Just Another Girl Doing Stuff

Em | 27 | American | Not sure what I'm doing back on here but we will figure it out together

[emwritesfootball]

Masterlists by the numbers

Since I'm no longer taking requests and I didn't want to pin my other post, here are all my masterlists in one place.

Player Masterlist: A-H

Player Masterlist: I-Q

Player Masterlist: R-Z

Masterlist: Blurbs

Masterlist: Anyone You Like

Masterlist: Threesomes

Masterlist: Foursomes

Masterlist: Prompt Lists

Masterlist: Series

[littlechillis]

!! FOOTYBLR CENSUS - PL EDITION !! who is your main team?

arsenal

manchester city

manchester united

chelsea

liverpool

tottenham

aston villa

west ham

others/in the tags

check results

Voting ended onJul 9, 2023

rb for reach! 🥰

[ohmoonbeam]

JUNE’S READING LIST

☆ 1st - king of my heart [pt.1] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 2nd - king of my heart [pt.2] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf]  ☆ 3rd - king of my heart [pt.3] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf]  ☆ 4th - i dig your cinema // @helladirections  [harry styles] ☆ 5th - everybody knows // @tommyspeakycap  [football rpf] ☆ 6th - rúben dias drabble // @highdreaming  [football rpf] ☆ 7th - king of my heart [pt.4] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 8th - friends share // @0nlythrowharrybeaux  [harry styles] ☆ 9th - selfie partner - @rubendiasatl  [football rpf] ☆ 10th - king of my heart [pt.5] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 11th - bar crossed lovers // @atlafan  [harry styles] ☆ 12th - king of my heart [pt.6] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 13th - king of my heart [pt.7] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 14th - king of my heart [pt.8] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 15th - king of my heart [pt.9] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 16th - don’t answer // @melanieph321  [football rpf] ☆ 17th - your kiss, my cheek, i watched you leave // @10vnderhaze  [football rpf] ☆ 18th - the fight // @melanieph321  [football rpf] ☆ 19th - king of my heart [pt.10] // @chelseachilly  [football rpf] ☆ 20th - one night only // @sorceresski  [football rpf] ☆ 21st - hole in one // @ihearthes  [harry styles] ☆ 22nd - the handyman // @melanieph321  [football rpf] ☆ 23rd - palm trees and kiwis [pt.1] // @harrysfinelinevol1  [harry styles] ☆ 24th - palm trees and kiwis [pt.2] // @harrysfinelinevol1  [harry styles] ☆ 25th - the way he makes you smile // @rubendiasatl​  [football rpf] ☆ 26th - falling duet // @astranva​  [harry styles] ☆ 27th - protective jealousy // @emwritesfootball​  [football rpf]  ☆ 28th - extra credit // @havethetimeofyourstyles​  [harry styles] ☆ 29th - rich [pt.1] // @lukesaprince​  [harry styles] ☆ 30th - rich [pt.2] // @lukesaprince​  [harry styles]

[emwritesfootball]

This is so sweet, thank you my dear! 💕

[emwritesfootball]

Harry Winks to Leicester…my 2019 vagina will need a minute to process this one

[brutal-out-here]

Do you have a birthmark?

I have one

I had one but it’s faded away

I have multiple

I had multiple but they’ve all faded

I had multiple but one or more has faded/still have more than one left tho

Never had any

Voting ended onJul 6, 2023

[emwritesfootball]

nine people you want to know better ─ tag game ✨

last song: Boy From Carolina by Ashley Kutcher

currently watching: Psych (for the millionth time) + Bones (for the first time)

currently reading: trying to find a good sports romance that grabs my attention but having zero luck

latest obsession: Pilates + prepping for nhl cheerleader tryouts

Tagged by: @kostasstsimikass + @moneyymaseyy

Tagging: whoever would like to do this <3

[szobosz]

so i be out here minding my own business telling @emwritesfootball ab my day and she gives me the filthiest fic idea based on what happened today

[emwritesfootball]

Hehehe always xo

[emwritesfootball]

can you please post your footballers masterlist? cuz i couldnt find it

It’s my pinned post 😅

[emwritesfootball]

you can fight any footballer and win. who would you beat up and why??

