#i say slander because some of you are just making shit up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

purinfelix · 13 days ago

Text

just for the weekend ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ - franco colapinto

summary: your teammate has an absolutely ridiculous plan to bring your team back from the dead - but it might be just crazy enough to work w/c: 5.5k + some smau style tweets warnings: a little angst, some uncomfortable touching/kissing since it's fake dating (not too bad but better safe than sorry), some miscommunication - just two idiots in love i fear

a/n: WOW it's finally here, fake dating is literally a guilty pleasure trope for me so i hope yall enjoy this HAHA - also sorry to Williams fans bc there's a lot of slander in this but trust its all for the plot <333 (also holy shit this is the longest fic I've ever written WOW)

"You're actually insane."

"Oh c'mon, at least think about it for a minute, it's perfect!"

You fold your arms over your chest and try your best to look uninterested in whatever it is your teammate has to say. The two of you had been racing together for a little over half a year now, and you had witnessed him make (at least in your opinion) a grand fool of himself. Flirting with interviewers, winking at cameras, having absolutely no filter during press conferences - but this, this was by far the craziest thing you had heard come out of his mouth.

"A fake relationship?"

"Ah ah ah," he tuts, jutting a finger in your face, "a media relationship, one that will draw the attention away from how crap we're doing and onto the personalities of the team. Think about it, McLaren has whatever Oscar and Lando have got going on and Ferrari basically has two models for drivers. We need something to put us on the map, to make people care about us!"

You pause, and for a minute you seriously consider his outrageous proposition - he isn't completely wrong. For the two of you, making it into the points range was a rare occurrence, and even though the team always made sure to celebrate it like a podium there was something that stung about constantly being at the bottom.

"Do you realise how much trouble we could get into?"

"Ah," he sighs, and it's starting to annoy you how lightly he's talking about this, "ever the pragmatist."

"Well one of us has to be if the other's going to keep saying stupid shit," you huff before turning around and beelining out of his driver's room.

Seriously, a fake relationship? Had he lost his mind? Maybe if he focused more on his racing you wouldn't be constantly outperforming him.

"At least think about it, okay?" You hear him call out from behind you, and consider yourself lucky to be facing the other way so that he doesn't catch your obnoxious eye roll. Surely he had to be kidding because there was no way you were going to devote any amount of time to this ridiculous thought.

God fucking damnit.

It was frustratingly confusing, the kind of power Franco had. You had witnessed it first hand with how smoothly he spoke to anyone and managed to get his way almost instantly - but this was your first time experiencing it first-hand. It was another weekend, another country, another race, but the only thing you could think of was his stupid consideration - which, with each passing moment, seemed increasingly genius.

You had almost a year of experience with the team over your teammate, and with that, your fair share of embarrassment and disappointment. Sure, his idea was a little out there but you were close to being at your wits end and if nothing else, you hoped this would at least be a little fun. Plus you were pretty sure at this point if you didn't act on this thought soon, it would start interfering with your performance.

"Fine," you said a little breathlessly as you burst into his driver's room ahead of a race.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, looking at you with a shocked look, "whatever happened to knocking? I could've been naked in here!"

You roll your eyes before continuing, "You still up to the ..." You pause, thinking of how best to word it, "Fake relationship thing?"

His eyes light up immediately, "Ah, I knew you'd come around eventually."

Letting out a soft huff, just to let him know that you still aren't fully convinced this will work, you sit down on his couch. "I think we should lay down some ground rules first."

"Yes ma'am." He nods, straightening up and forcing a serious expression you can only assume is mocking yours.

"Firstly, no kissing."

"Understood."

"Actually no public affection at all, holding hands, hugging, nothing."

"Oh sure and how exactly are we going to convince people then?"

You pause, thinking for a little, "Okay maybe hand-holding and hugs are fine, but you better not push it - that goes for the pet names as well." He nods with a satisfied smile.

"And no one other than us two can know this is fake, alright? Otherwise, it'll spoil the plan."

"Trust me, I don't need anyone knowing I'm going along with something as ridiculous as this. It'll be our little secret."

"Our little secret," he repeats with a hum, a sly sort of smile spreading across his face as he gets up from his spot. "See you after the race, my love."

You sighed in exasperation, tossing your phone to the side of the couch in your driver's room where it fell with a light thud. You had about a thousand other things to be worrying about - your pretty disappointing result in qualifying for one - but for some reason, the main thing on your mind was your 'relationship' with Franco. Somehow, it had proved even more intense than you had expected, which planted a seed of worry in your mind as you realised how hard this was actually going to be to pull off. Since his not-so-subtle announcement to a hoard of hungry press members at last week's race, the media had managed up a flurry about the two of you.

There were supportive fans who liked you both enough not to see any problem with two teammates dating, as well as others who were more sceptical about how it might impact your performance. However, what really seemed to get to you were those who doubted you more than the relationship.

Your social media had been bombarded with comments and theories about the reason behind your relationship, doubting your place on the grid, and calling you names that - after shedding the status of 'first girl rookie', you thought you had left behind. Regardless, you feel a little stupid for being so unprepared for all this - not just the tweets but the harsh articles, the questions during press interviews and even shouting fans. Maybe if you had done a little more thinking about it first, you would've realised this was a stupid idea that should've been left at just that.

Throwing your head back you let out an exasperated sigh, trying to clear your head so that you could move on and focus on the race that was happening tomorrow. The last thing you wanted was for this plan to start impacting your driving. But Franco always seemed to have the worst timing - or best, depending on who you asked.

"Hello?" A couple quick knocks alert you of his presence before he cracks the door just wide enough to peek in. "There's my beautiful girlfriend." The way the pet names and affection seem to come to him so easily makes you simultaneously impressed and concerned, unsure of whether it's an indication of his great acting or flirting skills.

"What do you want?" You try to make it as obvious as you can that you're not in the mood, and he realises this right away.

"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to ask if you were free after this."

"You know I'm not really a huge fan of the big team dinners, especially not when we have a race tomorrow."

"Oh it's not like that, I was just going to go check out a restaurant near our hotel and wondered if you wanted to join me."

When you finally speak it's just above a whisper, "Is this a part of the fake dating thing?"

He laughs softly, his ability to find everything entertaining has always amazed you. "If you want to, it can be. If that gives you a reason to come hang out with me, though if you don't it's totally fine."

"No, I'll come, not like I've got anything better to do." You hate how every word you've said so far has sounded so pathetic.

"Great, I'll meet you by the paddock entry in ten?"

"See you then."

The street lights were dim, just bright enough to illuminate the street the two of you were walking down. The night was cool and still, and there were barely any people out other than you. You weren't sure why, but you had ended up telling Franco a lot more than you had expected. Maybe it was the extremely fancy restaurant you had initially gone to or the local one the two of you agreed to ditch it for instead, or maybe it was just the freeing feeling of being in another country.

The two of you had talked before, of course - as teammates it was difficult to avoid. But beyond the casual small talk, discussions about strategies or banter during challenges your relationship never extended beyond casual co-existence. It was one of the reasons you were glad your higher-ups had never tried to force the two of you into a professional friendship. There was something about Franco, his ability to strike up a conversation and maintain it even when the topic clearly strayed far beyond his interests, that made him so likeable, so easy to get along with. And the support he got from fans and the media reflected this well. You just never felt like there was any room for you in that equation.

But here, away from the cameras and shedding the roles of drivers, the two of you became normal people. You spoke, you laughed, you vented to him everything that worried you about your 'relationship' and he listened throughout all of it - all the while the two of you shared the biggest, best, pizza you had ever had.

"I have to say, I don't know if our engineers will appreciate the extra weight I've just put on," he jokes, breaking the comfortable silence that had been lingering around you two as you walked.

"Me neither, they might have to roll me into the car at this rate."

"You know, I think this is the first time the two of us have hung out, just us two."

You think for a little before answering, "You're right."

"Do you think there's a reason for that?"

"You mean besides us both being extremely busy people and already seeing each other pretty often? Not really, no."

"Good point, though with our little plan, we're definitely going to be seeing each other a lot more."

There's a beat of silence. "This is nice though, right?" He asks, and his voice is so tentative you almost find it endearing.

"It is nice, this was fun." You try not to think too much about the fact the two of you could be mistaken by any passer-by as a couple of lovebirds on a first date - or that fact that even to those who knew you, you were.

"I appreciate you telling me all that stuff, you know, about what people are saying about you."

"Oh, if anything I should be thanking you for listening to me vent about it."

"It is serious though, I'm so stupid for not even thinking about what you'd have to deal with."

"Well I don't think either of us gave it enough thought but," you pause and look up at him, "we're too far in to back out now."

He shoots you a comforting smile, one that shows how reassured he feels that you seem to finally be coming around to his idea. That is, at least, before his face morphs into one of discomfort.

"God, I'm so full."

"We're almost back at the hotel now, let's just sleep and then we can wake up early tomorrow morning to-"

"Wait, is that ice cream?" Franco interrupts you to point out a street vendor who's about to pack up for the night, and before you know it he's running up to the man eagerly. You can only follow suit with a sigh, knowing full well you wouldn't mind some dessert either.

"You two are lucky, you'll be my last customers for the night," the moustachioed owner of the cart says with a warm smile.

"Thanks," you reply kindly, before turning to Franco, "what flavour do you think you'll get."

"Hm, not sure, maybe chocolate?"

"Wow, boring."

He scoffs, "Oh yeah? And what exotic flavour are you going to get then?"

"Mint choc," you smile, but your face drops once you see your teammate's disgusted expression.

"You've got to be kidding me, that's like the worst choice."

You feign offence, "How dare you insult the best ice cream flavour of all time?"

"Ah, you two are quite the couple," the man laughs and you watch as Franco's eyes widen in embarrassment.

"Oh we're not-"

"Thank you," it's your turn to interrupt him, turning to the man with a smile. "One chocolate and one mint choc chip please."

You go to reach for your wallet to pay but you feel a hand on yours, stopping you.

"No, it's okay, I got this."

"Wh- Franco c'mon you know full well both of us could afford about a thousand of these ice cream cones don't be ridiculous."

"I know," he smiles and even though he's trying to be serious you know he's also trying not to laugh, "but I just figured you know, I'm the one who dragged you out here and like, got you into this whole fake dating mess."

You furrow your brows, a little confused at what exactly he's getting at.

"I guess I just want to say thank you, you know?"

"Alright, alright," you laugh softly, watching as he pays and takes both of the cones, handing you yours. Once you grab yours, you instinctively loop your arm around his, pulling him close and resting your head against his shoulder. The ice cream man laughs endearingly at the two of you.

"You're the best boyfriend ever!" you say in as high and cute a voice you can manage, cringing a little but determined to keep up the bit - you don't even bother to think about how fast you can feel Franco's heart race when you do.

Last night was really nice. You're sitting next to your race engineer, nodding along as she points to various multi-coloured dots and lines on the screen. You hear yourself agreeing with a couple quick "mhms", "of course" and "yep"s even though you can barely hear what she's saying. You're mere minutes away from getting in your car for a race, getting briefed on your strategy, and the only thing you can think of is the 'date' you had with Franco last night - if you can even call it that.

You had thought that getting everything off your chest, the hate comments, the doubt you had, would help you feel better and relieve any worries you had. And it did, at least until you got back to your hotel room alone and caught yourself smiling at the thought of seeing your teammate again the next day. How, even as you washed up and got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking - pizza, ice cream, walking at night together, isn't that something a real couple would do?

"Are you listening to me?" your race engineer's voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, causing you to straighten up immediately.

"Yes! Sorry," you mumble, but just at that moment, you see him walk into the garage, greeting a couple of the mechanics warmly. Before you realise it, he's beelining straight for you, his arm coming around your waist as he leans in close to your ear.

"There's a ton of cameras, I just wanted to be believable," he whispers, and when he pulls back you can see the smile on his face. You nod curtly, fully aware of how red your face feels over such a small interaction as he waltzes away.

"Okay, so as I was saying," your race engineer pipes up again, though you couldn't be paying her less of your attention - watching as your 'boyfriend' walks off, his brown hair illuminating in the afternoon light. For a fake relationship, the quickening pace of your heart felt far too real.

"Well you two have been teammates since the beginning of this year, can you tell us a little about when you realised you might be more?"

Your struggle was never-ending - or at least, that's what it felt like, finding yourself at the centre of an impromptu interview with Franco. Around you, the other drivers were getting questions about their place in their teams, how they felt about their current strategy and about their racing futures. And there the two of you were, getting thrown question after question about your 'relationship'.

"Well," you begin, before being saved by your teammate. You had to give it to him - he was great at making stuff up on the spot.

"Well, I think it was somewhere around a month after I first joined the team, and met her. It was just something about her, she's sort of electric in this almost untouchable way, you know?"

You try not to look too awkward standing next to him as he talks, feigning your best-interested smile - though a part of you is extremely intrigued by this fake story he's creating.

"At first I thought I just wanted to be like her, her passion and talent were just so respectable, but the more time I spent with her the more I realised it was something completely different."

He turns to look at you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your expression falters a little as you're caught off guard by the sudden contact and as you turn away from the journalists and towards him, your eyes widen in shock at the sight of his pursed lips nearing yours. Before you realise it, his lips are against yours and you're pulling away as quickly as possible, face bright red. You're just barely aware of the thousands of flashing camera lights as you turn to quickly excuse yourself.

