And I want to congratulate the people of the Netherlands, this is how you support you team, you fill the fucking stadium.
Women’s football is growing, and I am so exciting.
Despise the critics we are going up up up!!!
A/N: First time writing Jason and it’s borderline smut, what does that say about me? ….. Who cares!
Could you do a Jason Blossom imagine where they haven’t been dating for that long (maybe like a month or 2) and one day he sees her at cheer practice and can’t control himself lol and his sister ends up cockblocking him
What a fantastic tournament this was. For me I enjoyed it more than some previous WC and Olympic tournaments because so much talent was on display but it was as a team + the predictability factor women’s football often sees disappeared. It speaks to how fast the women’s game progresses once nations invest in girls and women (Austria comes to mind as well as many other nations starting to grow and compete) and how fun it can truly be. Lots of qualifying to do for everyone but I can’t wait for 2019.
NED were fantastic all tournament and were so fun to watch. So much talent all over the pitch and had many ways/threats to beat you. Also full credit to Wiegman–not every former player translates to a good manager and she out coached everyone in this tournament and got her tactics spot on - especially vs England/Sampson. This will be a moment lots of young girls will never forget seeing them win - much like the USWNT in 1999. Also as we’ve seen from Canada in 2015, playing at home/hosting and winning the whole thing is incredibly difficult and NED always looked like they were up for the challenge. They’re also a young squad so I can only imagine how good they can become in 2019. The big nations will always have the access to a huge pool of talented players but at the end of the day what matters is how you develop those players to compete on the world stage. I also think it’s interesting how lots of the players in this final got out of their comfort zone and don’t always play in countries they represent. I do think sides like France could benefit from players branching out.
Denmark gave it everything they had and credit to them. They had a fantastic tournament and should not go home feeling too disappointed. Nadim and Harder worked incredibly hard. Like van de Sanden, Martens, Miedema, etc, Harder is such a joy to watch.
Again, great tournament - from the play on the pitch to the crowds. From the Euro to the ToN it’s been a fantastic few weeks for women’s football.
Because I’m not entirely sure if I can get something done for tomorrow’s prompt in time (since I’m still lacking ideas and will be gone for most of the time), I decided to do the second prompt of Day 3 instead (for now).
(Or maybe this is just my excuse for writing Taichi and Yamato shamelessly ogling each other in front of a whole audience off NASA employees and reporters.)
I dedicate this to @terresdebrume because we’re both in love with Yamato being fluent in many, many languages :D
Pairing: Taito/Taiyama/Taichi x Yamato
Word Count: 1478
Summary: Taichi thinks that he has a right to see his boyfriend after he has spent four months off on a mission in space. The NASA and a hungry-for-answers crowd of reporters seems to think otherwise by organizing a press conference right after the return of the astronauts. Refusing to give in just like that, Taichi talks Yamato’s dad into giving him access to it - fully intending on distracting his boyfriend a little.
I know Jack likes football and even wanted to be a footballer, but I don't know if he supports a specific team. Do you know anything about it?
oh my god what’s happening i feel like i’m being quizzed on crucial jack lowden knowledge lmao
um i have to confess to basically not knowing anything about jack apart from the fact that he’s scottish and that he’s 27 years old. and I’m horrible at english/scottish football teams, seeing as I’m from scandinavia (and not at all interested in football… more of a volleyball/ice hockey/winter sports kind of girl)
She could never remember exactly how they found out, but it was something they’ve always seemed to know. The glares, sharp whispers, harsh words, cruel pointing and sadistic laughter were things she had gotten used to. Garnet had gotten shit since day one for having two moms, so she was used to it too. Pearl, however, was another story.
American football player Damen and bitchy head cheerleader Laurent.
Laurents uncle being head of the university they both attend and cutting funding to the cheerleaders because he’s a douche.
And when Laurent complains to him, the football players are there, and someone (probably Makedon) is all cheerleading isn’t a real sport.
And obviously Laurent has to not cut a bitch.
Damen has been crushing on Laurent for ages but unsure how to talk to him.
So when suddenly Laurent is all up in his grill like, so you’re dumb team thinks they can do what we do so easily.
Poor Damen has no idea what to do, except he finds himself agreeing to whatever Laurent is saying and suddenly they are in the middle of the bet.
The cheerleaders have to do a days worth of Football practice, and the football players have to do a days worth of cheerleading practice. Everyone has to make it to the end of practice.
The losers of the bet have to go out onto the field in the other teams uniform, and declare them the superior sports people and the next home game.