AHAHAHA I would challenge Richarlison to a fight and wager that he has to room /that/ tattoo if I win because duh

[emwritesfootball]

you feed my delulu on so many levels. i love you

[emwritesfootball]

Just bought 15 tickets to the baseball game that I’ve organized with 14 of my favorite people and I’m very excited but omg never again

[emwritesfootball]

Imagine you and Kylian watching a movie, you rest your feet on his lap and he starts tickling your feet (soothing way) and you tell him you like it🫶🏼

Ohhh and then he starts to get a bit cheeky and rubbing your feet to find out what your sensitive spots are and smirking a little when you let out a moan. And then it sort of becomes your own little ritual whenever watching a movie: you put your feet in his lap and he gives you a foot rub 🥺

[szobosz]

champagne problems // rd x reader

summary: rúben’s celebrations lead to a hangover. and a whole lot of remembering one particular embarrassing moment aka rúben finds out he threw up in jack’s mum’s bag

not proof read. when is it ever?

thank you to @emwritesfootball for this idea. love ya!

the bathroom light is what wakes you up. the brightness seeping from the crack between your floor and the bottom of the door illuminates your bedroom just enough to bring you out of your slumber.

with rúben’s side of the bed still being cool, you know that it’s him and not a really shit burglar. since you were unable to celebrate with him, you drag your reluctant body from bed to join your boyfriend.

once in the en-suite bathroom, you’re met with a surprising and pitiful sight. rúben is crouched over the toilet, wretching.

‘babe?’ you call out before dropping down to stroke his head, cringing a little every time he gags. ‘i’ll get you some water. try not to pass out over the loo.’

returning to the bathroom, a cold bottle of water in hand, you open it and try to coax the neck of the bottle between rúben’s lips. he gulps down the water, most likely from the dehydration of celebrating with only alcohol.

after a few moments, he stands up, unsteady on his feet. sighing, you shake your head and take the toothbrush from his hands.

‘sit down,’ you point at the edge of the tub, rúben gripping onto the ledge to stop himself from falling backwards. ‘open wide, you big baby.’

‘i’m not a baby,’ rúben slurs, his word’s muffled by the fact you’re brushing his teeth. he spits when you tell him to and stays mostly on the edge of the tub. ‘eu te amo, meu amor.’

‘yeah, yeah,’ you laugh, pulling your large boyfriend up by the arm, the stench of alcohol reeking from him, and dragging him into the bedroom. ‘you need a shower but you’re too drunk right now.’

‘hmph,’ rúben groans, leaning most of his body weight onto you, shuffling along.

‘sit,’ you command, pushing him onto the chair. you strip him, noticing the small grazes on rúben’s back, a finger tracing over the red skin. ‘how tired are you, my love?’

‘mmmm,’ rúben groans and you are set on the fact that you will not be able to get him clean without an injury to either of you.

‘okay,’ you sigh, putting some pyjamas on your boyfriend before pulling his large frame into bed. ‘sleep well, champion.’

*

you’re awake before rúben is. his light snores fill the room as the sunlight floods through the curtains. carefully slipping out of bed, you walk to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water and some painkillers for when your boyfriend does wake up.

checking your phone, you’re met with an unusual message from your friend

not your boyfriend throwing up in jack’s mum’s bag 💀

excuse me??

ederson said he had two shots and chundered in jack’s mum’s bag

gawking at the screen, you can’t help but laugh just a little, knowing your poor boyfriend would be horrified to find out what he did (if he can’t remember it, himself).

a low groan from your boyfriend snaps your attention back to him, watching as he slowly rouses himself awake.

‘good morning,’ you sing, trying to surprise a giggle as rúben throws his arm in front of his eyes to block out the light. there’s no doubt he’s hungover. ‘there’s some water and painkillers for you.’

slowly, rúben turns to find the two items you had promised, eagerly chugging them down. you crawl back into bed, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

‘how much do you remember about last night?’ you tease, gently stroking rúben’s hair.

‘not much, meu amor,’ he admits, one hand holding yours, and the other rubbing his forehead.

‘do you want to know?’ the teasing tone in your voice only increases, forcing out a groan from rúben, followed by a plea for you to stop being so loud.

‘what happened?’ rúben asks, his voice raspy from the sleep.