"Thank you all for coming, it was nice talking to you but, uhm, I have to go!" You hurriedly blurt out before slipping out of Franco's grip and darting off to your driver's room.

You hear his footsteps following closely behind you, as well as the sound of him calling out your name. When you near the door of your room, you turn around and grab his wrist to yank him in before you shut the door.

"What the hell was that?" is all you can muster out, "I thought we agreed no kissing?"

"Look, I can explain!"

You cross your arms with a huff, looking at him expectedly.

"I was just going to peck you quickly on the cheek, you know because we were getting all romantic and I wanted it to be believable! B-but then you turned, and then we," he's struggling not to ramble and his quickly moving hands do little to help. That's when you also realise his face is bright red as well, and he doesn't seem any less flustered by it than you do. "I'm really, really sorry I really shouldn't have done that."

You'd be lying if you said his explanation didn't make you feel any better. You're not actually upset about the kiss itself though, in fact, it's the opposite - actually, the grudge you're holding is doing little to help the internal struggle going on in your head. The kiss didn't make you angry, but the realisation that you wanted it to be real, did.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump down in the nearest chair. Franco does the same on the adjacent couch, though his gaze stays carefully on you, almost afraid of what you might say next.

"It's fine, I think we just need to coordinate our PDA a little better then."

"Yes, of course," he nods quickly.

There's a beat of silence. "You're really good at acting though."

"What?"

"That whole story you made up about how you fell in love with me, it was really believable." You laugh lightheartedly trying to lighten the situation and alleviate the awkwardness that's settled between you two.

"Well it's pretty easy, I didn't need to make up much of it," his eyes catch yours and his gaze is soft when he smiles at you.

"What?" you're confused.

"Never mind," he scoffs lightly, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. He looks almost disappointed at something, though you can't realise what. "Well, I'll leave you alone now. I really am sorry about what happened before." You watch as he pushes himself up from the couch, his head hanging guiltily - looking almost like a scolded puppy.

"It's fine Franco, really, please don't feel too bad about it." He nods thankfully before slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

Being a driver, hotel rooms had come to be a companion you knew far too familiarly. Their high ceilings, plush sterile white bedsheets, the empty bathroom - almost everything about them felt a sign of loneliness, of temporality, a house that never felt like home. Even though you knew how ridiculous it would be to complain about something that others would see as a privilege, it was hard to deny the isolation you felt whenever in a new country, away from most of your family or friends.

Maybe that's why you had been so eager to latch onto Franco's idea - it made sense, he had become the person you spent the most time with so why not give yourself some ridiculous reason to be around him even more? However somewhere along the way you stopped needing the reason of fake dating, somewhere in between hushed conversations, planned posts and candid photos - and instead found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. It was a little strange and sometimes acted as a sour reminder of how lonely you'd become but more than anything it felt like a blessing in disguise.

You were reminded of this fact as you lay, wrapped in a plush white hotel robe, across your messy bedsheets - laughing to yourself at the tweets your boyfriend had sent you. They were all about you, or the two of you, of course. Comments on the tiniest things, the way the two of you looked at each other, the way Franco held your hand, the way you worried about him.

"I feel a little bad, they're all so gullible," you typed quickly.

"Oh, so now you feel bad?" His response was almost instant.

"Don't you?"

"It's fun, isn't it? All this playing pretend."

Right, pretend. You rolled onto your back with a deep sigh, staring up at the tall hotel ceiling. All of this was just so confusing - as if figuring out how you felt about someone wasn't difficult enough, the two of you had complicated it by tricking the entire world into thinking you were in love. Whether you truly liked him or not, the idea was doomed for failure - and the more you thought about it, the more it seemed like the former.

"You're right," you typed back, watching intently as the three tiny dots appeared, disappeared then reappeared. What could he be saying that would need so much thinking?

"Can we talk tomorrow, after the race?"

You felt your stomach drop, had he finally caught on to how obvious you were being about how you truly felt, and decided that actually it might be better to just drop this whole act and go on as just teammates? With trembling hands, you typed back.

"Sure, what about?"

"I'll tell you then, for now, we should sleep."

"Goodnight Franco."

"Goodnight mi amor." You laughed softly to yourself at the nickname he had given you, though a small part of you took it as salt to the wound - almost as if he was dangling the possibility of something that could never happen right in front of your desperate little face.

However, not like you had a choice - all you could do now was get ready for bed and brace yourself for whatever tomorrow brought.

You couldn't believe it. The sounds of celebration erupted around you, but you sat completely still in your car, silent, attempting to process what had just happened. Your first win, and, your first double podium, with Franco. Your head was spinning as the never-ending stream of thoughts raced through your mind. Suddenly, you heard a voice coming from above your car's halo, muffled by your helmet. You flick the visor up, lifting your head as highly as you could - locking eyes with your teammate.

"We did it! Oh my god!" The excitement on his face is enough to send a slight surge of energy through you as he offers you his hand, helping you out of the car. When you do though, you stumble a little - the nerves are almost too much for you.

"Woah, you alright?" Even through the fog clouding your mind you can make out the concern in Franco's voice and feel his arms steadying you.

"Yeah, just-" you mumble, gesturing to your helmet and making weak attempts to undo the clasps underneath it. It's almost suffocating you, and the chaos going on around you isn't helping the pounding headache.

"Oh, let me," he reacts immediately, dropping his own helmet and bringing his hands below your chin to swiftly undo the clasps and pull the helmet off of you. You take a deep breath of air as you pull off your fireproof mask, though it sounds more like a desperate gasp.

Around you, the crowds roar with excitement, both your team and others as they make attempts to gesture at the two of you to join them. Your head spins though, and you wobble backwards into Franco.

"It's too loud," is all you can stutter out, though he understands you almost immediately, a strong hand gripping your wrist and pulling you away from the noise and somewhere quieter. You're not entirely sure where he's taking you but at that moment you feel as though you'd follow him just about anywhere.

Luckily though, when your eyes refocus you're in his driver's room, and even though outside you can hear the cheers continuing, you're offered some solace here, the walls muffling the sound. You sigh, sinking into his couch as you throw your head back, panting still.

You feel like it's all just too much - not just the physicality of the race, but the feeling of winning it, winning it with Franco, just Franco himself. When you finally manage to catch your breath you lift your head to see him standing over you, watching intently.

"Better?"

"Much better, thank you." You smile earnestly, "Though I don't think we'll be able to hide in here much longer, there is a cooldown room for this exact reason."

"Oh, I mentioned it to someone, not sure who but he looked important, and he said it would be okay."

You laugh softly, amazed at how he can seem so calm even at a moment like this.

"We did it," you say, still not being able to believe it.

"We did," he smiles, sitting on the couch next to you, "a couples podium."

You feel your heart skip a beat at the sudden reminder of your conversation last night, him mentioning he had something to tell you. Was this it? The two of you had achieved what you had been wanting this entire time, and there was no better time to let this ridiculous bit go than now.

You stare at the wall of his room, the gigantic flag of his home country, and let out a shaky breath, mustering up the courage to break the silence. "So..."

He turns to you, one eyebrow raised in interest.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" You're trying your best to keep your voice lighthearted, "it sounded serious."

"Oh, well about that," he seems to have forgotten it temporarily as well, but the fact that he turns to look at the flag as well, almost unable to maintain eye contact with you, isn't a good sign.

Maybe it's the adrenaline from the race, maybe it's the fact that both of you are going to be needed out on the podium in about ten minutes - or maybe it's the fact that you're so desperate to get out these feelings and make him understand how you feel, but you start talking before you even realise it.

"Look, Franco, I," you start, not entirely sure of where you're going to end up, "I know you asked me to do this whole fake dating thing with you and I completely understand if you want to end it now, I mean why wouldn't we? It's perfect!"

He looks at you confused, lips parted as if about to interrupt you but you continue anyway, stupidly.

"But, look, here's the thing," you turn to him now, and you're sure your face is bright red, "I don't want this to end!"

You let out a deep sigh, and clutch your hands together to stop them from shaking, though it doesn't help that Franco looks even more confused now.

"What?" he says, and your heart drops.

"I," you pause, struggling to find the right words, and struggling to get them out, "I think I like you, like, for real." Okay, not exactly the best choice of words but it'll do.

"Like, not for the whole fake relationship thing?" his tone is still concerned and he leans in a little for clarification.

"Yes! Okay, I know it's not exactly what we thought would happen and it'll probably jeopardise our relationship as teammates but there, I like you okay."

"When did you realise?"

"A couple days ago, I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence, and you're left with the agonising feeling of your heart racing in your chest, waiting eagerly for his response - for him to laugh in your face, for him to get mad, for him to reject you.

But instead, you watch as Franco's confused expression melts into one of pure relief as he sinks back into the couch with a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

It's your turn to be confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," he says, eyes fixed on the ceiling with the widest smile you've ever seen.

"Wait you mean you-"

"I win!"

You're absolutely speechless, not a single coherent thought on what is going on or how to respond. All you can get out is a confused sort of grunt.

"I win, I've liked you for longer!" he laughs, sitting up and grabbing your hands in his.

You feel as though your jaw is going to dislocate at how fast it drops, "I'm sorry?"

"Oh c'mon, we've been teammates for a year I know you're not that oblivious."

"Well, apparently I am because I'm really confused."

"I've liked you since the moment I met you, you idiot."

"Wh-" You're about to be offended at the name-calling until what he says finally hits you. He likes you. He has liked you. For ages. You idiot.

"Even when you proposed this to me?"

"Yep."

"Even when we went to get ice cream?"

"Yep."

"Even when you kissed me?"

"Y- well wait no that was completely unintentional," he holds his hands out in defence. You slump back, trying your best to process everything today has entailed, it's almost too much. That is until you feel Franco move a little closer to you, his arm stretching around your shoulders and gently moving your head to lay on his. At that moment, it all becomes clear, and you're suddenly unsure about why you ever felt confused about any of this.

"What now?" You say, barely above a whisper.

"We go and get our trophies," even though you're not looking you can hear the smile in his voice. "Though, before then."

You lift your head up off his shoulder to turn to him with raised brows. "Hm?"

"Now that we aren't fake dating, do the rules still apply?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd really like to kiss you right now," he whispers, and there's a hint of nerves as you watch his eyes dart in between yours and your lips.

"Really can't wait can you," you tease, though you still move to close the space in between you to. But just before your lips can touch his there's a knock at the door, causing you both to slump back with a sigh.

"Hey, are you two in there?" it's your race mechanic, "you're needed, you know, on the podium."

You roll your eyes to show your obvious disappointment at being interrupted, though Franco just watches you with an endeared smile.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, not being able to hide your own smile.

"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you're going to look up on that podium, and how I won't have to pretend not to be in love with you anymore."

Taglist : @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @cinderellawithashoe @vanicogh @taasgirl @claudiajacobs

@dripostsstuff @boiolay @earth-to-lottie @dejavuontrack @dudududu-fangirl

@kravitzwhore @gavisuntiedboot @reiofsuns2001 @musicmie @danielle12002x-blog

@alelo23 @corrodeddeadlydoll @aliwritex @nina-or-anna-or-nora

@5sospenguinqueen @araunahj @sbrn0905 @halleest @lottieliveslife

@lovestruck-sky @im-an-op81-fan @blubra @vienoiserieetc

(don't ask me why it's formatted so weird, tumblr hates me)

#franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto oneshot #williams racing #williams f1 #formula one fanfic #formula one x reader #formula one fluff #formula one #purinfelix #jet writes ★

862 notes · View notes

cvnt4him · 5 months ago

Text

How I think certain guys would be w a chubby gf bc who doesn't love chubby girls??

..............................................

T.Iida.

He definitely doesn't really care ab weight, he was js surprised someone wanted him.

He does care about you gaining weight because the risks that can come from being overweight scare him more than it does you.

He tries to occasionally get you to eat healthy and consider doing a diet [he would try so hard to say it in a chill way to not anger you or if you're like me, a sensitive chubby person, he'll try so hard not to make you cry to the point you stop eating lol!!!].

He overall just wants the best for you, and if you've really begun to love yourself regardless of how you look, love handles, belly fat, stretch marks, cellulite n what not then he will too, he only wants to love you, he feels like it's his soul purpose other than becoming a hero to honor his brothers name or whatever the fuck.

Hes mainly big spoon bc I feel like he's js programmed like that, but he likes laying his head on your tummy while you rub his hair, he'll take his glasses off n js lay there w you. My cutie pie fr

Bite his tiddie make his dick twitch

..............................................

K.Bakugou.

Loves chubby women.

Like he loves it ALLL like hip dips? Yes. Stretch marks? Yupp. Tummy fat? Yummers!!! N when you have fat thighs bro??? He fr LOVES being in between them can't convince me otherwise.

I feel like he would call you cringe shit like chubs js to make fun of you in that cutesy little couple way so bc yk he's obviously joking you don't take it to heart too much bc yk I'm a sensitive cunt so regardless some things pull on my sensitive little heart strings.

He likes to bite your everything. He just loves it bro, leaving hickeys on your skin is js perfection to him.

He loves being big spoon mainly because you are shorter than him, but he just loves holding you either way, squishing every little inch of fat he can get his huge warm palms on.

Sit on his lap, he loves it, the feeling of your weight comfortably sitting on top of him makes him hard fr.

I feel he benches alot like bro I feel like he can take at least maybe ab 300Ibs bc bro, let's keep in mind he was capable of handling OFA in that one movie, at the beginning of the series it was stated you had to have some kind of muscle/mass to handle it n like to not get your shit blown off so yh he can definitely carry you.

