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lalunanymph · 11 months ago

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𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── you always knew oliver aiku was a bad influence. but just how bad, exactly? let's just say that if your parents ever looked out the window and happened to peep inside oliver's idle sports car, someone is about to get murdered tonight.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── you're now reading . . . 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 + 𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈-𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐗 with oliver aiku

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── fem!reader, perv!oliver, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, sex in a car, fwb!oliver, repressed feelings, oliver is a jackass, language

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── for the anons who once asked me many moons ago abt oliver corrupting us—this one's for you 🖤

⇤flip back to the pervtober masterlist

“Oli, we can’t do this.”

Your whimpers were lost in the scruff of his neck, a breathy moan released from the tight confines of your lips into the heat of his Porsche’s interior.

“Mhm.”

Honestly, if it wasn't for a soft spot you had for Oliver Aiku, you would've stabbed him.

Many men tried to get you in this position, but they could never succeed.

You were a headstrong woman; tenacious, a hard worker and a corporate climber through and through. You had dated boys who thought the peak of communication was Snapchat streaks and “you up?” texts. But, you had never dated a man like Oliver.

In your defence, ‘dated’ seemed to be a stretch.

Oliver was a wild ride for sure.

Tall, handsome, pockets lined full with a pro-athlete salary, he was every girl's wet dream.

After years in the media industry, you learned to differentiate the bad apples and genuinely lost ones. You have encountered influencers, moguls and celebrities under the scrutiny of your analytical and roaming eye. However, Oliver was an enigma to you.

Though friendly and approachable to everyone else, you couldn’t help but feel there was a part of him he tried to hide from the world. A part which shredded through football fields and tore men’s hopes and dreams from their white-knuckled clutches.

Many people had been destroyed by Oliver’s sheer force, both on the field and off of it if his playboy status was anything to go by. And you would be damned if you were going to be one of them.

“Oli,” you muttered, a little firmer this time.

The rough strip of his tongue teased your sensitive earlobe and you hissed, flinching from the sudden stimulation.

“Oliver.”

“What?”

He sounded a little pissed off. You may be younger than the girls he was used to, but you were experienced enough from your years networking under intense strain and pressure to figure out when you were on the losing end of a potential relationship.

With Oliver, it was a constant push and pull. As you moved forward, he pulled back. And for whatever reason, when he decided to reach out, you would hesitate to let him back in.

Anyone would decide that such a relationship—if it could be even called that—was doomed from the beginning.

But, Oliver and you never did have a conventional relationship.

He saw you as a plaything, and you regarded him as a little bit of fun to unwind after a hectic week. It was a mutual agreement based on a sudden spark of crazy chemistry which neither of you wanted to solidify.

Those large, rough hands which were used to causing destruction on the field, were parting your thighs softly, reaching for the soft promise of pleasure in between them.

In other circumstances, you would let Oliver have his way with you. But today, you were determined to put up a flimsy boundary—one he was desperate to break.

“Oliver, my house is just a few feet away.”

True to your words, the place you rested your head for every night was in the form of your parent’s modest two storey home right in the heart of downtown Tokyo.

Lace curtains iced its domestic eggshell white walls, keeping you safe in the veil of night and away from prying eyes. But, the thrill laid in the fact that anyone who pulled apart those flimsy curtains could catch a look of you in such a compromising position. The engine of his idle car thrummed underneath your thighs, and you wished you had worn a longer skirt to combat his straying touches.

If there was one thing Oliver reminded you of, it was a hurricane. His determination and stubbornness pushed him to where he was today—rising high in the world's eye.

It was one of the traits you admire about him—and one which would change your morals forever.

“I can’t,” you murmured in a cross between a hitched breath and a soft moan. “Oliver—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head off. Just let me feel you.”

Those unique dual-tone eyes flashed sincerely under the waning street lamp light. There were times when Oliver’s simple touches and presence could push out the nagging thoughts in your mind, and there were instances when it drew up red flags in your periphery like a race day warning.

Like speeding down the highway without a seatbelt on, you were sure kissing someone else would never be as enthralling as kissing Oliver Aiku.

The scruff of his sparse five-o-clock shadow and moustache rubbed on the soft skin of your chin. You tasted the beer he drank for dinner, and a little bit of your own fruity lip gloss in between the curls of his tongue.