IT IS ON.
So the next day the cheerleading team shows up to football practice. Laurent in rolled up joggers and a t shirt that is about 3 sizes too big, hanging off his shoulder and showing collar bone. Damen almost swallows his tongue.
Anyway Damen gets both teams in order, and they start off with sprints. Most of the football team thinks this will kill off the cheerleaders quickly. But they get through it barely breaking a sweat. Next up passing practice and more sprinting. And just more and more and more. The cheerleaders finally look sweaty and tired but so is the football team and practice is almost over.
Damen just shrugs like he doesnt really care less about the situation. (He doesnt he just cant believe hes almost sort of having actual conversations with Laurent, I mean its mostly strange threats that could also be sexual innuendo, but its something!)
When Makedon and Nikandros step aside and reveal one of the dummies that youre supposed to tackle and push down the length of the field. They have smug smiles, knowing that the majority of the cheerleaders are small and lithe and not built like the football team to push it down field.
Laurent just raises a single unamused eyebrow, looks behind him and nods his head at the apparatus. The cheerleaders part as a dude bigger than the other cheerleaders makes his way through, looks at the dummy, shrugs and then proceeds to push it the entire length of the field by himself.
The entire football team stares, mouths open. Pallas can be heard beside Damen breathing out “dibs”.
“Lazar was a high school football player, but then he decided he preferred fucking football players” Laurent smiles, like the cat that just buried the canary under your pillow for you to find later.
And with that the cheerleading team head out.
The next day the football players head to cheerleading practice. They got this. They can do this.
Damen shows up in a white test top and a sweat band round his head, keeping his dark curls out of his eyes. Laurent does a double take when he sees him, and get a smug smile off Damen for it.
They start with stretching. The cheerleaders bending over backwards (literally) and doing the splits, and lifting their legs behind their heads. The football players can barely touch their toes.
Then they do sprints.
Then long distance running. Ten laps of the field. By the end of that most of the football players look like they want to die.
Then they start practising dance routines. Laurent at the front calling out moves and counting them in. The football players are fumbling all over the place, tripping over each other and their own feet.
Damen can’t keep his eyes off Laurents ass, he has a problem.
Jord is dancing circles (like literally dancing around him in a circle) around Nikandros.
“Youve got to move your hips, you know how to move your hips dont you” And then swanning off laughing as Nik tries to resist the urge to strangle him.
“Come on guys, its not that much different from memorising plays for the field” Damen calls out, but he knows they are losing and badly. At the end of practice half the team is on the floor, in sweaty heaps. Even Damen has to down half his water bottle using the rest to pour over his head in an attempt to cool himself down.
“I guess you win, I think you killed my team though” Damen says approaching Laurent. It takes a while for Laurent to move his gaze from the see through material of Damens vest to his face.
“Next game, you guys can use our spare uniforms, and tell the whole school we are better than you” Is what he finally says.
“An acknowledgement rightly won” Damen says all smiles, managing to elicit a soft slightly surprised smile from Laurent.
The next home game, the football team delivers as promised. Running onto the field is the small blue and gold skirts and vests, shaking pom poms. Damen shouts into the bullhorn;
“We are here to tell everyone about how cheerleading is a very legitimate sport, they train much harder than football players, and they are superior in every way to us”
Jokaste is filming the entire thing on her phone, and Lazar cant seem to stop taking picture of Pallas’s ass in a skirt. (Pallas is totally shaking his skirt up on purpose). Laurent just watches cooly, although a small twitch of his lips shows hes amused.
“Also we decided the best way to show our support for our cheerleading team, would be to give them a cheer of their own”
And then the football team, wave their pom poms and give a very bad but well meaning cheer routine complete with badly rhymed words of encouragement about the cheer squad. Laurent is full out laughing by the end.
The football players leave and change into their actual uniforms, and win the game, and the cheerleaders cheer them on properly.
And if after the celebrations Laurent shows up at Damens door wearing the cheer skirt himself, declaring “its only fair”, and then riding that boys dick into the sunset whilst wearing that uniform.
Well the cheerleaders and football players get on well after that.
Also Laurent wearing Damens letter jacket, thats wayyyy too big.
Laurent drinking the entire football team under the table.
Laurent sucking Damen off in the locker room after everyone is gone, and Damen is still mostly in uniform.
Laurent being super bendy in bed.
Damen getting distracted on field because his boyfriend is doing the splits, again!
Laurent getting distracted because his boyfriend is taking his shirt off and being all sweaty, and dammit Damen I am the top of the pyramid I could die! No you couldnt catch me youre on the other side of the field.
