But the introductions aren’t until later in the day, but you have a small break before the staff meetings. So you head off to your desk with Dr. Burke, to get set up. “Iwaizumi please come with me, I need your eyes on some gameplay strategies that Meian put together. He’s waiting for us on the court.” Coach Foster pats the young man’s shoulder as he nods to agree. “I promise to keep it quick so he’s back to join you both.” Coach and Dr. Burke share a quick nod before the group says their goodbyes and splits up. 
The walk is quick and short down the hall to your shared office as Dr. Burke talks more about their background. You seamlessly go through the motions, bonding over the struggles of university, family back home, tips and tricks for learning the Japanese language, all the similar snags that come with international careers. It wasn’t an easy decision to just pick up your entire life and move to Japan, but the physical therapist role was one you couldn’t pass up. Dr. Burke’s reputation precedes him, the D-1 volleyball team is one of the best, and with your prior playing experience, you would be a perfect fit. Change wasn’t something you were ever afraid of, but after all the suffering through grad school and license tests you would be a sucker to not accept the perfect job. “I’m sure you had a similar experience Dr. Burke, but Coach has the charismatic skills of a car salesman who's low on his quota. After his pitch, there was no way I could refuse.” Dr. Burke’s solemn expression with a hand on his chin in a contemplative pose has you giggling. Birds of a feather, seems he was roped in just like you. It takes a few minutes to get your desk and laptop set up, before you’re given the tour. The shared office houses two desks in the front and a recessed second office for the primary physician. The room was primarily for administrative work, but the team’s main course of work would be in the medical office. Dr. Burke brings you down the hallway where you again hear the shuffles and faint shouts from the main courts. “The main gymnasium is just around the corner. The medical rooms are situated a stone’s throw away, for obvious reasons. You have a fully furnished space further down the hall, in between the medical offices and the locker room. For added privacy for your conversations, however thanks to your added experience, you’ll find yourself here or on the court with Iwaizumi-kun.” The doctor takes you around the pristine and sterile facilities, noting the rehabilitation and care equipment set up alongside private beds. Clearly the team has been doing well, and are supported financially. It’s good to see proper facilities set up to care for the players. Majority of the work falls within the Athletic Trainer role, since you’re fully licensed for psychological evaluations you can provide an added service. But essentially Iwaizumi-san and you would be a tag team pair. The doctor runs through the standard care protocol and shares where primary care on premise ends so that serious care is provided at approved medical facilities. Your hands are already full with the players’ files as he guides you back to the shared office space. “Iwaizumi-kun took all the careful notes in those files. His attention to detail has been a gift to me, honestly. Actually he used to play volleyball throughout his childhood as well. Quit playing after high school to study abroad for college, you should talk to him about that. Something for the two of you to bond over” he gestures to the files that you’re reading through at your desk. You hum in response, taking in carefully jotted notes in the margins of player statistics. Comments on postures, dietary restrictions, even tracked personal exercise routines to know where to adjust in facility workouts. Iwaizumi-san had begun to research cryotherapy equipment for budgeting pitches to the finance department it seemed like. 
“If it’s cryotherapy, I know a guy who can help us cut some of these estimates down. In fact one of the player’s is also close with him. We’re friends from -” cut off by a knock on the door, you both turn to see Iwaizumi-san walk in with a wave. 
“Sorry about my delay, I got caught up with Meian. What have I missed?” He notices the files in your hand and nods. “Catching up on the files? I hope my handwriting isn’t difficult to read, sometimes I can’t find my notebook in time and jot down what I can wherever I can.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he strides over to your side. You breathe out a laugh, assuring him his handwriting is neat and easy to read. You’re sharing some insight on cryotherapy research you’ve done, pulling out your phone to show him a presentation deck you had put together. Ducking his head down closer to get a look at your screen, he’s amazed by the amount of detail. Even noting slides that go into the benefits per muscular function of whole-body cryotherapy. It’s not often he meets someone who’s as passionate about the science behind the body. Glancing up at a ping on your phone, he can’t help but notice your wallpaper as it flashes by while you switch apps. “Was that…Talita Antunes as your wallpaper?” He peers over at you to see your eyes widen in surprise before you flash him the world’s biggest smile. A pang hits his heart, and the hand he’s resting on your desk to prop himself up slips a bit. Not fully catching your excited explanation about how she’s your favorite player. The room around him goes silent except for the thundering of his heart as you place your hand on his arm to show him some highlight clips of hers, impressed by the fact that you know her. Internally, Iwaizumi is making a note to buy Hinata lunch as a thank you, for drilling basic Brazilian beach volleyball facts into his head. Especially if it meant getting to see your amazing smile. A dimple popping up on one side, or the way your eyes fully crinkle to show that when you smile, your whole being exudes it. The sounds of the room slowly come back to his senses as he feels you gently pushing his shoulder. “Earth to Iwaizumi-san? Have I bored you to another dimension? Come on now, she’s too cool for you to zone out on me” You shake the man one last time, although shake should be used lightly. The trainer stood solidly, a body of muscle, needing a lot more force to cause movement. You couldn’t help but admire the sturdy feeling of muscle under your touch, shaking off the unexpected thought immediately. Taking your hand off him quickly to ensure you didn’t cross any boundaries, knowing the Japanese culture is a bit more conservative about physical touch. Hearing a soft apology, the trainer quirks an eyebrow at you, a silent ask for why. When you explain your thought on potentially making him uncomfortable, you’re met with a chuckle. “I told you he studied abroad right Y/N, he’s not bothered by that. Iwaizumi-kun lived in California for quite some time for his studies and clinical practices. Not as traditional as you think.” Dr. Burke calls out, after observing you both engrossed in your own world. It’s not often he sees his younger colleague be so carefree. Iwaizumi-kun has carried a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, especially in the early days prior to the doctor accepting the full time offer. He remembers watching Iwaizumi-kun work late night after night, taking on his own load of work so that he could go back to the hospital. Despite being the age of many of the players, he’s watched the young man carry himself with a maturity beyond his years. Although the two are close, he’s unsure if that’s his natural disposition or one he was made to mold into for personal reasons. But seeing him now, geek out about sports medicine knowledge, beach volleyball, and instinctually soften around you, warmed the older gentleman’s heart. There was clearly a natural chemistry between you two, whatever direction it goes in, all he could hope for is a happy one for the trainer. He had a soft spot in his heart for the young man, and knows that the Coach cared for the new recruit. Humming to himself, he brings his attention back to you both.
“We should be continuing her itinerary for the day, you know Iwaizumi-kun.” “Oh what? You haven’t given her the 360 degree luxury tour of our state of the art office? Well who am I to deprive her of that!” The trainer looks down at you and motions his finger in a circle; telling you to take a spin. “Luxury tour done.” A smirk plays on his lips watching you seriously take a spin in mock wonder, turning into a grin as you bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a laugh. He glances at the doctor with a raised eyebrow and a hand on the hip, silently asking what’s next on the itinerary. The three burst out into a fit of laughter from an exchange of looks, the sounds bouncing off the walls to surround the three. The moment is interrupted with a knock on the door, one of the assistant coaches peeking into the room. “Sounds like you guys are having fun, hate to interrupt that, but it’s time to meet the Jackals! Iwaizumi, can you please bring her when you’re both ready? We’ll see you in the main gymnasium” and just like he’s gone as fast as he was in the doorway. You gather yourself, turning to ask the doctor if you look nice. He flashes you a sincere thumbs up before making his way over to you. The doc gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder and a whisper of good luck as you’re pushed out the door to meet the players. 
“Why are you giving me that look?” You’re able to ask over your shoulder only to hear a soft “match their energy if you can” and a laugh before the door closes.
Iwaizumi-san has a stone cold grimace etched into his face. “Do I need to be worried? You both are absolutely not setting me up for success here” you poke at the man’s shoulder to try and get more information. “You’d think I’m being sent out to war with how solemn you guys are being. Is the team rowdy or something?” This gets a chuckle out of the man as he pushes open two large double doors into the court. “Or something” he replies quickly with a small smirk that vanishes in a second. The loud sounds of sneakers squeaking and players shouting take over your entire senses. A practice match is going on, the ball is rapidly being passed back and forth across the net. A player jumps to the side before jumping up to smash down a high set. 
For a player of that stature, a jumping height like that isn’t common. As if Apollo himself graced the court and grew wings to fly up to his perch in the sky. The whistle blows and the orange haired player lands on his feet with a heavy thump. Strong thighs easily absorb the shock of the jump to allow the player to gracefully stand up. Excited high fives with a blond setter are shared, cheers for a successful play. Hinata Shoyou. Gods, the matches on tv never do it enough justice. He’s always better in person. You can’t help a low whistle, coming out your mouth as you make your way to Coach’s side, unaware of the pair of watchful eyes from your side.
Iwaizumi looks down at you to gauge your reaction to the play. He’s used to dropped jaws or people stopped in their tracks when watching Shoyo play. He still remembers his first time watching him play like it was yesterday, and not more than a decade ago. Especially for a non-Japanese native who may not be familiar with all the players, the wing spiker’s jump must’ve been astonishing. But there you are, surprising him instead. Not an ounce of shock on your face but instead a giant grin and a fire in your eyes that he often sees in the players’ eye. 
“Someone has secrets to spill later” he nudges you with an elbow before taking his spot on the other side of Coach Foster. Before you can respond to the insinuation, Coach is whistling the team over. In front of you stood all the players, with the starting 9 rotation in the front. A handful of them grab their towels to wipe sweat off their bodies, and take a much needed water break. Thank you Coach for allowing me this opportunity to enjoy this eye candy. You praise the gods above for boys teams being able to play shirts vs skins practices, before a hand comes down on your shoulder. “Say hello to our new physical therapist, Dr. F/N L/N. I hope everyone read the introductory email that was sent out. A lot more of her background details are shared there. She will be working with Dr. Burke and Iwaizumi on the medical team. Make her feel welcome, she’s traveled a long way to officially join our team.” He pushes you out a bit in front of the group. “Don’t know what more I can add after that introduction. Especially if you’ve already gotten my full government records shared via email, from the sounds of it. But if anyone hasn’t gotten a chance to read it, feel free to come ask any questions. I am an open book. I’m practicing my Japanese, so any guidance is deeply appreciated if I make any mistakes. I’m in your care, I look forward to getting along with all of you.” You smile and bow to the team. 