Everything about Oliver was enticing; how he kissed, how he fucked, how he made you feel like you were the only girl in his world when you knew that was the furthest from the reality. He was also attentive when he wasn’t a huge prick. Out of the men you fooled around with, Oliver remembered exactly what you liked and he wasn’t afraid to push those lines.

His hand was between your thighs again, this time pushing your skirt up inch by agonising inch. You didn’t fight him, too dizzy and weak with lust. He used two thick fingers to pry apart the seat of your panties, already sticky with arousal and ready for the taking.

“So perfect,” he whispered into your neck. “How're you so perfect for me?”

Over time, you had to tell yourself it was just words from a man who wanted to lure you into bed and they didn’t mean a thing.

But sometimes, you forgot. You forgot that this wasn’t real, that Oliver doesn’t actually love you.

It didn’t help that his kisses felt like coming home at the end of a hard day; though already complicated as it was, whatever emotion you both harboured for each other could never be said out loud.

He tipped your head towards him again, to catch your lips in a languid, teasing kiss that was more tongue than lips. The taste of him sent a thrill down your spine, settling right into your core.

“Can I feel you, baby? Can I touch you here?” He stroked the soft flesh of your inner thigh with his thumb, locking eyes with you in the half-light.

They brought you down a spiral; into a light purple and a hazel green tide which tried to rip apart your resolve.

You were half out of your mind when you nodded, giving your consent with a shaky little sigh.

He immediately pounced onto that opportunity like a panther to your jugular.

Using his strength, Oliver dragged you onto his lap, where you fit against his edges snuggly. Those plush lips descended upon yours again, and he kissed away your troubles and worries, only determined to bring towards the brink of giving everything up for him.

Like a riptide, it was no use holding him back.

Oliver had fucked you in shady motels and even in his practice locker room, but this was new territory. The both of you were within reach of your parents who had no idea of your budding situationship with the famous footballer.

At the reminder of them, you broke the kiss off with a gasp, pinning your wide eyes onto his half-mast ones.

“Oli, how tinted are these windows?”

“Really tinted,” he murmured without a shred of hesitation. Despite yourself, you believed him.

You let him kiss down your neck, bite on your collarbones and pull you back in for more sloppy kisses. Unlike other men, Oliver wasn’t jumping into the main event.

He took his time to prep you, slipping two fingers through your folds and gathering the slick there to rub along your entire entrance and back hole. Though his movements were jerky, he was still gentle with you—peppering smooches down the bridge of your nose and jaw.

If you were a weaker girl, you were sure your heart would melt into your ruined panties just for Oliver Aiku.

He hummed, feeling you slowly ease yourself up and down his two fingers, fucking yourself on those static digits.

The first time he met you, Oliver was sure you were an upstuck, prudish type of girl. You weren’t exactly his flavour of woman, but where would the fun be without a challenge?

He spent weeks pursuing you, doing the cheesy lame boyfriend shit people like Isagi would do for some girl he met two weeks ago.

But, Oli’s goal was simple: Make someone else who wasn’t his type be into him.

Though you were right here with him, the task felt impossible. It was hard to get a woman who already had everything to take a chance on him. Your life was perfect—great job, great friends, supportive parents.

What could a man like him offer besides sending you to additional therapy sessions on your insurance’s dime?

Under all the layers of his cocky playboy persona, Oliver knew he was a wreck waiting to implode. He never felt good enough to warrant a spot on Japan’s football team. He was insecure and lacked control in every part of his life except his dating one.

It was why he went after more soft-willed girls than you.

And why the sight of you undulating your hips over his fingers nearly sent him into overdrive.

“Fuck,” he breathed out. “You’re really something, huh, Y/N. Look at you—getting yourself off on your own. Good girl.”

Something about his tone and that endearment made both your heart and pussy throb.

“Oli,” you sniffled, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Oliver had barely touched you—he had fondled, kissed and fingered you—yet, you were already dripping for him.

Such eagerness made your cheeks burn, and you hiccuped more of your moans back, afraid to let him hear.

But, Oliver—as attentive and controlling as he was—could sniff your shame from a mile away. He nudged your face up to look into his, those soft, dual-toned eyes edged with a ring of steel in them that cut through your flimsy bleats.

“Let go for me,” he urged, brushing the pads of his fingers down your soft cheek, and you lost yourself in his unique eyes and handsome face again. “Don’t be afraid to show your real self to me, angel.”

Again, something in you broke.