Just all of the footballplayer!Damen and cheerleader!Laurent please.
(If someone drew this I would die a million times over)
To say I was pissed would be the understatement of the century.
I had been sitting in front of my computer for five hours now, my Google search history consisting of keywords I had never used before; if anyone were to look at it, they’d probably question my sanity — I was pretty sure that not even hardcore football fans did that much research for that many clubs. And I wasn’t even a sports journalist, for God’s sake!
Henry had cocked his eyebrows at me every time that I huffed, or groaned, or sighed, and Mr. Roswell hadn’t even come out of his office after our conversation once. I was pretty sure he was at least as stressed as I was.
“If you continue to frown like that you’re going to be all wrinkly by the age of thirty,” Henry mentioned, allowing me a charming glance at the half-chewed piece of apple in his mouth.
“Shut up,” I muttered. On my iMac’s screen, some footballer I had never seen before was currently talking about the importance of discipline while a video of himself showing off his skills ran in the background. I had to admit, it was quite impressive (especially considering I couldn’t even manage to kick the ball more than ten meters).
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone moving towards me and when I glanced up, it was Henry with his dumb grin on his face. “You know, lots of journalists would kill to be in your place right now. You might not believe it now, but you’re lucky.”
“Yeah? Well, I’d be happy to switch.”
He groaned, “Come on, don’t be so pessimistic.”
Throwing my ear buds onto the desk’s surface, I turned my head to face Henry fully, “I have no idea about football, Henry! I’m going to embarrass myself and everyone’s going to think I’m unprofessional.”
“You’ve been researching for hours, Cara. You do not have ‘no idea’,” he said, sitting down on the desktop and reaching for the iMac’s screen to turn it around for him to see, “Let me help you. What do you need to know?”
I dug my teeth into my bottom lip as I forced myself to calm down a bit. This was getting ridiculous. And hey, Henry was right — I did know a little bit by now. Obviously I didn’t have the knowledge of the game that sports journalists had, but nobody was going to expect that from me, right? After all, football wasn’t what I chose to write about; it was politics. And well, from what I’d gathered, there were quite a lot of politics involved, too. Maybe that could turn out to my advantage.
So, with a defeated sigh, I gestured towards the computer. “I know that tomorrow, Real Madrid plays ManU.”
“That’s great! You can work with that. Ronaldo — I’m sure you’ve heard of him — used to play for ManU. They made him who he is, really, so it’s going to be an emotional game. I mean, he’s played against them before, but still. You can work with that,” he repeated, giving me an encouraging nod.
“He’s the good-looking one, isn’t he?”
Henry rolled his eyes. “Such a girly thing to say, but yeah, he’s fit, I guess.”
I used my feet to roll forward with the office chair I was sitting on, quickly typing Ronaldo into the search bar. There were pictures of him in different-colored kits popping up — grinning, scoring, running, or looking positively pissed off.
It’d been years since the last time I’d seen him, and honestly I’d never found him as attractive as the media always made him out to be, but now that his hair didn’t look as gelled and dyed anymore … well, I had to admit he was rather easy to look at.
Henry was right — I was being 'such a girl’. Besides, if I got the chance to talk to him, it wouldn’t be about his physical appearance; I had to talk to him about his stats and goals and prizes. Running a hand through my hair, I pouted.
“And he’s good?” I asked.
“Good? He’s the best. Well, some say Messi is but, nah. Ronaldo is a legend.”
“Oh, this Messi guy I know! Saw him in the World Cup final.” (AKA the only match of the World Cup I watched.)
Henry laughed. “Well, you better not tell Ronaldo that. Anyway, I’m sure Roswell is already wondering why the hell I haven’t sent my article about the pollution in London’s underground to him. Honestly, Cara, consider yourself lucky.”
The stadium was huge. Gigantic, even. So big that I’d almost gotten lost in all the aisles that led to the seats and terraces. Luckily I’d found another journalist who, unsurprisingly, turned out to be a sports journalist and therefore was already used to having to find the areas specifically reserved for the media.
We got there about twenty minutes before the kickoff, allowing me to listen to the ear-deafening cheers from the fans and watch the players warming up before their first game of the season.
It didn’t take me long to spot Cristiano Ronaldo among the rest of the players — he was quite tall at six foot two (I’d done my homework), and thanks to his impressive physique and raven hair, it was safe to say he stood out.