He js loves holding you and tightly gripping onto your chub.

..............................................

E.Kirishima.

Chubby chaser, like the definition.

I feel like he respects women the most out of everyone in the class even the girls, he js screams 'I'm an ally to women' bro. Try n change my mind. You can't.

He loves everything about you regardless, skinny chubby, big boobs small boobs, full lips thin, everything about you is mesmerizing to him simply because you just... Are.

Are what you may ask?

You simply just are.

You're like the it girl in his eyes, a goddess, the only being he wants and craves to worship. He loves holding you like bakugou, feeling and seeing your chub in his hands and the way it like squished out in between his fingers when he grabs onto a part of your body that holds a lot of fat, like your tummy or thighs or boobs he'll go berserk.

You turn him on so much you can make out for 3 seconds n his dick is hard as a rock [pun intended bc that's his quirk.]

He doesn't care what spoon he is as long as you're near him, he loves when you rake your fingers through his freshly washed hair and when you kiss his scalp that needs a new coat of dye.

[ bc you're bat shit crazy if you think I'm going near his crunchy ass greasy ass dandruff infested looking like a dandelion field ass head if this mf aint wash it. I'm so dead ass miss me w all that bullshit bc no.. it's that serious. Ik his shit stink stink.]

All slander aside he's a sweetheart and deserves to be loved.

He likes picking you up I feel like, like he'll js randomly throw you over his shoulder for the fun of it.

..............................................

M.Izuku.

My husband, the loml, my twinky little wifey, my male wife, my babygirl, my pookie sugar hunny sweetie bear pie, my zuzubear.

He loves whatever he can get, just like iida. He doesn't realize he actually pulls bitches so when you confess to him [infront of ochako bc I'm a messy bitch] he absolutely blows his top, bc you're really pretty to him heavy or not you're fucking perfect.

He loves being little spoon convince me other wise [you can't don't try🤦🏽‍♀️] he likes being held like a baby bro don't even try arguing bc I'm not even going to reply. He likes laying on your boobs because he's a pervert.

Like he's so perverted if he is on the rare occasion, being big spoon he gets hard when you rub your ass against his dick while you're trying to get comfortable, you love getting dicked down by a powerful mf that can man handle you, don't get me wrong, however it can be tiring fucking someone who has a lot of stamina and can never seem to be tired. Which is why he's semi banned from being big spoon.

He's such a pervert bro, like he fr has It written down in his notebook that mt lady has a fat ass, I js know he writes shit down ab anything that even involves you whether it be sexual or not.

Your boobs seem to feel slightly heavier in his hands? Jotted down. Ass seems to have gotten fatter? Already sketched a very detailed picture of you in a bikini of his hero suit.

Now that we're on the topic of him being far too artistic for my liking, you can't tell me he doesn't draw you in such lewd ways like I'm talking you as a secretary busting out of the seams of your shirt.

Like he fr draws you being fucked by little squid arms like in hentai or whatever. He watches alot of porn so he knows what he likes to see and what hed like to see from you. He's a gooner fr can't convince me otherwiseeee

He's a total goofy goober though, if you talk a certain way or are from a certain region where talking with some sort of accent is shown he will like steal your lango yk? Like the little things you say like if you're British and you say 'bruv' he'll start saying it, or if you say shit like 'goofy' or 'type shit', or insert other things, he'll say it. Even if he doesn't know what it means he js wants to impress you so bad!!

Speaking of which, he definitely impressed you w how good he is at eating puss bro, like there's certain mha guys I feel are js too good at cunnilingus.

he is one of them.

He follows you around in any store and like watches you like a hawk, you'll never get lost bc he doesn't leave your side, shopping for pads or other femininely products? Who gives a fuck you're his girlfriend!!!!

Now I feel he likes to have you sit on his face bc he likes the weight, he also likes carrying you around he def can n yk that so don't even put it past him bc he will not hesitate to pick you up so you can rest your little footsies.

He worships you like kirishima but better, you literally will not have to lift a finger w him around.

I feel as if overall w you being chubby n his gf he doesn't give af if you have weight or not, he js wants you to like him n call him your little malewife.

Speaking of wife I feel he can't cook for shit but is trying to learn for you.

Kiss his neck make him soak his shorts in precum.

..............................................

AN: yk I had to go all out w my baby zuzubear my little twinky malewife, I love me some him. I might make a pt 2 really depends.

#cvnts-post #deku x reader #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #deku smut #izuku is so girlie pop #izuku x reader #tenya iida #tenya x reader #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader

809 notes · View notes

mangostarjam · 5 months ago

Note

OKAY HEAR ME OUT I sent this to one other person and I feel like maybe you’d also vibe with this but PLEASE DONT FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO RESPOND OR WRITE ABOUT THIS I JUST LIKE SHARING THOUGHTS

So like Hoshina is lowkey possessive(not like scary kind but the kind where it’s like “hey that’s my gf wtf”) and lets say his s/o is a platoon leader and people have noticed that she has a bite scar where her neck and shoulder meet(maybe one of the rookies likes her oooooh 👀) and there’s rumors and NO ONE KNOWS HOSHINA HAS A MATCHING BITE SCAR ON HIS NAPE BECAUSE ITS ALWAYS COVERED BY HIS COMPRESSION SHIRT(and then Kafka notices in the bath ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE VICE CAPTAIN IS MARRIED) AND JOKES ON EVERYBODY BECAUSE HIS WIFE IS ALSO POSSESSIVE(or maybe she got fed up with his shit once and bit him back lol)

OKAY ANYWAYS I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME PLEASE MAKE SURE TO REST AND DRINK WATER BYE

-🐌

bless you snail anon i was ignoring some hardcore writer's block and this jump started something in my brain

bathtime revelations — hoshina soshiro x f!reader, established (secret) relationship, reader is a platoon leader, some minor narumi slander (sorry buddy. love that loser but it had to be done), biting, marking, possessiveness, uhhhh hickeys, edging?? nothing descriptive though sorry not today, 1.7k words

"Did you get attacked by a kaiju there, platoon leader? That's a strange looking scar."

The remark is innocent enough. You've been a member of the Defense Force for ages, and it's only natural to have numerous scars and aching bones from all the missions and kaiju neutralizing. Especially since you're a platoon leader of the Third Division, and you've leapt into the thick of things time and again to help Captain Ashiro get the best possible angle for her killing shots.

It would be fine, except the scar in question is a neat ring of teeth marks at the juncture between your shoulder and neck, where you're sensitive.

"Oh... no, that's not. Um." Shit. You've taken some of the Vice Captain's newest officers for an afternoon training session, and they're all looking at you now as you fumble for an explanation that doesn't expose your relationship. "I didn't get attacked by a kaiju, don't worry."

"Eh?? But that looks like a bite mark, platoon leader!" Iharu's voice is loud. You frown at him.

"It wasn't a kaiju," you say firmly. That much, at least, is the truth. "Anyway, if you guys wanna stay alive with just as many battle scars as me, go run some laps!"

Whew. There's a murmuring grumble, but everyone obeys orders. The summer heat and humidity wears you out quickly, and in an effort to combat the drain, you've stripped down to a tank top and your uniform pants. The bite mark in question feels like a brand on your skin, a ring of slightly raised flesh that should blend in with your other scars except for the clear circle it makes. You watch the rookies run, but your mind drifts, thinking back to when you got that set of teeth marks on your skin. Your body warms at the memory. Stupid boyfriend with his stupidly sharp canines.

You snap back to attention as Kikoru and Reno jog past, their words floating towards you on the breeze —

"—looks like maybe human?"

"Definitely not kaiju. You think the platoon leader's still with the person who marked her?"

"Oh, we can't ask that. Hibino senpai will be devastated."

Oh, jeez. There's no way you can let your boyfriend hear anything about this —

"How's it goin', platoon leader?"

Shit. You turn to the Vice Captain of the Third Division and frown. "What're you doing here?"

Hoshina Soshiro smirks at you, taking the tiniest step closer into what most people would consider to be personal space. "Just checkin' on my lil' fledglings! They've still got breath to gossip, eh? Are ya lettin' 'em off easy today, platoon leader?"

"I was letting them run off some energy so they'd forget about this bite mark on my neck, you vampire," you mumble. Soshiro laughs, leaning just a bit towards you. The afternoon sun glints off his purple hair in sparkles that dazzle your eyes, though it's easy to get pulled into his orbit when he's so magnetizing. You catch yourself and bring your outstretched hand up to your face, rubbing at your nose instead of sinking your fingers into the fluffy strands like you intended.

"Sounds like someone's got a lil' crush on our fearsome platoon leader," Soshiro says quietly, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Not that I blame 'em since it's you we're talkin' about. Still, it'd be good to send a message, y'know? Should I refresh your marks tonight?"

Your face feels hot. "'Marks?' But only one of them is visible when I'm in uniform!"

"What about the bath? We should give Shinomiya somethin' to report, don'tcha think?" His low voice sends a shiver down your spine and you frown to hide how much it's affecting you. Your boyfriend tilts his head. "Fresh marks'll show 'em all you belong to me."

Something hot and sharp lances through you and you bite at your lip to hold in a whine at the words. "That won't work," your voice is breathier than you'd like, but Soshiro is watching you like he wants to eat you alive and it's thrilling and terrifying and not enough. "They won't know it's you unless we match."

He raises an eyebrow at that, but the corner of his lips twitch as he fights down a grin. "Good point, platoon leader. We should discuss this in my office later."

"You're a menace."

Soshiro's smile softens into something fond and he takes another tiny step closer, until the fabric of his jacket brushes against your bare shoulder. You inhale his scent — bright, woodsy, something intrinsically Hoshina Soshiro — and all of your muscles relax. "And you're too dang cute for your own good, my love. See ya later?"

You nod and salute as he walks away, biting down a silly grin as you watch him call out encouragements and teases to his rookies. They all respond with good cheer and an edge of fierce determination, and once Soshiro fully exits the training area you allow yourself to return to the task at hand. You know, possibly more than anyone else on base, how hard Soshiro works to take care of his officers. You aren't going to let him down.

... but maybe you'll die of embarrassment first.

"Platoon leader! Did you spar after our training session? I would've liked to join!" Kikoru says, coming closer eagerly as you begin washing up in the communal bath. Your hand slips along your leg as you jerk up in surprise and Kikoru visibly falters as she takes in your bruises.

"This was a... private session, Shinomiya. I'd be happy to spar with you another time, though." Your entire body is warm, and not from the steam wafting through the echoing room.

"Aah, yes, of course! Sorry to disturb you, platoon leader!"

You resume your scrubbing with a quiet snort, listening as her footsteps return to the corner where Akari and Hakua are clearly ready to pounce. The girls probably don't realize how much sound travels in the bath, but you can hear their hushed whispers and giggling as Kikoru reports back that you're covered in hickeys.

You press down on a few of the blossoming bruises between your thighs and snort again. There's no way these could pass as training bruises — they're too intentional, too close to your aching center where Soshiro paid special attention earlier in his office — without letting you reach your peak. Bastard.

He made sure to leave marks along your chest and neck and shoulders again, taking advantage of your tank top for its easy access to your skin. Only after begging and pleading did he finally remove his stupidly tight compression shirt for you to drag your nails down his back and shoulders, fingers fisting into his hair as he licked and sucked at your core. After he ripped away your orgasm, you made good on your promise and left your own marks on his skin, kissing and sucking along the strong column of his throat and shoulders and pumping him with your hand until he nearly came on your thighs. Two could play at that game, after all.

Your ears perk as you catch your boyfriend's name. "Vice Captain Hoshina says I'm improving rapidly," Kikoru says cheerfully, tossing her head back. She certainly has the right to boast — her combat power levels just keep rising. She's going to make both of you proud. "Someday I will beat him in a practice match!"

"I'd like him to spar with me," another officer giggles. "Have you seen his back? Defense Force men are really no joke."

You bristle automatically. You're used to it by now — Soshiro's hot — but it doesn't make it any easier to hear confirmation of the fact out loud. "What about Captain Narumi? He's got really nice arms!" another officer says.

"You mean Captain Ego?" The communal bath fills with laughter as the girls gossip. "He's good looking, too, but Vice Captain Hoshina in that shirt..."

You're done bathing and changing into your nighttime clothes when a loud commotion from the other communal bath erupts. You share a look with a few of the girls, but you take your time pulling on your clothes (Soshiro's shirt, your shorts, your panties mysteriously missing — though you're sure you'll find them safely tucked into Soshiro's own sleeping pants pocket later).

You come out of the changing room and blink. "Vice Captain, how could you?!" Kafka is wailing dramatically. "You've already beat me by taking my spot by Mina's side, but you're beating me in having a girlfriend, too?!"

"Hang on a sec, old timer! You've already got the 'childhood friend promise' with the Captain!" Iharu shouts. "Leave something for the rest of us!"

"My, my, what a fuss," Soshiro says, waving his fingers. You blink, but the vision before you doesn't change. Most of the men are shirtless, towels wrapped around their waists as they spill out into the hallway in their chaos, and Soshiro is no exception. You can clearly see the raised pink lines your nails left behind on his densely muscled back, even with the small clump of officers between you. "We're all gonna catch a cold standin' out here like this."