‘well, according to ederson, you had two shots and threw up in jack’s mum’s bag,’ you laugh, unable to stifle the giggles.

rúben groans once more and buries his head in your lap. he urges that you stop laughing so loud as it’s making his hangover worse but you can’t help it.

‘i need to apologise,’ he groans, head still buried from the embarrassment.

‘yeah, but before you do that, you need a shower,’ you remark.

‘i’m hungover. i’m your boyfriend,’ rúben starts, looking up at your amused face. ‘you’re meant to be nice to me.’

‘yeah…’ you pretend to think. ‘i could. but it’s far too much fun seeing you like this. you should get drunk more often.’

‘don’t you love me, meu amor?’ rúben brushes his hand against your thigh, gently tickling you until you giggle, not caring about his headache. ‘i’m your boyfriend.’

‘yes, but i’d love you far more once you no longer stink of champagne and sweat,’ you poke his arm and rúben responds with sending you a disarming smile.

‘come shower with me?’ rúben proposes, his hands sneaking below your top and resting on your waist.

‘i’ll need to. and then i’ll need to change the sheets since i couldn’t shower you last night,’ you pretend to huff, arms folded over your chest.

[emwritesfootball]

Yesss here for this!!! 💕

[curiousthyme]

your work is just 😩

I also have a request: maybe something where tsimi is giving an interview and someone mentions his bracelets and he’s just super proud to show them bc one was a present and another one has like the readers initials

Hope it makes sense. You can also change the request, mix it with another one or whatever you want. Feel free to do everything you want with it.

Thank you! <3

Thank you for the compliment! <3 This was such a beautiful idea and I just ran with it. I hope it’s even a little of what you were hoping for!

the stakes are high, the water’s rough (but this love is ours)

{reader x kostas tsimikas}

Warning: smut ahead (because what else do I write, really?)

He was your last interview lined up for today, and you were surprised that he even appeared on your list of interviewees. You hadn’t been at the job long, and having spent the last five months entertaining the likes of football players on the lower rungs of the English leagues, it was certainly a step up to interview a premier league footballer - and a Liverpool one at that.

Kostas Tsimikas. You smiled at the name and took a quick glance at the photo they’d included with his biography. He was pretty, with curls smoothed back and a single gold hoop in his left ear. The look on his face, though, fascinated you. It was a candid shot of him looking right at the camera in a way that reminded you of silk sheets and flushed skin. He was downright gorgeous, and that did not bode well for your already shot-to-hell nerves.

You had a set of routine questions that had been fed to you by your producer, and you glanced at them - professional, direct, but so, so boring. You’d done your own research and found that beneath the sultry gaze of that single photo laid a man who was so full of vibrant energy. He practically lit up any room he entered, and was such a powerfully understated part of his team’s dynamics. That was the man people should get to know, you thought, and he wouldn’t be unearthed from these mundane, routine questions.

As you settled into your interview chair, you tucked back a loose strand of hair and wished you had a glass of wine to take the edge off your nervous energy. You shuffled your cards and ran shaky fingers across the edge of them, hoping the interview would be quick and painless.

You felt him enter the room even before you even saw him. There was a change in the air, somehow, and as you turned to catch a glimpse of him, you felt your heart race. He was even more handsome up close, with his angular jaw and the warmest eyes you’d ever seen in the flesh. He flashed you a charming smile, and you offered your own back, feeling your heart thud in your chest.

The sound guy was still fixing him up with a mic, but Kostas didn’t take his gaze off of you, which made you all the more nervous.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met,” he said to you, his eyes flitting over your name card. “But I think it’s my lucky day to have such a gorgeous interviewer, no?”

You felt your cheeks heat at his compliment, but you laughed it off as if it didn’t bother you. “You charmer. Should I call you Mr Tsimikas?”

He grinned. “I don’t think we need to bother with formalities. Call me Kostas.”

You nodded and watched as he clapped the sound guy on the back when he was done, and thanked him heartily.

Your producer initiated a countdown for the interview, and you leaned over to ask, “Are you ready?’

He nods. “Of course. Go easy on me?’

You smile. “No promises, Kostas.”

