I’ve been headcanoning up a storm lately, and I’ve been wanting to post more things on my blog here. So- have some barely edited AUs that probably won’t get fics anytime soon, but are great ideas nonetheless. If anyone wants to add on/chime in/create something, feel free.
This started with the thought of tennis player Trott, and continued when the boys got new shoes and I imagined American footballer Ross. Thus, it turned into another AU where Smith pines after Tross. C’est la vie.
If I need to tag something, let me know.
college tennis player Trott AU
Smith is the waterboy
lugging a cooler to the court
wipes sweat off his brow, watches the practice match
Trott wearing sweatbands, white shoes and socks, making mmf noises, volleying tennis balls back across the net. in a tennis skirt with pleats, or short shorts. whichever. tight-ass short shorts…
Smith is doomed.
Smith gaping, open-mouthed. Sips, the coach, walking over and being like “you’re gonna catch some flies, Smiffy.”
sunlight, sweat, setting sun over the edge of the tennis court fence. pine trees.
Smith staring at Trott’s fucking arms, slender build, hands, line of his shoulders.
Trott running laps around the court while Smith sprays the dirt off with a hose. Chatting with him a little, not entirely paying attention to what Trott’s saying because he’s surprised he’s even talking to him
fuck, he’s pretty when he smiles.
locker room sex happens eventually, perhaps
Smith feels awkward when he’s the towel boy. shit. surrounded by attractive, naked men. grimace as the team piles dirty towels on top of his arms. Trott smiles, the last to leave, and ruffles his hair on the way out.
tennis match, Smith paying attention to Trott 90% of the time.
“congrats on the win, mate.” “thanks.” grin
what if Sips is the tennis coach in the summer
and the football coach in the fall.
I could see Ross as a quarterback, though he wouldn’t be very good at it and get tackled a lot. so maybe he’d make a better running back (whoever catches the pass. is that what they’re called? lol, American football.)
floofy sweaty hair without any gel in it, shoulderpads, jerseys.
helmets, tight pants, knee high striped socks.
poor Smith starts crushing on him, too.
dammit, what is it with swooning over the star player of his college’s athletics programs? maybe it was Sips’ fault- he just had to pick the guys with the best asses to wear those tight spandex pants. what a perv.
Smith watching Ross stretch. Nano shows up, calls him out on it. (“God bless America, Smiffy.” clang of a backpack dropping onto the metal bleachers.) Maybe he knows her from photography/art club and she’s a journalism/Chinese dual major.
Smith first got into being manager for Sips because he took health and anatomy classes under him for his art degree. in the fall he sits up in the bleachers and practices his drawing, mostly staring at #88 among the football players on the field. watching their synchronized bending over. I mean, stretching.
thus, this AU is now dubbed the College Athletics AU.
one day, while Smith’s sketching, Trott shows up. “Quarterback’s fuckin’ hot, inne?”
fuuuuuck my liiiiiiife Smith thinks. careful the wind doesn’t blow the pages of your sketchbook, so he doesn’t see all the drawings you made of him.
turns out, Ross and Trott are dating.
later on, Smith sets up flyers, looking for nude people to draw for his anatomy drawing class.
Ross and Trott sign up.
“you must want to kill me.” Smith says.
“no. just kiss you.” smile.
if he sees them naked, the images are going be forever burned in his retinas. he might as well never draw again, unable to replicate the purity of their nude forms in an artform as crude as lead pencil, ink, and watercolor. fuck, he’s doomed.