"Those bruises on his neck... they look... fresh..." Reno says, his bright gaze darting between his Vice Captain and your exposed neck. Belatedly, you swing a towel around your shoulders, but Reno's eyes widen and you groan inwardly. "The platoon leader has fresh bruises, too."

Soshiro turns and your eyes snag on the blossoming pink and purple along his neck and shoulders. A quiet satisfaction settles in your gut at the sight, and you can't help but grin. "Keep that up, Officer Ichikawa, and you'll end up getting snagged for the Investigations Unit."

"They look good on her, don't they?" Soshiro hums, raising an eyebrow as the officers put two and two together. He meets your eye from across the small group and smirks. "Ain't it nice, platoon leader? Matchin' with the Vice Captain?"

Your answering smile makes his face light up with a deep fondness. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

#kn8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kn8 fic #kaiju no. 8 fic #kaiju no. 8 #fujimail #fuji writes fic #COULDNT HELP MYSELF #🐌 anon #I DID INDEED VIBE WITH THIS #i hope you're resting and drinking water too!!#not quite what you described in your message but it ran away from me LOL

498 notes · View notes

reverie-starlight · 11 months ago

Text

just some quick suna fluff bc I’ve been having strong feelings for him as of late.

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff!!!! slightly lovey-dovey. still getting used to writing him so it might feel a bit choppy but he’s fun to practice dialogue with <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“rin, quick- what colour are my eyes?”

he looks up from his phone to see you covering your eyes with one hand. in the other is your own phone, screen lit up with some paused video.

“why?”

you click your tongue and his mouth twitches. “because I want to see how well you know me, obviously.”

he raises an eyebrow at that. “do you really think after all these years I don’t know your eye colour?”

“just go with it!” you plead, and then continue with a “please, rin?”

with all the confidence in the world and zero hesitation, he says “pink.”

the speed at which your hand comes down to hit the bed you’re both sitting on forces a sly grin onto his pretty face. your face is priceless and your eyes are as stunning as ever. it makes his heart skip a beat.

“I swear-“

you look completely done with him, so obviously this means he can’t help but mess with you some more. he puts on a bewildered expression acts like he’s surprised.

“no, seriously, I think you have pink eye or something, babe. I thought you knew already.”

you blink and the annoyed look on your face turns into worry. he watches you switch to the camera app and examine your eyes. “RIN!”

he can’t help but snicker and beckon you over to cuddle into his side. you do, despite being cross with him, and he soothes you with a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry baby, it was too easy. of course I know the colour of your eyes.”

you roll them and nod a bit, sulking.

he blinks and tries to figure out what’s happening in front of him before realizing there‘s probably something else going on. he thinks back to the paused video he saw on your screen earlier and recalls that it was one of those street interviews that tests couples.

he’s seen them, of course, and has always made fun of the guys who don’t even know the most basic shit about their partners.

and then something clicks in his brain. are you scared he’s like them? you should know by now that he’s not, but he knows that sometimes doubt and insecurity creep in against your will, so he holds you tighter and flicks your forehead.

“I know you like the back of my hand, eye colour included. I’m always paying attention to you, even when you don’t realize it.”

you nod again, but you don’t look completely convinced yet. he scratches his chin as he thinks some more of how to make you feel better.

plan A is to flirt, because as much as you deny it, he knows you secretly like the attention and compliments he gives you.

he tilts your chin up to look at him and smiles a little, examining your eyes. “yup, still the prettiest shade I’ve ever seen. I never get tired of looking into them.”

you can’t hold the eye contact for long (you never can and he absolutely adores it) and gently pry his hand off so you can turn away.

“stoppp,” you say in a voice that makes it clear to him you don’t mean it.

because he knows you and all of your cues and he’ll spend every day proving it to you if he needs to.

“getting shy on me? you were so fiery earlier, what happened?”

you knock your forehead against his shoulder. “shut up.” there’s a smile in your voice now and he doesn’t even need to look at you to confirm that fact.

“nah, I’ll keep going. I hate to say it ‘cause you need to be humbled sometimes, but you’re, like, really hot or whatever.”

your head shoots up and you gape at him. “I need to be humbled?” there’s the hint of a laugh at the end of your sentence and he just shrugs.

“hey, I’m not the one who gets off on messing with their partner.”

you gasp and do let out a laugh this time, hitting his shoulder. “yes you are, you dick!”

and you allow the slander because you know suna, too. this is his way of acknowledging that you’re upset, not bringing it up and bringing you out of that state without being dismissive. he always knows exactly what you need and how to make it better.

after a few more minutes of back and forth, you’re giggling into his chest and he’s just smiling up at the ceiling while rubbing your back. a familiar warm feeling settles in his heart.

“better?” he asks.

you sigh happily against him and he feels you nod.

“good, because plan B was pretending to fall off the bed and hoping you laugh.” he’s half joking, but if it really comes down to it, he knows he’d bend over backwards to see you happy.

you snort, but you feel fuzzy at his words. you seem to realize the same thing going through his mind in that moment.

“thank you.”

he’s not sure if you’re thanking him for cheering you up or for simply knowing you, but his response covers both meanings anyway.

“my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

he’s insufferable and I love him and this kinda sucks but in my defence I wrote it last night in like twenty-five minutes.

@dira333 here’s your tag!!!

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader fluff #suna fluff #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #suna x y/n #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x y/n

946 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months ago

Text

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: Oliver Aiku isn’t sure which entity he’s wronged to earn this kind of treatment, but somehow, in the days before the match against Blue Lock, he’s stuck watching over the team’s newest addition: Sae Itoshi, a rude midfielder who’d rather be in Spain (or in hell) than hanging out with him. Things get a little more complicated, though, when a cup of shitty coffee leads to a crush and Aiku is forced to intervene.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.9k

Content Warnings: crack fic, sae my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader has to work in customer service 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, sae is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), sae slander (from aiku), reader is a fan girl but she keeps it 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙, reader’s dad has cameos but he’s just chilling tbh

A/N: the people wanted sae’s version to be posted first so uhhh here we are!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long (as usual) but it’s very silly and goofy!! anyways so this is the first entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Oliver Aiku likes to think he’s a fairly nice guy. He visits his grandmother every weekend, he rescues kittens from gutters (okay, it only happened once, but he still did it, so it counts), and he’s good enough at being captain of the Japanese U-20s that none of his teammates really hate him, so all in all, he can’t be doing that bad of a job. Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s a great person, a stand-up fellow, an upstanding member of society — so why the fuck is Sae Itoshi glaring at him like that?

“What?” he says, because it was fine for the first, say, twenty minutes or so, but now it’s gone from annoying to just plain concerning. “Something going on with you?”

Sae stares at him for a moment longer, and Aiku wonders if he’s trying to communicate via telepathy. That’s a skill he’s never picked up, though, so he can only wait for Sae to speak up, which, thankfully, he eventually does.

“This coffee is shit,” he says. The way he speaks is dull and blank, his lips pinched together and his brows low over his eyes. It’s kind of a shame, in Aiku’s highly professional opinion. He’d be handsome if he smiled more; or, if not handsome, at least approachable enough to not scare away every single girl that dared to even glance at him.

“It’s not my fault,” Aiku says. “Take it up with the barista or something.”

“You’re the one who brought me here, so it is your fault,” Sae says. Aiku crosses his arms, because isn’t Sae younger than him? This feels like a level of disrespect he shouldn’t tolerate, prodigy or not.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. In hindsight, it’s not the most mature response he could’ve come up with, and Sae seems to agree, snorting derisively before using a napkin to dab at a drip of coffee running down the side of his cup.

“What a captain,” he says with a sigh. “No wonder you guys need me to play for you against those Blue Lock idiots.”

Aiku should be offended, he really should be — and he is! He is, and he’s just about to muster up some scathing retort that’ll definitely leave Sae Itoshi trembling, but then Sae’s standing up with purpose, so now he’s just intrigued instead of insulted. He follows after him as Sae holds the coffee in one hand and marches towards the counter, and when he realizes what’s about to happen, he preemptively cringes.

“Don’t yell at service workers!” Aiku says. It would’ve been heroic if he had said it loud enough for Sae to hear him, but unfortunately, it’s more of a whisper than the brave shout he had intended for it to be, so he just looks kind of stupid, as if he regularly talks to himself or something.

“Hey,” Sae says to the boy at the counter. He’s young, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, and Aiku prays that he’s not the target of Sae’s ire. “Who made this?”

The boy squints at Sae’s cup, reading the receipt, and then he smiles innocently. “That was Y/N. Did you want to talk to her?”

“Yes,” Sae says bluntly. Aiku is about to thank whichever deity was watching over him and that boy alike, but he pauses when the rest of the kid’s statement registers. Her? Her? Is Sae seriously about to yell at a girl for making bad coffee? If she’s hot, he’ll kill Sae, no doubt about it. “And tell her to make it quick. We don’t have all day, and she’s already wasted enough of our time.”

Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill him.

“Y/N,” a voice whispers. You’re untying your apron — your shift is just about over, and you’re ready to clock out, but for some reason your young coworker is peering into the kitchen nervously and gesturing for you to come with him. Normally, you’d tell him to handle things himself, but he’s new, so you decide to be responsible for once and follow after him, muttering curses to yourself as you retie your apron.

“What’s the matter? Did you spill something?” you say. He shakes his head, raising his hand and pointing at the counter, where two customers are waiting. You frown, because you’re pretty sure you already gave them their drinks, so there’s no reason for them to be standing there, unless maybe they want to reorder. “Wait. Did you call me to take their order? No way! My shift is over in thirty seconds!”

“No, no, I didn’t,” your coworker says. “They want to talk to you.”

“Me? Like me, specifically?” you say. He nods.

“Yeah, they asked for you by name and everything,” he says earnestly. “I think they’re mad, though.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, because the last thing you want to do is deal with a couple of prissy customers, especially not when you’re supposed to be heading home already. However, your coworker seems to be on the verge of tears, and some kind of sisterly affection tugs at your heartstrings, so you pat him on the shoulder and take his spot at the counter.

“Hi, this is Y/N. My coworker told me you needed to see me. How can I help you?” you say. Your voice is chipper and your smile is false, but they don’t need to know that. You’ve been working at the coffee shop for long enough that you’re practiced at pretending, and you know for a fact that your coworker is standing shyly at your side, probably astonished by the quality of your performance.

For a moment, neither man speaks, so you get to stare at them and make your own assumptions about who they are and what their backstories might be. It’s kind of like a hobby, a pastime for when things are slow or you’re generally annoyed about your job. You’ve developed it over the years, and luckily, these two are prime candidates for the game.

The one on the left is tall and broad, with dark hair and mysterious eyes. Curiously, one is a bright green, while the other is a softer violet, and there’s a few-days-old stubble growing on his square face, like a shadow running along his jaw. It gives him a rough appearance, like he owns a motorcycle and frequently wears leather jackets, but you want to believe that he’s gentle at heart. Maybe he has a fondness for baby animals or he likes to bake cookies or something along those lines.

The one on the right is shorter than his counterpart, and his hair is red like a sunset, pushed carelessly out of his haughty face. He’s wearing a sweater that matches his eyes, though the teal of the knitted fabric is much more muted, and you’re about to come up with some kind of fantastical explanation for who he might be when you realize that you know him.

He clears his throat, and you scramble to stand up straighter, internally screaming, because what are the odds that you’ve somehow managed to piss off the star player of your favorite soccer club’s youth team? You wonder what your father will think of you now. You wonder what you think of yourself now. What should you do? Should you tell him you recognize him? Ask for an autograph? Or should you play it cool and pretend like you don’t know him? What if he yells at you?

Actually, you wouldn’t mind it as much as normally do. When everyday customers start screaming at you for some perceived wrong that you’ve supposedly committed, you typically tune them out, and then you make fun of them with your coworkers in the back, but if it’s Sae Itoshi…well. you’ll certainly listen to every word he says, and when you return to the kitchen, you’ll write them down somewhere so you can remember the moment forever.

“He didn’t like his drink,” he says, pointing at the dark haired man.

“What?” the man shrieks. The pitch is higher than you would’ve expected from someone of his size, but it appears he realizes that, too, because then he’s coughing. “I mean, what? What are you talking about?”

“You were just complaining, Aiku,” Sae says. “You even made me come up here and get mad at this girl for you.”

The other man, who you guess is named Aiku, is turning a strange shade between magenta and beet-red, and you’re surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears. Given that you don’t really care about him that much, you’re instantly irritated again, because why would it matter if he didn’t like his drink? Still, you have to keep up appearances.

“My apologies, sir. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” you say.

“No!” Aiku says. “No, it’s — hey, Sae, you were the one who was all upset, so why are you putting it on me?”

“Hm?” Sae says, obviously uninterested in the conversation already. “I dunno. Maybe it happened like that, or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, more than a little bewildered. “Ah, I’m new here, so I’m still learning.”

Aiku, who has returned to a more normal and human color, smiles at you kindly, and he’s about to respond, ostensibly to reassure you, but then your damned coworker pipes up: “No, she’s not.”

“Ah, sorry?” Aiku says.

“She’s not new,” your coworker says again.

“‘New’ is a subjective term,” you say mechanically, wishing that it was acceptable for you to turn around and hit him in public whenever you wanted.

“I don’t think anyone would consider you to be new when you’ve been working here for three years,” your coworker says. You can imagine the innocent, guileless expression on his face right now. You want to do something violent to it.