As your producer gives you the quick countdown, you straighten your spine and give the camera your practiced smile. You make quick introductions and thank Kostas for coming on today’s programme, and he smiles back warmly, acknowledging your welcome with his gratitude at being invited. You trade questions about his club’s league position and his experiences in Liverpool thus far, and he offers back his own passionate tirade about his love for his club, and his desire to see it succeed and for the boys to clinch the quadruple. His eyes glow with such a genuine happiness when he talks about Klopp and his many friendships with the boys, and you can tell it’s almost like a family for him.

“I can see that you’re good friends with Mo Salah.” You grin, “Any headway made for that Salah contract? If there’s anyone who can sway him, I’m sure your persuasive charm would be more than able to have him put that pen to paper.”

He winks. “Well love, I’m working on it. But Mo will be fine, and he’s committed to seeing us through, one game at a time.”

Your producer whispers in your earpiece. “Tame down the flirting already.”

You shoot him a sharp look as if to say it’s not your fault that Kostas is flirting with you. You clear your throat and toss out another question. “I have to ask about the celebrations in the dressing room after your Carabao Cup win. Could you tell me about the atmosphere in that dressing room, and also about your role in the celebrations?” Instantly the screen fills with a sea of red men, dancing and laughing and cheering, with Kostas in the centre doing a strangely tribal dance around their trophy.

He laughs at the display and his eyes turn warm, and you can see that the memory is precious to him. “My first cup win at the club. It’s got to be special, no? I see that cup and it was like all my body wanted to do was to dance around it.”

You chuckle. “Is that what it’s like in the Liverpool dressing room these days? Lots of dancing and 90’s music?”

“Oh no…” he shakes his head, laughing. “I mean, we laugh often and together, and sometimes we’re dancing and playing Virgil’s playlists, but we put in the hard work and we commit 100% to everything we have to do. I think to play in the boss’s style you have to be very mentally strong and ready to press. But in return you get so much loyalty from all the boys and it’s just a very big sense of unity. Each day, they inspire me to get better.”

“You look much stronger than when you first arrived,” you say, unable to keep the admiration from creeping in.

“That’s very kind of you to notice.” He smiles, running a hand back over his hair. “It’s been a different kind of play here compared to Olympiakos - very physical and demanding. I think I still have a way to go, no?”

He drapes his hand over the armrest of his chair, and you hear the soft clatter of his bracelets that wind around his wrist. You glance at them, a question already forming on your lips. Kostas notices your pointed look, and before he can retract his hand, you ask, “You’ve been pictured wearing these bracelets all over your Instagram page, and sometimes even in matches. Care to shed some light on what they are and what they mean to you?”

Kostas blinks, looking very much caught off guard with your question. You start to worry if it’s the wrong thing to ask about, but then his eyes crinkle up with a smile on his face as he looks away, contemplating his answer. Instinctively his right hand crosses over to touch the leather bands, and when he finally looks back at you, his voice is steady and sure. He holds up the darker one to show you. “This one is a present from my mother. Keeps me humble and connected to my family when they’re so far away. I know she’s always thinking of me and when I wear it, it makes me feel close to her.”

The red one, he doesn’t seem as ready to talk about, but he presses on anyway. He looks you in the eyes and offers a shy smile. “This one is carved with special initials for my girlfriend’s name. I had one made because she’s such a big part of my life - always pushing me to be my best self and loving me selflessly.” You spy the gold lettering hidden in the intricately wrapped band and feel touched by his sentimentality. “When I score a goal for Liverpool,” he promises, “I’ll kiss this band and dedicate it to her.”

You can’t help but smile. “I bet she’s a lucky girl.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, and a stray curl falls over his brow. “I’m the lucky one, really. I don’t deserve her at all. But I want her to know I love her and I’d choose her, over and over again.”

It’s unexpectedly affectionate declaration, and your heart melts at his earnestness. You glance at your producer who gives you a thumbs up, as if to urge you to continue. But how can you, with such a sweet and touching display of love?

You clear your throat and offer the last two questions about his hopes for the rest of the season and for the next five years of his career. As the producer signals the close of the segment, you thank Kostas for his time. He gets out of the chair and you’re hit with the scent of him - a woodsy, sweet cologne that you instantly love. He leans over and says, “That was one of my favourite interviews I’ve ever done.”

It’s high praise, given that, in your experience, football players tended to hate interviews. You brighten up and allow yourself to admit, “Me too.”

