#usually I agree with my dad but COME THE FUCK ON

[bleetusmcyeetus]

Not my dad saying my generation doesn’t want to do anything and will cause the downfall of the united states–

[beeseverywhen]

Not having a car in your 20s really is a humbling experience. That post where the guys like 'I have to ask my mum to go to walmart' I feel that.

I'm not American so I do have the benefit of town living and a walkable community. I feel very lucky to have been able to live right in the heart of my hometown again (lived on the main street above a shop for a while as a kid but mostly lived in residential areas. As an adult I'm lucky enough to live on a road coming off the main street (can no longer live in places with stairs so above a shop is no longer an option) HOWEVER.

my town is gentrified as fuck and all the shops are stupid. And even if I put up with the cost and buy the things I can in local shops, I can only carry a very limited weight of shopping, but am very stupid and overestimate my ability/ realise but still get carried away and buy too much as I have no impulse control every time. So I'm left having to beg lifts/tag along with pretty much anyone that'll have me lol.

Pour one out for me, trying to run a household and not even having parents I can ask for lifts. I'm begging lifts off aunties, grandparents, friends, fucking COUSINS. Most humbling experience ever and without a car you can't even repay them with easy errands. Watch me repay the favour with CHILDCARE, with TECH SUPPORT, with financial advice. Those are all the worst favors. I don't mind doing them but BY GOD would I prefer to be able to occasionally just pick them up something from the shop. Drop them at the train station. Pick up a parcel.

[astonmartinii]

ultimate wing man | daniel ricciardo social media au

pairing: daniel ricciardo x horner!reader y/n is notoriously single, and her dad decides to take it into his own hands.

masterlist

if you want to leave a tip x

yourusername

liked by christianhorner, danielricciardo and 603,561 others

yourusername: galentines was a must this year

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user1: this girl cute and rich how come no man has come in for her?

yourusername: i ask myself that everyday tbf i am a catch 🎣

user2: i need to be her friend asap

christianhorner: looking lovely darling as usual

yourusername: thank you papa

yourbff1: thank you for the champagne father horner

yourbff2: thank you for driving to london to pick us up at 2am father horner

yourbff3: sorry for throwing up in the porsche father horner

christianhorner: no worries girls, all will be forgiven if you convince y/n to go on the date i set up for her

yourusername: will you stopppppppp i just got out of a relationship ur not gonna be grandpa for a good fucking while

christianhorner: you can be the one to tell your mum that

yourusername: please your ego can't take being called grandpa

user4: so what i'm hearing is i need to be friends with y/n to get my nights out paid for by christian horner

user5: i know yall hate christian but his relationships with his kids kinda make me like him

user6: no i agree with you, it's super cute and you can't handle that he's just good at his job

maxverstappen1: oh i see, @danielricciardo why didn't we get our tabs covered?

danielricciardo: clearly aren't loved as much here :(

yourusername: i mean i'm his literal flesh and blood

maxverstappen1: but we make him money ???

yourusername: and i spend it?

danielricciardo: so we're funding the galentines benders?

yourusername: eh probably, i do have a job but i'd rather spend other people's money lol

user7: she's so real

user8: she is my professor of girl maths

christianhorner

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 408,943 others

tagged: yourusername, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo

christianhorner: had to get the grill out for this bank holiday weekend with the family

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user10: christian referring to max and dan as family sergio i am so sorry

user11: the state of the seasoning makes me think that sergio dodged a bullet

yourusername: thank you papa but disappointed not to see you wearing the apron i got you for christmas

christianhorner: i'm sorry y/n but i'm not going to wear a "this chef wants to fuck toto wolff" apron at a family event

yourusername: shame, you wear daniel's merch all the time

danielricciardo: awwww christian i'm blushing

user12: i'm sorry christian horner owns a "this chef wants to fuck toto wolff" apron and we haven't seen it

user13: y/n horner you are a national treasure for real

maxverstappen1: woah who are those sexy guys in the last picture?

yourusername: the way i can't escape yall even at family events

maxverstappen1: not our fault ur dad loves us

danielricciardo: though there are definite perks

christianhorner: my cooking skills?

danielricciardo: sure...

user14: christian's obsession with daniel needs to be studied

yourusername: i think it's just a horner thing tbf

user15: HUH?

user16: i mean who isn't obsessed with daniel

liked by yourusername

user17: to be honest i would love for y/n and daniel to be a thing i am TIRED of constantly reading about how her latest bf has cheated on her

user18: for real that girl is in the trenches all the time she needs a good guy

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, alexalbon and 650,450 others

yourusername: not really the dress for a pasta dinner but look at the material

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user22: miss ma'am i thought we were a no on the dating thing for a while

yourusername: i'm dumb i know but i have a good feeling about this one !!

user23: i think i've seen this film before

yourusername: have some faith my dad picked him so it's not my terrible taste

maxverstappen1: wait so you actually went on the date your dad set up for you?

yourusername: uh yeah when you have taste this bad you need intervention

maxverstappen1: you said it not me

yourusername: you said nothing every time i brought them to the garage

maxverstappen1: not to your face lol i was trying to be nice in front of your dad

yourusername: hmmmmmm well part of me thinks you guys won't have any complaints about this one

user23: i hate that i am so invested in this

alexalbon: so the date happened and lily and i still haven't gotten the debrief yet? i see how it is.

yourusername: bro i just got home and sat down give me some time

alexalbon: let me put the kettle on and then call us

yourusername: i can't promise i can tell you who it was just yet

lilymunhe: you're such a tease !!!

yourusername: gentleman don't kiss and tell

user24: walk with me: christian set this date up, christian loves daniel, daniel and the guy in the picture both have tattoos, daniel usually comments on all of y/n's posts but is silent on this one

user25: get a life (i believe you 100%).

danielricciardo

liked by christianhorner, yourusername and 1,209,667 others

tagged: yourusername

danielricciardo: enchante

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user26: WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS

user27: daniel really said fuck y/n's soft launch

maxverstappen1: YES the garage owe me $50

yourusername: you bet on who my date was?

maxverstappen1: well i bet even though it was the most obvious thing in the world who your dad would choose

yourusername: my dad has good taste?

user28: it's annoying me how cute this is

user29: i need it to be me next time

yourbff1: father horner can you matchmake for me next please, anyone on the grid will work

christianhorner: my days of being cupid are over unfortunately, pulling this off was way too stressful

user30: you telling me horner gets more stressed over setting his daughter up rather than whole ass races

yourusername: you're lucky you're sexy i had the whole soft launch planned out

danielricciardo: my sexiness has gotten me out of a lot in life

yourusername: it won't get you out of this family dinner though

danielricciardo: oh please your dad is only having dinner so he can see me

yourusername: unfortunately true, at least i love you as well now

danielricciardo: you always did, don't lie

yourusername: yeah but i don't want to inflate your ego any more

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 803,459 others

tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo

maxverstappen1: someone save me from the constant torture of third wheeling

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user32: max is such a mood, i too become suicidal around any happy couple

yourusername: i don't remember you complaining when we literally made you dinner and hung out with you all night because you were "bored and lonely and wanted to annoy us"

maxverstappen1: *annoy my favourites

danielricciardo: we're well aware we're your favourites, we're the only ones who will tolerate you

maxverstappen1: well when you put it like that it makes me sad

yourusername: nooooo maxy we love you

user33: max using a meme of himself is peak max verstappen behaviour i can't lie

landonorris: wait so where was my invitation?

yourusername: this wasn't an invite only event it was me and daniel trying to have an evening in

maxverstappen1: but i thought you liked that i bought jimmy and sassy :(

yourusername: I LOVE THEM PLEASE HELP ME CONVINCE DANIEL TO GET A CAT

danielricciardo: i love you so much but we can barely feed ourselves and max so maybe we shouldn't be in charge of another living creature

yourusername: can we at least cat sit :(

danielricciardo: of course honey

user34: oh to be drinking wine on the couch with my boy friend daniel ricciardo

yourusername

liked by christianhorner, charles_leclerc and 780,563 others

tagged: danielricciardo

yourusername: thank you dad, you picked a good one x

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user35: i'm so jealous rn don't hit me up

danielricciardo: i think you picked THE ONE

yourusername: he's never going to shut up about this but i'll deal with it to be with you

danielricciardo: i'm blushing y/n

yourusername: i can make you do a lot more than blush

maxverstappen1: CHILDREN PRESENT

user36: this shit is like a straight up fairytale, christian should actually go into professional matchmaking

user37: girl yeah this match was made in heaven but we all know it's because christian LOVES daniel as well

user38: he's been gagging for daniel to be his son in law since like 2014

landonorris: thank god this happened, this man was PINING for so fucking long

danielricciardo: okay like no need to blast me

yourusername: omg you pined too, suddenly i'm not as much of a loser as i once thought

danielricciardo: you were never a loser babe

landonorris: maybe you were if you had a crush on him in 2014

danielricciardo: LANDO I WAS A CATCH IN 2014

yourusername: you've always been a catch babe don't worry

christianhorner: i know what i'm doing, i'm glad you're finally happy

yourusername: thank you dad xx

danielricciardo: thank you soon to be dad xx

user39: WHAT

danielricciardo

liked by christianhorner, maxverstappen1 and 1,304,766 others

tagged: yourusername

danielricciardo: i drove in your dad's wedding, but it'll be ours next

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user39: i think i heard christian's screams of joy all the way from the other side of the world

christianhorner: so happy for you two

danielricciardo: thank you so much for having faith in me

christianhorner: i know you'll treat her well and i know she'll treat you well, i'm excited to have you in the family

yourusername: awwww dad you're such a sap

maxverstappen1: do i need to marry into the family to still be invited to horner events?

christianhorner: no you're still invited max

yourusername: dad's golden boys will always have invites so you're safe max - bring seb to the next one too

user40: not all of the golden boys having championships other than daniel

danielricciardo: still ended up with the best prize in the end

yourusername: DANNY oh wow....

danielricciardo: not wrong though, i have no regrets because it all led to you

landonorris: @christianhorner i am painfully single please help

christianhorner: i'm not a miracle worker

yourusername: horners take no prisoners

note: pls enjoy this lil one, i did this as a palate cleanser before i get to p3 of into the arms of another and all the dragging that's about to come

[lostfracturess]

─── games and matches | ch. 03

pairing — satoru gojo x suguru's daughter reader

summary — after a night of partying and drinking, you run into none other than satoru gojo — your dad's infuriatingly hot best friend who you haven't seen in years. blame it on the alcohol, but you start flirting with him. and he flirts back. so, can it really be that wrong to want to fuck your dad's best friend? after all, what happens in the kitchen at 3AM stays in the kitchen, right?

word count — 12.5 k (chapter 3/3)

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, light angst, age difference, unprotected sex, public sex, sad sex?, masturbation, penetration, oral (female receiving), in need of heavy daddy issues to enjoy this.

author's note — hello again !! we've reached the final chapter of our story. brace yourselves for a bit of angst and emotion, but don't worry, a happy ending is on the horizon. so, get comfy, grab your fave snack, and let's jump into this last chapter & happy reading <3

masterlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | completed ✓

In the days following the party, your father had been livid. 

He'd ranted and raved, furious at what he saw as Satoru's betrayal and your reckless naivety. He'd had a long, serious talk with you, demanding that you end things with Satoru immediately and return to college to focus on your studies.

But the truth was, there hadn't been anything to end with Satoru. 

Not really. 

You'd tried to reason with him, to make him understand that Satoru was not using you and you wanted it too. But he'd been unmovable, insisting that he knew what was best for you, that Satoru was too old, too experienced, too much of a player to ever take you seriously.

Your dad was usually a gentle man at heart.

But you'd never seen him so angry.

But despite his anger towards Satoru, your dad couldn't find it in himself to be truly angry with you. Still, you could see the disappointment in his eyes, so you'd had no choice but to capitulate, agreeing to return to college and focus on your studies, putting some distance between yourself and Satoru. 

But somehow, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

You went through the motions of college life, attending classes and studying late into the night, all the while your thoughts wander back to the man that changed your whole world in mere days.

You counted the days until break, until you could see him again, touch him again, lose yourself in the heat of him again.

It was stupid, really.

You've known him your entire life, but this thing between you, it's new.

And it's irrational, illogical, and yet, you can't help but be drawn to him like a moth to a flame, craving his presence, his touch, as if you'd never realized what you were missing until now. 

It doesn't make sense.

And then, one night as you lay in your dorm room, your roommate out at some party or another — your phone rang. Your heart leapt into your throat when you saw Satoru's name on the screen, your pulse picking up speed as you fumbled to answer.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite lawyer," you drawled, a smile already on your lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night call?"

"What, a man can't just call his favorite girl?"

"Aw, you're making me blush. But seriously, what's up?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice, check in on you. That's all."

Your smile softened, your free hand absently playing with the hem of your shirt. 

Oh, his voice.

There was something about his voice that always managed to put you at ease, no matter how stressed you were feeling. It was like a soothing balm, washing over you and melting away all your worries. 

You could listen to him talk for hours, getting lost in the rich timbre of his voice, the way it seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace. 

Again.

It was stupid, really.

"I'm okay. I mean, Dad's still not thrilled about...us, but he's coming around. He could never stay mad at me for long. You, on the other hand...you might want to steer clear of him for a while,” you said after a pause.

“Yeah, I figured as much. My jaw still hurts like hell. Can't say I blame him though. If I had a daughter, I'd probably want to throttle any man who looked at her twice, too."

“Flatterer. You're just trying to butter me up so I'll send you dirty pictures or something."

"Love, I don't need to butter you up for that. I've got a whole album on my phone that says you're more than happy to oblige me without any sweet talking necessary."

You could hear the grin in his voice, and you huffed out a laugh. "Shut up. I still can't believe I let you talk me into that."

"Oh, I didn't have to do much talking, if I recall. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was your idea to—"

"Anyway," you interrupted. "Other than missing my revealing pictures, how have you been? How's work?"

Are you seriously asking him about work right now? 

Stupid, really.

But somehow you genuinely wanted to know, wanted to know what's happening in his life.

Satoru hummed, and you could picture him stretching out on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head. "Work is work. Busy, stressful, the usual. But I'd rather hear about you. How are classes? How's tennis? Any campus heartthrobs I need to come beat up for sniffing around my girl?"

You smiled, your heart warming at the fond possessiveness in his voice, the easy way he called you 'his girl'. Like it was a foregone conclusion, like there could never be anyone else for either of you.

You laid back more on the bed, starring up the ceiling. “Things are fine. Classes are kicking my ass, but I'm surviving. And tennis is... tennis. Lots of training and sore muscles. The usual."

"Sore muscles huh, there's an image," Satoru purred, his voice dipping low, taking on that gravelly edge that never failed to raise goosebumps on your skin. "You know, if you ever need help with that, I'm more than happy to volunteer my ser—"

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"You're stupid."

"You love it."

"Mm. Debatable."

"Liar." But he was laughing as he said it, bright and boyish, and the ache in your chest eased a bit.

God, you'd missed this. 

Missed him?

No. That can’t be. 

He’s just an affair, right?

A beat of comfortable silence settled over the line, broken only by the soft sounds of your matched breathing. You closed your eyes, letting yourself pretend, just for a moment, that he was there with you. That if you rolled over, you'd find him sprawled out beside you, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

"I miss you," Satoru said quietly, breaking you out of your reverie. 

Your heart clenched, your throat going tight.

For what felt like an eternity, you held your breath.

“You miss fucking me,” you say eventually, needing to break the intensity with a quip, a tease. "That's what this is really about. You're hard up and looking for a steamy bedtime story."

"Oh, I definitely want to fuck you," he agreed readily, his voice pitching lower, darker. "It makes me lose my mind, if I'm being honest. But love, if that was all this was, I'd be watching porn and taking matters into my own hands, so to speak. When I say I miss you... I mean you. Your mind, your heart, your ridiculous snort-laugh that makes you sound like a drunken piglet."

"Rude."

"The point is," he continued, barreling past your interruption, "I miss all of you. The sex is just a very, very nice bonus."

You were glad he couldn't see your face in that moment, because you were fairly certain you were grinning like an idiot. "Wow. I think you missed your calling. You should have been a poet, not a lawyer."

"But then I wouldn't get to argue for a living. Where's the fun in that?"

"Yeah, true. The courtroom would be way too quiet without you there to stir things up."

"Exactly. Plus, I look quite good in a suit."

"Wow, so humble, aren't you?"

"Just spitting facts. But you know, I bet I'd look even better with you by my side."

"Is that so?"

"Definitely. We'd be the ultimate power couple. Me, the godly lawyer, and you, the brilliant and smoking hot...wait, what was it you were studying again?"

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see you. "Nice try, Satoru. You know damn well what I'm studying."

"Mmm, it's not coming to me. Guess you'll have to refresh my memory...preferably in person."

"You're such a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love me just the way I am."

His words echoed in your mind, 'you love me', and suddenly it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Your throat went tight, your chest constricting as the weight of those words sank in.

He’s just an affair.

You had to remind yourself of it, because otherwise—

No. It could never possibly be.

For a long moment, you just listened to each other breathe, the silence comfortable and charged all at once. It felt like something was building, some inevitable tide that would sweep you both away if you let it.

"Are you alone?" Satoru asked abruptly.

You blinked, snapping back to reality as you glanced around your empty dorm room, taking in the half-cracked textbooks and rumpled bedding, the scatter of discarded clothing littering every surface. You knew your roommate was with her boyfriend tonight, likely wouldn't be home until morning, if at all.

"Yeah," you confirmed. "Just me and a truly alarming amount of dirty laundry."

"Perfect. Put me on speaker."

You paused for a second, but then anticipation rose in your blood, a thrilling shiver running down your spine at the low, suggestive tone of his voice. You did as instructed, placed the phone on your pillow and lay back on the soft bed.

"Take off your pants for me, love.”

You shivered, fingers already working at the tie of your sleep shorts. "You too. I want to hear your voice."

The rustle of fabric and the clank of a belt buckle echoed through the phone, followed by Satoru's drawn-out sigh of relief. "Fuck, that's better," he groaned, sounding almost pained. "I've been hard since the second I heard your voice, just aching to get a hand on myself. You drive me so crazy, you know that? Make me throb and leak, desperate to bury myself in you."

"God, Satoru," you whimpered, heat pulsing between your thighs. Your own pants were long gone, kicked somewhere off the bed. "Don't say things like that. I can't stand how much I need you. I'm already so wet just thinking about you."

"Fuck, such a needy little thing," he groaned. "Put your fingers in that pretty mouth for me. Get them nice and wet for me, love. Pretend it's my cock you're sucking on, my cum you're tasting on your tongue."