“Ha, ha,” you say. You think your eye might twitch, too, but if Aiku or Sae notice, then neither of them point it out. “What a knowledgeable fellow we have back here.”

“It’s alright,” Aiku says. “I didn’t mind the drink. Sae’s the one who threw a fit about it.”

“I liked it,” Sae says stubbornly. “It was fine.”

You step in before Aiku can turn magenta again, because that’s probably unhealthy for him, and you don’t want to be held liable for a customer dying on your watch when you’re not even being paid for it.

“Anyways, is that all? I’m actually done with my shift, so if you guys don’t need anything else…” you trail off, though inside you’re screaming something along the lines of Sae Itoshi, please notice me and give me your autograph and oh, if you could fall in love with me, too, that would be amazing!

Of course, you can’t verbalize anything like that, so you just smile and wave until the door slams shut behind them. Then you’re yanking your apron off and balling it up before chucking it at your coworker’s face. It hits him in the nose and slides to the ground; he gives you an offended look before picking it up.

“You’re lucky it was only an apron,” you say. “You owe me big time, you little shit.”

“Huh?” he says.

“I won’t forget this!” you warn him, stomping towards the small locker room, where your precious phone is waiting for you. “You’re a major-league jerk, okay? Don’t ever ask me to cover another shift for you again!”

“Huh?”

“What the hell was that?” Aiku snaps as soon as they’ve left the cafe, because this is totally not what he was expecting when his coach told him that he had to treat Sae nicely and make him feel welcome.

“What was what?” Sae says. He’s sipping on his coffee sedately now, even though he was complaining about it only minutes earlier.

“Since when was I the one who was upset about my coffee?” Aiku says.

“I have a bad memory,” Sae deadpans. “I guess it could’ve been either of us.”

“That was not believable in the slightest,” Aiku feels the need to inform him. Judging by Sae’s expression, it wasn’t meant to be believable, though, and Aiku sighs. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You were just going crazy and glaring at me because you thought the coffee sucked, and now you think it’s good?”

“I should’ve waited for it to cool,” Sae says. “It’s better now. I was being hasty.”

“Uh-huh,” Aiku says. “Sure. Let’s do something else tomorrow. I don’t ever want to go back there. I don’t think I can face that girl again. She was so hot, too, and now she probably thinks I’m some ungrateful asshole…”

“I want to go back,” Sae says immediately, throwing the now-empty cup into the nearest trash can. Aiku furrows his brow at him, trying to puzzle out this latest contradiction and finding himself utterly unable to. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Aiku repeats dubiously. Tomorrow he has practice, and technically so does Sae. However, they both know that Sae doesn’t need anything as ridiculous as practice in order to win against a team of eleven high-school forwards, and he’s fairly confident that his coach will tell him to accompany the bratty Itoshi instead of showing up, since the JFU is pulling out all of the stops if it means getting Sae to stay in Japan for good.

“Tomorrow,” Sae reaffirms.

I’m a nice guy, Aiku tries to remind himself. This is what nice guys do. I’m boosting team morale. Yeah. That’s all. Captain’s duties.

Still, as he chases after Sae, who apparently doesn’t know what the word ‘stroll’ means and prefers to do everything at a brisk pace more akin to a jog, he thinks that this entire ridiculous assignment feels more like a babysitter’s duties than anything.

“Are you serious?” your father says. In the background, the TV is playing a game between Re Al and Barcha, which is rather fitting.

“Deadly,” you say, untying the laces of your sneakers and putting them with the rest of your shoes. “It was actually him.”

“Sae Itoshi,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s back from Spain?”

“Seems like it,” you say, though now that he mentions it, you’re as confused as he is. Why is Sae Itoshi here instead of Madrid? You glance at the TV — Barcha has just scored, and the cameras are sweeping through the crowds, showing the excited fans cheering — and wonder if maybe he was fired or something. You doubt that that’s what happened; after all, he’s a consistent player, and the last time he was in a match, he even managed to outmaneuver that freaky striker who plays for Bastard München, so it would make zero sense for Re Al to let him go. Besides, even if they did, you’re sure there’s dozens of clubs that would be willing to take him, so there must be another reason for his presence in Japan.

“Huh,” your father says. “Well. Good for him.”

“I guess so,” you say. “If I ever see him again, I’ll ask him what he’s doing in town.”

Your father chuckles, taking a sip of his beer and giving you a thumbs up. “Yeah, you do that. Let me know what he says.”

You laugh, too, sitting down at the counter and eating a plate of reheated leftovers, because you know as well as your father that the idea of you ever seeing Sae Itoshi again is more than a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice thought, and anyways the chances are never zero, so for the moment, you allow yourself to imagine.

Aiku is seriously questioning if Sae Itoshi was sent to this earth — or at least to this country — as some kind of punishment for him. He’s not really sure what’s done that would invite such cosmic retribution, but maybe it’s one of those…what did that girl call them? Karmic debts? She had said something about the sins of his past life and all, though he can’t recall the specifics.

Wait. That’s wrong. He just never learnt them in the first place, so how could he remember them in the first place? He had broken up with her before she could explain her theories to him. This prompts a wince from him, which is further fueled by the way his t-shirt sticks to his back with sweat. It’s a distinctively uncomfortable feeling, and he’s contemplating complaining, even though it probably won’t do much.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

“I didn’t say anything!” Aiku protests, more than a little spooked, since he actually had been about to say something before Sae had cut him off.

“I can see you making faces at me,” Sae says. Considering Sae is walking ahead of him and to the side, Aiku’s not quite sure how he could tell anything about what sorts of faces Aiku is making, but unfortunately, he’s uncannily correct as always, so Aiku schools his expression into a smooth, neutral one that won’t beget reprimand from his companion.

“I can’t believe you insisted on going here straight after practice,” he says.

“This is the same time we went yesterday,” Sae says. He’s kind of an insufferable smart-ass, Aiku thinks to himself, though he’d never say as much to Sae’s face. After all, unlike his counterpart, he’s considerate like that, and he always has been.

“So? We didn’t have practice yesterday,” Aiku says. “You couldn’t even let me shower?”

“You take forever in the showers,” Sae says. This is rich, for Sae is notoriously obsessive with his skincare, and of the entire team, he takes far and away the longest to get ready. But, then again, Aiku supposes that idiocy is one of those illnesses which spreads further and further until all of one’s perspectives are tainted with the virus.

“I could’ve been quick,” he says. “It would’ve been better if I could’ve at least rinsed off so I didn’t look so gross. I want to impress that Y/N girl if she’s there again today.”

“You’re not her type,” Sae says dismissively. “So why bother?”

“How do you know? Are the two of you childhood buddies or something?” Aiku says. Sae glances at him, and of course he’s way too holier-than-thou to properly sneer, but the corners of his lips turn downwards to the same effect.

“Not too hard to figure out,” he says.

“Well, hold on just a moment! I got the vibe that she was totally into me yesterday!” Aiku says. He actually did not get any such vibes from the barista; the only thing she seemed into was clocking out, but he’s Oliver Aiku. If he can’t get a girl, he can’t do anything. Besides, it’s not like Sae would be able to tell one way or another — Aiku and his teammate Sendou have a theory that Sae was created in a lab as some kind of experiment to make the world’s best midfielder, because the guy really doesn’t have any knowledge or concern for anything that’s unrelated to soccer.

True to form, Sae blinks unsurely. “Really?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent,” Aiku boasts, although then he’s narrowing his eyes, because such a question is so out of Sae’s character that for a moment, he wonders if there’s been a mistake and he’s actually taken some other team member of his along for this ridiculous errand.

Messy red hair. Teal eyes. Forehead creased with a frown. No, it’s definitely Sae Itoshi, that’s for sure. Just Sae Itoshi in a mood that he’s never seen before. If they were a little closer, he’d ask him what’s the big deal now, but as it is, the question would probably go unappreciated.

“Hm,” Sae says. “Whatever. We’ll see.”

“Sure,” Aiku says slowly, reaching out to hold open the door of the cafe so he can enter behind Sae, since his lovely, amazing, wonderful, kindhearted teammate so generously left it to slam shut in his face.

What a total dick. He makes a mental note to ask the JFU for a raise, because whatever they’re giving him at the moment is definitely not enough.

“They’re back again!” your coworker says. You’re still mad at him for yesterday, so you’ve been giving him the silent treatment the entire shift. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, but his pitiful attempts at reconciliation never include an apology, so you haven’t budged yet.

He waits for you to respond, but you’re pretty sure he’s making stuff up to get you to pay attention to him, and anyways they could be in reference to anyone, so you continue to pour milk into a cup, acting like it’s an all-consuming task which you cannot possibly complete without the utmost of concentration.

“I’m being serious! Y/N, it’s Sae Itoshi and, uh, that other dude!” he says. Your hand wobbles for the briefest moment, but you conclude that he’s most likely lying, so you steady yourself and continue pouring the milk. “Fine, be that way! I’ll serve them myself!”

You can’t even say something snarky in response, because that’ll still be a win on his part, so you huff particularly loudly to no one in particular and leave it at that.

A few minutes later, he’s back, looking so contrite that if you weren’t upset with him, you’d actually be worried. Unfortunately, you very much are upset with him, so you find it on the whole to be rather hilarious and have to suppress a laugh.

He must take your amusement as a signal to talk, because he speaks eagerly and quickly, stumbling over his words and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Y/N, Y/N, they’re insisting on seeing you, I told them you’re working right now — I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to do that, right? But I did, and now they really want to see you!” he says.

You’re still not entirely convinced, but if this is an act, then it’s a dedicated one, and you don’t think that he possesses that much dedication in all of his body, so maybe he’s actually telling the truth.

“Fine,” you say. “But if you’re lying, I swear I’m telling our manager to fire you.”

“I’m not!” he squeaks, darting back to the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to catch up to him.

When you reach the front, you’re surprised to see that it is in fact Sae Itoshi and…whoever that other guy is. Aiku? Yes, that sounds right. It’s Sae and Aiku, and one looks supremely inconvenienced — this would be Sae, of course — while his friend is running a hand through his sweaty hair, flashing you a grin.

You smile back at him, because that’s what you’re trained to do, and you don’t want your coworker to tattle to your manager that you’re not abiding by the cafe’s standards of customer service. Then you stare at them until one of them starts speaking, because that’s what your entire job is, and no matter how badly you want to start gushing to Sae Itoshi about how big of a fan you are, you have to remain professional.

“Is there anything I can do for you two?” you finally say. This prompts Aiku to nod, nudging Sae in the side, which earns him a dark glare.

“I want the number two, and he’ll take the number five,” Aiku says when Sae does not speak up. You want to tell him that nobody orders like that, but you’re not supposed to and it’s really not that big of a deal either way, so you just ring up the order.

“Sounds good. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?” you say.

“Credit,” Sae says, pulling out a card that probably has a monthly spending limit higher than what you make in a year. “And we’re splitting the bill, just so you know.”

What you want to say is Wow, Sae, you’re somehow even cooler in real-life! Who’s your favorite soccer player? What’s your favorite food? Do you like Spain better, or here? What you actually say is: “No problem. I’ll have those right out for you.”

“Thanks,” Aiku says. He’s kind of charming, in a sense; you can think of several friends you have that would probably swoon at the way his smile stretches across his face, but you don’t really see the appeal. Or, maybe you would normally, but at the moment, he’s standing next to Sae Itoshi, so it’s a little hard to focus on him at all.

“Yeah,” Sae says. “Thank you. Y/N.”

He’s probably just reading off of your name tag in an effort to seem more friendly and relatable and humble and all. It’s a classic PR move that he was probably taught as soon as he joined Re Al. You know about it, though, so it shouldn’t work on you. It won’t work on you. He’s just doing what he’s trained to, the same as you are.

It works on you. You run to the back and hide your face in your hands and squeal, because Sae fucking Itoshi just said your name.

“Holy fucking shit,” Aiku says.

“Are we just listing curse words now?” Sae says dryly. “Bitch, cunt, hell. There’s three more for you.”

“You like the barista!” Aiku accuses. If Sae was drinking something, he would’ve spit it out just then, but he’s not, so he just chokes on his saliva.

“No way,” he says.

“Yes, you do! How else can you explain this?” Aiku says, pitching his voice up in an imitation of Sae’s. “Yeah. Thank you. Y/N. Since when do you say thank you to people?”

“Since always? I have manners,” Sae says.

“I’ve never heard you say it,” Aiku says.

“Maybe that’s more telling about you than me,” Sae suggests. Aiku scowls at him.

“You definitely like her,” he says. “No judgment here, man. She’s pretty.”

“Whatever,” Sae says. “Even if I did like her — mind you, I don’t — she’s clearly into you.”

“Me?” Aiku says. “I was just messing with you earlier, you know. Anyways, yeah, I think she’s hot, but, like, you’ve never liked a girl before, right? So I wouldn’t get in the way of that. This is a big step.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything. Do what you want,” Sae says.

Aiku’s already pulling out his phone and texting Sendou: big news. Lab experiment just evolved. Feels attraction and jealousy now.

“Uh-huh,” he responds absentmindedly. Sendou texts back with about fifty mind-blown emojis, and he snickers to himself, liking the message.

“Anyways, who told you I’ve never liked anyone before?” Sae says defensively. Aiku just about drops his phone, leaning forwards in interest. Could it be? Are he and Sae actually bonding? Is Sae about to tell him about his first love — who apparently is not this barista?