He flashes you a dazzling smile before he leaves and says, “I hope we get to do it again someday.” Before you can respond, he’s ushered away by a producer who’s asked him to sign a few items for charity.

All that’s left is that lingering scent of him, taunting you in the empty space where he once sat.

—

When you slip into your dressing room later on, the lights are already on. You don’t think much of it, because you’re too busy trying to file away your notes from today’s interview. As you tidy, you hear someone clear their throat behind you, and you turn in surprise.

In the corner, sat on your favourite plush sofa chair, is a familiar stranger with warm eyes.

“You scared me, Kos!” You chide, putting your hand to your racing heart. “How did you even get in here? What if someone saw you?”

“Shhh, my love.” He clicks his tongue and signals for you to come to him, and you do. You’re eager for his touch after spending an entire interview falling in love with him over and over again.

He pulls you tenderly into his lap and strokes your hair, his fingers feather-light as his nose rubs against yours in an affectionate way. “You were playing with fire with that bracelet question, sweetheart.” His lips brushes yours as he speaks, and you feel your heart leap at the closeness of his hot breath on you. “I thought you wanted to keep us a secret.”

You take his fingers and lace them with your own, bringing his wrist up to your mouth for a gentle kiss. He watches you in earnest, his eyes hungry for you, and you flick your tongue out to trace the delicate veins that you find at his wrist, beneath the bracelet that holds your name and the proof of his love for you. You kiss down his arm, loving the strength that you find there and the muscles that tense in anticipation beneath your roving lips. You gently suck at the inside of his elbow and he releases a soft moan of pleasure.

“Don’t tease me anymore, my love.” He begs.

You kiss him then, unable to restrain yourself from his irresistible pull. He gasps softly into your mouth as he cups the back of your head, sliding his tongue against yours in a display of urgency and wanting. You grind against him teasingly as the kiss becomes a wildfire: all-consuming and so hot you can’t think straight. So you abandon all logical, rational thought and reach down for the button of his jeans. He’s so hard against the zipper and you ease it down slowly, taking his cock out for you to stroke and touch.

You lean in to his ear and whisper, “All I wanted to do during that whole interview was to have this cock in my mouth.”

He puts an unsteady hand against your jaw as you start to work his cock. “In front of all those people?” He slides a hand up your dress and his thumb meets your aching clit underneath your panties. “Baby, that’s far too naughty.”

You let out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t care who saw. Fuck, I wanted you. You made me so wet with that profession of love.”

Kostas leans his forehead against yours, his gaze a perfect mix of tenderness and lust. “You know there’s no one else for me. And I meant every word.”

After this, there are no more coherent words between you two. His cock slides into you easily and you love being atop him like this, feeling him press against the inside of you where you’re the most sensitive. You accept him readily, letting him fill you fully and that sensation of being so closely intertwined with each other is one that’s unparalleled. No one else completes you the way he does. You sink your teeth into his shoulder as he thrusts up into you, muffling the sounds of pleasure that spill from your lips freely. You both get sweaty against each other, panting, breathlessly holding on to each other, each determined to get the other one off first.

Kostas wins, of course, as he always does, with his skilful fingers rubbing your clit in that teasing way you love. The combination of his cock inside you, and his thumb working your clit sends you over the edge in a way you didn’t know was possible, and you feel a rush overtake your entire body as he makes you come so, so hard. He kisses your neck and sucks a hickey into it as his cock throbs inside you, fucking you through your orgasm, and you feel that telltale sign that he’s close - so close. You squeeze against his sweetly invasive thrust and moan into his ear brokenly, begging for him to come inside you.

He grunts out filthy words when he comes - your favourite thing, especially in his accented voice that goes gruff at the point of orgasm. You hold him through the aftermath, your tongue tracing the bead of sweat that collects at his nose as he shudders against you. He breathes heavily, like he’s just finished a 90 minute match, and you feel that rush of satisfaction knowing that you’re the only one who’s capable of making him feel so satisfied.

“This has been my favourite interview.” He whispers, kissing the top of your forehead as you melt against him.

You smile against his chest, pressing a gentle kiss to it. “You’re welcome to sit in my chair any time, love.”