I let my gaze follow his slightly languid movements and the balls that he kicked around effortlessly. I had watched enough videos of him on YouTube recently to know that once the whistle had been blown, he’d be a lot more efficient and, to quote the commentators, 'lethal’ for the opposing team.
To be quite honest, I was a bit intrigued. There were so many people with entirely different opinions on him on and off pitch that I’d actually started to wonder what he could possibly be like in real life.
“Ronaldo fan, eh?” the sports journalist, whose name was Charles, grinned at me. I couldn’t help the blush creeping up my neck.
“Oh no, not really. I don’t know enough about him to be a fan,” I replied with a polite smile.
Charles shrugged, then ran a hand through his greying hair. “He’s a great player. Just, as a person … I’m not sure.”
“Have you ever interviewed him?”
“No. Hopefully today will be the first time,” he said. Not knowing what to respond to that, I turned back around to look at the pitch again. The players had wandered off to the locker rooms to change into their kits for today’s match, so I sat down on my assigned seat and fished my phone out of my bag.
I smiled when I saw that Henry had texted me.
Hey Cara, you okay? Let me know if there’s anything you need :)
Quickly, I typed a reply.
It’s fine so far, the match hasn’t started yet. Thanks xx
Much to my surprise, I found myself holding my breath every time Ronaldo had the ball. He was incredibly fast, undoubtedly intelligent on the pitch, and super efficient; he’d scored two goals already, and was now obviously looking for a hat-trick. Truth be told, I had thought that the way people were praising him on the internet was a bit exaggerated but now that I was actually seeing him in action, I was stunned — he had the entire stadium on their feet.
After a few more corner kicks, a perfect hat-trick by Ronaldo, and three yellow cards, the referee blew the final whistle, and the Real Madrid fans erupted with joy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charles grinning at me, “And? Still no Ronaldo fan?”
“He’s good, I guess,” I replied sheepishly. Charles merely laughed.
As it turned out, it was way harder to get a famous football player to interview than it was a politician. Politicians wanted to talk and bring their views across whereas most of the players I’d talked to so far were as quick to leave as they were to answer. It was a bit frustrating, really. Especially considering the fact that Cristiano Ronaldo, who had rather unsurprisingly been declared Man Of The Match, hadn’t even come out of the dressing room yet. Which — given the ridiculous amount of shouting reporters and flashing lights — I could understand.
When he still hadn’t come out about an hour later, I decided to call it quits and drive back to London; traffic was only going to get worse the longer I waited.
Charles had made himself scarce as soon as the players were off the pitch, so I was left to my own devices — thankfully, it was easier to find the way out of the stadium than it had been to find the stands.
I knew that Mr. Roswell wasn’t going to be too thrilled once he learned I hadn’t been able to interview the 'star footballer,’ as he liked to call Ronaldo, but at least I’d talked to almost all of his teammates (and had managed to not make myself look like a complete fool, thank God).
Despite the insane square footage of the stadium’s own parking lot, it luckily didn’t take me long to find where I had parked my VW. I unlocked it, threw my bag onto the passenger seat and let my body collapse into the driver’s seat. It was only now that I realized how much today had worn me out.
Sighing, I turned the key in the ignition — my car, however, didn’t start. What the hell? I turned it around a second and a third time, but still, the engine only rumbled for a moment before it went out again.
No, no, no, please.
Groaning, I let my forehead lean against the steering wheel. Shit. Of course something like that just had to happen after the kind of day I’ve been through. I slammed my hand down on the car’s door before getting out of it and opening the hood.
Needless to say, I had no clue about all the stuff that was under the hood, so obviously couldn’t tell what was wrong.
By now, the parking lot had cleared almost completely, and I wasn’t sure whether I should feel bad or good about it; it did mean that there was nobody around to help me, but it also meant that at least nobody was going to see how dumb I must have looked standing in front of my car’s opened hood entirely and pathetically clueless.
“Do you need help?” a male’s voice suddenly jolted me out of my thoughts.
I spun around quickly, startled by the abrupt presence, and — froze.
The man stood about three meters away from me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his eyes regarding me with hooded interest. His dark brown, almost black hair was slicked back but still somehow managed to look casual, and his body was strikingly fit.
It took me roughly 0.23 seconds to realize who he was.
“I— um, well. Yeah, my car won’t start,” I stammered eloquently (for a journalist, I sure had a way with words).
“Cristiano Ronaldo,” he introduced himself as he stretched out his hand for me to shake. Thankfully, my body still worked well enough to take it. His hand was big, strong, and the contact with it made me weak in the knees.