You hastened to obey, sliding two fingers past your parted lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked, picturing Satoru's thick length sliding over your tongue, heavy and hard and leaking at the tip.

"God, you’re such a good girl," Satoru breathed, the slick sound of flesh on flesh suggesting his hand had found its destination. "Now trail those wet fingers down your throat, over your chest. Pluck and roll your nipples for me, let me hear those moans."

You did as told, your back arching off the bed as you circled and tugged at the aching peaks. Satoru's labored breathing and low curses spilled from the speaker, causing your core to clench.

"Satoru," you mewled, pinching harder, hips starting to circle restlessly against the empty air. 

"Slide that hand lower, love. Drag your fingertips through your slick folds, feel how wet you are for me. Circle your clit, get it nice and hot and ready for my tongue."

A broken moan tumbled from your lips as you touched yourself as directed, your hips bucking up to chase more of the pressure. Your clit throbbed under the pads of your fingers, aching and needy.

"Wish it was my mouth on you," Satoru panted, the slick, rhythmic glide of his hand over his cock filling the air. "Wish I could bury my face between your thighs and lick up every drop of you. Fuck, the way you taste, the sounds you make—”

"Satoru, please," you whined, two fingers dipping lower to circle your entrance, thighs fallen open. "I want to feel you inside me, want you to fuck me so bad."

"Do it," he commanded breathlessly. "Fuck yourself on your fingers, nice and deep. Picture me there, hovering over you, my cock sinking into you inch by inch. Feel me stretching you wide, filling you up, making you mine."

You obeyed, plunging your fingers knuckle-deep, your free hand flying to your mouth to muffle your cry. You started up a desperate rhythm, hips rolling into every thrust, the wet sounds of your own penetration mixing with Satoru's heavy breathing and latching groans.

"Good girl. Ride those fingers like you'd ride my dick. Fast and hard and greedy, taking every inch. Fuck, if you could see what you're doing to me right now.” His voice was absolutely wrecked, cracking and catching like he was barely hanging on to his control. “I'm so hard it hurts, leaking all over my fist. I'm fucking close already.”

You whimpered, your hips bucking into your hand as his words made your core clench harder. "Tell me, Satoru. Tell me what you're doing, how you're stroking yourself. I want to hear it, want to picture it so clearly it's like I'm there with you."

Satoru groaned. "I've got my cock in a tight grip, love. Squeezing the base hard to stave off my orgasm, because I'll be damned if I come before you do. Want to time it just right, want to hear you fall apart and know it's my voice that pushed you over the edge."

You moaned brokenly, thighs starting to tremble as your climax approached. "Close," you managed to gasp out, your free hand fisting in your sweat-dampened sheets. "Satoru, fuck, I'm so fucking close—"

"Come with me, love," he encouraged, voice breaking on a moan. "Rub your clit just how I know you like, just how I would with my tongue. Fuck, I can practically taste you, can feel you clenching around my fingers, my cock—"

And then his low, throaty groan cut through the air, and the sound — so intimate, so hot, so fucking reminiscent of all the times he'd spilled inside you — shoved you violently over the edge.

With a wordless cry, you shattered, your core rippling and gushing around your buried fingers. Distantly, you heard Satoru praising you through his own desperate grunts and moans, heard the rhythmic slap of his hand as it pumped his twitching cock through the aftershocks.

For long, panting moments, you just trembled and gasped in the aftermath, boneless and buzzing, your heart pounding against your ribs. Your skin felt too tight, your body alive and electric in a way only Satoru could cause — even from miles away.

"Fuck, what you do to me, woman," Satoru said after a moment, his words hitching a bit like he'd just stretched out real good. "You should see the mess I made over here. I'm covered in my own cum, it's all over my stomach and chest. Fuck, I haven't come that hard from just my hand in years."

"I wish I could see that.” You slipped your fingers out of your core and reached for a tissue before collapsing back onto the bed. “Wish I could watch you come, see every drop spill onto your skin. God, I'd lick it all up, every fucking drop, nice and slow."

"Fuck," Satoru choked out, and you could practically hear him trembling through the phone. "You're killing me here, you know that? I'm too old to get it up again this fast, but fuck if you aren't making me want to try."

You laughed. "Sorry, sorry. I'll behave. For now."

"You, behave?" Satoru scoffed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Guess you'll just have to keep me in line then, won't you?"

"Careful what you wish for. Next time I get my hands on you, I might not let you go for days."

"Hm. I’m scared,” you teased.

"Oh, love. You have no idea what you're in for. I'm gonna fuck you so hard and so long that we're gonna break that tiny dorm bed of yours, just you wait."

"Promises, promises, counselor,” you said even as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. God, you couldn't wait to have him in your bed, in your body, surrounding you with his heat and scent.

Suddenly, your phone chimed with a message notification. You pulled it away from your ear to check the screen and for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

It was a picture from Satoru — or rather his lap.

His sculpted abs and muscular thighs framed the shot and in the center a very familiar thick, generously proportioned cock, red and swollen and covered in milky cum, a pearly bead of liquid welling from the slit. 

Damn. 

He really had made a mess. 

"Fuck, Satoru. Warn a girl before you go sending porn of yourself, would you?”

"What, you don't like your presents? And here I put so much effort into the lighting and angles."

You huffed out a laugh, your cheeks flushing hot as you continued to stare at the picture. "Oh, I didn't say that. Trust me, this is going in the top tier spank bank folder. Might even make it my new background, so I can stare at your dick all day during boring lectures."

"Don't you dare. My cock is for your eyes only, got it? No sharing with the class."

"Aww, you're no fun.”

"Oh, I'll show you fun.”

“You know—” You rolled onto your side and hugged a pillow to your chest. "You should come visit me sometime."

There was a beat of surprised silence, then a sharp inhale. "You want me to come to your college?"

You shrugged even though he couldn't see it. "I mean... yeah. Why not?”

"But what about Suguru? I thought he made it pretty clear he didn't want me within a hundred miles of you.”

"My dad's not here though, is he? He can't exactly stalk our every move when I'm hours away at school. And besides, I'm a grown woman. He doesn't get to tell me who I can and can't see."

"You're really trying to give your old man a heart attack, huh?"

"To be fair, I think we both are," you said with a chuckle. "So, is that a promise? You'll come see me?"

"Sure. I'll drive up this weekend. We can grab dinner, take a walk around campus, whatever you want."

"And then barricade ourselves in my dorm room and not come up for air until Sunday night, right?"

A low, strangled groan echoed over the line. "God, I can't wait to get my hands on you. My mouth on you. Wanna make you scream so loud, the whole damn dorm knows exactly how well you're being taken care of.”

Your face hurt from how hard you were smiling. "Looks like we both have our work cut out for us then. Good thing we've got all weekend to cross some things off the to-do list, because I've already got a few ideas."

"Oh, really? What ideas?”

"Mm, that would be telling.”

"You goddamn tease," he laughed, the sound warm and rich and god, you'd never tire of hearing it.

A beat of comfortable silence fell between you, filled only with the soft sounds of your matched breathing over the line. It was intimate in its own way, just existing together in this quiet moment.

"I miss you," Satoru said quietly, “really miss you.”

You inhaled shakily, your heart racing in your chest. "I miss you too.”

Another pause, heavy with unspoken emotion.

"Sleep well, love," Satoru murmured finally, a soft smile in his voice. "Dream of me."

"Yeah, you too, counselor," you whispered back. "See you soon."

And then he was gone, the line clicking off, leaving you alone with the pounding of your heart and the swirling mess of your thoughts.

You rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the emotions churning in your gut. This thing with Satoru—it was supposed to be casual. Fun. Just a hot little affair between two consenting adults, no strings or expectations.

Just really good sex.

Mind-blowingly good sex, sure, but still just sex. 

But the way he'd sounded just now, so soft and earnest, the way your pulse raced and your skin tingled at just the thought of seeing him, being near him—

God, what was this feeling? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the tiny, traitorous voice whispering that it was so much more than that.

It couldn't be. 

You couldn't let it be.

Because you were married to tennis. And Satoru, with his high-powered career, was always jetting off to handle cases abroad.

This, whatever this was between you, it had an expiration date. 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The sun beat down on the back of your neck as you bounced lightly on the balls of your feet, racket at the ready. Your hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, a few sticky strands clinging to your sweaty face.

You'd been out on the court for over an hour, serving balls and perfecting your moves. It was tough as hell, but damn did it feel good to push yourself, to feel the satisfying burn in your muscles.

Tennis was your escape, your passion. 

When you were on the court, nothing else mattered. Not school, not picking a major, not deciding if you should chase your pro athlete dreams.

Out here, it was just you, your racket, and the ball. 

Pure and simple.

You were so focused on your practice, so absorbed in the steady back and forth of the ball, that you completely missed the fact that you had an audience. At least, until a very familiar voice called out, cutting through the regular court sounds.

"Hey there, superstar."

You turned around, to see Satoru walking towards you, a rakish grin on his unfairly handsome face. He was dressed casually in dark slacks and a light sage button down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.

"Satoru?" you gasped, your heart racing. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming 'til tomorrow."

He shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets as he got closer. "Couldn't wait that long. Kept picturing you out here, all alone, in that little skirt..." His eyes raked over you, hot and heavy, lingering on your bare legs. "Let's just say it was a bit too much for my poor imagination to handle."

You flushed, a thrill chasing down your spine at the blatant appreciation in his gaze. Suddenly, you were acutely aware of your skimpy tennis dress, of the way the thin, sweat-soaked fabric clung to your curves.

"So what, you just decided to drive all night and ambush me on the court in broad daylight?" You crossed your arms, trying to look stern even though you were fighting back a smile.

"Ambush? I prefer 'surprise’, or maybe 'make your whole day’, given the way you're looking at me right now."

You scoffed, but couldn't stop the grin that broke free. "Awful sure of yourself, aren't you counselor?"

"With good reason." He reached out and cupped your face in one big, warm hand, his thumb stroking over your cheek so tenderly it made your breath hitch. "After all, I have it on very good authority that you've been pining for me. Yearning, even."

"Oh, is that so?" You leaned into his touch, your skin sparking at even this simple contact. 

God, you'd missed him. 

Missed this easy back and forth, the simmering tension that always stretched between you.

"Mhm." He dipped his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning hot over your parted lips. "A little birdie might have mentioned something about you sighing wistfully and doodling my name in hearts all over your notes. Very high school of you, by the way."

You huffed, giving his chest a playful shove even as you felt your face heat up. "In your dreams."

"Mm, always." His other hand found your hip, fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt to stroke over the smooth, sweaty skin there. "But looks like reality's even better this time around."

Your breath hitched, need spiking through you sudden and sharp. Your hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, wanting to feel more of his heat. "Satoru," you warned, but it came out breathy, wanting. "We're in public. Anyone could see..."

"Fuck it, let them," he said, his grip tightening on your hip, his eyes going dark and intense in a way that made your knees weak. "Let the whole damn world know who you belong to. How fucking gone I am for you."

You nearly moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair, torn between dragging him closer and pushing him away. "But I can't suck you off in public now, can I?" 

"Fuckin' tease. You're going to pay for that.”

"Mm, can't wait. But for now, I've still got practice to finish up."

"Look at you, being all responsible." His lips trailed down your neck, making you shiver. 

"I mean, if I'm gonna go pro, I can't slack off, right?"

He pulled back a little to look you in the eye, his smile going soft. "You're really serious about that, huh? Going pro?"

You shrugged, feeling suddenly shy under the warmth of his gaze. "Yeah, I mean...it's not like, a totally crazy dream, right?"

"Not even a little bit, love. You can do anything you set your mind to. And I'll be right there in the front row, cheering you on every step of the way."

God, the sincerity in his voice, the absolute faith shining in his eyes. It made your throat go tight and your heart feel like it was ten sizes too big for your chest.

"Satoru, you..."

"—are incredible? I know," he cut in with a cheeky grin.

You just smiled, a soft, tender thing that felt too big for your face. 

Yeah, he really was incredible. 

He smiled in return, leaning in to press a quick, sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. "Now, what do you say, we see if I remember how to swing a racket, hm? I'll even let you beat me, since you've been practicing so hard and all."

"Oh, you'll let me beat you? That's adorable. Try to keep up, old man. I remember you playing real bad.”

“Oh, is that so?” 

“Pretty bad, yeah.” You grinned, giving his chest a little shove with your racket. "Bring it, counselor. First to five wins and the loser owes the winner any favor of their choosing."

Satoru's smile was slow, wicked. "Any favor, huh? Dangerous words, love. You sure you wanna give me that kind of power? I might make you regret it later."

"Or maybe I'll make you eat those words," you teased, already backing towards your side of the court, adrenaline buzzing through your veins. "Guess we'll just have to see how it plays out."

"Brat.” He shook his head, huffing out a laugh as he moved into position. "Alright, challenge accepted. Just remember—" His grin turned downright feral. "When I win? And I will win, I'm gonna collect on that favor so hard, you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

A shiver chased down your spine, your core clenching at the blatant heat in his gaze. But you just smiled, slow and sure, adrenaline already thrumming through your veins.

This. 

Him. 

The push and pull, the electric charge that always crackled between you — god, it was everything. Invigorating and addictive and so, so right.

"Oh, I'm counting on it, counselor.” You bounced lightly on your toes as you readied your first serve. With a wide smile, you tossed the ball skyward. And then the sharp thwack of the ball as it met your strings, the satisfying smack as it hit the court on his side.

Game fucking on.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You did win, of course.

And Satoru wasted no time in making good on his forfeit.

"Fuck, don’t stop," you panted, your hips rolling shamelessly against his face, "feels so fucking good."

Satoru’s hands were firmly on your hips as you rode his face. Your core gliding over his lips and tongue, painting his face with your arousal. The obscene wet sounds of him licking and suckling filled the room, mingling with your breathy moans and sighs.

Satoru licked and sucked and nibbled at your clit, alternating between broad, flat strokes of his tongue and delicate flicks over your throbbing nub. He explored every inch, delving into your tight core and fucking you with the slick muscle until you were keening and thrashing above him.

Your hands moved from the headboard to his hair, tangling in the soft white strands, holding him in place as you started to move faster, grinding your clit against his nose, his chin, his lips.

"Satoru," you chanted mindlessly. "God, yes, just like that. Don't stop, don't fucking stop, I can’t—ah."

He groaned long and low, the sound muffled against your core, and doubled his efforts. His tongue delved deep, curling inside you in a maddening motion that made your vision blur at the edges. His nose rubbed your clit with every rock and grind of your hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Without warning, he pressed two thick fingers into your clenching heat, curling forward to rub over that spot just how you liked it. At the same time, Satoru sealed his lips around your clit and sucked.

It was too much, too intense. 

Your orgasm that had been building at the base of your spine, in the quivering pit of your stomach, exploded outwards. You bucked and writhed on his face, practically screaming as pure bliss crashed through you, pulsing out from your core in searing waves. Your core spasmed around his fingers, gushing release over his chin and his nose.

Through it all, Satoru worked you mercilessly, his mouth and hand never faltering, wringing out every last shudder until you collapsed forward, clinging weakly to the headboard. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, shiny and sticky with your spend, the occasional residual clench making you whimper.

"Holy shit," you managed, still panting. "I'm so fucking glad you suck at tennis."

"Ouch," he said with a laugh. "I'd say I scored at least one point there."

"Yeah, because I let you.”

"Double ouch.”

Slowly, carefully, he eased you off his face and back onto the bed, shifting to hover over you on his elbows. His cheeks and chin were drenched, glistening with your release. 

You reached out to swipe a thumb over his slick skin, wiping away some of the mess you'd made. "You've got a little something there.”

"Oh, do I?" He turned his head to nip playfully at your finger, his tongue darting out to lick your arousal from the digit. "Hmm, wonder what that could be. Certainly not the evidence of you coming apart on my tongue. Multiple times, even. But who's counting?"

"Smug doesn't suit you, Satoru.”

He chuckled, low and warm, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. You watched as he stood and stretched, the lean muscles of his back rippling under perfect skin. He was completely unselfconscious in his nudity, utterly at ease with your heated gaze tracing over every inch of him.

Satoru padded across your dorm room, his footsteps silent on the thin carpet. He came to a stop in front of your bookshelf, his head tilting as he examined the various trophies and medals displayed there.

"Impressive collection you've got here.” He reached out to pick up a particularly shiny trophy, turning it over in his hands. "This from the championship last year?"

You sat up, hugging the sheet to your chest. “Yeah, that was a hell of a match. Went to three sets, thought my lungs were going to give out on me by the end of it."

He hummed, setting the trophy back in its place with care. "I remember. I was stuck in a conference room, listening to some blowhard drone on about market fluctuations, but all I could think about was you. Must've refreshed the score update page a hundred times, nearly wore out my phone battery."

Your heart stumbled in your chest, your breath catching. "You...you kept up with my matches? Even when you were abroad?"

Satoru glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes warm and bright in the golden afternoon light filtering through your blinds. “Of course I did. I've always admired your determination and drive, ever since you started college and made it clear tennis was your dream. You think I could focus on anything else when I knew you were out there absolutely crushing it on the court?"

Your heart raced. The idea of him, thousands of miles away, still cheering you on, still invested in your passion, your success—

It meant more than you could ever put into words.

"You know, it was strange for me, seeing you again after so long," Satoru admitted, trailing his fingers absently over a polaroid photo that lay beside your trophies — you, sweaty and beaming, holding a massive trophy aloft. "You'd grown into this incredible, self-assured athlete.” He turned to look at you. “Who would have thought we'd end up like this one day?"

"Not me, that's for sure. But just to be clear, I was always an incredible, self-assured athlete. You've just gotten old, Satoru. I mean, is your hair even more white than before or is it just me?"

"And here I thought I was being sweet."

You smiled slowly. "You are. Kinda."

He raised an eyebrow. "Kinda? Just kinda? Damn, tough crowd."

You grinned, stretching languorously against the pillows. "Can't let that ego get too big, or your head won't fit through the door."

"Oh, I think we both know it's not my head you need to worry about fitting, love.”

"You're ridiculous. Why do I put up with you again?"

Satoru walked back over to the bed, leaning down until he was hovering over you, his face mere inches from yours. "Don't even try to pretend you don't love it.”

"In your dreams.”

He cupped your face in his large, calloused hand, his thumb stroking tenderly over your cheekbone before he dipped his head to press a soft kiss to your mouth and you immediately melted into him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your body arching up to meet his, before you tugged him down onto the mattress.

The kiss deepened, growing wetter, hotter, more urgent. Satoru's tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and when you parted for him, it was with a low, needy moan that made his lips move even greedier against yours.

His hand slid from your face to tangle in your hair, his fingers twisting in the strands as he tilted your head just right to deepen the kiss. His body pressed closer, heavier, his knees pushing your thighs apart as he settled between your legs.