—

It’s been madness at work, but writing really takes the edge off. I so appreciate the asks I’ve been getting (I’m sorry I can’t write for all of them but I’m trying!). Feel free to send me feedback or any other fic ideas. Any errors (bracelet-related or otherwise) can be hopefully pardoned!

If you enjoyed this piece, you can find other fics here.

[emwritesfootball]

Fucking hell this was sexy as shit omggg 🥵

[curiousthyme]

why would we ever do something instead of (falling into the bed right now)

{kostas tsimikas x reader}

on a cold winter night, a broken heater issue is resolved by a warm, available roommate and his soft hoodie

warnings: making out, some bad words {relatively tame; I’m trying to avoid nosebleeds}

The heater wheezes its last, pathetic breath and then, in the dead of winter, breaks down completely. You stir awake in your bed, shivering underneath the threadbare blanket that still held the comforting scent of home for you, and hoping against hope that the heat would somehow, miraculously, come back on.

You try curling into yourself, entwining your legs together, pressing your palms under each arm pit, but it’s no use - the cold seeps in, evil and haunting, past the thin blanket you keep over you. You contemplate getting up to put on more layers, but you hadn’t done laundry in a while and nothing’s remotely clean. Plus, you’d have to stand up in the midst of the cold, which would only have worsened the frostbite you were sure was already eating away at your toes.

You hear a soft knock at your door, and, armed with a flashlight, you see your housemate push open your door a scant bit. Despite the darkness, you can see the tattoos that run up his arm as he leans in to check on you. “You alright?”

“It’s fucking freezing, Kos.” You tell him, your teeth chattering as you tighten the blanket around you.

His face twists with concern, and he gently asks, “What do you need?”

“A fucking fire.” You joke, feeling like the room just dropped another ten degrees. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, and you don’t even bother to suppress it as you give him a look that reeks of desperation. “C-could you just… come here and lie down a bit with me?”

If he’s shocked by your request, his face doesn’t show it. It remains perfectly passive - professional, you might even say, if you were looking at it objectively. But he’s Kostas - your roommate since a year ago, when you posted that advertisement in the common room and he’d been the first decent person to apply. He is quiet and neat, and he’s very respectful of common spaces. Unlike your last roommate, he’s never had problems with rowdy and drunk friends, and when he does bring home women, he leaves a sock on his door and sends you a text as a heads up so that you can preemptively put in your noise-cancelling earphones.

It occurs to you that you don’t even know if he has a girlfriend, who might just murder you for propositioning her boyfriend. You crane your neck to look up at him, ready to retract your statement, but then he steps in through the door and you slowly start to feel a nervous, strange energy bubbling up inside you.

“Just for a couple of minutes.” He says, after a beat. He’s wearing a burgundy fleece hoodie, one that you know to be warm and soft because you’d borrowed it a couple of times.

You scoot over in the bed and allow him under the covers with you. When he notices your thin leggings and t-shirt, he immediately pulls back and frowns. “Don’t you have anything warmer?”

“I forgot to do laundry.” You shrug, “Finals week is killing me. The faster this Masters programme is over, the better.”

He nods, sympathetic. “You better borrow this, then.” In a swift move, he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it casually to you. You hug it, grateful for this new source of warmth that still holds traces of his body heat. As you pull it on, you smell Kostas, that delicious scent of something woodsy and sweet, wafting around you. It somehow feels more intimate than a hug.

“Thank you.” You hope he can hear the open sincerity in your gratitude. He’s got a thin t-shirt on, so you wave him closer into your body until you’re wrapped softly together, his head in the crook of your neck, while your leg curls over his hip. For a moment you lay in perfect, companionable silence, warming each other up as you press just close enough to share your heat, but far enough to keep (a somewhat) respectable distance.

“How’s your paper coming along?” He shifts against you, growing comfortable.

You pretend to gag and you can feel him quirk a smile, his cheekbone brushing against your collarbone. “You know how Prof Lijnders is. Always demanding a third, fourth, fifth draft. It’s never good enough, even though I feel like my research is going really well.” You rest your cheek against the fluff of his curls. “I also can never tell whether he’s genuinely pleased to see me or if he’s getting ready to tear apart my thesis.”

“I feel you.” He reaches up to pat you on the shoulder. “If you’re extending for summer school, I think you should sit in for a couple of sports science lectures. Jurgen’s one of my favourite lecturers.”