The last flimsy excuse, your remaining shred of dignity… all for you to finally hiccup: “Oliver, please fuck me.”

That was all the begging he needed.

Oliver slid his pants and boxers down, far enough for his cock to spring free and leave a smear of pre on your exposed soft belly. Your skirt was around your hips, panties pushed to the side, and that was how he took you.

The stretch burned, but it was a satisfactory one. Your thighs ached and tears were smarting in your eyes.

Oliver was bigger than most guys and you weren’t used to taking him without a soft bed and a little more prep work.

But, you held onto his shoulders, every bit of your skin feeling like it was on fire from trying to hold back your moans. You didn’t want anyone to hear, or for random people to suspect; even when the car frame started to shake or the windows began to fog up.

This was your tryst with Oliver Aiku; your dirty little secret.

He pulled you close to kiss you again, and this time, those large hands moved to the front of your shirt, kneading your breasts with an eager vigour. You let him lift the hem up, untuck your bra cups and bathe your slowly stiffening nipples with soft kitten licks.

Oliver guided your hips to grind down on his cock, while he suckled and tongued your buds to stiffness. The filthy squelch of your pussy coating his length with her excitement and the smack of his lips and tongue turning your nipples into fleshy diamonds echoed through the car. You were lightheaded and felt like someone had spiked your system with alcohol.

The sleek lines of his Porsche’s interior were swimming in your eyes, and you felt like you could faint from the excitement.

Your internal pressure ticked up a notch when one large palm of his wrapped around your neck, stopping your breath in your throat. If there was one thing you were sure Oliver was made for, it was to drive you insane.

He squeezed down on you, while intermittently fucking into you with clean, sharp thrusts. He kept a consistent pattern—squeeze, fuck, let you breathe, squeeze, fuck…

“Oli!” you wheezed in between those breaths he gifted you, your swimming eyes breaking and tears running down your cheeks. “Oliver…”

“Cum for me,” he coaxed, slipping his thumb in between your lips where you sucked on the tip with what he thought was almost love. He retracted his thumb, glossy with your spit and notched it right on your windpipe, putting pressure.

Oliver watched the ecstasy, fear and lust flash across your expressions, one melange of an erotic sight he would remember forever.

“Let yourself go, baby,” he urged, squeezing down on your throat, while you felt his abs undulate against the soft planes of your belly—a tell-tale sign he was going to cum. A pinch appeared in his brow, and sweat bulleted down his forehead.

“G’na—fuck—you’re so tight,” he nearly gasped that last part out. “Pussy so perfect for me. Go on then, give ‘em a show… show everyone how you’re creaming just for me, sweetheart.”

Just as you were approaching your high where white light was flooding behind your closed lids, Oliver pressed his damp lips to your ear, his whisper cutting through the fog and bringing your climax crashing down like an implosion.

“The windows aren’t actually tinted, baby… everyone just saw you fucking my cock so good.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head, manicured nails stabbing into his shoulders. Despite every fibre of your being yelling at you to stop and hop out from his lap, something darker and sultrier begged you to stay—to give into this ruin.

Those voices warred and clashed with each other for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity as you were stretched out on another plane of pleasure no one could touch. Your ribs expanded, your spine arched and your toes curled and—

“Oliver!”

With everything you had, you came for him.

All the voices in your head stopped; replaced by the chanting of his name over and over again.

Like he was a prayer and you were the repentant sinner, you sobbed out his name, holding onto his neck like a lifeline and slowly bucking your hips up and down, prolonging the almost cruel pleasure.

Oliver came around the same time you did, with a grunt and his fingers clawing into the doughy flesh of your hips.

You sagged against him, and through a lapse of judgement, his lips found your temple, leaving a small peck on the sweaty skin.

Oliver held you like you were meant to be cradled. You couldn’t think about anything that occurred within these past few minutes; your mind was on a fever high and your body was melted to his like hot wax pooling into a holder.

“You okay?” His deep voice rumbled under your cheek.

You nodded, too exhausted to speak.

“Can you walk?”

Flexing your thighs, you offered another pathetic nod.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit or go?”

You should probably go. After all, it was encroaching a tender territory you dared not ventured through. He felt too good, too comfortable to leave, but you ignored the screaming in your bones when you forced yourself off his lap and back into the passenger seat.