The team runs through introductions and begins breaking out into groups to get back into practice. A few players linger back to chat with you excited for a new face in the group.
“Finally, a friendly and pretty addition to the team. Amen!” says the blonde setter you watched earlier. “We welcome your much needed presence on the otherwise stoic and unappealing sidelines. Miya Atsumu at your service.” He reaches his hand out with a wink. You shake his hand with a chortle “Whaaat? You’re telling me you don’t enjoy Coach Foster’s dashing looks and heart stopping smile? Come on now. Or is it that you haven’t earned his infamous dimples yet?” You quirk an eyebrow at the setter who’s looking between you and Coach Foster in shock. “DIMPLES??!” He’s immediately trying to force eye contact with Coach, who’s rapidly walking away with a grumble. Snaps his head back at you “You must tell me more. The beast of the ice land giving out smiles? What is this preferential treatment and how do we enjoy this Y/N-san?” “That’s Dr. L/N to you. Some of us are just born with it” teasingly you huff on your fingers, buffing them out on your shoulder “but I can try to teach you my ways, Atsumu-san.”  “Sticking it to you on her first day. I like her” Sakusa Kiyoomi flashes you a thumbs up, while Atsumu crosses his arms pouting on the side. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi, nice to meet you Doctor. Good luck fixing the mental psyche that is this kid trapped in a man’s body.” He gestures to Atsumu, and before you can break up the fight to say that’s not how sports therapy works, a boisterous laugh erupts behind you. The laugh bounces off the walls, the sound registering itself in a secure corner of your brain, holding tight so you don’t forget the sound. Scratching all the right parts. Everyone turns around to see Iwaizumi with his head back laughing before calming down to a chuckle. “I like her too, especially if she can wrangle some of you idiots this quickly. Dr. L/N is well equipped to be helping with training materials and guidance as well. She’s an athletic trainer first before you have to knock on her office door. We’ll be working together on a lot, make sure to pay attention to her and don’t give her grief…” he pauses for a second to look over at you, who’s got a strong grip on the back of Atsumu’s jersey to hold him back from Sakusa who’s found himself behind Bokuto. “Or give her all the grief. She can handle it” he finishes with a smirk and a pat on your head before walking off to assist the players on court. “....are we all going to ignore THE Iwaizumi Hajime belly laughing and teasing the new girl? Like we’re all going to scream about this at the welcome party right?” The large player protecting Sakusa, points back at the retreating trainer with his thumb questioning the group. Shocked nods from the whole group before returning their attention to you. You let go of your hold on Atsumu’s jersey with a huff.
“You guys keep mentioning a party but I haven’t gotten a proper invite. Who are you welcoming if I’m not there?” you chuckle looking at the boys. 
The large player steps forward with a hand outstretched “Bokuto Koutaro, feel free to call me Koutaro! I should be surprised that you didn’t receive your invite, but considering we left that to Inu-san, it all makes sense.” The libero raises his hands in the defensive “I mixed up the order of names in the email. I forgot the first name last name thing.” Bokuto shakes his head with a chuckle “We’ll be heading out together after practice, feel free to join us. Can’t have the guest of honor not join.” “It’s time to get back to practice, boys. You can interrogate the doc later” Hinata Shoyo pipes up. He’s got a playful smirk as he rallies the boys away from you. “Take the time you need to collect yourself doctor” he sing songs while walking away. You can begin to feel the prickles of heat at the tips of your ears after the boys leave. Iwaizumi’s head pat had left you stunned, the warmth of the gesture gave you butterflies. You were not sure what to make of any of it, but wanted to make sure you didn’t give anything away on your face. You thought you got away with it, but Shoyo always notices everything. I’ll deal with him later.
It’s not often that you get flustered, let alone from someone you just met. But Iwaizumi-san’s playfulness caught you off guard. From most of the reports from Coach Foster, the trainer was described as reliable, diligent, and stern. But the man in front of you was charming, attentive, respectful, and expressive. And extremely easy on the eyes. 
Despite being surrounded by all the players, you often found your eyes peering over at your colleague. Half the fun of watching the rest of practice was watching Iwaizumi-san in action. You observed as Iwaizumi walked around the sidelines of the court observing each practice group. Helping correct posture mid play to ensure safety. Check in on stretching sessions, to help players with new stretches that would better help pains they were dealing with. Eyes drinking in the sight of the trainer showing new stretches, bending down as each muscle in his legs flex. His shorts riding up slightly from the stretch of his thick thighs having you gulping a ghost of a frog stuck in your throat. Thoughts of your hands running across the expanse of his back before wrapping around his shoulders. Pausing your court observation to physically wave away inappropriate thoughts. Crushes aren’t a new concept but this was something you hadn’t felt since you were in middle school being hit with puberty’s wrath. 
It’s not that he wasn’t all the characteristics Coach had shared, he was all that and more. Often stopping by your spot on the sidelines to point out other players and their common concerns and where additional consulting later would be beneficial. Each time, Iwaizumi-san would make some type of contact with you, that would send you into a mental frenzy. Hand on the edge of your seat, fingers barely grazing your knee as he peered over your notebook. His shoulder bumping against yours as he pointed out certain players to you. Hands grabbing both your shoulders to turn you to bring your attention to a play happening across the court, grateful for your long sleeve shirt covering the goosebumps on your arms. Stand up girl, you are a grown woman!! You’re granted a respite from the internal chaos when Coach sends Iwaizumi to the captain to talk about player rotations.
Albeit your teenage heart palpitations, the rest of practice went smoothly. Iwaizumi-san and you had fallen into an effortless rhythm. After observing group dynamics and game play, you had taken notes on a few of the players. On your way over to the trainer to get his thoughts on some workout routine adjustments, your attention is brought to the court.
The team had been caught up in serve practices which was beginning to frustrate some of the players. Coach Foster had always advocated for every player running really difficult plays or shots, repetitively. Not only to build up a repertoire of skills, but he believed that the difficulty and frustration brings out a truth in how a player handles a challenge. Today he was keen on having everyone run hybrid serves, not knowing which serve he would call out mid jump. The purpose of the hybrid serve is psyching out the opposing team, and control of the court mid air. It always starts as a jump serve, but he would then call out other styles to see how well the players can control their wrist movements. It’s an exhausting drill, especially because Coach has upped the ante and placed a water bottle along the attack lines and boundary lines of the court. He was now calling out locations for the players to aim to hit. Although there were some successes, the majority of the players were missing the targets with incomplete serves from not knowing which command the Coach would call out.
At the moment of another missed target, a loud cry rang through the court. Everyone peered over to see that the usually calm Sakusa-san was bent over muttering to himself before turning to shout. “It’s not enough time! You’re not maintaining any pattern in the serve switches and the locations. No one can serve these ridiculous plays.” He was huffing with clenched fists, wild eyes scanning the Coach’s face for any reaction. Sakusa-san had been playing calmly the entire day, but you had noticed he often went to the side for individual practice. He’d often repeat the same plays for a long time before being called for a group practice. “You’re analyzing the serve too much Sakusa-san. Listen for the location, your grip will adjust to the serve style that matches the location.” The advice had slipped out of your mouth while taking notes. You hadn’t meant to say anything and look up to the group staring at you. Coach had a small smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. Realization dawning on you on the reason he was relentless with this specific drill for the team. But before either of you could express anything Sakusa-san interrupted with a short laugh. “And what would you know about this? This isn’t a matter of an injury messing with my psyche or some childhood trauma rearing its head. This is a matter of game play. I don’t need advice from someone who doesn’t know what they’re talking about” he sneered. You could see a flash of regret on his face after the outburst. He was at a peak of burnout from the intense practice, but Coach Foster steps in between you both. He tosses you a ball and points to the service line. “On my whistle” he demands. Years later and you still know better than to question him when that tone comes out. With a sigh you hand your notes to Iwaizumi-san who’s failing at controlling his face, a mix of concern and confusion. “It’s been a long time you old fart…if I embarrass myself…” he hears you grumble to yourself as you get in position. Iwaizumi carefully watches as the boys on the court make way and you stand a few feet behind the serve line. Gathering your hair up in a ponytail, you stretch your arms before picking back up the ball. Your entire demeanor has changed from the contemplative and playful person he’s been watching throughout the day. He doesn’t know why, but he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you walked into the office. Everything about you intrigues him, makes him want to know every detail about the person before him who’s full of surprises. Every time he thinks he understands, you shock him. 