I forced a smile, “Cara Baldwin.”
“A football fan?” he asked as he stood next to me, his eyes now focused on my car.
“Um, no, not really, to be honest.” I reached inside my jacket to produce the press pass out of it. Cristiano clicked his tongue in understanding and nodded. I was sure I’d seen something flicker in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t too fond of the media — I would be surprised if he was.
“You’re a sports journalist but no football fan? That’s a first.” He leaned his upper body part forward to examine one of the many plastic containers closer, which allowed me to watch the muscles in his back flex every time he moved. I’d known he was muscular but, Jesus Christ.
“I’m actually a political journalist. Our newspaper’s sports journalist who was originally supposed to be here got sick.”
Cristiano nodded, “I think your cooling water is leaking, and your shock absorbers look a bit worn. Looks like you need to get them replaced.”
“So I definitely need to take it to a shop?”
He shrugged, “I guess so.”
“Oh, shoot. Okay. Thank you.”
With a smile, he stood upright again, closing the hood in the process. “You’re here on your own?”
I watched as he frowned, seemingly pondering over something before he turned his head to look at me. “Want me to give you a ride?”
Watching my college team on TV instead of being at the game and with the band has made me quite upset and not just because I’m not there.
The band, cheerleaders, and dance team are not represented at all. I know they all work just as hard, if not harder, than EMU’s football team.
But CBS Sports Network would rather show old guys talk about football at half time than showing the bands half time show. I don’t think they realize how much audience they could actually gain from doing this. I would watch football way more if it meant seeing the band.
Also, the dance team and cheerleaders do great routines and deserved to be shown more.
If you’re going to broadcast football, shouldn’t you broadcast the whole game day experience? Who decided that the actual football was the only enjoyable/important part of game day?
Hi! First of all I love your One-shots and Stories. You are an amazing writer. Could you write a one-shot about Popular!Percy and Nerd!Annabeth.
A/N: Dedicated to Shay (seawedebrain)! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAY I hope you like math jokes/sort of punny things and you have an amazing amazing day. Much love xxx
Percy glances up at the clock in the library as he shuffles through the door. 2:15pm. It ticks lazily, and he watches the big hand flick to the next line— he swears it’s moving in slow motion.
One minute down. Fifty-nine to go.
Shouldering his backpack, he walks over to the back row of tables where the peer tutors are waiting and signs in on the Sign-in Sheet under the column labeled “Math Help with Annabeth Chase.” He hasn’t heard of her before, but he figures she’s smart— she has to be if she volunteers to help out kids flunking math on her Friday afternoons. Doesn’t really sound like Percy’s definition of a fun time. In fact, the only reason he dragged himself to the library today for peer tutoring was because of his D- on his last test.
Actually, that hadn’t even given him the motivation. His football coach said that if he didn’t pull up his grades, he’d have to sit out the next game and Percy was not about to let Jason fill in for him during the biggest game of the year. Not like there’s anything wrong with Jason. He’s great. But it’s not happening.
Resigning to spend the next hour staring at math with so many letters that look more like Ancient Greek than anything else, he slumps into his seat and pulls his pencil out of his backpack, chewing lightly on the end out of habit.
Which is when a girl—Annabeth Chase, he assumes—sits down at the table next to him and scowls so fiercely at the pencil in his mouth that he drops it on the table in front of them. Annabeth turns around to get her own pencil out of her bag, which is a blessing because specks of drool had flown off the end of the wet pencil and smudged the desk. Percy cringes and leans his elbow on the table to sop up the mess with his sweatshirt.
Yeah okay maybe I couldn’t think of a proper title and it overall really sucks. I’m kind of in the midst of a writer’s block so yeah. Thanks for reading though.
Jily week, day one: games/travel
Lily had always been her father’s daughter. Growing up, there was always a football in the garden, muddied and sometimes almost beaten to its final game. There were numerous times she’d come home with a scraped knee and hair tousled all over her head. Her mother would usually sigh when she came in covered in mud, wearing an apologetic look as if to say “sorry, mum, I’m not sure if this stain will come out”. Her father would whoop and cheer when she’d come in wearing a grin; she’d beaten the other girls again.
Lily didn’t worry about her clothes or make-up or shoes. Her sister, Petunia, heavily disliked the tomboy traits in her. ‘How can people still see you as a girl when you’re all muddied and yucky?’ or ‘Lily, please, I helped mummy choose this dress for you, please don’t ruin it!’