Adjusting your panties, skirt and shirt, you flashed him a tight smile, one which he echoed with an uncertain grin.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke, and it felt like you were leaving a movie just before the good part came on.

But, you had already seen multiple films like these before, starring numerous women this great actor before you had duped and jilted.

You weren’t interested in entering his rotating roster of desperate girls waiting to be picked, so you strengthen your resolve and put your dignity back in the driving seat.

“Bye, Oliver.”

He hummed. “Bye, Y/N. Goodnight.”

Oliver didn’t offer to see you again, and you didn’t bother mentioning it.

Sometime next week, the both of you would fall back into this toxic cycle—either you would call him up drunk out of your mind or he would get pissed off during his training and call you after to let off some steam. Rinse and repeat.

Life was predictable like that with Oliver. You didn’t want to disturb the peace.

You got out of his car, adjusting your skirt one more time. Usually, you would never turn back to give him a second glance—out of sight, out of mind.

But, this time, something compelled you to turn around, and when you did, you gasped out loud; nearly running towards his retreating car to smack the roof, the hood or even the lying man behind the wheel.

Through those crystal clear windows which were obviously not heavily tinted like he promised, Oliver shot you a smirk and a wave, leaving you stewing in both horror and an inexplicable desire to fuck that smug look off his stupidly handsome face as the reality sank in.

You had fucked Oliver Aiku right in front of your parents, and judging from the silent house behind you and the lack of a usual warm vibe, you were positive they were going to rip through you a new one.

intellectual property of ©️lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or play around with my sentence structures, plots and characterization.

#and finally she's DONE #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #🦢 writes

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fitsofgloom · 3 months ago

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The great tough guy actor William Smith, whose biography is akin to a come-to-life series of covers from Men's Adventure-style magazines. He was a pilot and an interrogator during the Korean War, fluent in five languages (holding a master's degree in Russian). At various turns, he was a downhill skier, a boxer, a biker, a champion bodybuilder, and played semi-pro football in Germany. He's purported to have once performed over five thousand sit-ups during a five-hour period. He amassed over three hundred credits in a career that began in 1942 with a role as a child extra in Universal's "The Ghost of Frankenstein" and extended well into the Twenty-First Century.

#william smith #vintage beefcake #tough guy

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scoatneyhall · 5 months ago

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This news has people saying they'd like to see more from AFC Richmond (obviously) including the creation of the women's team. This is kind of a nightmare idea for me, because one thing I, as a football nerd, need people to understand about the concept of an AFC Richmond Women's Team is that they absolutely definitely already should have had one during seasons 1-3 of the show? Which made the pitch from Keeley in the s3 finale montage land SUPER badly for me. Like, a nice idea, easily conveyed, but nope.

Because the "football canon" of the situation is that every established Premier League club now has an affiliated women's team. And like yeah, Richmond aren't very good. But most other clubs going down the ladder into the Championship, League One, etc, also have women's teams. Richmond, when the show started, had been in the Prem without relegation for a long time. They would not be the only Prem club without a womens team!!! They would have been constantly called out for it, it would have been a huge criticism and pressure point.

(Side note: same goes for a youth academy - clubs are required to have one. So you can imagine that off-screen, AFC Richmond is operating an academy, a Development/ Reserve men's team, and a women's team, it just has nothing to do with the squad Ted coaches and their training may well be housed elsewhere.)

The WSL (womens top tier in the UK) doesn't have as many teams in it as the Prem due to structure (12 vs the Prem's 20), so the levels the men's and women's teams play at can vary drastically within the same club. Not all Prem clubs have the womens team in the WSL. But any club you (or the TL writers) may have compared to Richmond, or based them on? They do have a women's team, whether they play at the top level or not.

So for me, the moment with Keeley works okay as a "don't question it" thing in the context of a harmless series finale montage, but it doesn't work as something to build new stories off, at least not in the simplistic way it was presented. Because any extension of the Ted Lasso Universe, or a Ted Lasso season 4, that would possibly incorporate the "starting of a women's team" would be the show going SO far outside the realm of football realism that it feel like a major contrast to how the show has approached the football element before - including like, what division or tier a newly launched team would even be allowed to start in, and all that. You're not meant to dig into the moment in the finale, just process it as a nice, fuzzy concept. But if there is more show to come, with a plot line that tackles the idea pitched in the finale, it could never match the level of football realism that was applied to the show before, because they've invented a totally fake situation that just doesn't work like that. They would be lowering their own bar. I know that many elements of TL, like Ted coaching, are already extremely fake, but their dedication to most of what counts is very good and very specific. Following through on what the finale implied about the women's team would be a drop in football realism from their existing standards and I am suuuuper not interested in that happening. It would be a quality drop for sure.