Just like now, as he watches you crouch and nod to Coach. Launching the ball high, taking two long strides before jumping on the third step. And jump you did, pulling all the air around you, right out of his lungs, bringing the court to a still as you went up. Coach’s command for a float serve follows before the whistle shrill has fully faded. Then comes the location, left corner of the attack line. Your grip adjusts on instinct, waiting for the height to fall a bit before making contact with your palm evenly. Your eyes don’t leave the targeted water bottle as you drop down. The ball makes clean contact to topple the bottle with a reverberating smack. You land on your feet harshly, forgetting about the worn out shoes you were wearing. Losing your balance from the lack of traction, you feel yourself slip, but you feel broad hands slide under your arms catching you from the back. Back thumping into someone’s chest, you tilt your head back to see Iwaizumi-san flashing you the largest grin, lit up from the back by the overhead lights causing a light halo around him. Pretty. You can hear your heart beating in your ears from the sudden physical activity, but it picks up speed. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you slip a little and lean back into his chest for support. “Easy there tiger, I got you” he says, easily straightening you up. The casual petname sending you into an embarrassing spiral. Immediately turning your face out of his vision, you’re trying to regain composure. He’s checking to make sure you aren’t injured as you remember now’s not the time to be simping for your hot colleague. But it’s time to be pissed at a pompous old man who’s always got you marching to his tune. You scan the court finding the target for your death stare chucking on the sidelines. “A float serve you demonic maniac?! And if Iwaizumi-san here hadn’t been my knight in shining armor to catch me, and I busted my ass in front of everyone? Then what?” You’re shaking your fist at Coach, who’s chuckle has grown to a full laugh as he walks over. Despite his laughs, he makes sure to check your ok, chastising your shoe choice before turning to the shocked group of players. “Let me reintroduce her, Dr. Y/N L/N, former setter and a 2x Women’s World Championships winner. Now the Physical Therapist for the MSBY Black Jackals. My former player.” He proudly announced to Sakusa who’s gone pale. Arms crossed waiting for the shock to subside. Kissing your teeth you politely step in front of Coach to end the embarrassment, keeping at bay a swell of warmth over the pride he has in you. “Please don’t brag about me to literal Olympians and Pro players. I’m retired, rusty, not on their level and not here to teach them a lesson. But Sakusa-san, my advice was purely in reference to your exhaustion. You were overthinking. I apologize for overstepping.” You shoot him a reassuring smile and reach out with your fist as an extension of friendship. He bows and reaches out to fist bump sheepishly. “But next time you want to cut me to the core, pick something more truthful and scathing. I like a challenge.” You tease with a wink drawing a small groan from the player as he covers his face with his free hand. 
The court erupts with a thousand questions and comments all at once. A swarm of giant bodies covering you before you can step out of the danger zone. A bronzed hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out and into a familiar chest, thumping into Iwaizumi-san with a small huff. His other hand finds your waist to balance you; eyes look up into his olive ones that flash with an expression you can’t read. Clearing your throat, you glance at both his hands holding you, before he releases you with a quick apology. Hands up in defense, but his lips curling up into a smirk as the flush on your face grows. The lingering heat from his hand on your waist has every nerve ending in your brain going off. You mutter a thank you, shy now that the object of your disturbance was back to being front and center. No longer able to stop yourself from looking at him from top to bottom. Tall, dark, and handsome to a tee. Everything about him was broad and strong. Brain short circuiting just thinking of those same hands and body fully wrapped around yours, had you not had a modicum of dignity. Dignity be damned right now, may as well shoot my shot later. Brought out of your thoughts with a small cough from the trainer. “We can look at each other all we want tonight, but it’d be nice to talk properly and learn more about you. Especially so you can share any other secrets you’re holding on to Dr. Extraordinaire” he ruffles your hair lightly with a soft smile. Whatever witty retort on its way out your lips, caught in your throat, when he leans down to whisper in your ear “Can’t say I haven’t been enjoying checking you out the whole day too”. He relishes in the deep flush across your face and the tingle on his lips from grazing your ear. But when he sees your eyebrows furrow he panics a bit. Did he cross a line while caught up in the new feeling of butterflies in his stomach? Maybe he had read the situation completely wrong and you hadn’t been checking him out. Trying to gauge from your expression if he’s about to deal with a gnarly HR complaint, he sees your bottom lip stick out in a pout.
“You’re telling me I’ve been working hard taking notes all throughout practice to share with you when I could have been checking you out openly?” You swat at his chest before turning away from the man. “Coach definitely put my information in that intro email so not really a secret to spill if it was blasted out. Can’t fault me for no one reading it.” Your shrug met with Iwaizumi gaping at you. Rubbing the back of his neck before mumbling something about skimming the email, unaware how cute the whole moment is to you. Happy to know it’s not just you feeling nervous around the man, you throw caution to the wind. “Besides, I have way more fun secrets to learn than that, Iwa-chan~” you glance over your shoulder, looking up at the man through your lashes. Lips curling up into a coy smile as a light flush blooms across the man’s face from the choice of nickname sung out teasingly. The group of players snapping you both out of your bubble with the announcement of the end of practice and hitting the showers to get ready for the welcome party. You start to walk back to the office to grab your things when his voice calls out to you. “Hajime” You turn around to look at him. “Call me Hajime.” 
He catches up with you and gently places a hand on the small of your back to guide you to the shared office. “We can walk together, don’t want to waste another minute not learning.” He glances down with a smile hearing you giggle, a sound he pockets in a corner of his brain to hold on to forever. 
But definitely one he plans to hear throughout the night if he can help it.
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boltupbitches · 4 months
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One Kiss - Nick Bosa Part 5
Natalie rubbed her hands nervously down the front of her skirt, adjusting her top again and checking her hair in the mirror. She wasn’t certain why her fixation with her reflection had her holed up in the bathroom of her lawyer’s office, but here she was.
She had been ill the past two days, nauseous and weak. She chalked it up as nerves since today would be the day she would officially begin her divorce proceedings. It was nerve-wracking. She had a face full of makeup to cover up the dark eyes, but she knew the puffiness of her face was still there, no matter the cold compresses she applied to her face. ‘Probably my cholesterol or blood pressure from stress eating.’ She thought as she gently prodded her right cheek, watching the fullness of her cheek bounce back immediately.
Nick had been on edge as well. He couldn’t take off from practice in the middle of the season and instead settled with checking in on Natalie while at the facility. 
She knew he was worried about her, but she was starting to worry that her baggage was impacting his game.
—------
Nick had come home yesterday evening in a bad mood. He didn’t call like he typically did when getting out of practice and instead came right home, breezing past Natalie to the bathroom and shutting the door loudly behind him.
She wasn’t sure what was up with him but decided that working outside on the patio was the best bet until he cooled off.
About an hour later he made his way outside and squeezed onto the outdoor sofa, pulling her into him and breathing deeply.
After a while, he spilled about how he had gotten into a disagreement with a teammate who was making remarks about him being too distracted for their upcoming game in a few days. It turned into an exchange of words and both men ended up getting sat down in their head coach's office where they were thoroughly chewed out for their conduct.
Natalie remained quiet throughout his tale, not interrupting him and waiting when he paused for him to continue. After he finished, she gently pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and said, “I’m worried about you, Nick.”
He lifted his head off her shoulder lazily and stared at her with confusion, “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
“Well,” She started to say, biting her lip and thinking for a moment how to word it. “I just worry that all of my stuff is going to hurt you and your job. You have a contract extension coming up next season. I don’t want to contribute to your distractions.”
Nick sighed and sat up, rubbing his hands over his face and staring blankly ahead at the setting sun in the distance.
Natalie quietly packed away her laptop and folder, promising herself she’d finish up her work tomorrow.  She was still bundled in her sweatshirt as she shivered at the cold sensation from the evening breeze. 
Nick had noticed and pulled her gently into him, wrapping his warm arms around her as he pulled her into his lap. He pressed a kiss to the corner of her draw, moving across her cheek with gentle pecks until he pressed his lips into hers, his lips coaxing entry as his hand snuck into her yoga pants. He pulled back and stared into her hooded eyes with his own. “You’re not a distraction to me. You keep me focused and you give me a purpose outside of my career. Don’t ever think you’re hurting my career. Let me worry about that shit.” He pressed his lips into hers once more.
Natalie pulled back and nodded softly, her body already humming the second he pressed a kiss to her jaw. His fingers dancing along her panty-line wasn’t helping the heat pulling between her legs.
It didn’t take long until they were back inside with Natalie sprawled out naked on the couch, her back arched as Nick pumped his fingers into her cunt, his tongue pressed against her clit as he teased her to completion. 
She didn’t have to wait long until she felt the tell-tale sign of her orgasm approaching, her legs raising and her back tensed as the band snapped.
Nick had wasted no time lapping it all up, making sure to keep eye contact with Natalie as he sucked his fingers clean of her essence.
She eagerly rode him the second he sat down, her legs trembled as she mounted him. She had cried loudly as her legs burned and shook with the force at which she was bouncing on him.
At some point, Nick had picked up that she was tired and slowing down. His hands held her hips firmly as he took over and bounced her on him, a smirk on his face as he heard her incoherent cries of pleasure and pleads for him to go harder.
And that was how their night went, Nick keeping her distracted from her divorce lawyer appointment, and her giving him the physical touch he so desperately craved when not in her presence. They were a mess, but they were a mess for each other.
—----
“Well,” her lawyer, Matthew Stern, sighed loudly. “This is quite the predicament. I am impressed with the amount of work you’ve put in to gather evidence, Ms. Collins.” He stared at the financial transactions in his hands, “You say that he has been funneling this into another fund?”
Natalie nodded. “I believe so.. He has a child on the way with his mistress. I found out through social media, but I have not confronted him directly on the matter yet. I think the money is either for the child or for him to keep hidden if we divorce and he’s taken by the mother of the child for child support.”
“It’s always a possibility, and not the most shocking one, unfortunately. Much more common than you think among divorcing couples.” His face pulled into a frown. “Mr. Bosa mentioned that you had some safety concerns as well.”
“I’m sorry?” Natalie asked in shock, “I..um.. Mr. Bosa?”
“Yes, Nicholas Bosa.” He gave her a knowing look. “I spoke with your boyfriend this morning before you arrived. He mentioned covering the fee for all of this and brought up a few things he thought would be helpful. A nice man, Ms. Collins. I’m glad to know you have someone on your side in this whole ordeal who is supporting you. It won’t be easy if the husband decides to contest and drag this out in court, which seems likely.” Mr. Stern explained in a matter-of-fact tone.
Natalie nodded dumbly, her brain still processing that Nick was somehow now involved, by his own volition, in her divorce efforts. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling in that moment. Anger? Sadness? Hurt? Embarrassment? Frustration? It was a toxic cocktail of feelings that she choked down along with the bile rising in her throat. 