"Not so fast," you breathed against his lips, your hands splayed across his firm chest. With a deft twist of your hips, you rolled him beneath you in one swift motion, straddling his waist.

Satoru blinked up at you, momentarily stunned. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a knowing smirk, his large hands coming to rest on your bare thighs, his thumbs stroking circles over your skin. 

"Oh, so you wanna take control now, huh? Be the boss?"

"Please, you know you love it when I'm on top." Your hips began a slow, teasing grind against the rigid length of him nestled between your thighs. 

Satoru's breath hitched, his fingers digging into your thighs as you circled your hips just right, the slick drag of your wet core sliding over his aching cock. "You flatter me, love, because I lose my mind in any position with you. But you know, two can play this game."

His hands suddenly shot to your hips, gripping bruisingly tight. With a sharp jerk and a low, purposeful grind, he rocked you against him hard, the pressure on your clit just shy of painful in the most delicious way.

You gasped, your back arching, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked chest. "Fuck, Satoru," you whimpered, your hips moving of their own accord, chasing the delicious friction. "Don't stop." 

"What happened to being in control, hm?"

"Oh, shut up”

Every drag of your slick folds over his thick length made you shiver and gasp, lit you up from the inside. You could see the desperation in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and his chest heaved with each teasing glide of your hips. 

He looked so needy beneath you, his hands gripping your thighs painfully tight, his hips moving against yours, seeking more of your friction.

"So, when do you want to end this torture?" he asked.

"What, can't you take a little teasing?"

"Oh, I can, but right now, I'm losing my mind here. If you don't let me fuck you already—"

"Then do it," you say breathlessly, your own need reaching a fever pitch.

He didn’t need to hear more.

One broad palm abandoned your hip to notch underneath your thigh, spreading you wider as the other hand delved between your rocking bodies to grasp his shaft, lining the thick head up with your entrance.

With a moan, you sank down onto him, your body accepting the slow invasion inch by thick inch. When he bottomed out, when the coarse brush of his pelvis met your clit, you both groaned low and long, lost to the connection, the perfect completeness of your bodies finally joined.

"God, you feel so incredible," Satoru gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought the urge to simply buck up into you, to set a bruising pace and chase his pleasure selfishly. "So damn tight and hot and perfect. Never gonna get over how good you take my cock."

"Fuck, Satoru," you panted. "You're so deep like this—"

Your babbling dissolved into a whimpering keen as he moved his hips, grinding the thick root of him against your G-spot. You braced your hands on his sweat-slick chest and started to move, rising up until just the tip of him kissed your entrance before slamming back down, a scream catching in your throat at the maddening stretch of him.

"Just like that," Satoru urged breathlessly, his neck corded with strain, his teeth sunk into his lower lip as he watched you bounce on his cock through a haze of desperate lust. "Ride me, love. Take this dick, milk me fucking dry. Wanna feel you come on me, soak my cock in it, fucking ruin me."

Your movements grew faster, more desperate, your cries becoming higher pitched and broken as you chased your rapidly approaching climax. 

Suddenly, Satoru sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. The shift in angle made you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance as he sank even deeper inside you.

"Fuck, Satoru," you whimpered. “Feel so good—"

"Shhh, I've got you." One large hand splayed across your lower back, the other tenderly cupping your cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle. "I'll always have you, love. No matter what."

Then his hips started moving in a slow, rolling rhythm again, each thrust sending heat straight to your core, making you temporarily forget his sincere words. You clung to him, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the narrow space between your lips.

"You're everything to me, you know that?" Satoru murmured softly.

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. 

But before you could fully process it, his hands slid down to grab your ass, grinding you harder against him. A gasp escaped your throat at the sudden increase in pace as you rolled your hips faster to meet his thrusts, your clit rubbing maddingly against him with every downward motion.

In one smooth move, Satoru rolled you both onto your sides, your back flush against his solid chest, still intimately joined. The new position made you moan out, the angle allowing him to sink even further into you.

"Please tell me we'll never stop doing this," he moaned, his lips on your ear.

“No, never, Satoru. God, please never stop.”

One muscular arm banded across your waist, holding you firmly against him as he started to move. His free hand reached up your sweat-slicked body to tighten around your throat, arching your head back to rest against his shoulder.

"Satoru," you panted, reaching back to thread your fingers through his hair, keeping him close as he trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck. "God, please never stop fucking me.”

"Never, love," he murmured against your skin, his hand drifting lower, fingertips ghosting over your quivering stomach. "I’m never gonna stop fucking you, wanna feel you come apart on my cock again and again until you can't take it anymore."

He rolled his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your core clench. At the same time, his clever fingers found your aching center. A broken moan tore from your throat, your head falling back against his shoulder.

You were close, so fucking close.

But Satoru, god, he knew your body so well, knew exactly how to keep you riding that sweet, torturous edge without letting you fall. Every time you thought you couldn't possibly handle any more, he would change his angle or vary his rhythm, keeping you suspended in an endless loop of blissful torture that had you shaking and gasping his name.

“God, you take me so fucking good.” His teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder as the thick head of his cock slammed into you at that perfect angle. "You feel so amazing, so perfect around me, fuck, gonna fill you up so fuckin' full—"

His words were your undoing. 

With a sharp cry, your release crashed over you, your body clenching and pulsing around him as wave after wave consumed you. Your inner muscles clamped down on him, rippling and fluttering and milking his cock for all you were worth.

Satoru fucked you through it relentlessly, prolonging your pleasure until it bordered on pain, all while he chased his own release.

Without warning, Satoru flipped you over onto your stomach, his body covering yours as he pushed back inside you with a deep, almost desperate thrust. One of his hands snaked around to grip your throat lightly, his chest molding to your back as he set a punishing pace, driving into you with abandon.

"Oh fuck, love, I'm gonna—shit, you feel so fucking good—" His words dissolved into incoherent moans, his hips starting to lose their steady rhythm as his climax approached.

He pounded into you harder, faster, the force of his thrusts pushing you up the bed, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets. And then, with a guttural groan, he let go, his release flooding you, painting your walls with his seed.

You could feel every twitch and throb of his cock as he emptied himself deep inside you, your own clenching core greedily milking him for every last drop.

For long, blissful moments, you simply shook and shuddered together, his cock still buried to the hilt, hearts pounding in sync. Satoru's arms tightened around you, his face buried between your shoulder blades, his ragged breaths gusting over your sweat-dampened skin.

"I swear it gets better every goddamn time,” he mused against your lips. “Never gonna get enough of you, never gonna stop craving the way you feel around me.”

You huffed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the sudden tightness in your chest. "Yeah, you've really ruined me for all other dicks, just so you know." You turned your head to catch his eyes.

A slow smile spread across his face. He straightened up, his hands wandering over the curve of your ass before delivering a light, playful spank.

“Hey!" you yelped.

Grinning unrepentantly, he leaned down and playfully bit one of your buttocks. "God, I can't wait to see this ass in your little tennis skirts again," he growled, soothing the sting with a kiss.

"What, that gets you all hot and bothered?"

"Yeah, totally. I'm hard the second you shimmy into one of those tiny things."

"Well, good thing you'll be seeing me in them a lot more often then.”

"I’m counting on it. Can’t wait to see you in those skirts winning matches all over the world.”

You bit your lip, a sudden wave of uncertainty crashing over you. "Dad wants me to have a backup plan, you know? In case the whole tennis thing doesn't pan out."

"And since when do you give a fuck what he thinks?" Satoru challenged, his fingers trailing up your spine, making you shiver.

"Fair point," you conceded, your lips twitching. But the smile faded quickly, replaced by a frown. "I mean, It's a nice dream, but...what are the odds, really? It's not exactly a realistic goal."

Slowly, gently, he slipped out of you, both of you moaning at the loss of contact. He pulled you close, tucking you into the curve of his body like you belonged there.

"Says who?" he demanded, his voice fierce, almost angry. "You're incredible. You have just as much chance as anyone else, if not more so. You shouldn't give up on your dreams just because the path isn't easy."

Your heart clenched, your throat suddenly tight. "You really think I could do it?" you whispered, hating how small, how uncertain you sounded.

"I know you could." He cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your bottom lip with a tenderness that made your breath catch. "You're so strong, love. On the court and off. When you set your mind to something, nothing can stand in your way. It's one of the things I lo—" He caught himself, clearing his throat roughly. "One of the things I admire most about you."

Your heart stuttered at his little slip, at the unspoken four-letter-word lingering in the air between you. But you pushed it aside, convinced you must have misheard him. There was no way he was about to say what you thought he was—right?

No, it couldn't be. 

This thing between you, it was just physical. Just a bit of fun, a way to blow off steam. You needed to remember that, needed to cling to that truth like a lifeline.

You swallowed hard.

"I mean it, love," Satoru continued softly, his hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "You should look at schools with top tennis programs. Places with the right coaches, the right resources to help you improve your skills and get noticed by the pros.”

"Yeah, I should," you said slowly.

"Wherever you want to go, I'm with you. But please, just choose a university with a remotely decent law firm nearby. Otherwise, I'm gonna be bored as fuck.”

Your heart stopped. 

You pushed back from him slightly, needing space, needing air. "What? Why?" you croaked, certain you'd misheard, misunderstood. Because surely he couldn't mean—

God, he couldn't—he didn't really—

Did he?

Conflicting emotions crashed through you, painful in their intensity. Disbelief and wonder, longing and panic, hope and fear, and a strange, bubbling rush that felt dangerously close to—

No. 

No, it was too soon, too much. 

This thing between you, it was just physical. Just a casual affair, a temporary outlet for the attraction that crackled between you.

Wasn't it?

"I thought this was casual between us," you said.

As his words hung in the air between you, a flicker of something raw and vulnerable passed over Satoru’s features before he could mask it with casual nonchalance. For a moment, he looked almost — wounded. 

As if your dismissal of this thing between you had struck a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs and the hope from his heart.

But you couldn't let yourself dwell on it, couldn't let the ache in your chest sway you from your chosen path. Because this—tennis, your future, your dreams—it was everything. The driving force that had gotten you through countless early mornings and grueling practices, through blisters and bruises and the bone-deep exhaustion that came with pushing your body to its limits day after day.

It was your passion, your purpose. 

The one thing in your life that made sense, that gave you direction and drive.

You had to choose.

And as much as it killed you, as much as it felt like ripping your own heart out with your bare hands—

You knew which choice you had to make. Which path you had to take, no matter how steep and lonely it might be. Because tennis was your future. Your purpose, your calling, the one thing you'd built your entire identity around.

And Satoru — god, Satoru was a beautiful dream.

But he was only a dream.

And you can’t chase two dreams.

God, this was so fucking unfair. So cruel and confusing and utterly, devastatingly unfair.

Because you wanted him. Wanted him so badly it felt like a physical ache, a hollow void in the center of your chest that only his touch, his kiss, his love could fill.

But you wanted tennis too.

Wanted tennis more.

And you couldn't risk it.

Because falling for him, letting yourself want more than stolen moments and secret meetings — it was a distraction. A beautiful, tempting, utterly destructive distraction.

"I need to focus on my training, you know? I can't afford any...complications right now,” you said quietly.

Satoru's eyes closed for a second, his jaw clenching as if he were physically biting back the words that wanted to spill out. When he opened them again, his gaze was shuttered, unreadable.

"Yeah, you're right. You should focus on your career, on getting everything you want out of life.” Satoru cleared his throat, his hand sliding down to grip your hip, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your sweat-cooled skin. "Well then, Now that we've got that settled...what do you say we move on to more pressing matters?"

"Pressing...matters?"

Satoru's smile sharpened. "Mhm. Like round three...or is it four now? I've lost count."

Your breath caught in your throat as he settled between your parted thighs, the thick, heavy weight of his length pressing against your entrance. 

"Satoru," you managed, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "I think we—"

"Shh," he interrupted, his gaze so intense that any reply died on your lips. "Don't speak. Just feel."

And then he was pushing forward, the broad head of his cock breaching your entrance, splitting you open inch by maddening inch until he bottomed out.

For a suspended moment, he held himself still, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with your own. And in that pause, that infinite stretch of time, something shifted between you. 

When he started to move, it was with a desperate urgency, a possessive edge that bordered on rough. His kisses turned bruising, almost punishing, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks, to brand you as his own.

It was hot and messy, frantic and almost frightening in its intensity. 

He fucked you like he was trying to imprint himself on every inch of your skin, to make you his in a way that went far beyond the physical. Like he knew, with a brutal, aching certainty, that he would never have the chance to touch you like this again. 

Never feel your heat, your softness, the perfect give of your body beneath his own.

And despite yourself, despite the sickening knowledge that this would only make things harder in the end — you wanted it. 

Wanted him, all of him, in a way that defied logic and reason. 

Even if it was selfish, even if it would hurt him more in the long run, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. Couldn't deny yourself this one last taste of paradise, this fleeting glimpse of a future you knew you could never have.

So you clung to him, your hands scrabbling over the sweat-slick expanse of his back, your legs winding around his waist to pull him deeper, harder. 

You let him take you apart with ruthless precision, let him wring cry after broken cry from your lips as he pounded into you again and again, chasing oblivion, chasing connection, chasing the impossible dream of forever.

Even if it was just for one night.

Later, as you lay tangled together in the sheets, your body aching and spent. He gathered you close and held you like he never wanted to let go. Like he could keep you there, in the circle of his arms, in the warmth of his bed, if he just held on tight enough.

He stayed the night, his face buried in the crook of your neck as you drifted off to sleep. 

But when you woke the next morning, he was gone. 

The sheets were cold beside you, the indentation of his head on the pillow the only sign he'd ever been there at all. 

A note on the nightstand said something had come up at work.

He was a terrible liar.

And could you blame him, really? After all, you'd been the one to set the terms, to draw the lines. You'd been the one to put your career, your ambition, your lifelong dream ahead of your heart. Ahead of him.

So what right did you have to feel betrayed, to feel abandoned, when he was just following your lead?

No right at all. 

But that didn't stop the ache in your chest.

But it was too late now.

You'd made your choice. 

And it wasn't him.

No matter how badly you wished it could be.

Game. Set.

Goodbye.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

In the weeks that followed, life returned to its usual rhythms. 

Classes, practice, the endless cycle of drills and conditioning that made up your days. You threw yourself into your training with a single-minded focus, determined to chase your dreams, to reach the pinnacle of your sport.

But even as you went through the motions, even as you pushed your body to its limits and lost yourself in the familiar burn of exertion — something felt off. 

Different, in a way you couldn't quite put your finger on.

It was like a constant itch beneath your skin, a restless energy that had you tossing and turning at night, your mind churning with thoughts you couldn't seem to quiet. Thoughts of him, of the way he'd touched you, tasted you, the way he'd looked at you.

You couldn't seem to shake the memory of his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck. The way he'd held you, like you were something precious, something cherished.

Like you were his everything.

And god, how you ached for it. How you longed for his touch, his presence. For the easy banter and the heated glances, the way he could make you laugh even as he set your blood on fire.

For the way he made you feel seen, known. Understood, in a way no one else ever had. Like he could look into your eyes and see straight to your soul, to the heart of you. Like he knew you, inside and out.

But he was busy, consumed by his work. 

At least, that's what he told you.

Not that you had a right to complain.

You’d made your choice, and now you had to live with it. Tennis was your dream, your passion, and you couldn't let anything or anyone distract you from that. 

Not even him. 

You buried yourself in your training, in the familiar rhythms of the court. In the thwack of the ball against your racket, the burn of your muscles as you pushed yourself harder, faster. 

As you chased the high of victory, the rush of dominance. The sweet satisfaction of a point well-played, a match well-won.

But even as you poured your heart out on the court, even as you fought for every point, every game, every set — you couldn't escape your own head. The doubts, the second-guesses, the nagging sense that maybe, just maybe, you had made a terrible mistake. 

That in choosing your dream, you had lost something far more precious. And slowly, inevitably, you began to realize.

But god, there were so many reasons why you shouldn't.

He was so much older than you. 

He was your father's best friend.

And then there was your career, your dream. 

The goal you'd been chasing since you first picked up a racket, the future you'd sacrificed so much for. Could you really risk it all, put it all on the line for a man you'd only just begun to really know, to love?

Your head said no. 

Said it was too reckless.

That you had worked too hard, come too far, to throw it all away now. 

But your heart—

Oh your treacherous heart, whispered a different story. Whispered that maybe, just maybe, he was worth the risk. Worth the sacrifice.

And so, torn between your head and your heart, you found yourself at a crossroads. Caught between the dream you had always chased and the love you had never expected to find. 

So with a deep breath and a racing heart, you made your decision.

Heart over head.

For the very first time in your life.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You stood outside Satoru's office, heart pounding in your chest as you raised your hand to knock on the door. The seconds seemed to drag on forever before you finally heard his voice, muffled but unmistakable, calling out, "Yeah, come on in."

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside. Satoru glanced up from his desk, his eyes widening. "Wha—What are you doing here?"

You held up a small, prettily wrapped box. "I brought you macarons.”

"Oh, uh...thanks, that's really sweet. But I've got a meeting coming up soon, and I'm not sure now's the best time, you know?"

You walked further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind you with a soft click. "Yeah, I know. I checked with your secretary about your schedule."

"You did?” 

“Yeah.” You walked towards him, setting the box of macarons down on his desk. "I wanted to talk to you."

He leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes searching your face, like he was trying to read between the lines. "You know your dad's got an office here too, right? If he sees us together, he's gonna be—"

"I know," you interrupted. "That's why I asked for his schedule too. Looks like we’ve got at least 30 minutes to ourselves, give or take."

Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket, as you stared at each other across the expanse of his desk. Your heart was a wild thing in your chest, your palms clammy with nerves and anticipation.

"I'm going to Stanford," you blurted out.

Satoru blinked. "I thought you were set on Princeton."

"But Stanford's got better law firms.”

His brow furrowed, confusion written all over his unfairly handsome face. "But what's that got to do with—"

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage, your resolve. And then you stepped around the desk, coming to stand before him, so close you could feel the heat of his body, the whisper of his breath against your skin.

"Move there with me," you said.

His brows furrowed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I want you. Want this, want us. Together, for real. Not just for sex, but...but a real relationship.”

His eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in shock. For a second, he just stared at you, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Like he thought maybe he was dreaming, or hallucinating, or—

"Are you serious? You really want that? Want...us?"

“Yes.”

"Are you sure?" he asked again, as if he's genuinely not able to believe it, hesitant even as his hands came up to settle on your hips, to tug you closer. "Because if we do this, if we go down this road...there's no going back.”

You nodded, your fingers sliding into his hair, anchoring him to you. "I'm sure. I'm all in, Satoru.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hands tightening on your hips. And then he was surging up, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that seared your very soul, that branded you as his own. 