This is a bit of a rant and I am possibly the only fan who cared about this, but that Keeley and Rebecca scene was honestly one of the worst finale moments for me just because it implies something soooo wroooong.

HOWEVER, there's a pretty easy fix, and it would be cool if they went in this direction: the only reasonable explanation is that Rupert ran the women's team into the ground/never funded it, just met the bare minimum requirements, and they were currently playing below FA level, like in the 5th tier with only semi-pro players who don't get a professional wage - basically hobby players, and Keeley’s pitch was about reviving them and getting promoted up the tiers ASAP, Welcome to Wrexham style, with new funding, recruiting etc. Sucks that they got no attention from Rebecca before now but they may not have had money to spare for it during season 2 or before Rebecca sold shares in the club... dealing with that, and the fact that Rebecca had to knowingly leave them on the back burner and neglect them... that could be interesting. There's a story to be had about the women's team, don't get me wrong, but it isn't as simple an idea as the finale implied and that the fans have since run with.

#ted lasso #keeley jones #rebecca welton #barclays wsl #football canon #ted lasso meta

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ruggiezz · 1 year ago

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imagine nrc during the world cup era OMG 😟 rook after france loses to argentina, heartslabyul watching england losing

— REACTING TO THEIR COUNTRY LOSING IN THE WORLD CUP : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] twst characters and their reactions to their country getting disqualified

[characters] ace, deuce, cater, trey, riddle, ruggie, floyd, jade, azul, rook

[extra] this is just for the funsies, me spreading my octavinelle + ruggie latinos agenda. i'm a firm believer in the cater is american headcanon (AMERICA RAHHH🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅💥)

ACE TRAPPOLA and DEUCE SPADE got together with you to watch the World Cup. Oh? You're not interested in football? Too bad, you're watching it with them anyways. Pros: They buy snacks for all of you to eat while watching. Cons: Ace screams at the television and gets extremely frustrated. The silence was loud when the match with France ended. At least the food was good...

CATER DIAMOND was not #LiveLaughLove-ing that month. Imagine being the only american in your friend group full of british people while the US had a match against England. Don't get him wrong; he doesn't really care about football, but it's hard to ignore it when the whole school is talking about it. At the end of the day, Magicam material is still Magicam material. He got lucky though; the match ended in a draw; it could have been worse. Needless to say, he did not care about the US losing, #WorldCup #Disqualified.

TREY CLOVER felt like he was in a nightmare—a 29-day-long nightmare. The Heartslabyul students were either having a blast or screaming when they won, or they were having heated fights about whose country would win. Trey was stressed; maybe other housewardens were enjoying the World Cup (like Kalim, who was throwing parties every opportunity he had), but RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS was certainly not happy. The students were so focused on, in his words, "guys running after a ball", that they weren't studying for their final exams. Yes, he had become less strict after his overblot, but a few students still got collared. Both of them were relieved when the World Cup ended; they could not care less about their country losing.

RUGGIE BUCCHI listened to the brazilian matches while working, like it was a podcast. He was a busy guy, you know? He had to work, but he still wanted to listen to the match. To be honest, Ruggie was pretty confident that they would make it to the semi-finals. We are talking about Brazil here; their team is good. "There's no way the europeans are winning this one" he thought. Imagine his face when they lost by a penalty goal, a penalty goal... Ruggie bought himself a doughnut at Sam's to cope and not have a mental breakdown.

Peru didn't even qualify; they lost against Australia. FLOYD AND JADE LEECH were in a bad mood during the whole World Cup.

Yes, Chile didn't qualify either, but a business opportunity is a business opportunity. Did you hear? You can watch the football matches while eating in the Mostro Lounge, and if you spread the word and bring your friends, you get a special discount. AZUL ASHENGROTTO got showered in money during those 29 days it lasted; the restaurant made three times the amount they usually make. He was very happy, to say the least.