“Excuse me, I think I’m feeling sick,” Natalie said nervously, standing and gripping the arm of the chair she was just sitting on as she swayed forward for a moment, her head suddenly feeling light as the room started to spin slightly. 
“Ms. Collins!” Mr. Stern shot up nervously and made his way around his desk to help steady her. “Let’s sit you down.” He helped her back down and yanked a trash can over to her in case she threw up.
He quickly whipped out his cell phone and called his secretary in immediately. “Stay with her,” He instructed as he stood up, “she looks like she’s going to pass out. I’m calling an ambulance.”
Natalie was sitting there in a daze, a cold sweat breaking out as she leaned forward and heaved into the trash can, her skin clammy and pale as she shook. 
The secretary held her hair back, trying to keep Natalie steady as the woman slumped more into her seat. “Ms. Collins?” She asked nervously. 
Natalie couldn’t bring herself to answer as her eyes closed and darkness consumed her consciousness.
—---------
The steady beep was the first thing that Natalie noticed, followed by the all-familiar smell of disinfectant that let her know she was in the hospital.
She squeezed her eyes tightly before opening them, her eyes blinking as she took in the darkened room with just a sliver of light coming in through the doorway. Shifting, she flinched as she felt an uncomfortable tug on her wrist and looked down to see an IV set up in her arm.
She wasn’t dreaming. She really was in a hospital room. “What the fuck?” she called out, unsure of what the hell was going on in that moment.
“Nat?” a deep voice asked drowsily. 
Natalie turned her head to see Nick sprawled out on a pull-out recliner next to her bed, his large frame barely fitting on the furniture as he had a blanket draped over his shoulders. He must have been sleeping. 
Nick blinked a few times before quickly coming to fully and leaning up to turn the light on above them.
Both of them blinked in shock at the sudden brightness. “Fuck, sorry. My bad.” He groaned out, turning the light off again. “I don’t know how to use these switches in here. I’ll buzz for the nurse.” He mused as he reached for the call button and pressed it.
Natalie said nothing as she pressed her head back against the pillow beneath her. “The last thing I remember was seeing my lawyer at 2 pm.. What time is it?”
Nick checked his phone and said, “10:00 pm. You’ve been sleeping this whole time. I got you moved into a private suite until you’re discharged. There was no way in hell I was letting you out there to get sick or something if you had to share a room.” He said as he put his phone away.
Natalie nodded, not wanting to push back against what Nick said just a moment ago. She was just glad that the spinning sensations and nausea were finally over. “How did you find out?” She knew he wasn’t on her emergency contact form.
“Mike Stern called me as soon as the ambulance took you. Gave me the hospital name that he got from the EMT. I was just getting out of the facility when the call came through. I quickly got here. They wouldn’t let me see you at first. Thankfully, Stern’s assistant rode along in the ambulance and had your stuff. I had to use your phone to call your mom to get permission for them to talk to me.”
Natalie groaned. “You spoke with my mom, Nick?”
Her head was starting to hurt and her heart rate went up a bit, making the monitor beep loudly.
Nick leaned over and rubbed his hand down her cheek, “Woah, woah. It’s ok. Your mom was nice about everything… She said she’d talk with you more about everything when she flies in next week.”
Natalie nodded and looked away, blinking back her tears. She was frustrated that more and more people were getting involved in all of this. This was one thing she wanted to handle herself. She wanted to tell her mom at a later date.
Nick noticed her silence and opened his mouth to continue talking when a knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in.” He called, his eyes still glued to Natalie’s sullen frame. He reached up and turned the lights on, wincing at the brightness now alighting the room.
“Mrs. Collins?” the doctor asked as she moved out of the doorway and allowed the nurse in behind him who moved to Natalie’s side and proceeded to take her vitals.
“That’s me.” She said flatly. Her head was killing her and at this moment, she couldn’t find it in her to fake friendliness. 
“I’m Dr. Kenneth and I’m in to speak with you about your condition. I heard you passed out today after experiencing a few days of nausea and weakness. Is that correct?” The doctor moved to her side and sat down on the stool in the corner of the room. 
“Yes. I was at an appointment. I haven’t been feeling well, but I figured it has been due to a stressful situation I’m dealing with in my personal life.”
The doctor’s eyes darted to Nick and back to her, a silent question there, asking for assurance that she was safe. 
“Oh - no, I’m ok. He’s my boyfriend.” She rushed to explain. “I’m going through a divorce currently with my estranged husband… and it’s just been a lot on me.”
Her doctor nodded along. “Have you been experiencing anything different with sleeping, eating, or your menstrual cycle?” Her eyes glinted knowing behind them.
“Um.. not really?” She was unsure, worried where this line of questioning was going. 
Nick had caught on as well and had perked up in his seat, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to hear more.
“Ms. Collins, my reason for asking is because we noticed something with your blood work. You results came back that you are pregnant.” She spoke softly.
Natalie just stared at her blankly, not understanding what she was saying to her. “I’m sorry. I’m what?” 
“You’re pregnant. How far along, we aren’t certain of course, but it appears to be early on in the pregnancy. Which explains the bouts of nausea, exhaustion, hypersensitivity to sounds and light, and the extra stress.”
She stopped speaking and stared at the couple in front of her.
Natalie was clearly in shock.
Nick? He was staring at Natalie, more specifically her stomach area tucked under the blanket. There were tears in his eyes as he wordlessly reached up and wiped the corner of his eye, catching the stray tear that was streaking down his cheek.
“I’m going to go ahead and leave you two to discuss the results. Other than the pregnancy discovery, Mrs. Collins, all of your other labs came back fine. Please be careful with your stress as it can exasperate symptoms and put additional stress on your system.” 
She stood up and reached out to shake Nick’s hand, gripping his large hand tightly as she offered him a close-lip smile. “Congratulations.” She turned back to Natalie, “Please give us a call if you need anything additional. We are going to keep you tonight just for observation to make sure you’re okay and aren’t experiencing any signs of further fainting spells.”
After the doctor left with the nurse, the room was silent once more, save for the rapid heart rate and breathing of the two in the room.
“What are we going to do?” Natalie asked him, her eyes unsure as she searched Nick’s eyes. “Nick… this isn’t the right time.” Her eyes teared up. “There’s so much going on with my divorce. This isn’t a good time.”
Nick nodded and lowered his eyes, not wanting her to see his disappointment at the reminder of reality. Their situation wasn’t ideal. A 5-month affair with a married woman wasn’t on his bingo card for 2022, but here he was. A soon-to-be-father wasn’t planned either.
Yet he was conflicted. He wanted this more than anything. He wanted to marry Natalie and have children with her. He wanted to come home to a family of his own. He wanted it more than he wanted a Super Bowl ring.
For the first time in his life, his career felt so minuscule to the feelings he felt with Natalie in his arms. With her, it was tunnel vision. He thought of her every morning and every night. Whether together or apart, she was on his mind. The books he read or the tv shows he watched, he thought of sharing them with Natalie.
He didn’t realize that he too was now crying softly, openly as the tears poured down his cheeks. He felt frustrated at the circumstances that surrounded their relationship.
In a perfect world, he would have met Natalie, an unmarried woman. They would both be happy at the unexpected news of a baby. She would have met his mom already and had dinner with his dad and stepmom. She would have met Joey and his grandma.
But right now, right now was reality. And reality wasn’t so warm and inviting to the idea of this fairy tale.
Nick wiped his eyes and looked back up at Natalie, forlorn but with understanding behind the pain in his eyes. “I’ll support you, Natalie, in whatever you decide.” His words hurt to speak aloud.
Natalie was crying with him, gently reaching her hand out as an invitation for him to come closer to her. 
Nick got up and crawled in next to her, carefully tugging her against his chest, careful of her IV as he held her shaking frame. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, closing his eyes and breathing in the faint smell of her shampoo. Her face was pressed into his sternum, the fabric of his shirt damp from her tears.
They were heartbroken and unsure, but they had each other. Whatever Natalie decided, she hoped he had meant it when he said he’d be standing by her. She couldn’t stomach the idea of losing him right now - or ever.
Nick felt her breathing even out as she slipped into a much-needed rest. He continued to lay there with her, not wanting to move her. Instead, he adjusted the blanket over the two of them as he stared down at Natalie’s sleeping form.
He hoped she’d consider keeping the baby.
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mymegumi · 11 months
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BLUE LINE BLISS ও NAGI SEISHIRO
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⠀ ⠀ ⠀ CHAPTER 01 : WARM UPS
summary: nagi meets with his advisor and doesn’t procrastinate (does) wordcount: 3.1k
⠀ mlist | next
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“nagi,” the man in front of him presses a finger to his temple and rubs, as if trying to clear a headache away, “you don’t seem to understand the severity of what I’m trying to say to you, so let me explain it more clearly.”
nagi’s hardly listening as it is.
his academic advisor called him to his office in a succinct email that he’d almost deleted from his inbox. though, he hardly checked his school email anymore since it was all just spam about giving the college as much money as they could.
for the last half hour, though, it seemed as though his advisor was suggesting nagi was on some sort of shitlist for his grades, but he just didn’t understand why—he wasn’t at this university because of his grades. he was here because he played hockey better than one percent of the other college students in the country—why did it matter if he had a few c’s or d’s in his classes?
“you’re flunking out of blue lock university.”
nagi’s head snaps up from where he was looking at a suspiciously shaped stain on the rug to his advisor’s face. he’s not sure he heard the man right because, sure, he flunked his last statistics test and he forgot to hand in the last three anatomy labs, but that didn’t mean he was failing, did it?
he takes the paper his advisor slides across the desk and glances over the neat prose spelling out the fact that he is, indeed, currently failing out of university. but, he swears has an explanation—the all-japan championship is steadily approaching and his coach has been pushing the team to practice as much as they can. so, nagi has been practically eating, sleeping, and breathing hockey for the last two months. he hasn't even had time to call home.
not that he really did that to begin with, but he’s thought about calling home before, and it’s the thought that counts right?