You melted into him, into the heat and strength of his body, the desperate clutch of his hands on your waist. Into the slick slide of his tongue against yours, the nip of his teeth on your bottom lip. Into the sheer, overwhelming rightness of being in his arms, of being wholly and completely his. 

Body, heart, and soul.

And as you lost yourself in him, in the taste and feel and perfect inevitability of loving him — you knew.

Knew that this was where you belonged, where you were always meant to be. 

In his arms, in his heart.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your arms winding around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. Tugging him closer, ever closer, until there was no space left between your bodies. Until you were pressed against him from chest to hip.

He walked you backwards, never breaking the kiss, until you felt the edge of his desk digging into your backside. Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you effortlessly, settling you on the edge of his desk.

Papers scattered, pens clattered to the floor, but neither of you paid any mind. 

You gasped into his mouth, your legs parting instinctively to make room for him between them. He stepped into the cradle of your hips like he belonged there, like he'd finally found his way home.

Like you were his missing piece, his perfect fit. 

Frantic hands tugged at clothing, desperate for the feel of skin on skin. Your fingers made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, baring the smooth expanse of his chest to your touch.

Satoru's own hands were just as busy, slipping beneath the hem of your top and skimming up your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You lifted your arms, allowing him to strip the fabric over your head and toss it aside.

"God, you're beautiful," he rasped, one hand coming up to trace the curve of your cheek, to tangle in your hair. "So fucking beautiful, it hurts to look at you sometimes."

Your heart stuttered, emotion welling up thick and fast in your throat. "Satoru," you whispered, your own hands sliding up his arms, over the strong, solid breadth of his shoulders. "You know we don’t have much time, remember?."

“Yeah, you’re right.”

He claimed your mouth again, his kiss hot and deep and filled with barely restrained need. Hasty hands fumbled with the fastenings of pants, shoving fabric down and out of the way with an almost frantic urgency. 

And then he was stepping between your spread thighs, the hot, heavy weight of his erection pressing against your core, parting you, teasing you. You wrapped your legs around him, hooking your ankles at the small of his back to urge him closer. 

“You know, family dinners are going to be really awkward from now on."

"God, Satoru, don't say that now—" you began, but your words cut off on a sharp gasp as he surged forward, his hard length sliding home in one smooth, powerful thrust.

As Satoru thrust into you, each deep stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you, it struck you just how right this felt. Despite the age difference, despite how unconventional your relationship was, being with him like this — it was like coming home. 

Like your bodies were made to fit together, two halves of a whole.

It wasn't just the physical pleasure, though god knows there was plenty of that. It was the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, like you were the most precious thing in his world. The way he made you feel cherished, adored, safe and wanted and so incredibly loved.

He was your home, your heart, your everything.

"Satoru," you suddenly gasped out. "I love you."

His rhythm faltered, his eyes flying to yours. For a second you panicked, thinking you'd scared him off, ruined the moment. But then a slow, beautiful smile spread across his face, his gaze so full of tenderness it took your breath away.

"I love you too," he rasped. "God, you have no idea how much. I'm so fucking in love with you."

He leaned down to kiss you, messy and desperate, pouring all his love and longing into the press of his lips. You kissed him back just as fiercely, and soon you were both moving again, chasing that peak together.

It wasn't going to be easy, you knew that. 

There would be plenty of people who wouldn't understand, who would judge and condemn. But wrapped up in his arms, lost in the bliss of his body moving with yours, none of that seemed to matter.

This was right. 

This was real. 

This love you shared, it was the kind that could weather any storm, overcome any obstacle. As long as you had each other, you could face anything.

It wouldn't be a conventional life, by any means. But it would be yours. Yours and his, together. And really, that's all that mattered.

Because in the end, love was worth fighting for. And this love? This crazy, complicated, wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime love?

It was everything.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

"You nervous?" 

Satoru's voice pulled you back from your thoughts, his sky blue eyes framed by snowy lashes capturing your attention. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe, lost in his gaze, but then you inhaled deeply, centering yourself. 

Nervous?

You considered the question, searching within for the telltale flutter of butterflies, the icy clench of anxiety. But there was only calm, a steely determination, and a quiet confidence in your abilities.

"No," you replied, a hint of surprise in your voice. "I'm not, actually."

Your eyes wandered back to the court, where the final preparations were underway. The electric atmosphere enveloped you, the excitement of the crowd palpable in the air. This was it — the Wimbledon final, the culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. 

Turning back to Satoru, you shook your head. "I should be though, right? I mean, it's the Wimbledon final. Feel like I should be nervous."

Satoru's smile was warm and proud, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. "You don't have to be anything you don't want to be. If you're not nervous, then that's okay. Trust your instincts, trust all the work you've put in. You've got this."

"Thank you," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "For being here, for always believing in me. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Yes, you could have. You're the strongest, most resilient person I know. But I'm damn lucky I get to be here to watch you shine."

Your lips twitched into a faint smile.

Footsteps approached, and you turned to see your dad, a water bottle in hand and a slightly anxious furrow between his brows. "Hey, champ," he said, handing you the water. "How you holding up? Nerves kicking in yet?" 

Before you could answer, Satoru chimed in, a playful grin on his face. "She hasn't decided yet. But either way, she's got this. Our girl's a champion, through and through." 

You shot him a look, cursing him a little for his choice of words.

Your dad's gaze flickered between you, and for a moment, you braced yourself for the inevitable awkwardness, the unspoken judgment. But then he smiled, warm and genuine, and clapped Satoru on the shoulder. 

"Damn right she is," he agreed, his voice filled with pride. "And we're here to support her every step of the way."

And in that exact moment, looking into their eyes, filled with unwavering belief, you knew one thing for sure — even if you lost today, you'd already won in all the ways that truly mattered. 

And really, what could be better than that?

Then, the announcement came for the players to take their positions. 

Satoru turned to you. "Alright, love, this is it. Time to show the world what you're made of. Get out there and crush it, yeah? You've got this." 

You nodded. "Yeah, let's do this."

Satoru's answering smile was proud and just a little wicked. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. Melting into him, your mouth opened under his as the kiss deepened, turning hot and hungry. 

His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling with yours in a dance that set your blood on fire, nearly making you moan into his mouth, forgetting, for just a moment, where you were and what you were about to do.

A pointed cough from your dad broke the spell. Satoru pulled back with a roguish grin, wholly unrepentant. 

You were breathing hard, your lips tingling and your heart racing, but there was no nervousness, no uncertainty. Only the bone-deep knowledge that you were exactly where you were meant to be, doing exactly what you were born to do.

Satoru's hands slid down to your hips, his touch lingering, electric. "Go get them, love." 

You flashed him a final smile, then turned to make your way onto the court. Satoru's hand found your ass one last time to give you a playful, proprietary slap as you walked away. You didn't see it, but you were sure your dad gave him a death glare for that.

The sun peeked through the clouds as you strode forward, the place buzzing with energy. 

It was the finale, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't feel like a dream come true. People screaming your name, the realization that you were really here, in this moment, living your passion.

As you took your place on the baseline, racket in hand, stretching one last time, adrenaline singing through your veins, you risked a final glance over to the sidelines. 

Satoru was watching you, his gaze intense and full of so much love and pride it took your breath away. When he caught your eye, he winked.

Your dad rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. "Will I ever get used to seeing you two like this?" he asked, the question directed at his lifelong best friend, but also, perhaps, at himself.

Satoru chuckled, his eyes still trained on you. "You're getting better. I remember the first few months, you constantly looked like you were about to lose your shit and murder me in my sleep. But you're managing okay now."

"Yeah, I still can't quite believe it. My best friend and my daughter… I'm not sure I'll ever fully come to terms with it."

"I know it's unconventional. I know it's not what you would have chosen for her. But I swear to you, I love that girl with everything I have. I'd do anything for her, be anything she needs me to be. She's it for me. The one."

Your dad was silent for a long moment, his gaze tracking your progress across the court. "I know you do. And that's the only reason I haven't killed you yet." 

Satoru barked out a laugh. "Well, thank you for your restraint.”

"Seriously though," your dad continued. "She's happy. Happier than I've ever seen her. And that's all that matters to me." 

They both watched as you stepped onto the court, your head held high. You began your pre-match routine, circling your wrists to loosen up. Your eyes were already locked on your opponent across the net.

As you moved through your stretches, reaching down to touch your toes, twisting at the waist, rolling your shoulders, Satoru's gaze never wavered from your form. A slow smile spread across his face as he watched you.

"Will you accept the offer they gave you?"

"Huh?" Satoru responded distractedly, his focus still on you.

"The offer to lecture at Stanford.”

"Oh, right," Satoru said, finally tearing his gaze away from you to look at Suguru. He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, maybe. I haven't really decided yet."

Your dad huffed out a laugh. "You're probably the only person in the world who would even consider turning down an honor like that."

Satoru chuckled, his attention drifting back to you as you took your position on the court. "Ah, you know I never cared about prestige. And to be honest, I'm currently enjoying being a tennis husband. There's still so many places we haven't explored together, you know?"

"You're not a husband yet, though," your dad pointed out.

"Am I not?" Satoru grinned, fumbling with the back pocket of his pants. He pulled out a small case and held it up for Suguru to see, flipping it open.

Suguru's eyes widened. "You serious?"

Satoru's smile only grew wider, his gaze drifting back to you on the court. "I'm gonna ask her after she wins."

"And what if she doesn't win?"

A laugh escaped Satoru's lips. "C'mon, we both know she's got this in the bag."

Your dad was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant and thoughtful as he watched the shiny ring in the case. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "I'm damn glad she has you, Satoru. I really am. Even if you are a pain in the ass sometimes."

Satoru blinked rapidly. "Wow. That's maybe the nicest thing you've ever said to me. I'm touched, truly."

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," Suguru grumbled. "You know I'll still kill you if you hurt her."

"Yeah, figured," Satoru grinned, slipping the ring box back into his pocket. "But trust me, that's never gonna happen."

"Good."

Satoru watched you for a moment, then turned to Suguru once more. "By the way, should I've asked you for permission or something? You know, since you're her dad and all."

Suguru rolled his eyes. "Don't make this any weirder than it already is."

"I can start calling you dad from now on, right? Or maybe pops? What do you think?"

"Absolutely not. Don't even think about it."

"Aw, come on," Satoru pushed, his grin growing wider. "We're practically family now, right? I mean, I'm going to be your son-in-law soon."

"Satoru..." Suguru warned, his tone dangerous.

"Ooh, I know! How about father-in-law dearest? That's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"I swear to god, Satoru, if you don't stop right now—"

"Okay, okay, fine," Satoru relented, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll stop. But just so you know, I expect you to give a heartfelt speech at the wedding. Something about how you always knew I was the one for your little girl, even when we were kids."

Suguru stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and clapped a hand on Satoru's shoulder, his grip just a little too tight for comfort.

"Satoru," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "If you don't shut up right now, there will be no wedding because you'll be six feet under."

"Jeez, no need to get violent," Satoru said, wincing under Suguru's iron grip.

"Then not another word about being my son-in-law, got it?" Suguru smirked, releasing his hold on Satoru's shoulder. "Just promise me you'll make her happy."

"Always," Satoru said, rubbing his shoulder. "I swear it."

"Great. Now, let's watch the match, shall we?" Suguru said, returning to his composed self in a split second.

"Please," Satoru agreed, still massaging his shoulder as he turned his attention back to the court, back to you, ready to cheer you on to victory.

Because you both knew that no matter what challenges the future might bring, no matter where this crazy, beautiful life might take you—

As long as you had each other, you could handle anything.

And that? That was a pretty damn beautiful thing.

Game, set, love.

Forever.

<- prev chapter | completed ✓

author's note: wooooaaa here it is, the happy ever after for these two adorable idiots !! hope you enjoyed this fun short little story as much as i enjoyed writing it. so thank you for sticking with me and leaving all those lovely comments and messages, they always bring the biggest smile to my face !!

and please ignore any inaccuracies regarding american universities. i have no clue and just widly came up with things haha.

once again, thank you for reading, and i hope our paths cross again in another story. have the most wonderful day !! <3

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© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[eccentricwritingbaby]

arm candy

lando norris x reader

summary - enemies to lovers as the two embark on a pr relationship. reader is heavily based on cristina yang and olivia pope - intelligent and knows her worth. lando treats her as just a piece of ass on his arm. the two need to keep up appearances, yet always have time to find a fight. 

masterlist

-

“i’m sorry,” you can’t help but laugh into the conference room, “you want me to what?” your father just sighs across from you in his seat, already knowing his head strong daughter would make a fuss over this. 

“y/n…” he starts, but you shoot him a look to stop, quickly. 

“i’m sorry, are you my pimp or my father?” you ask with a mocking behavior. 

“stop, y/n,” he grits out, “stop it,”

“fine,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. 

the room was filled with five people. your father, you, adam norris, lando norris, and some mean little woman who came in meaning business and barking orders. you respected her. 

your dad and lando’s dad had been business associates for a long time, never close friends, but acquaintances nonetheless. you had never met lando before, but had definitely heard about his escapades. 

“listen,” the woman starts again, “lando needs someone normal and successful on his arm, not anymore models or influencers that last only a day and alter his image, his image needs to be clean, squeaky clean,”

“oh my god,” you laugh out in disbelief, “i can’t believe i went to an ivy university just to be someone’s high end hooker-”

“Y/N!” you dad stands from his chair, “that’s enough out of you,”

“dad, this is ridiculous-”

“no its not, it’s business,” he stands firmly on his ground, “it’s four months of fake fucking dating just suck it up and do it,”

“fine,” you mumble out, “but only for you,”

your dad takes his seat again, grumbling out a few apologies to lando and his father along with the woman. they all just nod their head as she moves along with certain details. you finally look up from where you were fiddling with your fingers, making eye contact with your new ‘boyfriend’. he sends you a quiet look of reassurance, most likely that he didn’t want to be there either. you both give each other a smile, and your mind hopes that this might be okay. 

-

“so,” lando starts, attempting to break the tension on your first fake date.

“so,” you laugh, “how are you?”

“i think we can skip the pleasantries, y/n,” he chuckles, “we’ve technically been dating for four months?”

“oh right,” you continue to play along, “met you one week ago, but we’re madly in love,”

lando chuckles into his drink before the waiter comes over to get you started. once ordered, lando glances up at you, and you can’t help but find the small twinkle in his eye adorable. and then he speaks.

“you look like someone who i would go out with, without your personality, though”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you question in offense.

“i mean usually my type is-”

“girls with half a brain?” you attempt to finish for him, but he just sharpens his gaze in your direction, eyebrows furrowing at your accusation.

“no,” he denies, “just girls who are a bit quieter,”

“so, pushovers?”

“not exactly,”

“you just want a little hot minion to control?”

“no,” he tries again, attempting to find the right words, “someone who isn’t rude,”

“oh you think i’m rude?”

“did you hear yourself in the meeting? talking to your dad like that? acting like the smartest person in the room-”

“i was the smartest person in that room,” you bite back to him, “and i’m sorry i didn’t enjoy the action of being pimped out, it’s offensive to my degrees and accomplishments-”

“you aren’t being pimped out, it’s a favor-”

“oh,” you scoff, “a favor?”

“yes, a favor, you probably aren’t used to hearing that word because you’re so self-centered,” he pushes.

“and here’s two words you do probably hear often, fuck off,”

“the rest of this dinner will be in silence,” lando directs to you, the waiter now coming over with your food. 

“finally, something we can agree on,”

-

you and lando had now been fake dating for two months. you came and went from his races, he was here and there at events in your honor, you both were successfully fulfilling your duties. the public was eating it up, excited that lando was in his ‘boyfriend era’. you both in reality were still finding each other difficult. lando found you to be pretentious and rude, you found lando to be a spoiled dick. but that was all pushed aside when it came to being in public. 

you heard the knuckles wrap on your door, and you attempt to brush the tears from your eyes swiftly. shit. you had lost track of time while on the phone with your mom, well, arguing with your mom. you forgot that lando was meeting you at your apartment soon to take a pre scheduled outing. getting up after hearing the knock once more, you make your way to open the door. 

“hey,” he grunts out, before he looks at your reddened eyes, “what’s wrong?” his tone softens with the question. 

“nothing,” you brush off, “let me just redo my makeup and i’ll be ready to go,”

“wait, y/n,” lando stops you from leaving the room, “talk to me, what’s going on?”

“you don’t want to hear about this, lan,” he catches himself smiling at the nickname that slipped off your tongue. 

“i have a heart, y’know,” he jokes quietly to you, bringing his hand up to give you a slight poke in the ribs. 

“no, really?” you ask sarcastically.

“yes, now talk to me,” he laughs to you, still trying to break you out of your shell. 

“it’s just the divorce,” you shake your head, “my parents have made me their middle man since they’ve been separated, and now i have to be my sibling's therapist too,” you choke up, trying to swallow back your tears. 

“i’m sorry, y/n,” lando moves forward, beginning to wrap his arms around you. 

“i’ve just gotta be there for everyone,” you sigh, “it’s been like that since i was a kid, i’ll be fine,”

“well,” lando starts, “i can be there for you,”

“like hell,” you laugh off, starting your trek to the bathroom.

“i’m serious,” lando pushes, “i know we’re at each other's throats, but if you need anything, you can talk to me,”

“thanks,” you squeak out, “you’re not so bad, norris,”

“why thank you, y/l/n. you’re not so bad yourself,”

-

it was race day, and you were actually excited. you and lando had a breakthrough the night he caught you crying. you both finally broke down the wall that divided and protected your hearts. you were feeling better about spending the next few months with him, it was going to be a relief to actually enjoy it. 

“are you ready, y/n?” lando calls out from the other room. 

“yeah!” you shout back, sliding your left foot into your final shoe. lando steps out of the room, dripped head to toe in papaya, bag slung lightly over his shoulder. 

“you look great,” he lets go of the compliment and you find yourself blushing, choosing to stare down at your feet instead of making eye contact. lando holds his hand you and you grasp it eagerly, readying yourselves for the show about to be put on. or was it a show?

once at the track, your hands finally separate as he heads to the garage and you move towards where his father was standing. 

“hey, mr. norris,” you greet with a smile at the older gentleman.

“please, y/n. how many times do i have to tell you to call me adam?” he chuckles with you. 

“i’m sorry, it’s just too unnatural for me,”

“well please, try,” you continue with your laughs, “mr. norris is my father,”

“alright,” you giggle, cringing a bit before squeaking out, “adam,”

“there we go!” you both joke around a bit more before a certain curly-haired mclaren driver is jogging over to you both.