ROOK HUNT was delighted to see all the students celebrating. The passionate cheers of the students, the way they all rooted for their country, how they got together to watch, how sad they got over their team losing, how beautiful. Yes, maybe the students were screaming at each other; maybe one even threw a chair across the room, but still. There was something captivating in seeing how a game could bring students that had nothing in common together, all with the same goal: to see their country win and crush the others. He was more sad about the World Cup ending than France losing, even if they were so close to first place.

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angelkiyo · 4 months ago

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in bloom [sakusa kiyoomi x fem! indie actress! reader]

chapter iii + masterlist [fluff, modern/timeskip au]

(🎧suggested song: everything - the black skirts)

“Uh huh, well I do acting. It’s fun and it pays the bills.” You tapped on the table and smiled, taking a drink of the cosmopolitan you ordered.

You were currently on a date with a guy from In Bloom, his name was Semi Eita. You have heard of him a few times from friends back in high school. Your parents have also mentioned him a few times as his parents were family friends. Although the close connection with your parents, you never really got to see him or really talk to him. You just knew of him and he knew of you.

He had a casual maroon crewneck with some baggy jeans and Adidas. The two of you were at a dark bar in Shibuya, ironic considering how busy it was outside. Eita recommended it as he didn’t want to be seen.

“Oh, nice. My parents mentioned that to me. Some people on my timeline have profile pictures that look like you so most likely it was you.” He gave an awkward smile and took a swig of his vodka cranberry.

He was a musician. You have seen videos from his gigs before but to you, he didn’t seem the type to go on a dating app. Then again, neither were you.

You laughed a bit, “That’s funny! Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some clips from your shows on my timeline! God, I haven’t played guitar in such a long time.”

He smiled and took a sip of his drink, “You played guitar? That’s awesome!”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah…but you’re way better!”

Eita smiled at you and swished around his glass, “I mean playing instruments isn’t that easy either, y’know. Give yourself a bit of credit.”

You laughed and eased up. Eita was nice and attractive. Of course you’d be flustered if an attractive guitarist complimented you.

It had been almost 24 hours since your “following Kiyoomi” incident and nothing had happened. When you woke up, Hitoka and Tadashi already left for work, leaving a barrage of interrogating text messages.

After an hour or so of conversation from both ends and the occasional turn at the bar TV playing some football match, Eita decided to drive you home.

He spoke again once you two got into his black Audi, “So what made you download In Bloom? You seem sociable enough to get a significant other on your own without the help of some shitty app.”

You shrugged, “Getting over someone, y’know. I know it’s the “first date” or whatever but I wanted to be honest. Also trying stuff out because I saw it in an ad so I was curious. You?”

Eita sighed, “I get that. My friend, Satori. He said that if I could pull in hundreds of people for a show, then I should have enough balls to get a girlfriend. We were talking one day and he made me download the app. Doesn’t help that my parents want me to settle down soon too.”

“Did you want to download it?”

Your question made Eita’s lips go into a fine line, “You were honest so I will be too; no, I didn’t want to.”

You nodded and sighed until he spoke again, “I mean it’s not like I regret it. You’re nice and pretty so I don’t mind. Um, where did you go to high school?”

You smiled at his attempt at changing the conversation, “Itachiyama Institute for high school. You?”

His eyes widened at the mention of Itachiyama, “I - uh, went to Shiratorizawa. But damn, that’s insane. I know you went to school in Tokyo but not Itachiyama….”

You raised your eyebrows at the mention of Shiratorizawa as well and laughed, “Well, it was paid off with my volleyball sport scholarship.”

“Oh me too! You played volleyball?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I was an ace but my last year, I got injured really bad and was unable to play. Luckily, my GPA was high enough to continue having a scholarship so y’know…”

Eita nodded as his fingers tapped on the steering wheel, “Did you possibly know Sakusa Kiyoomi or Komori Motoya? Sakusa played with my friend and well, Komori was a hell of a libero. I think they play pro now...”

You froze at the mention of Kiyoomi, “Uh yeah. I’ve um- heard of them. Ki- Sakusa and uh- Komori, yeah they were in the boys team at the same time that I was in the girls team.”

Eita looked at you confused at your changed demeanor but laughed it off, “You know them well?”

You laughed and shook your head, “No no, I just know them from volleyball. You mentioned you also played?”

Eita nodded and smiled, “Yeah, I was a setter and a pretty damn good one if I do say so myself.”

In your opinion, Eita was great and really nice. He lived up to the occasional praise your parents have said. He's a hot musician, for god's sake!