“am i getting kicked out?” the words sound small and pathetic to his own ear and he wants to crawl into his skin to get away from the situation.
“no.” his advisor sighs, hands leafing through papers before settling on holding out a small packet that’s been stapled together. “however, if we can’t get your grades up within the next month, you’ll be placed on academic probation and lose your starting position on the team.”
oh, absolutely that’s not happening.
“i’ve advised a lot of student athletes before and they’ve all struggled to find a good balance between their sports and their schoolwork. it’s going to be a lot of effort, but if you work for it, there’s a good chance you can get your grades up enough before they need to be submitted for the semester.”
nagi leans back in the chair, something sharp is pressing against his lower back from his backpack, but there’s a sense of relief that overwhelms him. for a brief second, he thought he’d have to quit playing hockey.
“like i said,” the man hands over the packet, leaning forward in his desk and nagi meets him in the middle to take it from his outstretched hand, “it’ll be tough, but unless you want to say goodbye to your hockey career here at this university, this is your only option.”
“i can do it.”
there’s no hesitation, because if it means he can continue playing the sport he loves, there’s nothing he won’t do. there’s not a universe or reality in which nagi isn’t playing hockey, and if in this universe, he has to do some extra work or suck up to his teachers a bit harder to keep playing, he’s going to do it.
his advisor’s lips quirk up slightly at his determined statement and makes a gesture towards the packet in his hands. “that’s the list of assignments i’ve managed to gather from your professors that you seem to be missing and can turn in late. you failed your last couple of tests in statistics and received similarly low marks on your anatomy quizzes as well, but a few of your teachers have offered to allow you to retake them on the penalty of a five percent markdown, no matter what grade you receive.”
nagi cringes again. hearing all of his academic failures stated so plainly makes him realize how heavily he’d prioritized his sport’s career and begins to regret not putting more effort in when the semester first started.
“now, i’m concerned that you’ll be too far behind your peers to be able to complete this work on your own,” his advisor’s brow furrows, endlessly looking over nagi’s files, “so i think the best course of action would be to get a tutor. i’ve written down the number of the highest ranking student of your major and they’ve agreed to help if you so choose, you just need to get in contact with them.”
a tutor?
as if it wasn’t bad enough that his advisor was all but kicking nagi out of the university, now he’s going to have to work with another student to get his grades up. this person could end up airing out nagi’s dirty little secret to the rest of the university and if anyone on the hockey team hears about this, the whole school is going to hear about it. he loves his teammates, but damn, do those guys talk.
“okay.” nagi presses his lips into a line, wanting to escape the room now that he’s been told everything.
his advisor, seemingly noticing nagi’s change in behavior, leans back in his chair and crosses his hands across his chest. “alright, nagi, you can go now. please reach out if you need anything.”
nodding, nagi gets up from the chair and opens the door to an empty hallway. he’s grateful for the quiet and lack of students as he turns down the hallway and heads back to the dormitories.
walking towards his suite, shared between him and several of the hockey boys, he adjusts his bag and stares at the packet in his hands. scrawled on the front of a post-it attached to the paper is a number, but no name.
“fuck.” saying it to no one but himself, nagi can feel the creeping sense of anxiety he had been avoiding as soon as his advisor had emailed him creeping down his spine. he’d known that skipping almost all of his classes was bad, but the full severity of it hadn’t really settled in until the quiet moments of him walking back to his room.
he doesn’t even listen to any music on the walk back to his dorm.
“hey, man, what’d your advisor want?” isagi’s sitting at his desk and typing furiously on a document, hardly looking up when nagi first enters the triple they share with barou.
nagi debates telling Isagi, because that’s one of his best friends and he knows he could tell the blue-haired boy anything without any sort of judgment in return, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to admit that he might not be good enough or smart enough.
he gnaws on his lip quietly. “some dumb shit about my classes for next year.”
isagi snorts, turning his head to glance back at his white-haired friend. “that’s good, mine just wouldn’t stop talking about how she was so impressed with her last student.”
nagi’s mind starts to wander now, as Isagi turns back to his ‘stupid fucking english essay’ and enters into his work mode. he really doesn’t want to, but he should reach out to the student his advisor had said would tutor him.
fumbling with his phone, and sitting on his bed and scrolling through tiktok for about twenty minutes longer than he should have, he finally pulls the packet from his backpack and enters the number into his messenger app.
to: new number hey, i’m nagi seishiro. my advisor said you could help me with classes.
pressing the little blue arrow before he can think better of it, he shoves his phone out of his hands and hops off of his bed. feeling a bit antsy now, nagi begins to tidy up his desk seeing as it’s become the home of all of his dirty and clean laundry from the last two or three weeks. piled high with practice jerseys and gym clothes, he finally tucks it all away into his laundry bin and throws his detergent on top of the dirty clothes.
no time like the present to clean his clothes and procrastinate seeing if the tutor’s messaged him back.
walking down to the laundry room, nagi ruminates on whether or not he made the right choice.
it’s not like he’s scared. he’s gone head to head with some of the best centers and wingmen in the country before, he’s not scared of one of his fellow students—especially not someone he’s never even met before. truthfully, the entire walk back to his shared suite, he was tempted to not even message the number his advisor had written down, since he was almost certain that if he really put his mind to it, he could just get all of his assignments turned in. it didn’t matter if the grades were a’s or even b’s, he just needed to get a passing mark on them.
but then he thought about how hard some of his hockey teammates had pushed themselves when it came to their grades. there were times that reo wouldn’t even answer his text messages for hours if there was a project that he had to work on. chigiri had even locked kunigami out of their room of the suite when the ginger had caused him to fall behind the schedule he’d made up in his head.
there were people that were fighting to keep their heads above water and keep their academic records clear and it wouldn’t be fair to them or to the team to keep giving such a half-assed performance. he wants to show them that they could trust in their teammate on the ice, and even in school. he doesn’t want a single of his teammates to pity him or his grades.
so, in actuality, he needs this tutor.
he’s not the best at studying or figuring out how to manage his time well. it’s how it was so easy for him to put school on his back burner when things were starting to get a bit more exciting regarding his practices and self-guided exercises.
when he gets back to the suite, reo and kunigami are sitting on the couch in the common room with a bowl of popcorn sitting in between them, the tv is channeled into an american hockey game and they’re both giving it their rapt attention. reo gives him a smile and a quick ‘hey nagi’ before his attention is back on the screen, and kunigami doesn’t even turn his head to look at him—though he does wave briefly.
his phone is still sitting on his bed when he gets back to the room, and as he moves to shut the door, isagi makes a noise.
“i’m done writing my paper, can we leave the door open for now?” isagi is still sitting in his chair, but it seems like he’s got his feet propped up on the desk with his phone sitting on his lap.
nagi leaves the door open and enters the room fully, putting his laundry on the floor in front of his dresser and begins to put his clothes away. coming from the common room is the sound of the american commentators’ voices and the faint sound of cheering as the game continues on. his phone doesn’t buzz.
“can’t believe that coach isn’t making us practice tonight.” isagi throws the comment out into the air, eyes downcast on his phone as he continues scrolling idly.
nagi nods, but remembering that his friend is currently screen-occupied, says instead, “yeah, any idea why?”
isagi makes a snorting sound. “no freakin’ clue, but I’m grateful for the day off. probably gonna go into town and just sit in the park or something.”
“you’re just gonna sit in the park?” nagi turns to his roommate and raises an eyebrow at him. damn, his phone still hasn’t gone off at all, yet.
“okay, probably not that, but, we’re free for the night, dude, isn’t that exciting?”
nagi waits a minute, just staring at his best friend as he starts to narrow his eyes. isagi stares back at him, the picture of pure innocence as he tries to figure out what nagi is scrutinizing him for.
“you’re going to the rink to practice tonight anyways, aren’t you?” he says it accusingly, hands folding his laundry lazily.
isagi slumps in his chair, chin pressing against his chest as he sighs deeply and loudly. “yes…”
nagi makes a tsk noise, shaking his head and turning back to his laundry. he wonders if his phone buzzing was his imagination or not. “the park’ll miss you.”
“practice with me tonight?” nagi knows that if he looks into his eyes he’ll see big, bright eyes with excess amounts of hope in them. he doesn’t know why isagi bothers with the puppy dog eyes, he knows that nagi’s gonna show up to the rink tonight either way.
“maybe. there’s a bruins game tonight i wanted to watch.” never one to miss an opportunity to give his friend a hard time, he plays coy. his laundry basket is almost empty now, and nagi begins calculating in his head what to do next. he thinks he deserves a good break.
“just watch a recording when we come back, i’ll watch it with you.” isagi usually always curls up in bed after practice, so for him to watch a hockey game with him afterwards means he’s serious.
“really?”
finally finishing folding his clothes, he glances at his phone resting amongst his sheets before deciding to continue avoiding it and laying on the floor instead. staring up at the ceiling, he interlaces his hands together before resting them on his stomach. he thinks about what exercise he should focus on at practice today.
“yes, really. if we can get bachira, chigiri and reo to practice with us, do you think kunigami would come, too?”
“probably not, but you can ask.” ever since he’d gone home to visit family, he’d been different. not in a bad way, but it was such a noticeable change that even nagi had asked isagi about it after kunigami had come back to the dorms. he seemed to hate extra practice with the team, now.
“we just need a sixth person for 3v3’s but barou went to visit family today.” the only one missing from the triplet, barou had noisily exclaimed that he was going to head home for the weekend after his classes on friday ended. he tearfully gave nagi a noogie and punched isagi so hard on the shoulder it left a slight bruise.
“is rin around?” nagi personally doesn’t see why everyone is so crazy about rin, but he guesses from an objective viewpoint the man is handsome and a damn good center.
“i’m not sure. i know him and sae go home most weekends, but i can see if he’s still on campus.” isagi sighs deeply as he gets up from his chair, crawling up the bunk bed he shares with barou before finally settling down in his bed. he frowns deeply before he says, “if we have to, i guess i could ask kaiser, but i really hope he doesn’t drag ness with him.”