“I just guessed. Was I wrong?” Aiku says. He’s already trying to come up with who Sae might’ve liked — a childhood neighbor or friend? A women’s soccer player he admired? A girl he saw once in Spain but never again? Oh, that last one is particularly romantic…he’s just about accepted it as fact when Sae glares at him.

“No,” he says. Aiku’s dreams are shattered in an instant, but he can only shake his head while chuckling, both because Sae has inadvertently admitted that he actually does like that Y/N girl, and because he was an idiot for believing that ‘Sae Itoshi’ and ‘romantic’ could ever belong together in one sentence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What do I do?” you say. You and your coworker are back on speaking terms, mostly because you have no one else to talk to and are so desperate that you’re willing to temporarily forgive him.

“Make their drinks?” he says. You give him a dirty look as you begin mixing up their orders.

“Not about that. I’m such a huge fan of Sae’s, and this is the second time I’m making a drink for him. It’s kind of like fate, don’t you think? Should I try to talk to him or something?” you say.

“Do you want to?” your coworker says. It’s a slower time of day, so he has nothing to do but sit and watch you — at least, nothing immediate. There’s certainly things he could be doing, but you’re not about to chide him when you’re the reason he’s slacking off.

“Obviously! But what am I supposed to even say? I’ll sound like a creep if I just start acting like a fan-girl!” you say.

“That’s true,” your coworker says. “You kind of sound like one even now…”

“Ugh, if you’re not going to be helpful, then go organize the storeroom or something!”

“What about her makes you like her?” Aiku presses.

“Are we still on this?” Sae says, as if they’ve been talking about it for hours. “I don’t like her.”

“It’s not like you talked to her for a while…was it really just her looks?” Aiku says. “Damn. Didn’t think you were the shallow type.”

“I am not the shallow type!” Sae says.

“That sounds like something that a shallow person would say,” Aiku teases.

“Shut up,” Sae says. Aiku doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times Sae’s said that particular phrase to him. Maybe if he counted all of the fingers and all of the toes of every single person in the world, he would get kind of close to what that number might be. “I’m not shallow, I don’t like her, and she’s obviously way more interested in talking to you than me, so get off my back.”

Aiku whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m telling the JFU that you were the one who sent me back to Spain,” Sae informs him bluntly. Aiku isn’t sure if that’s a joke or a legitimate threat. It’s hard to tell with Sae sometimes.

“Are you serious?” Aiku says.

“Deadly,” Sae says.

Yep, Aiku decides. He’s serious.

“If only that Aiku dude wasn’t there,” you lament, setting the first drink in the pick-up area and calling out Aiku’s name before returning to finish Sae’s drink. “It’d be way easier to talk to Sae without someone there to judge everything I’m saying.”

“Do you think he’d even care?” your coworker says. You shrug.

“No idea. It’s intimidating to talk to guys around their friends, though. You’re a guy yourself, so you wouldn’t get it,” you say.

“Are they even friends?” your coworker says. “Doesn’t seem like they get along that well.”

In unison, the two of you turn so you can look at the duo, who are sitting at a table right within your line of sight. As your coworker said, they don’t look like they’re friends in the slightest. Aiku is sipping on his drink with a smirk, and Sae looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than be sitting there with his not-friend.

“The point still stands,” you say.

“Guess so,” your coworker says. Just then, Sae Itoshi happens to glance over, making direct eye contact with you. Your eyebrows raise, and your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught. Aiku turns to follow Sae’s line of sight as you weigh your options. Should you pretend like you weren’t doing anything? Should you wave?

You decide to just smile again before returning to the drink you were supposed to be working on. Your coworker, who saw the entire exchange, cannot stop laughing.

“It’s over for you,” he says. “He definitely thinks you’re a creepy fan-girl now. You can kiss that autograph goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m too lazy to remake this drink,” you say. “Because otherwise, I’d spill it on you.”

“That’s against company policy,” he says.

“By accident, of course,” you say with a malicious grin.

“That’s against company policy, too!”

“Look, she just smiled at you. I bet she was looking at you the entire time,” Sae says coolly. “You should ask for her number. You already said you think she’s beautiful.”

“I said she’s hot. I’m not all poetic and shit like that,” Aiku says. “And I wouldn’t do that. It’s against the bro code.”

“We’re not ‘bros��, so you can put that out of your head,” Sae says.

“What if I help you get her number?” Aiku says. Sae tries very hard to maintain his nonchalant look, but Aiku can tell that his curiosity has been piqued. “Will you consider me a bro then? At the minimum, will you tell the JFU that I’ve done a great job at showing you around and making you feel welcome?”

Please please please please please I really need a fucking raise Sae I’m broke please please please —

“Sure,” Sae says.

“Sure?” Aiku says. “Yes! Okay, this will be easy.”

Sae scoffs. “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you think.”

“Believe me,” Aiku says. “You’re in the presence of a master.”

Sae doesn’t even dignify that with a response beyond the most disgusted look Aiku has ever seen on anyone, Sae or not. He’d say something, but he’s pretty sure he deserves it at least a little, and anyways a possible raise is way more important to him than being right, so he keeps his mouth shut, simply giving Sae a double-thumbs-up. He’s going to ace this new assignment, and then maybe he’ll actually be paid what he’s worth instead of pennies on the dime.

You’re about to call out Sae’s name when you realize that for some reason, both Aiku and Sae are standing there and waiting for you. You furrow your brow, because it’s both a menacing and a comical sight — the hulking Aiku, who looks like he’s about to go punch a criminal on television before flipping his hair and telling the ladies that there’s enough of him to go around, and the slender Sae Itoshi, who you can’t imagine doing anything but slamming a winning pass to one of his teammates, invariably leading to a soccer ball in his opponent’s net.

“Uh, hello,” you say.

“Hello,” Aiku says.

“Hi,” Sae says.

“I have your drink,” you say to Sae.

“I know,” he says, taking it from your hand. Of course — why else would they be here? They must’ve seen you finishing up the drink and rightly assumed that it was theirs.

“Right,” you say. Neither of them go to leave, and now you wonder if they just don’t understand social cues or something like that. “Did you guys want to order something else? My coworker would be happy to take you at the counter.”

“No,” Sae says.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your drinks.”

“We will,” Sae says with the utmost of confidence. Aiku groans and then thumps him on the back. You have a feeling you probably don’t want to know what the significance of the gesture is, but then you realize that this is probably the only chance you’ll get to have a proper conversation with Sae Itoshi, so you shove your concerns aside.

“Wait! If it doesn’t bother you too much, can I ask you a question?” you say. It’s an incredibly awkward way of going about it, but given how awkward this entire interaction has been, you don’t think it’s a huge deal.

“Go ahead,” Aiku says. You weren’t asking him, but you guess the permission covers them both, so you square your shoulders and face Sae Itoshi, who seems entirely confused that you’re looking at him instead of Aiku. You’re not sure why he would be, since between the two of them he’s the celebrity, but maybe there’s some weird dynamic going on that you’re unaware of.

It doesn’t matter to you, though. You only have one thing to ask. You’ll never cross paths with Sae again, will you? So it’s fine. You can act a little embarrassing, and anyways, you barely make above minimum wage, so if your manager gets too upset and fires you for ‘unprofessional conduct’ or something, it won’t be a huge loss. It’ll be worth it, even, considering this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance and your coworker is busy reorganizing the storeroom like you told him to, so he’s not around to spy on you and report back to your stodgy old manager.

Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

Aiku hadn’t dared to even dream of the possibility that the barista might already like Sae, too. Why would she? Sae had just been all weird and rude to her in the couple of times that they had spoken, so all in all she’d have to be somewhat of a masochist, or a Re Al fan (which was essentially the same thing, given the losing streak that Re Al had been on for the last month or so), to be into him. But sometimes miracles did happen and baristas were masochists, because the girl was turning to Sae with shimmering eyes and a hopeful expression and it was all going to go so well—

“What are you even doing in Japan in the first place?”

Did he hear her right? Sae is bewildered as well, but Y/N isn’t acting like she’s just asked the most ridiculous question she could’ve possibly asked. What is Sae doing in Japan? Well, he happens to be a citizen of the nation, so there’s one explanation…Aiku wants to facepalm, because now his plans have been ruined and Sae’s confidence has probably been crushed.

“Pardon?” Sae says. Aiku had told him not to act so cranky and old-man-ish when he approaches the girl, but honestly, at this point, there’s no helping him, so he doesn’t even bother with a correction.

“Why are you in Japan?” she says again, all bright and innocent and cheery. It somehow feels like she’s been faking things so far, and that this is the real her, which she’s been holding back up until this point. Aiku isn’t so sure if that’s a good thing; privately, he believes it would’ve been better if she kept holding back just a little bit longer. Long enough for her to reject Sae — who still claims he’s not into her and is just trying to ‘be friendly’, as if friendliness is something he’s well known for — and then move on with her day.

“My passport expired?” Sae says, phrasing it more like a question. “So I had to come back and get it renewed?”

His voice ticks up at the end of every sentence unsurely. It’s almost cute, like he’s a little baby chick. Aiku’s fond of chicks, so he decides he’ll step in. Just this once.

“He’s visiting from Spain to play for the Japanese U-20 team in an upcoming exhibition match,” he explains.

“Oh, wow,” she says. “But I thought you said you would rather give up on soccer or play with German college kids than ever play soccer for Japan?”

Aiku raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t aware of such sentiments, and though he’s not exactly shocked, he can’t help feeling a bit miffed. When he glances over at Sae, there’s not a trace of remorse on his face, and so he wrinkles his nose.

Forget the raise and the baby-chick-esque mannerisms alike. He’s done helping this ungrateful, no-good, lame-as-hell, girl-repelling loser for free. If Sae wants any further assistance, he’ll have to beg for it.

“How did you know I said that?” Sae says. You clap your hand over your mouth when you realize you’ve exposed yourself.

“I, um, I was just guessing!” you say.

“Guessing?” he repeats. You swear, because that’s actually a worse explanation than the original one, and then you hang your head, because if the cat’s out of the bag, then there’s no way you can put it back in.

“It’s a quote from one of your interviews,” you mumble.

“What?” It’s Aiku, who immediately frowns when he realizes he’s butted in. Sae gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” you say. “The last game you played in, when you stole the ball from that Bastard München striker, was amazing! To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re in the area instead of back in Madrid. It’s a little unbelievable, you see.”

“Ah,” Sae says, and for some reason he looks uncomfortable. “Well. Yeah. It was just the issues with my passport and all. I decided to play for the U-20s because I was offered a good deal, but it’s right back to Madrid for me after that.”

“That makes sense,” you say. It’s awkward again, but in a different way. You don’t know what to say. You don’t think he does either. His drink is probably cold now, and you’re surprised that Aiku’s eyes aren’t stuck in the back of his head, given how frequently he’s been rolling them. “Can I have your autograph?”

“No,” Sae says immediately. You’re a little taken aback, and to be honest, he looks kind of horrified himself, but you know better than to nag, so you only nod at him.

“No worries—” you begin before you’re cut off by a grumbling Aiku.

“He’ll give you his number instead. Here,” Aiku says, listing off a series of digits too rapidly for you to remember. “He’ll write it down, for you, right, Sae?”

And then, to your utter disbelief, Sae Itoshi is pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from who knows where, and he’s humming in agreement.

“Right,” he says, and then he’s handing you a note with his phone number written on it in neat print and his signature in flowing cursive. “You can call me later. If you want. Y/N.”

The way he speaks is stilted and low, but you don’t mind it. Tucking the piece of paper into your apron pocket, you beam at him.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll call you. I still have more things to ask you, so it’s good that you gave me this.”

“Yes,” Sae says. “Yes, you can do that if you’d like.”

Then he and Aiku are leaving the coffee shop, their drinks in hand, and you’re standing there in awe, wondering if that actually just happened or if it was nothing but a particularly vivid flight of fancy.

If it’s the latter, then you almost hope it’s one you don’t ever escape from.

“You’re welcome,” Aiku says as they leave the cafe.

“I didn’t say thank you, you lukewarm oaf,” Sae says. Aiku shrugs. He’s hard to ruffle, after all. It’s the reason why he stepped in and rescued Sae from that little mistake of his. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his dear junior losing the girl of his dreams because of a slip of his tongue, even if aforementioned junior is the insufferable smart-ass type.

Well, the thought of the money he’ll make if Sae speaks of him highly to the JFU doesn’t hurt, either, but that’s less altruistic, so he prefers to stick to the first explanation.

“I bet you feel it, though,” Aiku says.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

It’s a good thing babies are born every minute. Otherwise, given how frequently Sae says that particular phrase, Aiku really might run out of things to count on.

You’ve typed the number on the piece of paper into your phone, and now you’re staring at it blankly, wondering if you should press the green call button. What if it was a prank? What if it wasn’t? Because then you’ll have to actually talk to Sae Itoshi, and you’re not so sure you can do that.

In a fit of inspiration, you slam your index finger against your screen and hold your phone up to your ear. It rings a couple of times, each subsequent one worsening the pit in your stomach, but then it stops ringing entirely, which can only mean one thing: Sae, if this really is his number, has answered.

“Hello?” you say.

“Hello?” he responds. “Y/N?”

“Yes!” you say. “It’s me. Y/N. Like you said.”

“Cool,” he says. “It’s Sae. Which I guess you knew, since you called me.”

“The confirmation was nice,” you say, internally sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. It’s mannerly but also a little sarcastic, albeit not in a mean way. You don’t mind it much. “You said you had to ask me some things?”