“This is me…” You said, tapping on the window showing your apartment complex.

Eita smiled, “So…I’ll text you? I hope you enjoyed our date.”

You nodded and pointed at your phone, “ I did. Text me, Eita. I really like talking to you. Good night.”

You leaned closer to him and kissed his cheek, finally getting out of the car and waved at him as he drove away.

You thought you had a good day, really. It was 9 in the evening and it seemed like no one was there.

God you were mistaken…

“Oh L/N! Is that you?”

Your heart felt like it was going to stop as you turned to see Komori and Sakusa.

“O-Oh…Hi. It’s nice to um- see the two of you.”

You were lying.

You saw them and crossed your arms awkwardly, tapping your hand against your arm. Kiyoomi really did look good. It’s been almost 8 years since you’ve seen him and he got taller, more muscular, and his hair looked as good as before. He didn’t have his mask on but his facial features in general looked pretty. Though he looked like he was swaying. Komori was shorter yet supporting Kiyoomi from falling down as he supported his cousin by his shoulder.

Komori smiled and waved, “It’s late. What are you doing out here so late! Me and Kiyoomi just got back from hot pot. Do you live near here?”

“Oh, I was just coming back from a date! And yeah, I do live near here. Actually right here so, y’know.”

“Ooh! Me an’ Kiyoomi actually live across the street! Geez, how cool!”

A date?

He felt jealous. Sakusa Kiyoomi felt jealous.

Maybe it’s the liquor he drank at hotpot.

Maybe it was actually how he felt.

Seeing you in person after so long caused a pang in his heart. Your features have gotten more mature and yet, more beautiful. Kiyoomi hasn’t dated anyone since he dated you. You were his “first love” and he never really had the time to move on from you romantically. He’s been busy.

The three of you were under a street light and you still looked as beautiful as before. Kiyoomi mumbled, breaking the loud silence, “A date?”

You made eye contact with him, where he broke it immediately and you cleared your throat, “Y-Yeah…it was from this dating website In Bloom or whatever, and it’s cool, I guess. I mean I have my options open so…”

You mentally cringed at the last part. You didn’t want to sound desperate in front of your ex-boyfriend who you still think is hot.

“Oh so does Kiyoomi! This loser had never had a girlfriend.”

Never?

You raised your eyebrow at Kiyoomi who started massaging his temples in annoyance, muttering a quiet 'Why did you have to say that?' to Komori who just snorted, “Oh really? I thought you did in high school. Must have been someone else.”

Kiyoomi tensed up and looked away slightly. He felt your gaze practically shoot daggers at him as you crossed your arms. Komori looked at the both of you and smiled, “Y’know, it’s getting late, let’s go Kiyoomi.” Komori began pushing Kiyoomi in front of him before waving to you, “Good night, L/N!”

You nodded confused and started walking to your apartment complex, leaving Komori and Kiyoomi alone, "Good night Komori. Good night Sakusa."

Kiyoomi felt his heart race again. You would even call him by his first name before the two of you even started 'talking' romantically in the first place. The way his last name slid off your tongue grew a pit in Kiyoomi's stomach as he held his head down in shame.

Once they were in farther away from your apartment complex, Kiyoomi sighed and slurred frustratingly, “Why would you tell her that?”

Komori shrugged and kept walking with a mission, “Y’know. I mean it’s true, not like you have dated someone. I’d know about it.”

“Y—Yeah but it’s herrr…”

Kiyoomi felt himself tense up again. Motoya should have known about it. But at the moment, he was just confused as to why his cousin was walking too fast to the apartment.

Komori Motoya wouldn’t say he’s a messy person. He wouldn’t say he’s an instigator either. He isn’t the type to cause problems all the time.

He loves watching romantic comedies now and then. He has even paid for a year's worth of Peacock just to watch reality TV shows such as The Bachelorette and Love Island (he has considered signing Kiyoomi up before).

Though, after seeing the potential chemistry between his cousin and you, he felt that he had no choice. The both of you have In Bloom, played volleyball in the same high school, and live near each other.

Hell, he still remembered Kiyoomi searching you up on his socials. Kiyoomi was even embarrassed at Komori calling him out infront of you! It was a situation that needed his help.

Did his cousin like you?

If he did, Komori would make sure his cousin’s feelings would come across. He didn’t want Kiyoomi to live all miserable and alone.