“hey, dad,” he greets adam with a quick pat to his shoulder, “can i steal her for a second?” adam nods, giving you both some space as lando starts dragging you over to a quieter area.

“what’s up, lan?” you ask him, a bit of concern in your voice since you were unsure of what was going on. 

“i need to talk to you,” he sighs out, eyes holding an emotion you couldn’t put a finger on.

“what’s going on? are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah,” he shakes off, now grabbing your hands in his, “i just- i just-”

“LANDO!” his engineer calls from the garage behind him, “WE NEED YOU IN THE CAR!”

“TWO SECONDS!” he yells back over his shoulder, now turning back to face you, “listen, i really like you,”

“oh,” your eyes widen in surprise but lando just keeps rambling. 

“and not in this fake, bullshit way. i want to really take you out even if you drive me crazy sometimes,”

“lando-” you try to cut him off, but he just keeps going. 

“i can’t handle your rejection before i race so, if you’re by the gate after i finish, i’ll take it as you feel the same way,” taking a deep breath after his confession, lando leans in, kissing you roughly before pulling away and running back to the garage. you stand there for a moment, trying to process what had happened before a smile breaks out across your face. 

lando came in fourth. you cheered and cried, jumped up and down with his family and friends, and then you took off. you started your sprint to the gate, ready to meet him and finally bask in your own happiness. ready to choose yourself for once. 

you rush towards the wall just as lando is climbing out of his car. his head whips around to the barrier, searching for your face. once spotted, he breaks out in a similar sprint as you did, rushing towards you for a hug. you breathe in the moment, you and lando holding each other, for real this time, finally. 

-

you both were a giggly mess as you made your way back to the hotel room. 

“you’re coming out tonight, right?” he asks, arms not leaving your waist since you had left the paddock. 

“yeah, i’m coming,” you reply, brushing your hands up and down his arms that were wrapped around your middle. 

“okay, good,” his forehead meets yours, relishing in the feeling of you being in his arms, in private, “so my room or yours tonight?” he asks in a joking tone, referring to the two bedroom suite you were in. 

“mine,” you laugh quietly, “it smells better,” you poke him in the stomach a bit and he just chuckles with you. 

“you don’t like the smell of my race gear, love?” 

“no thank you, sir,”

“alright, well go get ready, and we’ll head out in about an hour?” lando shoo’s you to your room, patting your bum as you turn around, causing you to blush as you exit. 

later, at the club, you’re seated in the vip area with some of the drivers and a few friends. lando’s arm has been wrapped around your shoulder or waist all night, the tension between you two turning slowly from annoyance to lust. kisses stolen when they can be, waist being squeezed, and overall eye contact has made you a puddle in lando’s hands. you were falling for him, deeply. and you could tell he was too. until. he spoke. 

“that’s a nice lady you’ve got on your arm there, lando,” one of the guys in the section shouts to your boyfriend. 

“thanks, mate,” he shouts back, pulling you closer into his side. the man approaches the both of you, beginning to chat to lando about his race earlier. your mind quietly drifts out of the conversation, before you’re pulled back in as the man, now learning his name to be jack, introduces you to his girlfriend. the both of them were very fitting for each other, eyes wide open with nothing going on behind them. 

you strike up a conversation with the woman in front you about her shoes, before glance over and finding your boyfriend eyeing her up and down with ease. he catches your eyes and looks away, his arm pulling you in even closer than before. you just scoff in his direction and begin to get up from your seating. lando lets out a quick apology to the couple in front of you before chasing after you out of the vip section.

“y/n! wait! where are you going?” he shouts over the music and into your ear.

“i’m leaving,” you grunt out, continuing pushing past people in your pursuit for the exit. 

“why?”

“oh please,” you let out a laugh, finally reaching your destination and swiftly leaving the building. now in a quieter atmosphere, lando drops his voice and grabs you, forcing you to look at him, “i saw you looking, lando,”

“what? at the girl with jack?”

“yeah, i saw you checking her out,” your face hardens, morphing into the one you sported the first two months of getting to know lando. the one you had on when you didn’t like him, scaring the man in front of you as he watches, “i thought you were different, but i guess then again, people never change-”

“stop, y/n,” lando sternly speaks, “i am different, i like you. not her,”

“funny way of showing it,” you laugh, “i mean the both of them couldn’t even handle an intelligent conversation if they tried,”

“it always comes back to this with you doesn’t it?” he asks, now pushing you towards his car and retrieving his keys. 

“what does that mean?”

“you always have to be the smartest, huh?”

“that’s not what that is,” you shake him off, the both of you now entering his car before you continue, “it’s just embarrassing that you would prefer beauty over brains,”

“i don’t do that,” he whips his head around to face you, “i just appreciate attractive women, are you saying smart women can’t also be attractive?”

“don’t twist my words,” you shoot back, “just drive the damn car,”

-

“i cannot stand you when you’re like this,” lando grunts out as you arrive back into your hotel room. 

“like what?” you push back, moving to place your hands on your hips in defiance, ready for the fight about to unfold. 

“a-an arrogant, selfish, cocky-” he starts to stutter out his list, but you promptly cut him off. 

“it sounds like you’re describing yourself there,”

“no, that’s all you,”

“oh really?” you taunt, your eyes boring into his with fire, “says the guy who has only one race win under his belt but acts like he’s big shit-”

“SHUT UP!” he screams out at you, but you only push him further. 

“you want to call me arrogant, baby, we both are. it’s the only fucking thing we have in common,” you mockingly laugh in his direction, his head now fuming.

“you’re so-”

“right? correct? because i am. we both are arrogant and confident however the hell you want to spin it, who the fuck says that’s a bad thing?” you ask him as his eyes start to soften, “and i am not arrogant. i’m good at what i do, that is a simple fact,” you huff, catching your breath after your anger begins to cool. 

“you are right,” he sighs, “i guess we’re so alike that we didn’t even notice,”

“i am not like you,” you shake your head.

“and why would that be such a bad thing? you met me at the gate, remember?”

“because i am not some womanizer who just uses girls, not taking one glance at anything but their tits,” you snap at him. 

“i didn’t use you, and you know i think you’re beautiful, y/n,” lando attempts to calm the situation, but it only riles you up further.

“oh fuck that,” you spit out, lando taking a step back from you in surprise at your reaction, “fuck beautiful, if you want to compliment me,” you sneer in his direction, bringing up a finger to point in his face, “compliment my brain,” with your final say, you turn quickly on your heel in order to walk out the door. 

“y/n!” lando shouts, “stop,” he jogs over to you, grabbing your arm and moving your body to face him, “listen, i’m sorry,” he sighs, his free hand not wrapped around your arm running down his face, “i know you’re pretty good at what you do,”

“pretty good?” you scoff, “i’m great,”

“i’m trying to apologize here,”

“then apologize, correctly,” you emphasize, sharpening your gaze at him, “and don’t be sorry, be better,”

“that’s what i’m trying to say,” lando pleads, “i’m trying to tell you that i will be better,” 

“don’t tell me, show me,” you push, “i’m not your little play thing, lando. i’m not one of your little side hoes with no brain and just eyes for your money,” he scoffs at your vulgar words, but let’s you continue, “i have my own money and my own brain. i am not a body and face to just show up on your arm, you want me like you say you want me?” you rhetorically ask him, inching your face closer to his, “you have to earn me,”

“i will earn you, y/n. i want to earn you,”

“acting like this won’t get you there. i deserve better,”

“i will be better,” now with your faces inches apart, trading breath from each other’s mouths, you and lando finally quiet your everlasting argument, “let me show you, please,”

“i don’t know you, i don’t know if you’ll just say this and then go back to being a dick when you get bored,” you release your insecurities to him, his eyes softening at your vulnerability - something you rarely let out. 

“do you know who anyone really is?” he asks you, voice now quiet and gentle as his hand that was gripping your arm now begins to softly stroke it, “that’s the beauty of life, y/n,”

“getting hurt?”

“no,” he shakes his head with a laugh, “the unknown,”

“i don’t like not knowing,” you sigh, your soft side now coming out fully.

“i know,” he breathes out, “you’ve always had your entire life planned for you, y/n. it’s time you just relax, and have the ability to be surprised,”

“but what if i do get hurt?”

“with me around?” he chuckles, moving a centimeter away from your face, “that won’t happen,” he gives your forehead a light peck, “and if it does,” now a peck on your nose, “i’ll be around to help you,” and finally your lips. you give a hum of appreciation to his lips, basking in the warmth they gave you. finally separating in order to catch your breath, your foreheads rest together, eyes never leaving the others, “you don’t have to be alone anymore, y/n. you don’t have to do it all by yourself,”

“thank you,” you sigh, tears beginning to form in your waterline, “for everything,”

“no, thank you,” he replies back quickly, “for bringing me back down to earth,”

“i’ll always be around to humble you,” you giggle in his arms as he laughs with you.

“and i, you,”

-

a/n - this is not proofread so i'm so sorry if its a rambling mess, i just had the idea and wanted to write it up before i lost it

[soulc-hilde]

Twiddledee, Twiddledum

Pairing: Eminem x afab!reader

Synopsis: You’ve never been the most sociable person, missing countless of romantic possibilities until an accritically acclaimed rapper decides that you’re the one for him. Of course, the mean girl who lives for theatrics doesn’t agree. 

Based off of this request

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Baby, you’ve been telling me for months about how great of man you’re with, but how come I’ve never seen him before?” Your mother practically whines through the phone call. 

You scoff, shaking your head. Because your other child is a hoe and three quarters. Despite her conscience, you decided to play it safe with your words. “We’ve just been busy, mama. Ya know, if there’s one thing about workaholics, we attract one another.” 

“Child, you may be grown, but I ain’t stupid,” the woman snorts. “Besides, you’re a bad liar. If you’re ashamed of us… I’ll cuss your ass out, but I won’t judge. Your father still believes that wearing socks with his sandals is a practical fashion statement. That’s enough shame to last a lifetime.”

You laugh, nostalgic moments of your family’s arguments over the man’s fashion choices. “That man could bring shame upon a village and he still wouldn’t care,” the two of you laugh. They settle down for a moment. “You do know that we tend to find love that reminds us of home or our loved ones, right? I bet you, that boy you’re with is just like yo’ daddy.”

You freeze for a second, thinking about whether the statement was the slightest bit true. 

“Oh my God,” Hailie gasps, eyes wide as she glares up the stairs. “Dad, no. Absolutely not!”

Stevie and Alaina lean over, trying to see what traumatized their sister. Immediately, their eyes widen, jaws dropping like never before. Their father, goofy as can be yet aggravating as hell, was dressed like the Boy Wonder in a tight costume and a fat blonde wig that contrasted heavily against his dark brown beard.

“What?” He shrugs, gesturing down at the outfit. “You don’t like the look? I was thinkin’ about tryin’ some’ new.” 

Stevie shakes their head, face turning as red as the vest of his costume. “No, you… you can’t. This should be illegal. How did we even get here?!” 

Alaina just laughs, flying back against the couch without a care if she’d smash her head into the frame. Walking around the corner, sipping on a homemade Pepsi slushie, you choke at the sight. Distressed, was the way Hailie described your reaction. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the bullshit that would arise on the once fine Tuesday evening. 

It was only fucking Tuesday. And this motherfucker actually went outside and walked the neighborhood in this shit. Not even your poor Corgi, Parlay, wanted to be caught dead beside this man. 

“Parlay,” he scolds, “come on, man. You gotta take a shit? You better do it now cause you sure as hell ain’t doin’ it in my house.” The dog huffs and whins, tossing and turning on his back, paws covering his eyes. 

You lean out of the living room window, smiling. “Stop stressing him out and maybe he wouldn’t be constipated. Crazy son of a bitch.” 

Oh, good times. Good times. Shit, your mother’s right. He was damn near the mirrored image of your just as comedic father. 

You simply sigh into the receiver, chuckling at the thought. “So, dinner?” Your mother questions, a smile so strong it could be heard through her words. Damn, snake. “Yeah, yeah. I can see about dinner. I’ll ask him first, so we can find a good time and I’ll text you.”

“Yes! I’ll be waiting, now! Kisses,” she hangs up with a quick air kiss to the phone. 

You toss the phone to the other side of the couch, forcing a throw pillow over her face in hopes you’d strangle to death. Marshall walks past, eyes widening at the sight, unsure if you were just being dramatic as per usual or if you needed to talk. 

He takes quick, hesitant steps your way. His strong hand quickly taps the tips of his digits against your neck. You scrunch, catching his fingers in the process, with a yelp. “Ow, Mars,” you wince, “what the hell, man?” 

He removes the pillow, meeting your squinting eyes with a shrug. “Hey, not my fault, you search for death on a regular basis. I still don’t know when you’re serious, sometimes.” 

The man plops beside you, sliding the phone over under your legs. “What’s going on, mama?” He pats your thighs. “My mother wants to meet you, have a nice little family dinner,” you easily open-up.

Between you and Marshall, nothing was complicated. You both found it easy to converse and open to one another, after he felt confident that you weren’t in search of his wealth that is. All of your insecurities, your fears – anything on your minds, was like an encrypted cope that only the two of you could decipher. His kids would constantly compliment your partnership, happy their father has found the beauty in love. 

“Okay, nothin’ wrong with that,” he shrugs. “You don’t avoid talking about your parents, so they can’t be that bad in your eyes.” 

“And they’re not. They’re not the cause behind my worry, it’s my sister,” you nearly growl at the thought of her. 

Growing up, you two were only a few months apart yet you two were polar opposites. While she basked in the praise for everything she did. From the way she talked down to the way she dressed, it was like experiencing Regina George before the Mean Girls movie. Now that you think about it, maybe she inspired the character. 

Outside of her appearance, she began to fraternize with boys a little too much. Sneaking uninvited guests in and out of their house when their parents were gone, knowing her little sister felt incredibly uncomfortable. You could never forget the night she stormed into your room with a boy, invading your privacy as they bounced onto your bed.

“Did you know that she’s a virgin,” your sister laughs, steadily watching your face. “It’s so bad that she gets disgusted by the idea of having sex.” The two laugh, finding humor in the fact that their abrasiveness and ignorance. 

“I don’t get disgusted about sex, idiot,” you hiss, shaking with anger. “I get pissed off when your slutty, disease having ass disrespects my personal space and our parents. So, yeah, I’m gonna get mad.” 

“Aw, poor baby’s gonna cry,” she laughs, hoping to cover the impact of the insult. The boy laughs as well, “maybe she just needs a little action. Really give her something to cry –” 

Irrationally, you swing at his face, smashing the old cd player against his cheek. His body rolls off the bed, shaking the ground on impact. Your sister glares up at you, eyes trembling with fear. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you crazy?”

“Like a fucking patient,” you holler back, snatching her hair, pulling her off the bed. “Let me go, you crazy bitch!” She screams as you drag her down the stairs, silently hoping you’d cause even greater damage.

Since then, things have been different. Well, for one, word got out that you were a crazy, temperamental bitch so no one really got in your way which meant that your sister couldn’t mention bringing a boy home without him pissing his pants. And two, the girl stopped fucking with you. 

Once you graduated high school and went about your adult lives, you simply told your parents one thing. One rule: ‘I never want to hear a single update about that woman.’ Of course, they had their questions and opposals, but after a while, they began to understand that something happened and it was up to you two to figure it out. Which you never will. 

“What about her?” He asks. “That bitch is the reason why I look at sex with disgust, why I felt so uncomfortable with the idea of letting anyone so close and personal,” you huff. 

“She’s even went out of her way in the past to publicly humiliate me because I’d rather pick up a book than wonder who I can fuck for how ever much time.” Marshall’s eyebrows raise, “and that’s a problem, why?” You deadpan, receiving a shrug. “Just askin’, ya know, I used to act similarly in the past.”

You nod, “true, but I can bet that you’ve never gone so far that you’d humiliate and force it onto someone who’s just not comfortable with it.” He nods, “hell no. I couldn’t imagine doing that to anybody.” 

“Well, she had no problem doing that to her little sister. Bitch, had the damn nerve to act offended when I started lashing out.” Marshall snorts, “you do have an insane temper, babe. I thought I was bad, but you take the cake, boo.”

You lightly kick him in the side, rolling your eyes, amused. “Shut up.” He nods, “my bad. My bad. So, the dinner. Do you wanna go, take the risk of your sister being there? Or do you wanna just stay home?”

“We can go,” you shrug. “It’s not right that I got to meet all of your loved ones, but you’re just a stranger to mine.” He nods, “well then, we have a dinner to attend. I’m free this Friday night, okay.” You simply nod, turning your attention to the television. 

– Friday Night – 

The plans for dinner weren’t too fancy, instead it was just a casual steakhouse they were attending. Reaching the restaurant, you two step inside, eyes searching for the booth your mother described to you. 

‘Big and in the far corner,’ she texted. So descriptive mother, she could be a writer with those words. Finally, your eyes fall onto hers. The woman waves, enthusiastically causing her husband to turn around quickly, nearly giving himself whiplash.

“Let’s get this shit started,” you sigh, stepping forward. Marshall pecks you on the head, holding your hand in a gentle caress. 

The two of you reach the table as your parents stand, waiting to introduce themselves. “Mom, dad,” you smile, “this is Marshall. My boyfriend.” He steps forward, shaking your father’s hand before pulling your mother in for a quick hug. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Your mother nearly squeals, “oh, you’re so handsome! I’m so happy to finally meet you.” Your father nods, “our baby kept you hidden real good, but she’s told us somethings.” Marshall chuckles, “hopefully, all good things.”

“Of course,” your father leans forward, “it’s good to know that a man with humor has captured her little heart. We were afraid some average pain in the ass was gonna weave his way in.” 

“Dad,” you groan, slipping into one side of the booth when you feel a lump brush against your hip. You look down to see a fake snake skin purse. 

Your face scrunches with disgust, looking at your parents, “please tell me you didn’t get me a gift? Besides, you guys know I hate purses. Especially poorly designed ones.” You grimace, raising the bag by its strap. 

“Uh, about that, lovey,” your mother stutters when a shrill voice cuts in. “Oh my God, no way!” They scream, rushing for the table. You look up, eyes widening at the sight of the monster from under your bed hugging your boyfriend, legs wrapping around his waist.

Marshall coughs on his saliva, eyes widening at the invasion of space. “Get the hell off your sister’s boyfriend, what the hell is wrong with you?” Your mother scolds. 

“Yeah, sure. Eminem is that bastard’s boyfriend, anywhosers.” She drops down, coming to a stop at the dark look that overcame your features. It’s been years since the two of you have talked, much less stand in the same space. It’s obvious time took its toll on the both of you. 