You almost choke. “You mean our Dean? Like, Dr Klopp? You call him Jurgen?”

Kostas shrugs. “You know he’s not formal like you guys. We’re like a family there.”

“I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be…” He yawns, a soft sound accompanying the gesture. “Jurgen works us to the bone. It’s brutal.”

You don’t suppose it’s a brag, but you have noticed the subtle changes of his body, muscled and tanner now, over the months that he’s been researching a regimented workout routine for his graduation project. He’s trialing this with a few professional footballers, and you know that it’s a point of pride for him to have his work taken so seriously.

“How’s it going?” You ask, offering him the opportunity to talk about his research. Immediately he seems to come alive with exciting tales of how he’s been working on particularly nuanced techniques that nobody seems to believe in (except Jurgen), and how one footballer in particular seems to have taken really well to it. He’s Egyptian, and apparently some sort of football god, but you wouldn’t know any different. Kostas’ eyes gleam when he talks about the man he calls ‘Mo’, and you can tell there’s a deeper affinity that’s grown between these two men than mere professionalism.

“I’m sorry - I must sound like a broken record.” He seems embarrassed to have spoken so extensively, but you are quick to offer reassurance.

“It’s fascinating stuff, Kos. It’s so nice to hear about your passion.” You give him a small little hug, and you see the relief in his eyes when he realises he can let his defences down and be completely, unapologetically himself.

“You know…” he says, “you’re not too bad a roommate.”

“High praise indeed.” You shake your head. “I feel like I deserve more credit for putting up with you.”

“I’m offering warming services. For free.” He gestures to his hoodie, “And I’ve never complained when this goes missing for weeks on end.”

“Oops.” You say, not at all sorry. “I just love how soft it is.”

“I’ll buy you one if you like it so much.” He promises, “you can have your own.”

“No but…” you start to say, but then you hold back.

“But…?” He looks at you expectantly, a ghost of a smile on his face, as if he knows what you’re about to say.

You hold his gaze. “Well… it doesn’t… I mean. It won’t have that worn, soft quality that yours does. Nor will it have that little frayed edge that I love to rub between my fingers when I’m stressed out. It calms me.”

He contemplates all these quietly, not saying a word.

You hesitate a little before you tell him, honestly, “And… a new hoodie won’t smell like you.”

He looks up at you at this moment and you can swear his gaze turns so, so soft and dreamy. Suddenly the cold is the furthest thing from your mind because you’re looking at his handsome face with the wide-eyed, open sincerity that you see reflected in him. You’re so aware of how close you are pressed up together.

“Funny.” He scoops up a handful of his hoodie on you and slowly pulls you down so that you’re facing him. “I was just thinking how my hoodie always smells like you when you eventually remember to return it.” His gaze darts down to your lips briefly. “I will miss that scent if you were to get your own.”

“I suppose…” you whisper, leaning in a little closer. “… we could have joint custody of said hoodie.”

He flashes you a smile. “I can draw up a schedule.”

You play along, nodding in agreement as you pretend to extend your hand. “Shake on it?”

He extends his hand, and you think he’s going to take yours in a handshake, but he pushes your hand away and puts his palm against the soft curve of your face. His touch is more than just warm - it skirts this invisible line of friendly and sexy and your breath catches at how intimate this is all becoming.

“How about a kiss?” His voice has dropped a register, deeper than you’ve ever heard it.

You give him the tiniest nod. “Please.”

Kostas doesn’t rush the kiss. He presses his mouth slow, soft against yours, and you make a little sound at the back of your throat. You like this, so much, because he moves with such an unhurried pace that the kiss feels luxurious. His hand moves to slide behind your ear as his thumb strokes your cheekbone, making you suddenly crave more of his gentle touch everywhere. As a first kiss between you, it doesn’t get more tender than this.

He breaks the kiss abruptly when your hands come to rest on his bare hip, where his shirt’s ridden up. “Oh shit,” you whisper, panic seizing you as you withdraw. “I’m sorry. Did I… Was I…”

“No. Not at all.” His arm pulls you back in, closer. He places your hand back on his hip. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the right page and… I just wanted to take things slow, if that’s okay.”

You nod. “Of course. But can we… kiss?”