The two of you spend the next few minutes in a setting kind of like an interview, in that you drill him with questions and he answers them all patiently. He’s kind about it, humoring you even though he doesn’t have to, and he never threatens to hang up, which you do appreciate.

“Would you mind if I ask a question, too?” he says when you’ve taken a break to drink some water.

“Go ahead! Although I’m not as interesting as you are,” you say.

“I think you’re probably way more interesting,” he admits. “Anyways. Are you free next weekend?”

“Uh, I think I have a shift on Saturday, but to be honest, my coworker owes me, so he can cover it. Why?” you say.

“The exhibition game that I’m playing with the U-20s for. You should come watch,” he says.

“Oh! Sure, where should I get tickets? I’d have gotten them already if I knew you were playing,” you say.

“I’m allowed to invite someone,” he says. “Friends or family. So I’m inviting you.”

“Don’t you have actual friends that you can invite?” you say before gasping. “Sorry! Sorry, that was super insensitive and rude of me. Of course I’m honored to come, I’m just confused about why I’m the one you’re inviting. Me. I’ve literally made coffee for you twice, and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he says before pausing. “Um, look, Aiku told me to say this, so if it’s uncomfortable, then blame him…but I think you’re, er, beautiful?”

Your mind short-circuits. “Huh?”

“I don’t know! He’s the one who has experience, I’m just taking his advice!” Sae says, his tone souring immediately afterwards. “Trust me, it’s not like I want to. There’s many things I’d rather do than follow Oliver Aiku’s advice, but at the moment, it’s the best I can do.”

“Beautiful,” you repeat. It’s such an elegant adjective. You’ve been called pretty before, and there’s been a fair share of guys who have considered you to be hot, but beautiful…it’s nice. It’s really nice.

“Yeah,” Sae finally says. “Basically.”

“I’ll be there,” you say. There’s something like a scream bubbling in your throat, but you fight it back, knowing that it’s of the utmost importance that you maintain a relaxed demeanor.

“Great,” Sae says. “See you.”

“See you,” you say, and then you hang up before he can say anything further, because you’re already on the verge of combustion and you don’t think you can handle anything more.

Throwing your phone across the room, you give in and scream. There’s thundering footsteps, and then your father is throwing the door to your bedroom open, whipping his head around wildly.

“Is everything alright? Why are you screaming?” he says, heaving for breath, probably because he just sprinted from his spot on the couch to your bedroom in record time.

“Sae Itoshi!” you say.

“Yes?” he says, the rate of his inhales and exhales lowering as he realizes there’s no active threat to your life or property. “What about him?”

“He told me I’m beautiful and invited me to watch his game next weekend,” you say, knowing that this is going to make your father — a fellow Re Al fan — freak out.

You wait, counting down as he processes the news, unable to contain your exuberant grin, knowing exactly what’s coming. Three, two, one—

“What?”

#sae x reader #sae x y/n #sae x you #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls #m1ckeyb3rry writes

185 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 8 months ago

Note

hi mae! i’ve recently become obsessed with herbal teas and i noticed you have mentioned chamomile and jasmine tea in your fics lol. i am wondering if you would be interested in writing a remus or poly!marauders fic with an american reader who loves herbal teas and they kinda tease her about it (in a loving way of course)? i love your fics and i hope you have a lovely day whenever you read this <3

I love herbal teas! I fully support this obsession honey. Thank you for requesting!

cw: british slander, i love y'all but i'm besmirching your brand <3 (based largely on my own experiences lol, so perhaps not fully accurate)

Remus Lupin x american!reader ♡ 614 words

“This is so disappointing,” you sigh at the sight of Remus’ cabinet.

“What?” he asks from the couch.

“You told me you had tea.”

“I do have tea.”

“No, you only have this.” You take the box of Yorkshire Tea out of the cabinet, brandishing it where Remus can see. “This shit is nasty. Rubbish, as your folk say.”

“Oh,” he laughs, “so you sail all the way across the ocean, take our teas with you, denounce our government, and then come back here to criticize, is that it?”

You look at him darkly. “This is what the Boston tea party was really about. I get it now.”

Remus beckons you toward the couch. You go, abandoning the boiling kettle since apparently there’s no point in searching the kitchen for anything good to drink. It’s only once you sit down on the couch and he takes your hand into his lap that you realize your mistake.

Remus has a mollifying effect on you. It’s tragic, really. All it takes is a look, a shift in his tone, a small touch like this, and you’re pliant and boneless for him.

“What sort of teas do you prefer?” he asks you softly, tracing the lines of your palm.

“I usually keep a variety,” you tell him, matching his tone. “Like cinnamon, or passionflower, or rooibos…have you heard of any of those?”

Remus smiles, slow and sweet. “I have. Would you like whipped cream and sprinkles on those as well?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. You try to take your hand back, but Remus holds fast (you don’t make it hard for him), grinning at you.

“That is so not fair. Just because y’all like your tea bland—”

“Say that one more time for me? Who all?”

“—doesn’t mean my tastes are somehow unrefined.” You fix him with a hard stare, though your smile is untamable. “You’re being posh.”

Remus looks amused. “Never been accused of that one before,” he says.

“Have you ever tried jasmine tea with a little bit of sweet creamer in it?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Remus, you’re really missing out.”

“Alright.” He stands, taking your hand with him and giving it a tug when you don’t follow. “C’mon, up.”

“Where are we going?”

“To make you a cuppa.”

You giggle. “I can’t take you seriously when you call it that.”

“Once you stop saying dude, we can talk about my diction.”

“So mean,” you tsk, letting him pull you over in front of the kitchen counter. He pours the hot water from the kettle into a mug, placing a tea bag in it.

“We’ll get this drinkable for you, love, don’t worry,” Remus murmurs, waiting until the tea is a deep brown before going to the fridge. He pours in heaps of milk and sugar, stirring with a look of mild distaste in his expression. “Alright, try.”

You take the mug off the counter warily, blowing on it before putting it to your lips.

You hum, and Remus lifts an eyebrow.

“It’s…better.”

“I’ve done my best,” he chuckles, taking it from you. “I’ve thrown all my principles and better sense out the window, and it’s still not up to your standards, hm?”

“No, it’s not bad.” You steal the mug back, taking another sip and smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth experimentally. “It’ll do.”

Remus gives you an indulgent look. “I’m sure we can find you some jasmine tea if that’s what you want,” he offers.

You shrug. “I was just at the grocery store, and I didn’t see any.”

He tilts his head skyward, blowing out a long-suffering breath. “I think you mean the grocery, sweetheart.”

513 notes · View notes

cinnamxnangel · 19 days ago

Text

showstopper ! (mlist)

chapter 2: coffee talk

"..and action!"

i walk into the pristine lobby, my heels clicking furiously against the tile floors. i look around trying to take in the new surroundings. i see a man in a suit standing near the front desk. i assume he's the receptionist and walk over to him.

"excuse me?" he peers up from his papers, eyeing me. he lifts one brow, allowing me to continue.

"do you know where mr. kato's office is?"

"do you have an appointment?" he asks, completely turning to face me.

"no, actually. i'm the new secretary. today's my first." i smile nervously. his gaze softens a bit.

"he's not in right now. you should wait here for the receptionist, kenji. he'll help you out."

"oh, alright. thank you!" i smile. he nods and walks off to the elevator.

"and cut! nice job, everyone! take five." gojo yells from his chair. my smile drops immediately the camera stops rolling. i decide to get a cup of coffee, my heels still clicking behind me.

i pour the hot liquid into the cup, feeling in heat up my hands. i feel megumi come stand beside me, pouring himself one as well. i instinctively move to the side, giving him more room. i watch his slim fingers place the lid of his coffee on and take a long sip.

"you drink your coffee black?" i ask, not trying to mask my disdain. he eyes me, like he's annoyed i spoke.

"yeah so?"

"that's disgusting," i say, while adding an ungodly amount of sugar in mines. he watches me with a grimace.

"you just put enough sugar to kill a horse." i stir my coffee, and take a sip. the feeling of the sugary drink dripping down my throat bringing warmth to my blood.

"yeah, cause it tastes good." i turn to face him. "black coffee tastes like.." i pause in mock thought, taking another sip. "..if you mixed shit and some water-" i hear megumi let out a sigh, probably of frustration which makes me let out a giggle.

"you're not as funny as you think you are." he says, looking ahead.

"and you're not as hot as you think you are." i say sharply. his eyebrow perks at that.

"is this about our first encounter?" he asks, a bit of a smile on his lips.

"maybe it is." i glare. i pause for a minute but he doesn't fill the silence. "you're not going to apologize?" the hint of annoyance is not hidden in my voice. he lets out a laugh. not a sweet, genuine one.

a demeaning one.

it makes my blood boil.

"why should i apologize?" he questions, the smirk still evident on his face.

"because you were an asshole. and clearly still are." i mumble the last part but i know he still heard it.

"you haven't been a saint yourself, princess." i frown at the nickname, but i'm too tired to argue with him.

"whatever. i have better things to do with my time than be with you."

"there are people who would spend thousands of dollars to be with me for even five minutes."

"no surprise, all of your interactions are transactional." i roll my eyes. i see him open his mouth to answer, but i don't care to hear. i walk away, my coffee in hand, my heels still clicking against the floor.

roll the credits !

i loved writing this, especially todo's

todo slander is my favorite

megumi may or may not have checked out y/n as she walked away

megumi genuinely sees nothing wrong w his behavior

the reason megumi calls y/n princess is not as a cute nickname but he's sees her as a spoiled brat

as if he's not one himself smh

toge may or may not be having his debut next chapter

taglist ! - @missunrise @cyberst4rs @qtnfer @rxi-n-lyche3 @kenmacantakemeaway @soobinbunnie5 @applemiffi @lupicalbestwolf @babysoo-meu @stillnotherapy @cl3xr @starrysho @good-mourning0 @ifuhatemeiloveu @bunichuu @aestheticallyvini @mochroialainn @starsryi @ladytamayolover @megumislovedoll @dimwitfreakby @urfavlarry @yowumi @bubybubsters @gumims @samkickikc @sukuna5slut @sugacor3 @angelcakkess

156 notes · View notes

eris-snow · 8 months ago

Note

heyy! I was wondering if you could write monoma x reader dating hcs/monoma pining (or any other ideas you have for him). Not sure if you even write for him (and if you don't please feel free to disregard this request!) Tysm if you *do* decide to write this and have a very wonderful day!!

Author’s note: Honestly, I don’t know how to write Monoma and he isn’t one of the characters under my radar, but I really wanted to try writing him, so thanks for sending in this request! (This was something I instinctively wanted to turn into a oneshot for some reason, so I enjoyed writing this request!)

----

Monoma doesn’t really know what he’s thinking when he fell for you.

He swears that he wouldn’t if he could, because dammit of course he has to choose someone insanely out of his league.

It’s not even your looks, it’s how you carry yourself.

Your mannerisms, your aura, all of that makes him gravitate to you so easily it scares him.

He’s so overwhelmed by your entire aura that his default words to you are all insults.

He’s a carbon copy of Bakugou, wrapped in a different outer package for purely the same reasons.

It had taken a long time for you to get into the status of ‘friends’ during third years, and Monoma will forever wonder just how he did it and why you took him in

He knows he’s an ass, he knows he’s insufferable, and he knows your friends hate him.

Shiny, attention-grabbing Class A, he secretly wishes to be one of them, one of you.

He’s working hard to strive for excellence, but every time he looks at you, you’re somehow already 12 steps ahead of him.

It’s what makes him hate you, but love you so much.

Like an onion, Monoma has layers upon layers of himself. Bit by bit, you end up peeling them and getting small glimpses of what he really thinks under the bravado and the slander.

You learn that when he’s crude, he’s twice as hard on himself. You learn that when he seems arrogant, he’s the biggest critic on himself.

You tell him that his Quirk is freakishly awesome, and validate his hard work.

He shakes his head, so you say it often, daily, frequently. Because then, you hope that he’d know that at least one person has seen his blood, sweat and tears shed.

Your relationship is an exploration. Everyone has a side that others don’t know about, and just as you discover his vulnerabilities, he discovers yours.

Your perceptiveness is sometimes a curse rather than a blessing, and your sensitivity often a poison rather than a tool.

Woven between your good traits are double-edge swords that paint you as more insecure of yourself than he thought.

You’re a human, not a character, he’d say. You might have flaws, but in his eyes, you’re perfectly imperfect.

Dating is a very natural shift. Good cop, bad cop. Angle, Devil. He knows what he plays.

But still, he doesn’t really think it’s so bad. After all, who cares what hordes of critics he doesn’t give two shits about says about him when you, the sole person who sees him as who he is still believes that he’s good?

Transparent, layers unveiled, in tears, with facades, splintered dreams, shattered hopes and ambitious, longing desires: You’ve seen it all.

He boos your class once more and sees you sigh, giving him a crooked smile—imperfect, but still beautiful—like he’s a children’s book with big, bold letters on every page.

Yeah, fuck everyone else. All he really needs is you.

#mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #monoma neito #bnha monoma #monoma x reader #bnha #neito x reader #monoma x y/n

363 notes · View notes

rockrosethistle · 6 months ago

Text

Workin Boys was literally the only thing that saved Hidgens from being flanderized beyond recognition

(Spoilers for Workin' Boys)

So what I think a lot of people don't give much thought to is how much Professor Hidgens as a character has evolved since tgwdlm, essentially becoming a parody of himself.