She struggled to keep up with the trending makeup looks and fashion of the decade while you confidently dressed in your casual yet chic black wardrobe of button-ups, jeans, and boots – the sole color you owned being the accessories that fit your mood and simple makeup that worked with your features rather than fight against them. Not to forget the well sculpted figure that filled out said clothes. 

“I see you’ve gotten quite… big,” she scoffs. You smirk, “I see you like the drunkie aesthetic. You do realize the whole concealer for lipstick and clumpy mascara is an old trend of the past, right?” She huffs, “well, it’s back.”

You nod, “yeah. For drunkies.” She rolls her eyes. Quickly, your mother steps in, a gentle hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “This is your sister’s boyfriend, Marshall, she’s been telling us about. You’ll act –” 

“How much is she paying you?” Your sister leans in, “I know it’s not in sex, but it’s gotta be something appealing.” 

“Accordingly as if you were raised with manners and some damn sense or do I gotta knock it into you?” The older woman finishes, a scowl dressing her naturally sweet demeanor. 

Marshall clears his throat, shuffling to your side. “She’s not paying me anything. We started dating like 7 months ago and enjoy being together.” Your father gently guides your mother back to her side of the booth, sliding in beside her. 

“Let’s just continue our dinner,” he glares at his eldest, “respectfully.” You nod, sliding further in so Marshall could get beside you. “Of course, pops,” you snatch the woman’s purse and swing it onto the empty table behind you. “Unfortunately, this table is at capacity, you can sit in the back like a good dog.”

“Bitch,” she grumbles, snatching the bag off the floor. Your eyebrows raise, “I literally just called you that. Don’t tell me your hearing’s going out?” The older man sighs, pinching his nose bridge, “girls, please!” 

He opens his eyes, slowly, focusing on Marshall. “Marshall, please, tell us about yourself. We’d like to know the man who warmed our little girl’s heart.” The rapper nods, “yes, sir.”

As Marshall began talking, trying his hardest not to ramble on about your first meeting, your sister slides in beside him. Ignoring your glare, she set her purse between her hip and his, taking that as her moment to squeeze his thigh. Jolting, he side-eyes her, a flare of irritation taking in her actions like a fuel to his flame. 

He was already irritated that your sister had a history of putting you in such bad positions, but to be here in public and continue to try and humiliate you in your grown ages was infuriating. As begins to hype up your parents for the way they raised you, she goes for another squeeze a bit closer to his groin when he finally snaps.

“Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with you?” He glares, body completely turned to face her. “You lack that much respect for yourself and your family that you just can’t keep your hands to yourself?” 

Your eyebrows raise, looking over his shoulder at the now flustered woman. “Wha– What? I didn’t do shit to you. You’re the one over here pathetically gushing over her when you’re copping a feel on me. I knew you were a pervert Eminem, but for fuck’s sake man, I thought being sober changed you.” 

You glare at your mother, her own matching yours like a mirror. In your family, your mother was known as the ultimate crashout. Granted, she’s gotten a bit softer in her older age, but that was fit and appeared physically younger than her mental. If needed, she can and is always ready to throw down. 

She slams her palm down onto the wooden table, the glasses clinking with the quake as your face silently stares upwards, lips mouthing a silent prayer. “Girl, when I tell you,” she snarls, pointing a manicured finger your sister’s way. “You need to tighten up, I mean that shit.”

“What– Mama,” she gawks.Your mother’s lips curl in anger, “tighten the fuck up. In your grown ass age, acting like some gahtdamn hussie. Now, I told you, when we do this dinner, it’s about your sister and her man. I ain’t about you, ain’t shit about you.”

“Now, I’m here to tell you,” she leans forward, “either you tighten up, sit in silence, and act like you got some damn sense, take your ass home, or you can go toe-to-toe with me or your sister. Choose wisely.” Both Marshall and your sister turn stiff, eyes widening with fear.

Apple really doesn’t fall too far from the tree, huh? He holds back his amusement, watching your sister stumble over her thoughts. She glances your way only to be met with a familiar glare that brings on memories she tried to forget. 

“I’ll fuck you up,” your accent comes out thick as your mother’s, emphasizing the ‘fuck’ slowly yet strong enough for her to get your point across.  

She nods, sliding out the booth. “I’m, uh, I’m actually getting kind of tired. I’ll talk to you guys later, yeah? It was nice meeting you, Mr. Mathers.” Holding her purse to her chest, she speed walks out down the aisle for the front entrance. 

Seconds after, your waitress set down your plates. Your father cuts into his rib-eye, enjoying the juicy fat that explodes with flavor on his tongue. He looks up, meeting Marshall’s shocked gaze. Bouncing his knife between you and your mother, cheerfully speaking about something completely different as if y’all didn’t just threaten your sister. 

“Twiddledee, Twiddledumb,” he simply says before going back to his food. Marshall laughs, shaking his head as he cuts into his sirloin. What the hell did he get himself into?

Sorry for the tardiness, I got off work and my legs felt so fucking swollen for some reason, it hurts. I was debating if I wanna sleep first, but I knew that if I did, I was not gonna wake up again.

If I haven't got to your request yet, I'm most likely at work. So, if you guys want to, you can request through someone else if I don't respond some time after 8pm EDT. I'm really sorry, but my legs sting so bad.

Anyways, enjoy!! 💚

Eminem Taglist: @evasmlp

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Of claws and waffles

I'm preparing to write the rest of the Steddie Angsty August during my vacation at the end of September, I want to enjoy the rest of the prompts and not be stressed. But in the meantime...have Steve cosplaying as Wolverine, a very judgmental Deadpool Eddie, and maybe a small X-23 too?

"Ugh, can you believe that?" Eddie gestured towards a guy in his mid-thirties dressed as the Wolverine. "Another jock jumping on the bandwagon without knowing anything about the comics. Saw it once in the movie theater, thought the costume would do wonders for his arms, bought it on ebay. I'm gonna be sick in my mask."

Even through the limited visibility of his Deadpool mask, Eddie saw Chrissy roll her eyes at his theatrics. "Go ahead. At least you'll wash it after the convention. By hand, because as you told me, the fabric is sensitive."

He just grumbled. She was right, as usual.

"You are so full of self-righteous fury, Eddie, but even through the mask, I can see you staring at that man's ass. And shoulders. And everything."

He threw his head back, almost howling. "Now you're just being mean."

"Plus," she continued, disregarding her best friend's whining, "You're not exactly being fair. You don't know him."

Now he rolled his eyes, but of course she couldn't see him. "I know his type. He's the high school sweetheart who spent most of his time in the gym or practicing moving his godly body or something."

 Chrissy smiled at him, that overly beaing smile that told him in an instant that he'd said something stupid. "Ah. So like me."

"I..." he gulped, "I think I'm just going to shut up now."

He tried looking around for something, anything to redirect the conversation. Suddenly, a perfect topic changer appeared in his sight. "Okay, but that's the cutest thing I've ever seen," he nudged Chrissy and pointed at the scrawny girl, twelve or so, dressed up as X-23. "Her parents must be amazing."

Chrissy's laughter rang in his ears. "Oh, I agree," she said. As if she knew something he didn't.

He choked on his words when the girl ran back to THAT Wolverine and took his hand. "Oh for fuck's sake."

"You said it," she nudged him. "Amazing parents."

As if that wasn't humiliating enough, before Eddie could find a shovel to dig a hole to disappear into, the girl noticed him and her face split in a wide smile. "Dad! Dad, look! Mr. Pool!" She started leading him to Eddie and Chrissy through the crowd.

Oh cool. If only Eddie could do something dignified to avoid the meeting, like faint or vomit, that would be awesome. But he couldn't disappoint the girl. She had a look of absolute joy in her eyes, and he'd be damned if he was the one to make it disappear.

So instead, he leaned into the character.

"Look at you, aren't you the cutest little clawed thing I've ever seen!" he announced to the whole world. "The deadliest tiny creature, very ferocious! Yes, you are!"

He knelt down to her level and even through the consistent noise of the convention, he could hear her giggling. "I am!"

"Come on, tiny terror. Give me your best Wolverine-y growl!"

To his delight, she crouched, imitated the battle pose of X-23 and roared at him like a dinosaur. Then, in a more quiet tone, "Was that good?"

"Good?! Only good?! Do you hear her, bub?" he addressed the Wolverine who hovered over both of them. "You, little lady, were absolutely amazing! 10/10, no notes, this is your calling in life."

He felt someone move behind his back, and of course it was the traitor, ahem, Chrissy, approaching them with a camera. "I'm sorry to disturb you guys, but you make such an amazing group. Can I take your picture?"

And okay, maybe Eddie misjudged the Jockerine, because the guy ruffled X-23's hair and told her, "OK, just this once, you can say it. Swearing permitted. Ready?"

They pulled Eddie to them, and as he unsheathed his katana replicas, the Wolverine and his daughter crouched, roared at the camera, and said together, "Let's fucking go."

Eddie's traitorous mouth said exactly what he was thinking. "Oh my god. Are you single?" Which was objectively a stupid thing to say even to someone he'd met longer than two minutes ago.

The Wolverine blinked at him.

X-23 giggled and said: "dad is single. Maybe he doesn't have to be now?"

To the guy's credit, he didn't seem offended. He just laughed and ran his hand through his absolutely majestic hair that was perfectly stylized into Wolverine's. Shit. The hair. First the body, the face, and now the hair. "Now, El. Mr. Pool here probably doesn't want to be matched with the first Wolverine he sees."

And maybe it was the costume that made him so brave, but the guy was hot, nice, and his daughter was adorable, so Eddie wasn't to be blamed for what he said next, okay? "Uh, actually," he raised his hands, "you're perhaps my tenth Wolvie or so. And clearly the superior one. Having this absolutely adorable - and terrifying! - young lady by your side is also a plus. So...and feel free to stab me, or maybe just tell me no, but - I saw a really nice waffle stand outside. Let me treat you and...El?" The girl nodded, beaming at him. "...to a waffle? Or coffee, water, your choice."

El tugged at the guy's arm again. "Waffle!" she whispered so loud even Chrissy heard it.

He smiled at Eddie, and fuck. Eddie was a goner. "I think that's a yes."

...

Chrissy had ditched them to go hang out with her girlfriend, so Steve, Eddie and El were on their own.

They were sitting outside, Eddie slurping his bubble tea through a straw, mask still in place except for the bottom of his face, Steve - as the guy had introduced himself - sipping his coffee and diligently watching El chatting with other kids, nibbling on her waffles.

"So, is this your first convention?" Eddie asked. "Your kid is amazing, man. She's so happy to be here and she makes an amazing X-23."

Steve smiled and peeled his eyes from El for a second. "Yeah. I promised to take her this year, but after she saw Logan and the third Deadpool movie, she begged to go in a costume. And I just couldn't say no to her."

"She saw..." Eddie coughed. "Steve, sorry to question your parenting, but isn't she a bit too young for those movies?"

"Oh, she is," Steve snorted. "And she shouldn't have seen them. But we live alone, so I usually watch movies at home when she goes to sleep. If she goes to sleep. As she should."

"Are you telling me-"

Steve nodded. "Yep. She's incredibly sneaky. I found out the hard way when I finished the latest Alien and went to check on her in her bed. She wasn't there. I almost had a heart attack, turned the house upside down. I was about to call the police when she peeked at me from behind a curtain that I checked at least twice, and she was asking me if I was mad at her. So...uh. We discussed quite a lot from those movies afterwards, but there's no stopping her if she wants to do something."

Eddie laughed so hard he almost breathed in a tapioca pearl. "Oh wow. But good parenting! Not that I'm one to judge."

Watching El share waffles with her new friends, Steve pressed his lips together. "Yeah, I don't know about that. I'm just doing my best here, but I'm constantly terrified I'm doing something wrong. I adopted her, you know. From...a very bad situation. She couldn't properly talk or anything. So when she saw X-23 on screen, I think she related to her somehow. I've never seen her so excited about anything, so the costume was a must have. She's looking forward to going next year as well, when her hair finally grows long enough. Wig," he added at Eddie's confused silence.

"I mean, I get that," said Eddie as he set down his empty cup. "Cosplaying can be therapeutic. It's actually what my therapist suggested when I got...uh. Injured. And also how I got into cosplaying Deadpool."

"Injured?" Steve didn't sound judgmental, only curious, but Eddie had been in this situation before. Time to rip of the bandaid. He pulled off his mask and forced himself to meet Steve's eyes. "Uh. Yeah. Injured."

He knew he wasn't Deadpool kind of disfigured, but he was well used to the stares in his daily life. He kept the hair, which, hooray, good for him. But he had ugly bite scars on his neck and jawline, some going even to his cheeks. A chunk of his ear was missing too. "It was a dog when I was a kid," he said so that Steve wouldn't have to ask. "Plastic surgery is an option, they say, but it's expensive. And I don't really feel like having my face cut open again, so...yeah." 

"Wow. I'm sorry."

Eddie took a deep breath. "Well, yeah. Not great. Listen, Steve. I'm super confident behind the mask, and thank you for humoring me. But this," he pointed to his face, "is usually a deal-breaker for people. So if it is for you, that's fine."

"It's not."

Eddie blinked. Then again. That wasn't how it had usually gone. "Huh?"

"I mean," said Steve, and shit, he laid his hand on Eddie's knee, when was this his life? What was happening? "I'm sorry it happened to you, but I don't get why it should matter."

"Uuuuh...because you're like, super hot? And you might want someone like that next to you?"

Steve snorted. "Bold of you to assume I don't have my own gnarly scars. I was just more lucky in their placement." When Eddie stared at him, he added: "I'm a paramedic. It happens. I rarely have time for anything, not to mention dating, but when I see a cool and funny guy give my daughter the ultimate Deadpool experience - by the way, waffles are her favorite food - and then he asks me out for a coffee? Hell. I'd be stupid to refuse."

Oh. Eddie suddenly felt a bit like crying. He forced himself to speak up, to have that final confirmation. "So, uh...this," he pointed at his face, "isn't a problem?"

"Nope. And, if you'd like a sort of quote from the first Deadpool movie with that..." Steve laughed, and Eddie knew what was coming even before he said it, "After some talking and getting to know each other...it's a face I'd be happy to sit on."

Eddie grasped at his chest. "Oh wow. You truly know the way to a man's heart."

He laughed and winked at Eddie. "This is the part when you ask for my number."

Eddie had never pulled out his phone faster in his life.

..

Much later, after Eddie showed El around the convention, after many pictures and wonderful memories, Eddie ran into Chrissy again. He was about to introduce her to Steve and El properly, but Chrissy smiled at him - once again that all knowing smile, why?! - and waved at her girlfriend.

"So, Eddie. I see you've met Robin's best friend, Steve."

Robin snickered and pressed a quick kiss against Chrissy's temple. "See? I told you they'd be a great match."

And, before Steve or Eddie could say anything, Chrissy picked up her camera and captured their disbelieving faces. They would keep the picture forever - Steve's mouth hanging comically open, Eddie just staring blankly into the camera, and El happily chewing on the last bite of her waffle.

[rainbow-nerdss]

AITA for accidentally traumatising a 13 year old kid by pretending to be his dead mom?

So basically a couple of weeks back i (33F) was at work and I noticed this guy (30sM) staring at me. Now, this isn’t totally unheard of, I'm kind of used to it because I've done some acting in the past and sometimes people sort of stare while they try to figure out where they know me from. Usually I ignore it, but this guy was like crazy hot so I figured, fuck it, I’ll go talk to him, maybe make a sale out of it. We sort of talked a bit while I served him, and found out he’s a single dad. He had sort of sad vibes and I was kind of into it so when he asked me out I said sure, why not and we agreed to go for dinner.

So everything was going well for a while, we went on a few dates but mostly we facetimed bc he works 24 hour long shifts and scheduling dates around that and a kid is tough, which i totally understood and I was happy to be patient with him.  I should also say we still haven’t kissed at this point, even when he took me out on a boat on a lake, which was probably in my top 5 dates of all time? Anyway, I got the vibe he was holding back a bit but I figured I could wait bc he seemed like he was working through some stuff and dating in LA is fucking hard. 

What happened next was where the real shit started to hit the fan, though.

Basically, I decided to bring him some brownies at work, but I mistimed it and he’d already gone home so I gave them to his coworker who looked at me like I was a ghost or something. I should have recognised something was off then but I brush it off and the next day I get a call from the guy, and he asks me to come over to his place which hasn’t happened before. I figure this is a good sign, that maybe he’s ready to start moving things forward, but when I get to the house, there’s all these pictures on the coffee table and they all look EXACTLY like me. My first thought was: holy shit, this guy’s a stalker. Great. Then I looked closer, though, and the pictures weren’t even of me. Turns out, I look exactly like this guy’s dead wife???

Anyway, that was wild and obviously I left after hearing him out a little bc I just needed to wrap my head around it.

Now this next bit might be where i’m the AH, bc i haven’t had a chance to do any acting in a while and I genuinely felt bad for the guy, he just wanted a chance at closure with his wife and I couldn’t really fault him for that. 

So long story short, I cut my bangs (they looked cute in the pictures of his wife so I figured they’d work on me) and I went to his house in character as his wife and encouraged him to say what he needed to say to her. Things got pretty heated and he shared some really intimate thoughts and feelings so I was getting into it, you know? We embraced and I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I thought it really helped him until the door opened and in walks his kid with a woman who is apparently his girlfriend? So i guess the single part of “single dad” wasn’t totally accurate either.

Also, the kid called me mom, which kind of broke my heart, and I feel like maybe I might have fucked up somewhere here.

So reddit, I have to ask AITA for pretending to be a dead woman and accidentally being the other woman while simultaneously traumatising a thirteen year old kid?

[urfavlarry]

hi! can u write about a drunk love confession lolll 😭🎀

Why’d you only call me when your high?

Joost Klein x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, bad grammar, mentions of alc0hol

summary: you and Joost have been friends for a few years now but ever since he got more recognized after his song ‘friesenjung’ came out you both became more distant. What will you do after he calls you for the first time in months, drunk?

A/N: this is um.. long .. enjoy!

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You were alone in the house, your parents went off to the neighbours to go grilling. You decided to not go since you were doing things with them the whole day and you just felt exhausted. You went to cook yourself a quick meal, just some toast with whatever on top. You looked at the time, 10:28PM. Joost was performing currently in Amsterdam, not that you knew anything about it. He was probably going to get a few drinks with friends after it like he usually did after his last concert of the season. He has probably long forgot about you, probably replacing you with someone else by now. Ever since he became more famous, you both stopped reaching out as often. There wasn’t any hate behind it, Joost wasn’t the type to cut people off because of fame which you loved about him and you missed him dearly you just.. drifted apart?

You went back up to your room, deciding to go to sleep early tonight, opening the window for some cool air to come into the room. The covers called your name, snuggling into them and getting comfortable. You fall asleep a few minutes later, the room was dark and the wind entered your room like an unwelcome guest, goosebumps appearing on your skin.