“who the hell is ness?”
“doesn’t matter.” isagi shakes his head at nag admonishingly. there’s a brief pause before isagi says something again. “you can check your phone, you know.”
“what?” nagi blinks at isagi—had he really noticed?
“i mean, you’ve been glancing at it the entire time we’ve been talking. feel free to check it while we talk, man, it’s okay.” he gestures to the bed and stares at nagi, fully expecting the man to get up and get his phone.
not one to be under the scrutinizing gaze of his roommate, he peels himself off of the dorm floor and takes his phone off of his bed. unlocking the screen, he sees a few new messages. the first one he reads is your name, which he enters into his contacts, then followed by a string of miscellaneously subjected messages.
from: you nice to meet you. when do you want to meet up? is tomorrow at noon okay, we can go to the cafe on main.
nagi feels the pit of anxiety that had settled itself so deeply into his stomach start to unravel. he’s not sure what he expected, but he’s pleasantly surprised that you seem so normal and kind at a glance. he had mainly been nervous that you would be a stickler for the rules right off the bat and scold him for his lack of effort in school.
to: you that’s fine with me. i’ll try to be over quick since we have morning practice, but i’ll let you know if i’ll be late?
he pauses, hands hovering over his screen as he worries at his bottom lip. nagi normally doesn’t have issues texting or conversing with people but this is such an unusual experience for him that he can’t help but get a bit anxious all over again. to err on the side of caution, he types out another message quickly before sending it.
thank you for helping me.
“who’re you texting all serious like that?” isagi raises an eyebrow at nagi as he furrows his brows at him. “someone you like?”
isagi wiggles his eyebrows at his last sentence, accompanying it with a little back and forth of his shoulders and hips that makes him look reminiscent of a worm. the image of isagi as a worm makes nagi snort and he tries to cover it up by pretending to cough. from the glare isagi is shooting him, though, he doesn’t think it works.
“uh, not really.” nagi wasn’t prepared for his friend to start asking questions. he doesn’t really want to tell anyone he got a tutor yet—or at all—so he just purses his lips as he turns his head away. he hopes isagi will forgive him for lying. “it’s no one important.”
from: you that’s fine. if you run late, you owe me a coffee.
nagi rolls his eyes with a small smile on his face. already he can tell that the two of you will at least be able to be friendly with each other and he’s hopeful that this experience won’t be more mortifying than it already is.
he’s too preoccupied texting you back to notice isagi trying to see what he’s doing.
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pedge-page · 15 days
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Personal thoughts / rant time below cut :
It's been a while since I had a good cry but last night was a big cry. I was thinking about how my fam were all talking about our performance reviews and my mom said she got 5/5 from her boss, and nothing less was expected given she works like 16 hours a day and is generating millions of dollars for her company that was on the verge of bankruptcy. My sister has hers yet to come but she too is extremely quick and has been working exceptionally hard at her job despite so many changes in her team forcing her to take on more responsibilities and learning on the fly.
Meanwhile I joked i got 3.8 or maybe 3.5 on my review out of 5. My manager has 4.2 listed as minimal expectations so pretty clear I'm performing below standard. Didn't really want to think about it so much when I had my performance meeting a month ago but it was the first time I mentioned it to my parents.
They got quiet and asked my sister to get me a new job since clearly I'm not reaching "my full potential". Not really sure why she keeps saying that when it's blatantly obvious I am in fact, not very much good at anything. She asked If I got a raise and I asked why would I get one?
I may have gotten a couple hundred dollars increase (from like 40,500 to now 41,100 salary I think as of this year. Was never discussed to me but I just check my employee portal and I think that it went up but not sure If that was considered a raise, or the company wanting to help all employees with housing).
Either way, my parents are also aware I do don't really do anything most days of work. I wander around the house because I "don't have much work today" and it's true. I get done with my assignments and then can "study" courses that are part of my long term goals (which I spend pretty much all in office days doing because I'm bored) but that gets me exhausted since I haven't the capacity to "study" and genuinely retain information since high school really.
Anyway my parents have been telling me everyday to look for a new job, and also look for a masters degree (in anything but clearly business), and also look at volunteer work, and consider getting a second job on the weekends. She suggested a career coach but I've backed off from that because what use if they ask me what I want to do with my life --because my genuine answer is nothing.
I've barely given any of it thought because I just don't want to. I have no motivation to improve. I dont have dreams or goals in life. No abitions or passions. My "hobbies" dont really bring joy--they just distract me from my responsibilities. I'm clearly not good at anything and it feels like an insult every time my mom lectures me (every day for 2 years now) about my "potential" and "gifts and skills I need to share with the world" so i need to find a new job that challenges me becuase I'm so "smart" and "too advanced".
I have to avoid eye contact with her because it physically hurts to be told such BS especially since none of my family even know why my job or company is / does. Ma'am if I had such potential, it'd be in use. Plz stop.
Anyway. Big cry last night and scribbling in my journal what a useless (and fat--let's not forget fat) fuck I am and have been and always will be.
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octuscle · 8 months
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Working everyday sucks. I mean is this the life we dreamt of when we were young? I mean I had the choice between knowledge and sports. I chose the academic way but there are days I wish for another chance to decide. Working with my body instead of my brain would be cool. Is there a Chronivac program to solve this problem?
Dude, I understand you so well. I mean, you're in-house counsel at your company, 48 years old…. Got 20 more years to work. The peak of your career is probably right now. Damn it! If you would have made the right decision at the right time… I'll choose the setting "Become younger with simultaneous modification of the past". Means in clear language, you become now each hour a year younger. And at the same time you have dedicated yourself one year more to a career as an athlete. Whether you end up as a gold medal winner, Formula 1 champion or coach of a soccer team in the district league, I can't tell you yet. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you.
Friday morning, 6:00 a.m. At this time you feel like an old man. Your back has been better. But trust me, in a few minutes you will feel better. Your mind is already off the weekly meeting in the shower. They're on the runs you're planning for the weekend. By the time you sit down to breakfast at 7:00 a.m. (raw vegetables, sugar-free muesli, low-fat quark), you already feel considerably fitter. You sold your car a year ago. Your new bike was almost as expensive. And now you ride it to the office like every morning.
09:00 a.m., weekly meeting of the department heads. Since you've been doing more sports, you love Casual Friday. Your tight suit pants fit snugly and your rolled-up arms show off your tanned, wiry forearms. Three years of hard training are having an effect. It's certainly helped your career, too. Most of the other department heads are not only fatter than you, they are also much older.
The morning goes well, at lunchtime you can convince your colleagues to have sushi. Normally, they always go out for schnitzel at the brewery on Fridays. Then you would have had to take a salad again. And a non-alcoholic beer. Okay, that would have worked, too. But in the meantime it causes you physical pain to watch how some people maltreat their bodies. As you brush your teeth in the office after lunch, you grin very contentedly in the mirror. You are now 40 years old. But as a rule, everyone thinks you're younger. Triathlon and soccer have gotten you out of your post-college slump over the past eight years. And now you're the departmental Adonis. One of the youngest department heads in the entire group. And an absolute winning smile!
The building empties out at 3:00 pm. But you don't just give your all in sports. When you shut down the computer at 6:00 p.m., all the e-mails have been processed. Yes, you are considered an absolute nerd. And you are. Ever since you graduated with your bachelor's degree 12 years ago, you've been working hard. In sports as well as in your job. Your promotion is only a matter of time. But that doesn't matter. You hang up your suit in your closet, stuff your shirt, shoes and knee socks into your backpack, put on your racing bike outfit and start cycling. You'd like to do another 100 kilometers tonight. Two and a half hours would be a good time… Sometime between 20:00 o'clock and 21:00 o'clock it makes click. You almost lost control of the bike. You are now just under 24 years old. And after graduating from high school, you decided to become a carpenter. The alternative would have been to study law. Like your father, like your grandmother, like your brother. But even though you weren't particularly talented at handicrafts, you wanted to do something completely different. Something physical. And fuck, that was the right decision. Today, at 33, you have your own business, plenty of time for sports, and certainly a much more relaxed life than your brother….
Now the changes come one after the other. The beginning of the transformation quickly reaches your 17th and 16th birthday. And the younger you are at the time of onset, the more serious the effects.
At 11:00 p.m. you lie in bed showered. It was a hard day. But you love your job. In the past, you would have dreamed of a different life. When you started playing soccer at the age of 14, you were already too old for the big career. Well, you were active in the second Bundesliga for a while. But now, as a physiotherapist and fitness trainer at a first league club, you're not dissatisfied. It pays pretty good money. And a bit of the boys' glamour falls on you, too. At least you get around a lot… You fall asleep at the thought.
Alarm clock rings like every day at 06:00 o'clock. You don't give a shit that it's Saturday. Could also be Sunday or Christmas. Drink a liter of water to detox, then run ten kilometers. At 07:30 your physiotherapist comes to the hotel room, 08:30 breakfast with the team. Kickoff for the soccer game is today at 8:30 p.m. Until then, light training, a yoga session and coaching with your social media consultant are scheduled.
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Let the haters make fun of the soccer millionaires. You've been fighting for your career since your foot first touched a ball. And you work a hell of a lot harder for success than any armchair farter who studied business, law or mechanical engineering. And that's why you will win today!
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here’s a request if you have time: ted giving y/n a massage?
AN: @tedssweaters wrote a lovely little massage blurb that everyone should go read. I already had this request in my queue and of course, I went in a different (read: horny) direction lol s/o to @jarfishy for the encouragement to finish this one early 😛 two fics in one day, who am I?!
Rating: Explicit
Tags: AFAB!reader, One-Shot, Sports injury turned very sexy, Smut, Porn with barely any plot, facefucking, fingerfucking, General sexy things
Fic masterlist
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You had been obsessed with football since you were little, your older brothers happily taught you every trick they knew while they dribbled circles around you until you were old enough to start playing against girls your own age. You had long since hung up your football dreams, though, focusing on a career in PR instead. But since you started working for AFC Richmond—and dating the head coach—you couldn’t help but want to get back on the pitch again.