After Kiyoomi showered and fell asleep, Komori snatched his phone and leaned it towards his cousin for Face ID. He felt relief as usually his cousin is a light sleeper but due to him being drunk off his ass, Kiyoomi knocked out.

Komori isn’t stupid and started swiping furiously on In Bloom to get to you. He assumed that since you live near, it would be quick.

And quick, it was.

Y/n L/I. - 25

info: tokyo, actress of sorts, vb lover :)

“Bingo…” Komori immediately swiped right on your profile.

He wanted Kiyoomi to be happy, even if it meant pushing him out of his comfort zone.

What type of cousin would he be if he didn’t assist his own family.

[New Notification from in bloom!]

Y/n L/I. & Kiyoomi S. are a match! Start messaging for a chance to get to know each other!

a/n - THIS IS SO MILLENNIAL CODED BUT THIS JS A ROMCOM SMAU SO BARE WITH ME. may seem like filler but i rlly do want this fic to be mainly fluff! also pls ignore timestamps 🤗😭

🏷️ taglist- @lilchubbyyy @renardiererin @wolffmaiden

#haikyuu #haikyuu sakusa #msby black jackal #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #msby sakusa #sakusa x you #sakusa fluff #haikyuu msby #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader

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moneeb0930 · 6 months ago

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‘Pimp’ and ‘Lyss’: The Immortal Young Brothers by Claude Johnson (Black Fives Foundation)

They were brothers on and off the court. William Pennington Young, sometimes known as ��Pimp” to his friends, and his older brother Ulysses S. Young, known simply as “Lyss” to his pals, were an unstoppable sibling pair of African American basketball stars that played during the 1910s and early 1920s.

They also made significant pioneering contributions off the court, long after their playing days ended.

Ulysses was born in Virginia in 1894. A year later, after his hard working parents migrated tot he North in pursuit of a better life, younger brother William was born in Orange, New Jersey.

A few years later, in 1900, their parents rented a room of their home to a young couple from Virginia, the Ricks family, who had a newborn son named James. Over the years the Young brothers embraced little James as if he were their own kin, and as the older boys got involved in sports, so did their protégé.

Something in that combined household created serious athletic skills.

Lyss and William attended nearby Orange High School, where they starred in football, basketball, and baseball. In 1910, while still in high school, the pair began playing semi-pro basketball for the Imperial Athletic Club, a local squad that competed against such teams as the Newark Strollers, the Montclair Athletic Club, and the Jersey City Colored YMCA. The two immediately received attention in the black sports press, including the popular and nationally circulated New York Age.

Their attraction to basketball got young James hooked on the sport too, and he soon developed his own talent. One huge advantage was having the opportunity to learn from- and train with the Young brothers.

The little basketball apprentice, James Ricks, would grow up to become James “Pappy” Ricks, who would become a founding member of the New York Renaissance Big Five professional basketball team and eventually reach the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.

After high school, the Young brothers attended Lincoln University in West Chester, Pennsylvania, which was not only America’s oldest historically black university but also was the closest to home for them. In college they both were once again three-sport stars. Though the brothers excelled in each sport, their first claim to fame was through football.

Playing quarterback, William was named as a Negro All-American during his senior year. Ulysses, playing end, was named to the Milton Roberts All Time Black College Football Squad for the 1910s Decade.

After graduating from Lincoln (“Pimp” was class valedictorian in 1917), the Youngs were recruited to play professional basketball in Pittsburgh by prominent African American sports promoter Cumberland Posey. Posey, historian Rob Ruck wrote in Sandlot Seasons, his landmark book that explores the city’s unique athletic heritage, “was,as much as any one man could be, the architect of sport in black Pittsburgh.”

The pioneering promoter had been cultivating Pittsburgh’s black basketball talent through his operation of several different squads in the city, most prominently the Monticello Athletic Association, since the early 1910s. But with America’s imminent entry into World War I and the resulting lack of resources, Posey decided to consolidate his best talent into one powerfully built team.

The result was the Loendi Big Five, a legendary combo that was sponsored and got its name from the Loendi Social & Literary Club, an exclusive African American social club in the the city’s predominantly black Hill District.

1921.

Adding the collegiate superstars from Lincoln not only helped Posey promote his new team but also sparked the Loendi Big Five’s domination of black basketball, with a dynasty that included four straight Colored Basketball World Championships from 1919 through 1923.

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