A buzzing noise wakes you up, your phone lighting up and blinding your tired eyes. You try and get up, body still a bit weak since you woke up about 5 seconds ago. You grab your phone and your heart skips a beat, the name “duck” appearing on your phone. It was a nickname you gave to Joost years ago. You were teens, trying to make up nicknames for each other and you just took the word dutch and turned it into duck. You watch it ring for a few seconds and then sigh, cursing a bit then pick it up. “Hello?” You say, your voice raspy and very tired sounding. “Hallo?” You hear the dutch accent you oh so loved come through the phone. “Hello, hello.” You turn around and lay on your stomach, waiting for him to speak. The noises in the background were loud and clear, loud music coming through the phone. “Is dat het meisje waar je het over had?” (Is that the girl you were talking about?) “ja ja ga nu..” (yea yea, go now.)

He shifted around before he spoke again. “Sorry, what’s up?” You raise a brow, was this some kind of phone call you get from your dad once a year? “Nothing much, why are you calling me?” He chuckles, voice deep and handsome like always. “Can I not call mijn liefde?” (my love) “What are you on about Joost? Are you drunk?” “No, no.” He slurs, making you scoff. “Yeah, yeah.” He was mumbling things in dutch you couldn’t understand; “Ik wil niemand anders dan jou.. mijn lief meisje.” (I want no one else but you.. my sweet girl.) “Fucking hell Joost.. where the hell are you? Is Apson with you?” He nods, which you barely heard but at least he gave you an answer. Apson would mostly stay sober, only having a few drinks so you decided to call him. He picked up, voice cheerful like always. You told him to take Joost home since he sounded like he had enough for the night and he kindly agreed. You thank him, ending the call with him before trying to go back to sleep.

3:07AM, another phone call wakes you up. “What the fuck is wrong with him..” You ask yourself before picking up. “Joost it’s 3AM can you go to sleep?” You demand and he just smiles. Oh yeah you were on face time now, great. You looked like a zombie compared to him, he looked more energetic than you did, his hair wet and it looked like he was shirtless. Probably just got out of the shower. “I wanted to see your stunning face schatje.” He says, laying down on his side, the side of his face resting against a pillow.

You sigh, watching him like a hawk. The light coming from his side of the phone blinded you, making you groan. “What do you want? I’m exhausted from your bullshit.” You say and he pouts; “Why are you so mean, hm? Do you not miss me?” He asks, smiling, his adorable, genuine smile. “Joost stop it.” He chuckled, moving around in his room when he suddenly turned his lights off, the only light that let you see his face was from his LEDs. He started mumbling things again, his voice lulling you to sleep but you fought back the urge to sleep. “Jij bent zo schitterend..” (you’re so stunning) “Joost I’m hanging up.” “No, no.. Blijf bij me.” (stay with me) “Ik wil je Y/N.” (I want you Y/N.) “Ik krijg je niet uit mijn hoofd.” (I can’t get you out of my head.) All of these things meant nothing to you. You didn’t speak dutch, maybe a few phrases and words but you weren’t fluent. You brushed off all of those phrases, when he said the one thing he taught you during your time as close friends. “Ik hou van jou lieverd.” (I love you sweetheart.)

You face turned bright red, quickly hanging up and flipping onto your back. Your eyes were wide eyed, staring at the dark ceiling above you. You internally scream, maybe he meant it in a friendly way? But the nickname?? It was weird. He was just drunk after all, it probably didn’t even mean anything. You try to fall asleep, tossing and turning before finally succeeding.

Morning came quicker than usual, making your stomach turn and face feel hot. You didn’t even dare open your phone, deciding to pack your things and head home to Amsterdam a little earlier than expected. You booked a flight, canceling the one you were supposed to take 3 days later then this one.

The minute you got home you opened the messages. Some were from last night and some were from a few minutes ago. You tried replying but no words were coming to mind, your fingers just hovering above the cold screen.

———————————————————

Duck🦆💙

Y/N

Y/N

Hello??

why did u hang up hm?

blijf bij me

please

ik krijg je niet uit mijn hoofd

sent 16 hours ago

————————— new messages —————————

Y/N

Im so sorry I woke u up yesterday

I was drunk haha

hope to see u soon, today Im performing in that club we used to go to as teens

ill look for u after

———————————————————

You contemplated whether to go or not. You wanted to see him, but another part of you didn’t. Why should you be the one running back to him? It made no sense to you, yet you went. It was like you were in a daze, getting ready, taking the train to the city he was performing in.. it all felt forced in a way. You got stopped by a few fans then made your way to the barrier. You bought a ticket last minute most people already in the club waiting for their idol to come up on stage. 15 minutes until it started, you felt disgusting. Sweaty fan girls who never heard of a shower were all around you, all you wanted to do was curl yourself into a ball and dissapear on the spot. It will be so akward talking after almost a year of barely knowing of each other’s pressence yet you still wanted to see him, hug him.. kiss him.

The concert went by fast, you and Joost making eye contact several times which made you even more anxious than you were before. You walked back stage, most of the security recognising you and letting you pass which surprised you. The halls felt endless, walking in front of his door you gently knocked almost instantly hearing footsteps. And there he was. He changed a lot. His hair was now longer, looking more mature but he was still there. Your Joost. “Weren’t you supposed to be the one looking for me?” He rubbed his neck, chuckling awkwardly before pulling you into the room. It looked like he was trying to find the right words to start which made you count down the dreadful seconds going by.

“Well, what I said yesterday was true. I don’t remember all of it but from the messages I said it was pretty obvious. I really do love you and I hate that you aren’t by my side. I hate that I can’t wake up with you in my arms. I miss you. I miss your smile, your energy, I miss hearing your thoughts, I miss everything about you. Liefje please I need you I can’t live without you.” He looked at you with those beautiful ocean blue eyes, looking desperate but it was obvious he truly meant every single word. You smile softly, cupping his cheeks. “I love you too. You have no idea how much I’ve been missing you. It was like a part of my heart was taken away from me.” He kissed your forehead, smiling down at you. “I promise to never leave you. Never.” “Promise.”

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Age gap!Bruce is so in love with his wife, I’m sure that he believes she can’t do nothing wrog. Like, he’s the type to brag about how amazing she’s to everybody.

I love your writing and this scenario in particular has me very interested bc I think is so original. Usually, I don’t like age gap bc writers tend to make reader a little childlike or with no personality, but age gap!reader is so unique that I love her so much.

I like to imagine one of Bruce’s exes, like Selina (I’m sorry, but I always remember how she left him at the altar. I love her but my heart breaks for Bruce) comes back to Gotham and everything is kinda awkward bc yes, they have this weird off and on relationship (they haven’t seen each other for more than a year), not string attached but serious at the same time. And suddenly, he’s married to a fucking pop-star and actress??

Even a one night stand seeing Bruce “the playboy” marrying reader.

I can see this with anyone who used to be in love or having feelings either for Bruce or reader. “That should be me” by Justin Bieber will be in their spotify wrapped

I think it was the hard launch of the YEAR. Everyone will be so shocked by it that it becomes an iconic and part of Gotham’s pop culture. They did an interview and suddenly, the next thing they knew?? They got married at a private ceremony where only close family and friends knew.

"This is a stunt even for you, Bruce," Lois scolded tapping her foot. "Honestly-"

Bruce held his hands up, "The only reason it's public now is because we got caught in public. She was perfectly happy to be a private thing."

"Bruce," she scoffed giving him a look, "I know she's an adult but still. You're old enough to be her dad-"

"Not unless I was 16 when she was born," Bruce snorted, "she's the same age Dick is. Damian is 9-"

Lois rolled her eyes and took a seat, "So what did your kids say?"

"Over all, they were fine with it. If not happy about it. But Jason had to make a scene about me dating his childhood crush and betraying him all over again for dramatic effect. And Damian had to lecture me about the security risk."

"Naturally," Lois said smiling. "Jon said Damian had a lot to say about it. That's how we heard about it."

This time it was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes. "Be nice to her-"

"Are you kidding?" Lois asked, slightly incredulous.

"No-"

"Why would I not be? She's Iconic, honestly."

"And better at managing her image than I am," Bruce chuckled.

"Sad, really," Lois observed dryly. "But also impressive."

"No one knows who she dates, where she donates, no one knows her net worth for sure... honestly if she didn't volunteer the information I'm not even sure I'd know her favorite color."

"I'm not surprised," Lois mused, "After watching her get ripped apart a few years ago."

"I don't-"

"You wouldn't," Loid allowed, "You didn't have editors that wanted you to write think pieces about it. And you didn't work in an office that had a betting pool to her inevitable suicide or addiction spiral."

Bruce winced. He didn't remember it. Not directly, but you'd talked about it. It was part of why he agreed to letting you keep things private. You liked keeping things quiet. A separation between your public face and your private one. It fucked you up. And no one protected you. You'd had to handle it alone- Sure, you had your team but that wasn't the same as having PEOPLE to fall back on.

"I'll be nice," Lois assured him, "Just don't be a creep or I'll sic Clark on you later."

[clockwayswrites]

Masked in Amity

CW: Sam doesn't come off great in this, but not Sam bashing. She just has a lot of growing up to do still and knee jerk reacts badly. (I also don't want to listen to any Sam bashing please and ty.)

Sam’s room still looked the same as always. Danny supposed that’s what happened when someone moved out for college but still came home again— especially to a home like Sam’s. There were only a few posters, a few photos, and a knickknack or two that had changed between high school and now. Danny sat on the edge of the bed like always.

“So how’s school doing?” Danny asked into the awkward silence. Silences never used to be awkward between them, or was that just looking back with rose colored glasses?

“Ugh,” Sam gripped and flopped back onto her bed next to Danny. “Why would you even ask me that? You know I hate it.”

“Because it’s what you’re doing right now? It’s a huge part of your life, you can’t just… avoid it.”

“Watch me,” Sam said, bitterly. Her snarled lips looked weird without the dark purple lipstick. “I’m going to get my stupid law degree my parents are paying for and work at some stupid corporate firm Dad has connections at and when my trust fund has made enough in interest I’m going to quite and go open a non-profit and sue all those fuckers I was forced to work for over how they’ve fucked up the environment.”

“Okay,” Danny said. He didn’t want to argue about this. He just hoped this plan worked better than the last three Sam had had before her privilege knocked her down a peg.

“Can I ask about, I don’t know, your time in Chicago at least?”

“Chicago is amazing,” Sam said, wistfully. “Being in Chicago, I mean, I’m sure you know how it is, it really makes it clear how backwater Amity Park is. The things people worry about here are so small compared to what’s out there!”

Danny just hummed in response. He didn’t exactly know what to say to that. It didn’t feel completely wrong, but it wasn’t right either. Worries weren’t a competition like that.

“And the bands!” Sam continued, thankfully changing the topic. “I have got to see so many amazing bands. The local scene alone is amazing and no one knows about them so you can be right up close and a lot of times even talk to the band after. You should come for a show sometime.”

“I can try to,” Danny said. Sam’s music wasn’t usually his thing, but something like that might be fun. It would be different at least. Danny gave her a little smile. “Maybe Tucker could make it out too.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You know he won’t. When was the last time you talked to him not on the computer or the phone? He’s only here at Christmas when you aren’t.”

“You know how I feel about Christmas, Sam,” Danny said, holding back a sigh. Sure Tucker had been busy lately and that had made him more distant, but he was still one of their trio. “And if we plan something then Tucker can schedule for it. Don’t count him out just because he’s busy.”

“Alright, fine, we can plan something for a bigger show with Tucker,” Sam agreed, “but you still need to come out to something local. They’re really better anyways. We’ll go out to eat first and hit up a bar or three after. I know some really great places— places like you’ve never seen.”

Sam reached up and wrapped her hands around Danny’s neck, pulling him down a little. “It can be a date.”

Something in Danny balked at that. It was an innocent enough comment. Sam and him had dated and then not and then dated again or just had fun together. They’d known each other so long that it was easy to just ebb and flow out of the different levels of a relationship like that.

This time, though, Danny found himself resisting the tide. “Or we can just hang out.”

The almost dreamy smile Sam had crumpled into a frown. “What? I mean, sure, it can, but why? Are you seeing someone?”

“Yes? No? I mean, I’ve been… sleeping with someone, but we’re not dating or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said easily. “I’m not going to make you be exclusive. I don’t want to be either right now; we’re not around each other enough for that and You know that I’ve been sleeping with my roommate sometimes and I’ve met a cute person in study group now too with amazing fingers.”

“No, I know, just…” Danny gave a frustrated noise. Nightwing and him weren’t even close to being exclusive. Someone like Nightwing could have anyone they wanted and with how much he liked sex, Danny was pretty sure Nightwing did have whoever he wanted. Danny was just… convenient for the hero side and Danny didn’t begrudge the other that. It was convenient for Danny too. It was just…

Danny didn’t want to keep living the same cycle with Sam where he was her world for a few weeks or months and then just back to an occasional phone call. He didn’t want to keep being pulled back to Amity Park. Maybe meeting her in Chicago would be different enough, but Sam was still so tied to Amity and always would be by her parent’s money.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this again,” Danny said slowly, feeling the words out as he said them. “Maybe it’s time just to leave us dating in the past?”

Sam dropped her hands and sat up. “Excuse me?”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just, we’ve tried being together in a lot of different ways and we always end up in the same place.”

“So you want to leave me in the past?”

“No!” Danny said quickly, trying to get ahead of this before Sam spiraled too badly from making assumptions. “I’d love to come to Chicago and see a band with you! Just… not as a date.”

“Because you want to leave that in the past,” Sam snapped and got up off the bed.

Danny scrambled off also.

“That’s not a bad thing. I enjoyed it and I know you did too. Just more, okay, maybe that wasn’t the best phrase? I mean maybe we shouldn’t go down that road again when we know where it’s going to end.”

Sam crossed her arms. That was never a good sign. “Right, because I’m always going to be a dead end, is that it? Not like you who’s off playing hero with the big names?”

“What? What does me being a Titan have to do with this?”

“Don’t play dumb, Danny, we both know you’re not. You left to go be a famous hero and hardly looked back at Amity Park or me or Tucker or your parents. What if the town needed you?”

Danny threw his hands up in the air. “Why would they need me? I destroyed the portal, came to an agreement with Vlad, made sure my parents couldn’t build another working one— it fixed everything!”

“And then left.”

“So I could help other people!”

“Sure it wasn’t so that you could be famous?”

Danny closed his mouth with a clack.

Sam winced at her own words. “Danny…”

“No.” Danny backed up a few steps from her. “No. You don’t get to— you of all people don’t get to come at me like that! I never wanted to be a hero, Sam! You’re the one who said I needed to protect Amity and you were right, sure, but it’s never what I wanted! You wanted it!”

“Danny, no—” Sam reached out for him and Danny stepped back again, hitting the wall.

“Yes you did, Sam! You did or I never would have had to die a second time after your wish! I lost everything again! I don’t have a future like you and Tucker, I just have being a hero. I just have being dead.”

“Come on Danny,” Sam tried. She moved close again, slowly, like Danny was some sort of feral animal.

Maybe he really was just a caged beast.

“I’m just— I better go. I’m just going to go,” Danny said. In a flash of light he was back to being Phantom. He let himself tip back and phase through the wall.

As he left Amity Park behind, he couldn’t help but think it really said something that he was far more comfortable being Phantom these day than Danny.

--

AN: Here's yous all voted on treat for the day! This comes before Danny showing up at Dick's door, quite upset.

[coryosbaby]

ok I’m listening. Ward gives off step-dad or dads bsf vibes… I don’t make the rules

The thoughts in my head rn don’t do this to me.

18+, MDNI <3

I definitely agree with all of those but I’m also 100% confident that Ward is the definition of the “boyfriend’s dad” trope. Like I can imagine cheating on Rafe with him at family functions..

Some kind of party, maybe. Rafe and you, arguing as per usual behind the scenes, but then Ward sweeps in to comfort you when Rafe storms out after a screaming match upstairs. Ward’s business colleagues are waiting for him, but he’s going to sit next to you on Rafe’s bed and he’s going to give you as much comfort as he can. And as your sniffling into his shoulder, all teary eyed and sad… you can’t help but kiss him !

And oh my god the instant your lips hit his he’s just feral for it. Like doesn’t even gaf. His big hand curling into your hair, and he pushes you down onto the bed before he’s got his head in between your thighs and he’s devouring you like his son can’t. Praising the hell out of you, coming up for air to give you another kiss.

“Fuck, baby, how long has he been deprivin’ you? Sweetest little pussy I’ve tasted in so long.. don’t worry, ‘m gonna take care of you, sweetheart.”

Ugh ugh UGH and him easing it inside, his hands gripping your tits while he splits you open from behind. Whimpers spilling out of your lips as he practically folds you in half and puts all his weight on top of you… and when you call him daddy it drives him crazy.

“Oh, honey. I’ve got you, just let me ruin this little pussy. Yeah, yeah, look at how cute you look wrapped around me,” and then he chuckles, breathy against your ear, “Rafe doesn’t know what he’s missin’, huh?”

Brainrot. Absolute brainrot. God I’m a terrible person.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

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?”

[batsplat]

Wait what’s the tea on Valentino’s sleep patterns 👀👀 (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)

oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life

tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will

before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):

The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.

and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):

On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!

and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):

'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'

we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):

Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.

and from 2001, in valentino's own words:

Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.

only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):

"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"

also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):

I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.

how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race

so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race

and here's the autobiography passage:

My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. It’s as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I don’t live the life of a professional athlete. It’s true, I don’t live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense — early to bed, early to rise and all that — but this does not mean that I’m not careful about what I eat and drink or that I don’t train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. It’s just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when I’m training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. That’s why, even if I’m travelling all over the world, I don’t experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. It’s much more likely that I’m just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because it’s the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, I’m Valentino Rossi. I’m wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, I’m always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. I’m proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because that’s actually when problems can arise — if it’s you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I don’t know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because it’s absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. They’re in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, I’ve been a man on the run. And there’s no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply can’t engage in when I’m back in Italy. I can’t go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I can’t walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I can’t stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, I’m screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, I’ve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.

Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. It’s just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I don’t like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. It’s like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. That’s why I’ve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, “Gente. della notte” (“People of the night”). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I don’t change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I don’t really change. Obviously, I don’t go to bed at dawn, but let’s just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there aren’t many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I don’t leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. That’s why I’ve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. I’ve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I don’t think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I don’t actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. It’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.

During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. There’s always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that I’m at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. That’s where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldn’t find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just don’t have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. I’m like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just don’t have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up — usually it’s Jeremy, because he doesn’t trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.