Over happy hour one night you told the team how much you missed playing and they all tried to get you into a drunken round of footie on the Richmond Green, absolutely gutted when they couldn’t procure a football and the coaches told them it was too dark and they were too not-sober. But after that, the boys would occasionally drop by your office on a light practice day to invite you out and you started keeping some extra athletic clothes and boots under your desk.
“You sure it's okay,” you asked Ted each time you went to step out on the pitch, trying not to linger. Though your relationship had started completely unrelated to your employment, neither of you wanted anyone to get the wrong impression. The only people that were aware you were together were Rebecca and HR…and Keeley after that one time she had come back for something in her old desk and caught the two of you….indisposed. You had to admit the sneaking around was a little sexy, but it was a bummer in times like this when you wanted to drop a kiss on his cheek after he said, “of course! Go show those boys what-for.”
You were getting into the rhythms of playing, your lungs burning with exertion and a grin cemented to your face as you darted around. You raised a hand to Dani with a call of, “oi!” and sprinted to the ball to set yourself up for a corner kick. It felt good to score, even though you knew the boys let you have that one—granted they’d been out there for hours and you were fresh from your desk, no one could blame them for being a little slow.
You were taking the ball down the field when Sam called for a pass and you looked up for him just as O’Brien went for a slide tackle and you went down hard, with a pained grunt. Ted was hovering over you in an instant, you didn’t even know how he’d moved that quickly, and you rolled off of O’Brien and onto your stomach with a laugh.
“Jeez, I’m so sorry, you alright Y/N,” O’Brien asked with genuine remorse as he sat up on his knees, Ted right next to him his brow furrowed in concern.
“It was fair play, I’m perfectly fine Tommy Boy. Don’t apologize for that,” You went to get up but Ted stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.
“Don’t move yet, we should get you checked out,” Ted said and you looked at him like he was crazy.
“Ted, I’m fine. I’m a human woman, not a paper doll,” you laughed and Ted chuckled with you. “Just help me up, why don’t you?”
Ted held out a hand and you let him take most of your weight as you clambered up, took a step, and…shit that hurt. Not the worst you’d felt, but your thigh was cripplingly tight. You must have pulled your hamstring when you went down. Ted saw you grimace and his voice was frantic when he asked, “Woah now, what hurts?”
“Mmmf,” you grunted, “s’okay, just pulled my hamstring.” You gestured to your left leg and Ted’s hands were on you, squeezing with a pleasure-pain that made you groan as you braced yourself on his shoulder, not realizing how inappropriate this might seem to the players still gathered around. Coach Beard loudly and pointedly cleared his throat but it was too late.
“Coach, why don’t you work my hamstrings out like that, huh,” Jamie called out, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Roy shoulder-checked him but even he smirked. Ted blushed and removed his hands immediately. You needed to get him out of here before he started apologizing and making things worse.
“Where were you when I tore my butt,” O’Brien teased and all the players laughed at that. Ted opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.
“Ha ha,” you stuck your tongue out at Jamie and O’Brien mockingly, “come on, Coach, help me to the treatment room?” You wrapped an arm around Ted’s shoulders, your hurt leg in between so you could use him as a crutch as you limped off the pitch. He wrapped a hand around your waist to support you, being sure to keep his hand higher than necessary.
As soon as the treatment door clicked shut behind you, Ted had you wrapped tightly in his arms as if he had found you on the pitch half-dead. Thank god the actual trainer was out for the afternoon otherwise there was no way the two of you could explain this one away as platonic concern. You chuckled a little but let him hold you, his hands gripping your t-shirt as he took deep, soothing breaths.
“Ted?”
He didn’t respond but you could feel his fingers release just a smidge.
“Teddy, I’m alright sweetheart,” you whispered with light amusement and Ted sighed and let you go.
“I know, I know you just…gave me a bit of a fright seein’ you take a tumble like that. And I’m embarrassed on top of that for not keepin’ my hands to myself and almost blowing our cover. I should have told the boys to take it easy—”
“Woah, now, none of that,” you chastised, hobbling over to sit on a treatment table. “I may not have ever been a professional athlete, but I was an athlete. I know what it’s like to be knocked down, I know the symptoms of a concussion. Hell, have I told you my front incisor is an implant? Mum was pissed after that game.” You chuckled and looked over at Ted who was wincing. “Ah, come on now darling. You see people get hurt all the time. Scrapes and bruises are little badges of hon—”
“Not you,” Ted said, his voice tight and his hands fisted in his pockets. “I don’t see you get hurt all the time. It’s not because you’re a woman or because you’re not a professional or because I don’t think you can handle yourself, I just…I love you. And I don’t want to see the person I love in pain.”
Ted had never told you he loved you before and your eyes shot to his face, searching for any indication that he didn’t mean it, that he regretted saying it. But all you saw was the vulnerability of him offering his heart on a platter. You reached a hand out towards him and he stepped closer, allowing you to tug one of his fists from the pocket of his khakis.
“I love you too, Ted Lasso,” you whispered, holding his gaze as you leaned in and he met you halfway. It was easy to forget where you were and why when he kissed you like that, but when you shifted to widen your legs so he could step between them, the tug in your thigh reminded you and you grunted into his mouth, which was not the sexy sound he’d been anticipating.
“As much as I’m loving this very sexy turn of events, do you think you could get me an ice pack?”
Ted jumped into action with a smile and you slid off the table to remove your shorts so they wouldn’t get in the way, before leaning over and locking the door. Ice pack in hand, Ted turned and you could see the way his eyes lingered, but he remained focused on attending to your injury.
“Here, why don’t you lay on your stomach and I’ll hold this for you.” You did as he asked, and jumped when the freezing cold sensation hit your skin. “Did you stretch before you got out there?”
You gave Ted a sheepish look from where your head rested on your folded arms and he clucked his tongue at you. “Well if it’s alright with you, it might be helpful to massage your other leg while this one is healing to prevent this in the future. If you’re gonna be a member of my team, ya gotta be proactive in taking care of yourself, ya know?”
You smiled and nodded as he wrapped your ice-pack thigh in a towel so it wouldn’t move and stepped to your other side, rubbing massage therapy oil between his palms before he touched you. “Does that mean you’re letting me back out on the pitch, Coach?” You didn’t mean it to be seductive, but the two of you had somehow slipped into a mild coach-player roleplay, and the moan that slipped from your lips when he pressed down deep into the muscles of your thigh didn’t help.
“As if I could tell you no,” Ted responded affectionately, using both hands to grip your thigh and rub small, deep circles down the length of the muscle. He moved down to your calf, massaging slowly and humming a tune. He switched legs, skipping your injured thigh and going straight to the calf muscle and it felt like heaven, his hands warm and firm against your skin, his long fingers wrapping briefly around your ankle. He let go and you whimpered at the loss.
“How’s your back, love?”
“If I say ‘just awful’ will you keep touching me?”
Ted laughed, a full-bellied laugh that always made you giddy when you could pull it from him. You sat up and he helped you remove your shirt and bra before you laid back down, your arms to your side, and as he walked past your head for more massage oil you couldn’t help but noticed his tented khakis. You had of course felt like this was a rather sexy scenario, but you hadn’t realized how much it was affecting Ted too. He hadn’t made any untoward comments or touched you in any way that someone with a Sports Physiology degree wouldn’t. Knowing that his care for you was NOT centered on sex, that he couldn’t be distracted from looking after you just because you were mostly nude, only made you want to fuck him more.
Ted ran his hands over your back, gently first and then with more pressure. You sighed deeply when he hit the spot between your shoulder blades that always ached from working at a computer all day. He leaned closer so he could focus in on that spot but when his erection brushed your arm he quickly tilted his hips back. You wanted to tell him it was okay but you didn’t want to embarrass him, so you settled for letting him know how much you were enjoying the experience and maybe some not-so-subtle hints.
When his thumbs worked into your lower back, you spread your legs slightly and thanked your lucky stars you had picked gray underwear today. You knew he could see how wet you were by the sharp intake of breath you heard behind you.
“Feel good,” he asked, his voice a little strained, and you smiled over your shoulder at him.
“Very. What would you say if I asked you to get my glutes…Coach?”
Ted took a deep breath that he released as a groan. “I’d say we’d need to get these off.” If you could fist pump in this position you would. You were dying for him to touch you. Not that he hadn’t been, but there were certainly more sensitive areas that could use his attention. Ted removed the towel and ice pack first, letting his long fingers trail along your inner thigh and you shuddered in anticipation. He hooked his fingers in your waistband, slid down your underwear, and then…actually massaged your glutes.
It still felt amazing, but you wanted him to sink those very capable fingers into your core, to massage your clit until you were begging for release.
“Hey, Coach?”
“Hm,” Ted hummed. You couldn’t see him from this angle but he wasn’t tilting his hips back anymore and you could feel him hard against the side of your thigh.
“This is making me very fucking horny.”
Ted laughed. “Is that right? Is that you droppin’ hints that you’d like my hands…a little lower?”
“Well if you’re offering,” you joked nonchalantly as if you weren’t prepared to beg. Ted did slide his hands down but he didn’t immediately sink his fingers into you. Instead, he treated your vulva with the same care he had treated the rest of your body, a gentle but purposeful massage that made it hard to tell whether the growing slickness between your thighs was oil, arousal, or a mix of both.
“Fuck,” you whined as Ted’s middle finger parted you and made contact with your clit, but he pulled away and you grunted in frustration.
“Turn over for me darlin’.”
Ted helped so you didn’t bother your injured leg and though you were more than excited for him to go back to touching you, the real reason you felt heat pooling in your belly was getting to look at his sweet face, concern almost fully replaced with desire, his dimple deepening when his eyes locked on yours.