Think of Hidgens as a character. What are his defining traits?

Did you think about how he is a doomsday prepper who has been stockpiling supplies for 20 years? Because that's how he's introduced in Guy.

Did you try think about how he has a weird relationship with his Alexa? Or did we forget about that?

In fact, for the majority of TGWDLM, Hidgens' main character trait is that he says weird shit with a Doc Brown voice.

The whole concept of Workin Boys isn't even introduced until the last half hour of the show. That's where he reveals his real motivation: to live out the musical he wrote as a young man.

Actually, no, that's not right. Because his motivation was world peace, and Workin Boy's was just a convenient means to that end.

I won't disregard the fact that Hidgens clearly has an emotional connection to the show, but in Guy, it serves as a punchline rather than a driving force.

So now we have this lovely, morally-grey, multi-layered character that we can work with.

By the time we get to Time Bastard, the fandom is expecting a show stopping number reference, so of course we get that.

But at this point, Hidge is still that multi-layered character. Sure, showstopping number gets a callback, but we also get a callback to his strange relationship with robots. They make up an equal part of him as a character.

By the time we get to Honey Queen, we have lost several aspects of Hidgens altogether. He is no longer a doomsday-believing recluse. He is now active in the community and his only motivation is to get his show funded. He brings it up at every chance he gets, and his loyalties lie with whoever is more likely to make Workin Boys happen.

So how the hell do we come back from this?

Well, at first it seems like we're not going to. Workin' Boys (the short film) comes out, and it looks like we're leaning even harder into this aspect of his personality than before. But then we get hit with something we're not expecting: Hidge gets the Ted Spankoffski treatment.

I'm referring to Ted's backstory in Time Bastard, where we learn that all of his actions actually stem from a single, traumatic moment, which in his eyes forced him to alter his behaviour, so as to not go through the same trauma again.

Can you see where I'm going with this?

The backstory we get from Hidgens certainly puts things in perspective. No, it's not enough to explain why his behaviour has been so laser-focused on this one show, but it's a start.

Then comes the part that changes everything.

It's left up to interpretation whether these ghosts Hidge is seeing are actually there, or just hallucinations, but that doesn't really matter.

Hidgens had been through a horrible experience, so traumatizing that he is still literally being haunted by it decades later. For one reason or another, he believes that the only way he can relieve himself of these ghosts is by bringing honor to the loved ones he's lost and telling their stories.

This reveal recontextualizes everything we know about Hidgens as a character. Suddenly, this isn't a story about some guy who just really wants to put on his musical, this is a story about guilt. Of course it would be the driving factor in his life. Look at him apologizing to his boys. He feels like he is slandering their memories with everything that goes wrong for the show.

This is supported even more with the ending.

Henry Hidgens dies with a smile on his face, believing he's finally achieved his goal: to tell the real story of what happened that night.

It finally makes sense as to why we've lost those parts of him--we've retconned the character by revealing that all that simplification of his goals and traits wasn't flanderization at all, but a steady downward spiral of grief over his loved ones. It wasn't Hidgens getting a little too into being a playwrite, it was him descending into madness caused by the inability to please the part of himself (or the literal ghosts, if that's how you interpret it) that believes he's not doing enough.

And if not for Workin' Boys, he would have remained that one-dimensional character.

#starkid #hatchetfield #npmd #tgwdlm #hatchetverse #team starkid #professor hidgens #henry hidgens #jeff blim #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #nmt #nmt2 #character analysis #analysis #rose rabbles #honey queen #time bastard #the guy who didn't like musicals

262 notes · View notes

knoxic · 4 months ago

Text

How to be a High Lady? part 2

Eris Vanserra x Mate!Reader

Summary: Reader's first meeting as a HL, Rhysand makes some comments and reader chews him out, then smut🤭

wc: 2k

warnings: Feysand slander, cursing and a shit ton of dialogue

a/n: the way there's so little of Eris here...sorry😔 but I'll make up for it if I make a part 3, with just the two of them, maybe their domestic lives and doing High Lord & Lady things in Autumn, idk maybe smut?

part 1

How they met

Their morning was slow, starting with lazy cuddles in bed followed by an easy breakfast. Her daily meditation helped gather her thoughts and feelings about the meeting ahead, when she focused on it, she could see flashes of messy handwriting and a dark room.

Dressing for the meeting took longer than she'd expected, Eris being the last one to finish so he could match her dress, it had turned into a habit now for him to combine his vest with her dresses or corsets.

After getting through her first meeting, their arrival this time was easier, not caring if people were staring at her or whispering behind her back, she knew today would be tough and her mind was set straight. They were the last ones to arrive, which was weird, she'd made sure they weren't late. The meeting started smoothly, but it didn't remain that way.

"I'm just saying, it'd be better if we cooperated..." Feyre chimed in when no one agreed with Rhysand's words. After hearing those contradictory words she couldn't not intervene.

"No offense, Feyre, but I don't think you're the best person to say that." She said, hoping that it wouldn't cause Rhysand to come for her neck yet. Feyre was stunned for a moment, clearly taken aback.

"And why is that?"

"We can't cooperate if the other part is deceitful."

"Are you calling my High Lady a liar?" Cassian roughly uttered.

"No." Her voice was steady, not showing any traces of fear, because this time she was, in fact, fearless. "I'm saying, how can we know if you're trustworthy when most of your court doesn't even trust you? How can we trust that you won't ruin our courts, like you've done before."

"Again you go speaking of my court." Rhysand growled. "You've been High Lady for a day and think you know everything. Tell me, you seem so sure of what goes beyond my wards... have you been in my court before?" Every word he spoke carried an generous amount of venom.

"No, and I have no desire to do so."

"Then how the fuck do you know so much? Are you a fucking witch or what?" His eyebrows danced showing how pissed he was, apparently not knowing everything seemed to have that effect on him.

The possibilities of what could happen depending on what she responded were running through her head, her first response would be to deny but if she did and they figured it out, which they probably would eventually, she'd be a treacherous witch and that was...

"Yes. I am a witch." The silence in the room was deafening, her ears were ringing, "And so far, my powers have only showed me objects in need of help, faes, humans... courts. I do what I can to help them–"

"I've lived in Night Court for centuries, I helped them, I made things better, I ruled them, you have no right to suddenly decide the way I rule my court is not enough, you don't know." Rhysand growled.

"But I do," her words were firm, matching his tone, "They're not my people and its not my court, but they need someone to care for them, most people in Hewn City have never seen the sky above their heads because they're trapped under a fucking mountain. Have it ever occurred to you that there may be innocent people living there? Children, like your son–"

"Watch it–" Azriel spat. She changed courses.

"Have it occurred to you that maybe they despise you because you never showed them empathy? Instead of trying to gain their approval by providing you could be a good High Lord, you locked them up." She never faltered, every word was spoken loud and clear.

Night's High Lord was fuming, if yesterday she thought his eyes promised death, now they were death. Sharp pain ran across the thick walls she built around her mind, as if claws had just taken a hold of her brain, causing her eyebrows to furrowed as a sharp gasp left her mouth. Thankfully, she spent years working on her mind and everything beyond, and with a strong spell to protect her body, it wouldn't be so easy for him to get through her mind.

"Rhysand!" Eris hissed, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She needed to act before Eris attacked him, it wouldn't be pretty.

"If you wanted to see it for yourself, you could've just asked." She teased, but it was true, she would've showed him if he wanted her to. She opened her walls and launched him every memories she had of his people, every small shot her gift had shown her of them.

Rhysand's mouth twitched, his frown deepening. She wasn't sure if it was from being unable to break his way through her mind or because the image she told him about was true. Feyre's expression soured and she could imagine that they were having a mind conversation right at that moment, maybe he showed her the images too.

"That's not true" She said. Was that not enough?

"But it is."

"Certainly you've been wrong before." Rhysand uttered, his voice close to a growl.

"No. If it's shown to me, it's true." If they still didn't believe, she might as well tell them how it works, "If I see something, it's because it has happened or will happen soon, I'm able to differentiate them and when I can prevent them from happening, I do. What I showed you has already happened– has been happening for centuries."

"Have you seen things from other courts?" Tarquin's voice was hesitant, "Summer?" He eyes the other High Lords, all of them silently agreeing with his question.

"Well, yes. I saw Spring's downfall but it was too late, and–" Eris' hot hand on her arm made her look at him, searching for any traces that could show he wanted to maintain secrecy, she found none. "Autumn's genocide."

"That's why you took over..." Tamlin whispered, looking at Eris who gave a simple, almost imperceptible, nod in response.

"How long have you been seeing our court in your..."

"Memories. They're memories, from other people, from now and from the future. A couple years, at first I tried to gather information about what happened there but... it was well hidden."

"Oh–"

"Why'd you never say anything? If you were oh so worried about them." Mor sarcastically spoke. For someone who knows what is like living there, she's embarrassingly hypocritical.

"Would it have changed anything? By the time I stopped looking for them, Feyre was already here. Things changed–"

"And she became High Lady, did you not think you could have talked to her, if you're so sure I wouldn't have done anything." She should be cautious, but then, she had been playing with fire for over a century now. She was almost vibrating with the need to speak what she really thought, but her neck was at risk.

"What, little witchy lost her words? Or did your gift make an appearance?" Rhysand smirked at her. Fuck it.

"Feyre was barely fae at the time and being honest... she doesn't even have that much credibility does she?" His smirk fell, the room filled with dense darkness, hands tried to grasp at her but were pushed back by the wards she'd silently set around herself and Eris, knowing they'd come for him too. It was ancient magic, not that easy to break.

"Rhysand! Stop!" A chorus of commands for him to control himself. Eris' and Helion's power lit up the spacious room, the latter using his powers to hold and push Rhysand back, extremely bright light making the room clear again, after all, he was in his home court. In the midst of darkness, Eris had pulled her to her feet to stand behind him, their hands wrapped around the other's waist.

"If you can't control yourselves I suggest you leave, go fight somewhere else!" Helion shouted.

"Helion, I think this is a matter for our meeting, if she knows things, we should hear." Kallias spoke calmly, not trying to set any of us off, he glanced in Rhysand's direction, who was being held back by Feyre with a hand on his arm. Helion seemed to ponder Kallias words, eyeing her and Rhysand and their mates.

"Fine, behave, or I'll ban all of you."

"You can't possibly think I'll just stand and whatch her talking about my mate like that!" Rhysand spat incredulous, Feyre tapped his arm to gather his attention.

"Let's listen to what she has to say." Feyre said, looking back at her friends, trying to hold them back, Mor leaned back against Feyre's chair, where she'd been since they arrived, she'd gladly stand back and watch as Cassian and Azriel ripped Eris to pieces.

"Bullshit, obviously." Their General uttered, still staring her down until Eris blocked his view of her.

"Alright, continue..." Rhysand spoke, staring her up and down before sitting back in his chair, Cassian watched him before stepping back, Azriel still glared at her as he did the same. Clearly Rhysand had just told them to back off. "Go on. What were you saying about my High Lady?" She calmly pulled back from Eris, gently grasping his hand and pulling him so they could sit back down too, taking a deep breath before signing their 'enemies' certificate.

"Your own 'Inner Circle' doesn't respect her commands, how would she change the way a whole city runs?" Rhysand banged a hand against the arm of his chair while Feyre's mouth fell open, his growl echoing through the room before he lunged forward.

"Out, now!" Helion stood up and pointed to the door, "Now, Rhysand."

Rhysand was practically foaming when he left, snatching a hand around Feyre's waist before winnowing out, the other three following quickly after giving her nasty looks, if she didn't know them, she'd think they were cursing her. The tense atmosphere in the room was rough to bear.

"Are you alright?" A soft voice asked her. Viviane.

"Yes."

"That was really brave, badass." She smiled.

"Brave indeed, I can't tell if you're lucky or just that powerful. I don't know how you're still alive..." Thesan laughed incredulous.

"She wouldn't defy him if she didn't know she could take it." Eris smirked, squeezing her hand in reassurance. While she was bragging about her, she noticed Helion with his fingers massaging his temples.

"We can leave if you want, I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable," talking a look around the room she noticed all of them looking at her, "any of you."

"I think Rhys needed someone to throw the shit he does to his face, none of us were really able to do it, you did, and it was nice to watch." Tamlin said, amusement written all over his face.

"I agree, the Inner Circle has done and said things we don't agree, but any time we tried to mention it they'd just turn the situation over, would pretend it didn't happen that way or that it wasn't so bad. Rhysand and Feyre both need to see that they're not as good and right as they think they are, someone to humble them could be of use." Tarquin smiled lightly and gave her a wink.

"Do they really not respect her? I had seen signs of it but... they seem so close that I just brushed it off." Helion waved a hand while speaking.

"Is not that they don't respect her, I think they just don't take her seriously. I mean, compared to them she is still a child, she grew up too soon but she's still immature. I don't know why Rhysand made her a High Lady but it doesn't change the fact that, he gave her the title, she didn't know anything about being a High Lady and barely knew anything about our world. Maybe she'd make a good one if she knew what to do, but she just sits and lets her judgment be set by what Rhysand says." She seemed to have a talent to make people go quiet. After a moment of silence, everyone pondering what they just heard, Day's High Lord spoke.

"You're definitely something."

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris fanfic #eris smut #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra fanfic

379 notes · View notes