And as Lily grew, the mud on her shirt and her dishevelled hair slowly disappeared. When her Hogwarts letter came and she’d arrived at the castle, she didn’t care as much for sports anymore. It was abnormal, girls shouldn’t play sports, was what she’d been taught countless of times.
‘What’s that?’ a voice broke the awkward silence in the kitchen. Lily’s sister had invited her boyfriend – whale was a better word for it, she crossly thought – and the witch had to escape to the kitchen to avoid any nasty looks or bragging about Vernon’s new car or Vernon’s own business or Vernon’s whatever it was now. And of course, with her bad luck, she found James Potter in the kitchen, arrogant – though handsome – Chaser of the Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. She had mindlessly answered one of his owl’s with a message along the lines of ‘please come and save me from this muggle’ and apparently he’d taken that quite seriously.
‘A football, Potter,’ she replied, finding the object of James’ confusion.
‘What’s it do?’ smirking to herself, she stood up and gestured for him to follow her. He slowly walked up to the round sports’ ball, a foot or two behind Lily, maybe fearing it’d bite if he got too close.
‘Kick it,’ Lily said, standing a feet away from it and crossing her arms with a smirk on her face.
‘What?’ his hazel eyes met her green ones, a timorous look in them.
‘I said, kick it.’ And thus the boy gave it a soft kick, jumping back half a feet.
Striding forward, Lily picked up the ball and tossed it at James, who caught it like a second nature. ‘It’s like a Quaffle, you see. It doesn’t bite. Muggle things don’t bite, James.’
She walked towards the end of the garden, grabbing a few things out of the shed before placing two neon green pylons in the grass and standing in between them.
‘Now, put the football down and kick it towards me. If you manage to get it past me, between the two goal posts, you score a goal and get a point. It’s like Quidditch except there’s no Snitch or Bludgers,’ she smiled before tying her dark red hair up in a ponytail.
And James kicked it a feet or two in front of himself. Striding forward, he went to pick it up before Lily yelled ‘NO’ and he jumped back, his hands above his head as if he were to be arrested. Biting down on her lip, Lily had to admit James’ face was really attracting when scared, like a deer in headlights.
‘Only the goalie can touch the ball with his hands, the rest of them are not allowed,’ Lily said, kicking the ball up high with her feet, catching it mid-flight. She placed it down again in front of James. ‘And your kicking, bloody James, you’d think Gryffindor’s best Chaser in years could kick a little bit harder against a muggle football.’ She winked as his hand went through his hair again and the frightened expression turned into an arrogant smirk.
‘Now let me show you how to properly kick against a football before the poor snails around here get hurt,’ she laughed before walking a few feet back and standing across James. ‘Like this.’ She said, giving a proper kick against the football and it landed a feet or two in front of him, before walking back towards the other Gryffindor. ‘Show me your moves.’ She grinned.
Winking, he kicked against an imaginary football towards Lily, his heel running through the soaked grass and mud and – splash. Loose drips of mud flew through the air, hitting Lily all over her clothes and face. There was an eerily silence, James awaiting Lily’s outburst. He obviously hadn’t known her in the mud-covered years of her life.
‘James Potter, how – ’ splash. He mistakenly had looked down and was now paying for the mud on Lily’s new fancy clothes Petunia had forced her to wear, with mud in his jet-black hair.
‘Lily!’ James’ voice came out in surprise and another handful of mud hit him. Lily didn’t have time to duck when his handful of mud – obviously twice if not thrice in size – came flying towards her. Soon laughter filled up the garden and once in a while Petunia’s angry face appeared behind the window, but Lily – who had been specifically told to behave properly and neat to leave a good impression on Vernon, not that she could for her sister had told him she was on a school for ill-mannered teens – didn’t mind it at all. All she cared for now was James’ gorgeous, rumbling, deep laugh echoing through the garden and his eyes full of joy. They’d been too busy laughing and before they actually noticed it was raining, it was full on pouring from the clouds.
Unthinkingly Lily flung herself against James and hugged him with her arms around his neck, still laughing. His arms found themselves around her waist and he breathed in her strawberry scent, his laughing sounding in her ear.
And as she looked up to him with those wonderfully beautiful almond-shaped green eyes, he couldn’t contain himself and kissed her full on the lips. She went stiff in his arms for a few seconds before letting go of herself and tangling her fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss. If it hadn’t been for her mum calling out for them in the rain, they’d probably would’ve stayed there for hours and gotten pneumonia.
But as they both later thought back, cuddling under the same blanket with steaming cups of tea in their hands, they probably would’ve risked pneumonia for each other.