“Well, hello there,” you said softly and he grinned. “Appreciate the helping hand.”
“Anytime,” Ted responded as he ran his oiled hands up your belly to your peaked nipples, massaging your breasts and leaning forward to capture your moans between his own lips. You tangled your tongue with his, relishing in the slip of his fingers as he pinched at both nipples. He stood up as he trailed one hand back to its previous location. Done teasing, he wasted no time sliding two fingers into you and you tried to keep your reaction in check but you couldn’t help but whine, “Jesus, fuck Ted you feel so fucking good.”
“Shh, I’m glad, baby,” Ted said quietly, obviously not wanting to draw attention to what was currently happening in the treatment room, “just relax and let me take care of you.” He tilted his fingers up to find the soft spot inside of you that made your soul leave your body as his thumb found your clit, his other hand still alternating between your breasts. You were whimpering and whining and Ted was steadily trying to shush you but you didn’t know how he expected you to stay quiet when he was so expertly taking you apart.
“I…I can’t, fuuck, I can’t stay quiet baby.”
“You have to darlin’, you have to be good for me.”
“Mmm,” you complained but then you caught sight of his erection yet again and you ran your hand over it, smiling when he couldn’t help but press into your palm. You tugged him closer to you by his pocket, using both hands to work his pants open and Ted chuckled, “you’re just not going to let me take care of you, are you?”
You freed Ted’s length from his boxers and smiled up at him, batting your eyelashes. “I just thought something in my mouth might help me keep quiet.”
“Christ,” Ted whispered emphatically as you stroked him a few times. Somehow in all of this fingers had never stopped their slow fucking so you knew he was up to the challenge.
“You’re going to have to fuck my mouth since I don’t have the range of motion I normally do, think you can multitask?”
Ted choked on his spit and coughed, sputtering as he answered, “You’re going to be the absolute death of me.”
But it certainly wasn’t a no, and he did as you asked when you slipped the tip of him between your lips, moving slowly to match the pace of his fingers. You moaned against him, adoring the feeling of him heavy in your mouth, letting your tongue circle the seam of him when he pulled back and relaxing your jaw when he pushed back in. He picked up the pace of both his hips and his fingers and you were so close, your whole body pulsing with desire, your injury forgotten. And then Ted slid in a third finger and you were a goner, the stretch and pressure so overwhelmingly good the only thing stopping you from screaming was his dick in your mouth.
Thankfully, when he felt you clench against his fingers he stopped moving his hips, otherwise you surely would have choked. Your chest was heaving as Ted moved to pull out of your mouth but you shook your head no, leaning over to take him in hand before you released him for a gasp of air, stroking him swiftly until you could take him again. When you were ready you sat up slightly so you had more control and used both your hand and tongue to work him over, his chin tucked to his chest and his hand covering his mouth.
“I’m gonna…baby, I’m about to…” He tried to pull back, but you shook your head again and sank down as far as you could and swallowed, feeling him come down the back of your throat. Now it was Ted’s turn to gasp for air as you sucked him clean and released him.
“Can’t believe this treatment room is still haunted,” Ted said as he tucked himself back in his khakis, “you’re a goddamn succubus.”
You laughed as he helped you back into your clothes. The two of you had been missing from training for so long, you just cleaned up the treatment room and left the stadium hoping no one was suspicious. Ted shot Beard a quick text that he was helping you get home and got just a thumbs up in return.
-
A couple weeks later now fully healed, Colin stopped by your office and invited you out to the pitch again. You grinned and pulled on your athletic wear, tying up your boots before stepping out next to Ted. The two of you had decided it was long time to stop sneaking around, so this time when you asked, “you sure it’s okay” and Ted told you to get out there, you thanked him with a kiss.
Both of you looked around at the team confused when no one reacted and Ted cleared his throat, “Guess I should let y’all know that, uh, Y/N and I…”
“We know, Coach,” Sam called out with a smile. “And we’re happy for you both.” The team took to the pitch but you and Ted still looked at each other confused until Isaac came over and murmured, “Training room connects to the locker room. And it's not soundproof, bruv.” You’d never seen the color drain from Ted’s face so quickly, but you just followed Isaac out onto the pitch with a smile. It had been worth it.
And despite now knowing about you and Ted—way too much about you and Ted, it seemed—the boys didn’t take it easy on you for one second. Just the way you liked it.
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"Well, we're offically a family now." Normal au
this ended up being slightly to the right of pregnancy cause it's post Maisie being born but the scene just felt too cute not to lol
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|| prompt list ||
prompt: "Well, we're officially a family now."
au: regular
word count: 1104
warnings: hospital mention, breastfeeding stuff, girl dad jake at full force
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It was dark outside the hospital now, but Jake wasn’t entirely sure what time it was. And he didn’t even care. The thought made him chuckle as he sat back in the rocking chair. First time in his life he didn’t know the time and didn’t really know what was going to happen next — and he was completely content. He would stay right there in that moment forever if the world allowed it.
In that moment right then with his wife fast asleep and his newborn baby girl sleeping in the bassinet beside her.
Nothing else mattered besides that. Not the Navy, not flying, not his career that once seemed like the most important thing in the world. It wasn’t. There were more important things. 
Jake wiped at his face. He felt tired, the kind that made tears build at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t want to miss anything. Didn’t want to miss the way that red cheeked baby looked in that hospital issue bassinet. Swaddled tight in that white blanket dotted with suns and pink little beanie on her head.
Maisie Carole Grace — already so loved. 
The privacy curtain was drawn back gently. Nurse Taylor smiled as she looked around for who was awake, and her smile widened when she spotted Jake sitting in the rocker. 
“Hey, Mr. Seresin. I’m gonna have to wake mama and baby up to try breastfeeding one more time.”
Jake nodded as he got to his feet. “I’ll get Ronnie.” 
He crossed the room to the hospital bed while Taylor went around to get Maisie out of her swaddle. Jake smiled softly as he cupped Ronnie’s cheek. She had only been asleep for maybe thirty minutes, and even in sleep he could see she was exhausted. But getting Maisie to latch was important, and when they tried just a few hours ago the newborn had been stubborn, so they needed to try again.
“Hey, darlin’,” he spoke gently and she instantly stirred, nuzzling into his hand with a small noise of protest. “M’sorry, I know. But Nurse Taylor’s back.” 
Ronnie opened her eyes as she nodded. Brown irises rimmed red as she sat up a bit straighter. Jake retracted his hand to help get the sleep shirt they brought in the go-bag up and over her head. With Nurse Taylor, Maisie started to cry loudly at being so rudely awoken. Now unswaddled as Taylor lifted her from the bassinet. Ronnie whimpered as her breasts started to leak. 
“Alright, here we go,” Taylor said as she placed Maisie in her mother’s arms. “And after this we can do some skin-to-skin time with Dad, huh?”
Jake couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect. A grin stretching his features as he watched Taylor coach Ronnie through the latching process for the third time. He could tell Ronnie was starting to get frustrated, as Maisie squirmed and seemed to purposefully avoid her mother’s nipple all together. She sniffed, glancing up at Jake with tears brimming her eyes as she continued to do everything Taylor was telling her to. Except it just wasn’t happening.
Placing his hand on the back of her neck, he gave it a gentle squeeze. Ronnie looked up at him just as her first tear slipped down her cheek. 
“S’okay, take a deep breath,” he told her in a hushed whisper and she nodded. 
She sucked in deep, her chest expanding, and then she let it out slow. Then she tried one last time, nudging her breast lightly against Maisie’s parted lips. And then the newborn latched, cries dying in her throat as she began to suckle and paw at Ronnie’s chest. 
“Oh,” Ronnie gasped, smile wide as she brushed her thumb over Maisie’s head of blonde hair. “There you go, Maisie babe. God, that feels fuckin’ weird.”
Nurse Taylor laughed. “Yeah, feels different from the pump, huh?”
Ronnie agreed with a nod. Then she looked up at Jake with that same wide grin and he smiled, all warmth and love, back at her. His girls. His loves. He leaned in close and kissed the side of Ronnie’s head as he whispered his praises.
Once Maisie had drunk her fill, Nurse Taylor took back the newborn and looked up at Jake. 
“Alright, Dad, if you wanna take off your shirt and have a seat,” she said, nodding towards the rocking chair he was in earlier. 
Jake was quick to pull his shirt up and over his head, throwing in the direction of their go-bag without really looking. He noticed, as he strode across the room to sit down, Nurse Taylor look over her shoulder and give Ronnie an approving look. His wife just laughed, and Jake couldn’t help but smirk to himself. 
But the expression was quickly wiped from his face as Nurse Taylor laid Maisie down on his chest — draping the sun blanket over them both. She told him how to support her bottom and to lean back in the rocker just a bit. Maisie felt so small laying against him like that. He could fit her in one arm, carry her around like a football. And she was warm, nuzzling her face into his chest. When he looked down, he watched as her tiny hand wrapped around the chain of his dogtags. He smiled through the tears that blurred his vision as he kissed the top of her head. 
His little girl. His Maisie Carole Grace.
He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know what was going to happen next. But he loved his daughter. He wanted the world for her. He wanted to do right by her. And he knew he was going to screw up, he was only human. But he was going to try his hardest to be everything she needed him to be. 
When he looked up, Nurse Taylor was gone. He didn’t even realize she had left the room. And Ronnie was sitting up in bed with her phone camera pointed at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she quickly tucked it away with a guilty look on her face. 
“S’too sweet a moment not to,” she said, “At least I’m not your mom telling you to smile.” 
“Yeah, there’ll be plenty of that tomorrow,” he chuckled lightly, then he looked back down at Maisie with reverence and awe reserved for things most precious in this world. “Well…Guess we’re officially a family now, huh?”
“Hmm, guess so,” Ronnie sighed. 
Jake told her to go back to sleep, and he held Maisie against his chest until the sun began to stream in through the windows.
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