His grin is so infectious as he parrots your words back to you. “Please.”

This time when he kisses you, it’s different. It’s so much more. He rolls you onto your back and leans over you as he kisses you, this time with more fervency than before. His mouth opens against yours and his tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip as you open up to let his tongue in, sliding against yours. Those languid kisses earlier quickly turn passionate and heated. He takes your hand on his hip and moves it up beneath his shirt, letting you pass over the ripple of his torso to land squarely on his chest. His heart is fucking racing and there’s a thrill inside you, knowing that you did that to him. You grow breathless against him, desperate for air and for endless kisses with him, and you never want to let go.

“Kostas.” You whimper, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat as if to say, yes, me too. The air is so hot between you two, and you feel desperately, utterly consumed by him. By the end, you’re both panting, completely aware that you have to stop before this goes way, way too far.

He gives you one final, lingering kiss before he pulls away totally. “I should let you sleep.”

“Stay with me.” You plead, and he looks vaguely torn, but eventually he gives in, scooping you into his arms and he curls up against you.

“Just five more minutes.” He insists, and you nod, already feeling warmed up enough to fall asleep.

Eventually the combination of your body heat, the comforting smell of you in his arms and the softness of you encased in his hoodie is too inviting to pass up. He ends up staying the whole night, and you don’t mind it one bit at all.

—

Okay. My writer’s brain broke for two weeks and refused to work so I had a thousand WIPs (including that sexy Greek holiday that I promised @peekapeaches I’ll be writing but it’s taking forever and I am trying but failing to complete.)

Eventually I caved and wrote this to completion because I needed to get something out (and it’s just a bit of a mess but but it is what it is). It’s a cute little thing and I hope you like it too! {I don’t really know what picture / gif to accompany this so I’ve put a placeholder. if you have a suggestion please send it my way!}

Been hearing a lot of plagiarism in the community recently and I just feel so angry on behalf of anyone who’s had their work stolen. I’m sorry if you’ve been victim to any of this, but I hope it never makes you give up writing the beautiful things you write.

~ivy

More stories here

[emwritesfootball]

I- ooof this was so perfectly tender and sexy and 😩😩😩 I am unwell

[inkskinned]

most of the time, it is okay. most of the time im grateful for the internet and social media and cell phones and and and. 

but sometimes, you see a little girl doing her makeup for twelve thousand instagram followers. she’s nine. sometimes you see a man breaking up with his girlfriend for youtube likes. sometimes you are standing in a room and are in the background of fifty snapchat stories but in nobody’s actual lives. 

it’s mostly okay. but so many of us grew up in a time where they basically ignored the internet while teaching us cursive in school. digital literacy was “don’t look at wikipedia”. none of us knew what the next generation was being set up to. we taught ourselves our own rules. many of us, it didn’t come soon.

it’s mostly okay. but the other day, i asked my freshman students: if you could, would you go back in time and take the internet away from yourself in middle school? if so, when do you think is the right time to be exposed to social media?

over and over: yes. yes. yes. i’d go back and never look up those skinny tips. i’d never spend so many weekends in the dark in communities that encouraged me to self-harm. i’d never lose my brother to radicals. i’d never, i’d never, i’d never again.

it’s mostly okay. i’m posting this on social media. but sometimes, you know. i wonder what exactly we’re doing.

[marzipanandminutiae]

I feel like many young adults naysaying this don’t understand just how different their- our -Internet experience was as children from what today’s kids deal with

I wouldn’t take the Internet away from myself in middle school. because it was 2004-2008 and the sum total of my Internet usage was reading Nightmare Before Christmas fanfiction, watching Flash videos, making crappy MS Paint base edits, and looking up Mediaeval Baebes lyrics. on a desktop PC. I occasionally talked to people on forums (I had a Gaia Online account for a while), and I emailed or AIM-ed my friends, but my social media access was nil. No MySpace, no Facebook, no nothing.

to think that that’s even remotely comparable to constant, highly normalized use of multiple social media apps that are driven entirely by a desire for ad revenue, AND which live on a device you are expected to take everywhere with you…how?

[emwritesfootball]

whatever man (because it definitely had to be a man) decided that curly hair looks more fancy/professional/etc should be shot and killed if he isn't already dead