"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. it’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -

[ilwonuu]

camping trip?

↬ kim seungmin ( a connection fic to don’t you wanna?)

𓇣 pairing- nonidol!seungmin x fem!reader, established relationship, meandom!seungmin x sub!reader

𓇣 summary- you and your friends are so excited for your camping trip. seungmin can’t seem to keep his mind on camping though,,,

𓇣 warnings- smut with plot, unprotected sex(what can i say? don’t do this!!!!), multiple sex scenes, creampie, kissing, a little impact play(slapping), a little choking, rough sex, seungmin is kinda mean, alcohol consumption( they don’t get drunk), dirty talk(seungminshshhahsgs) , member’s appearances!!!, crack, fluff, kissing, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), lmk if i missed something

𓇣 a/n- hi mls<33 if you guys cannot tell im going thru a seungmin era,,, i wrote this last night because i couldn’t stop thinking about it lmfaoo, also this one is so bit longer than usual

you were more than excited for your friend groups yearly camping trip. after,,, your last encounter with seungmin and a couple of the others guys your relationship has changed somewhat.

you and seungmin always liking to have an audience now. but you swore that you would not ruin the camping trip with your loud fucking, minho made you promise

“you guys fuck like rabbits in any environment.” seungmin just laughs. “okay not any environment, but shut up you pervs like listening.” you roll your eyes at their words as you turn to felix and he is also rolling his eyes. smiling when you noticed.

“you like the audience you freak.” jeongin says with a laugh as he turns around to look at you seungmin and felix in the back. “you guys bored? why the long faces.” he questions you three with a teasing tone. “bored wouldn’t be the word i think i am hangry.” felix sighs as he lays back in his seat.

“oh my god me too i will kill someone if i don’t eat soon.” your boyfriend chimes in. “can you guys shut up maybe? so i can listen to the music.” minho scoffs causing you to laugh. “this is a good song.” you say listening to the song that muffled. minho smiles at you through the mirror.

“she’s the only non annoying one.” he focuses back on the road. “definitely not true she is very annoying.” seungmin chimes in. you hit his chest slightly not hurting him. he whines out in fake pain. “annoying and hits me!” you roll you eyes at him looking away.

“you know i’m only kidding baby.” you laugh at him as he touches your side playfully. “okay just shut up for the rest of the ride. we’re almost there chan said to turn at the first turn after the red sign. they are already there.” minho says with a half sigh turning up the music as the resting of you talk quietly among yourselves.

“woah this is camp sight? it’s so nice.” you say as you get out of the car with others. “everyone pick where they want their tent. also figure out who’s sleeping with who.” chan says with a smile as he sees you guys joining the rest of the members.

“okay dad.” hyunjin says with a slight laugh. “this is gonna be a great camping trip!!!” jisung chimes in. “i agree!! i missed all of us together with you y/n.” seungmin admits with a smile.

“what happened to my rude boyfriend? why are you being cute i don’t like it.” you smile at him and he just rolls his eyes pulling you to hug him. “i’ll be rude later.” he whispers to you with an innocent expression.

“they are already plotting!” changbin points at you two playfully. “as long as i don’t hear anything then its fine.” minho says with a smile. “jisung come here you’re sharing a tent with me.” han nods grabbing the tent walking over to the spot him and lee know chose. “i know who i’m sharing with.” seungmin states the obvious as you two try to put up the tent together.

“i think we might be the worst people to put a tent together.” you laugh at the two of your poor tent building skills. “well you’re definitely worse than me but yea.” he turns his attention back to his side trying to figure where the poles go. “i got it!” you smile as you see your side standing on its own. he stares at you blankly. “fucking how? help me.” he scoffs in disbelief.

“i thought i was worse than you at putting it together?” you tease walking over to his side. he looks so cute with his hoodie over his head. “yea yea you’re not just help me.” he says looking at you for a second. “what?” you question his interesting gaze.

“i just can’t wait until we have this built so i can fuck you.” you gasp at his words and his bold expression. “seungmin stop we can’t. you know i can’t be that quiet.” you blush looking away from him embarrassed by your own words.

“yea i know baby, just gonna have to find something to shut you up huh?” he whispers into your ear as he pulls you closer to him. you can feel his half hard dick poking at you stomach. “seungmin.” you try to look at him with an intimidating expression but it didn’t really work. he just smiled at your face.

“what is my pretty little slut getting wet thinking about it?” you roll your eyes pushing him back gently. “we need to build the tent.” you bend over to grab the poles trying to show him which way they go but he doesn’t look very focused.

“seungmin are you even listening? i just showed you how to do it now do it.” he shakes his head. “i was not looking at that damn tent i was looking at you. but show me again because i want it built.” he smiles innocently.

“okay actually watch this time idiot!” he nods. you show him and he quickly figures it out. being the first ones to finish building your tent. “let’s put our stuff inside.” you smile walking to the car hand and hand. “how did you guys figure it out?” hyunjin and chan question as they stand next the the tent that is far from being built.

“babe go help them let me get the stuff out of the car.” he suggests and you nod running over to the two boys. you show the boys how to do it and they thank you. you joining seungmin in the tent you two shared after he was done grabbing the stuff. “it’s very spacious in here.” he smiles at you before pulling you to lay against his chest. “we all know why you think that’s important.”

you hear someone shout for the two of you outside the tent. “hey we’re going to the store to grab dinner! the nearest store is like 30 mins away so we might be a couple hours!” chan says as him. seungmin yells a quick okay and the other boys leave.

“i’m so happy we weren’t put on grocery shopping duty.” you sigh against him. “yea me too i would be so mad if i have to grocery shop on vacation.” seungmin says with a smirk that you can’t see. his hand moving to your thigh slowly.

“minnie what are you doing.” you smile turning to face him. “gotta see how i can keep you quiet. we’re gonna see how well you can do yea? if you’re quieter ill reward you. but if you’re bad i’m gonna fuck you so hard that you will have no way to hide your noises. deal baby?” you nod.

“im gonna try really hard to be quiet.” you say biting your lip a little. “good girl. such a good slut for me aren’t you?”

what seungmin didn’t mention is how long you guys would be doing this for. the boys have been gone for an hour now but you and seungmin are still touching on each other. he has you on your stomach as he fucks you from behind the new position catching you off guard.

“m-minnie! o-oh please don’t stop.” he just smirks. “yeah? gonna be bad huh? you sure thats a good idea baby?” you shake your head no shutting yourself up.

“good fucking girl.” he slides two of his fingers into your mouth. his hips slowing to fuck you deeper. he pulls out of you without warning, flipping you over. he pulls his fingers out of your mouth bringing them down to your cunt.

“if i kiss you will you be quiet?” he asks as he pushes the fingers inside you roughly fucking them in and out. the squelch noise is so loud from your arousal and how close you are to coming.

“p-please kiss me.” he smiles rubbing your cheek gently. “such a good little toy.” he leans down to kiss you as he continues to finger you. your legs start to shake at the overstimulation as his finger curl deeper.

“s—mminnie.” you moan through the kiss quietly. “you gonna cum slut? want me to lick it all up after huh? you taste so fucking good.” he send a small smack against your face to see how you react. the two of you talking about having impact in your sex someday. but he never acted on it but you wanted him to. you moan on the spot when the pressure stung against your cheek.

“you like it that much baby? you just got so fucking tight. such a slut, dirty girl likes when i hit her?” you nod as your legs shake. you try to close them but seungmin does not let you.

“m-minnie- too much.” your eyes roll back into your head. “is it? you cunt doesn’t want my fingers to leave though. you’re so close to coming i know you are baby. don’t fight it. it will feel so good. my little slut coming on my fingers. my dick is so hard.” you moan one last time before coming all over his fingers. he doesn’t stop his movements though.

“fuck i just want to ruin you. but it will be better if the guys hear how much of a slut you are when i fuck you. not like they don’t already know.” he finally pulls his fingers out of you.

“open your fucking mouth.” he watches you open your mouth slowly. he smiles pushing his fingers into your mouth. “fucking suck them clean slut.” he watches as you obey his wishes. making eye contact as you suck on them like you’re going down on him.

“fuck i need to taste you.” you don’t know how he moves so quickly. getting in between your legs. licking up your cum and some of his own from earlier.

“so fucking good.” he pulls away grabbing a hold of your neck applying slight pressure as he pulls you to make out with him. you moan into the kiss as you two stay like that for a couple minutes before you hear the cars return.

“we’re back you guys better not be fucking in there!” minho says playfully as you seungmin separate. “not fucking you idiot.” seungmin says to the boy through the tent.

“you never know what you two are doing.” han says through the tent as well. you and seungmin just roll your eyes as you quietly get dressed. “come out here to help with dinner. we all agreed.” chan says to you two. causing you to have to physically drag seungmin out of the tent.

“i’m not even a good cook you guys don’t need me.”seungmin sighs with a fake pout. chan tsks. “okay whatever you say! then go find some extra wood for the fire. we need to have plenty.” he sighs dramatically walking away to get the wood as you and the rest of start to help on dinner.

after the dinner the nine of you gathered around the fire for a light drink. “this drink is good minho! what did you mix it with?” you question taking another sip as you are hugging seungmin in his chair.

“i honestly don’t remember but it’s tequila and a soda and something else idek me and han made it while we were drunk.” he shrugs taking a seat next to the boy he mentioned.

“i think it’s s’mores time what do you guys think?” changbin says with a smile. “you read my mind.” hyunjin says as him & changbin practically jump for the s’mores ingredients. felix following behind the boys.

“why am i friends with idiots?” seungmin thinks out loud receiving a “hey!” from them both. each of you quickly getting your own s’mores of course. you look over at you boy with a soft smile.

“you have marshmallow on your lips.” you say pointing to where it was. “get it off?” he asks you. to others they may think he just wants you to wipe it off with a napkin or something. but seungmin kinda,, loves when you kiss him to get something off his face. he always does the same to you. he loves a good reason to kiss you. you nod hesitantly as you pull him into a kiss. neither of your pulling away after the marshmallow was gone.

“you guys are like horny teens.” jeongin says rolling his eyes. “do i need to remind you that you were on the call the other day?” he says at the boy with a smirk.

“t-that’s different i wasn’t watching-“ hyunjin and chan now thinking about the events that occurred the other day. “oh but i bet you wish you were.” he says with a sarcastic tone. “seungmin- stop teasing him! we don’t need to talk about that.” he rolls his eyes.

“i know you like it.” he says rubbing your cheek a little, remembering where he hit earlier.

“on that thought it’s my bed time! good fucking night.” chan laughs at them before going into his tent. after he left you guys stayed chatting for another half an hour , before you all said your goodnights heading into your own tents.

i don’t think you and seungmin have gotten naked so quick. him kissing you quietly as you two grind against each other. the two of you trying to be quiet but you let a moan slip when he pulls you on top of him.

“fucking slut you know you need to be quiet. you don’t know how to listen? i know how to shut you up. put that slutty mouth to use other than to babble nonsense yea?” he smirks as you crawl off his hips down to his dick. you stroke it a couple times watching his reaction.

“f-fuck spit on it-“ you cut him off by doing exactly what he wants. you spit on it as you make eye contact. you take his tip into your mouth. he hisses at the contact trying to stop his moans.

“fu-fuck you’re so good at this. i forget every- fuck every time. how can i? feels so fucking good.” he says as quietly as he can. you continue to bob your head on him until he stops you. pulling you off him. “i want to cum inside my good slut. you want that too hm?” he pulls you up more so that your faces are close. he kisses your lips gently.

“y-yes minnie want you-“ he smirks kissing you again. “lay on your back.” he says demandingly. you quickly comply getting on your back. “you think you’re gonna be quiet? like earlier remember.” he kisses your lips again as he lines up with your entrance. you nod quickly as you look in between your legs.

“such a good little fuck toy for me aren’t you? say it slut.” he grabs your face as he pushes into you. you immediately try to stop your moan by covering your mouth with you hand. “no no- fucking say it first or i will stop.” he pulls your hand off your mouth as he stops his hips.

“m-minnie- please move- i need-“ he lands a slap against your cheek before rubbing his hand over it. “what did i fucking say?” he knows you like it rougher but he can’t help but feel a little bad after he sees your red cheek. “i am your fuck t-toy min please!” you trying to grind into him but he stopped your hips quickly.

“oh you want to act like that? so needy aren’t you? i’ll give it to you until you’re begging me to stop. gonna fuck this cunt until you cry baby?” he starts to move his hips. you moan but it’s cut off with another slap but against your thigh this time.

“shut the fuck up.” he looks at you sternly as he covers your mouth. “you are such a good girl you know that? even when you’re being all bad. not listening to me? i’ll give you what you fucking want.” his hips speed against yours. your moans being muffled by his hand.

“you like this slut?” he questions already knowing you will not be able to answer. causing you to send another moan into his hand. “f-fuck i don’t even care anymore. need to fuck you perfectly.” he pulls his hand off your mouth. your moans filling the tent and area around it.

“m-minnie- so big. please deeper!” you cry out for him as a tear falls from your eye. “deeper? don’t you think i’m fucking you deep already?” he slows down to fuck you harder and deeper.

“f-fuck i’m gonna cum.” you now sobbing for him. he just thinks you look so fucking pretty like this. your cheeks red from the slaps, your mascara that you were wearing now ruined. you have dried spit on your chin. he loves when it looks like he ruined you.

“yea? cum like a good girl. i’m close too baby.” you moan at his words. “p-please cum in me.” you say with a whimper and that just boosts your boyfriends ego even more. “you want it baby? fuck my cum into you. you love when i fuck you like a whore.” your legs start to shake as you approach your high. seungmin holding your hips to fuck into you at the perfect angle.

“fuck! im coming minnie-“ you sigh out of relief as you feel your release wash over you. your clench around your boyfriend with a moan. that’s all it took to have him coming aswell. him fucking you nice and slow so that his cum gets deeper.

“fu-fuck you did so well for me.” he pulls out of you slowly not wanting it to drip out of you instantly. “fuck let me get a towel.” he says leaning behind him to reach into his bag. grabbing the towel and cleaning you up. you hear some movement outside the tent causing you two to look at each other in fear.

“kim seungmin. i’m gonna fucking kill you.” is all you hear from minho. you sighing in relief that its just minho. his remarks causing seungmin to laugh. “if you had a girlfriend as hot as mine. i swear you wouldn’t be able to stop either.” he admits with a shout to the boy outside.

“shut up! i’m going to sleep. be quiet or i will come in there and drag you out and throw you in the river.” he hits the tent as if its threat causing you to laugh now.

“sorry minho.” you mumble through the tent. “no sorries! let me sleep.” he sighs running back to his tent. minho knows that the next few days are gonna be long.

[justlillythinking]

idk where to put requests bc i barely ask for stuff on here but basically my idea was this. neteyam x human reader that is hella funny. friends to lovers type thing where he feels his responsibilities and stress slip away when hes with them. kiss kiss love confession type thing. gn or fem would be cool mookie

neteyam x human!reader imagine

1.7k words

warnings- sfw, mutual pinning, soft fluff, a little angst ? love confessions

also while writing this it was inspired by in love with you by erykah badu and boogie nights/all night by erykah badu

hanging out with the sullys is always interesting, from going on ikran rides to sneaking on missions. when lo'ak says that you should all go on a ride right before eclipse, neteyam is fast to object.

"come on bro, you know dad is going to slaughter us if we are out at eclipse, lets just go tomorrow."

spider huffs before jumping on lo'aks ikran. god, my brother is such an ass, sometimes i just want to slap him so hard he can't feel his face for a week. i give neteyam a look, us both understanding that the only way to keep our stupid brothers in line is to follow them and keep them safe. he helps me up onto his ikran and we take off after spider and lo'ak, soaring in the calm sunset.

after flying for 10 minutes, spider and lo'ak land somewhere in the floating mountains, neteyam and i follow after them. when we touch down, neteyam picks me up and sets me down; something he loves to do to remind me he’s 3 feet taller than i am.

“fucking skxawng”, i mutter under my breath. before i can even turn around to shoot him a dirty look, he picks me up by my waist with one hand, laughing at me kicking him.

“what was that you just said?�� he asks, still laughing at me.

i shoot him the dirtiest glare possible, “ i called you a fucking skxawng, skxawng. now put me down before i rip your braid out.”

neteyam laughs and sets me down, walking away like i huff. we both eventually walk over to spider and lo’ak, sitting beside them and admiring the forrest. we all talk and joke around, laughing about stupid jokes and talking about rumors. we eventually get on the topic of crushes, me teasing spider about his growing crush on kiri, neteyam rolling his eyes like lo’ak complains.

“cuz, come on, that’s my sister i don’t need to know that you want to bang her bro. how would that even work anyways, a human and a na’vi??”

i sigh to myself, knowing what lo’ak says about a human being with a na’vi is true and that neteyam and i will probably never grow to something more than just being friends.

little do i know, neteyam is having the same thoughts, wanting and wishing we could be more than friends, when in reality he knows that kissing me is probably off the table because of my exopack.

the conversation between all of us dissipates as we quiet down, all thinking about different things. i stand up and brush my legs off before saying we should head back so we can be home before eclipse. neteyam agrees while our brothers sigh with “do we have too” and “just like 5 more minutes i swear.”

we eventually all start walking back to the ikrans, lo’ak and spider racing each other. neteyam and i trail behind, talking and shoving each other and laughing. i look at him, the sunset shining on his beautiful blue skin and as it gets darker outside his freckles start shining. i realize that my feelings are futile, but it’s hard to be around the most kind, loyal, protective, beautiful man and not get attached.

i sigh, realizing i have gotten caught up in my own head again. when i look back up at him i see him with a sad smile.

“what’s wrong?” i ask.

“it’s nothing.”

“well it’s got to be something, you’re not usually sad for no reason.”

he sighs and says, “really, it’s nothing. we should try to walk faster so we get back before eclipse.”

he starts walking faster towards the ikrans, making me jog to catch up. i grab his hand and stop walking.

“neteyam, please, don’t keep stuff from me. we are best friends, and when we first became friends you promised to always tell me what’s bothering you.”

“stop digging y/n, i don’t want to talk about it right now. i just want us to laugh and talk like usual right now.”

“just tell me so that i can help you and we can go back to normal.”

“i don’t want to talk about it.”

“nete please-“

“fucking stop y/n, i’m not going going to talk about this with you.”

i stand there shocked, not used to him getting angry. he walks off and i follow after him, confused as to why he’s so mad. i know i shouldn’t have pushed but it’s not like him to be so sad.

when we get back to the ikrans lo’ak and spider immediately notice that something’s off, seeing the look on neteyam’s face. when spider and lo’ak look to me i shrug and shake my head. it’s awkwardly silent before neteyam clears his throat and says, “ y/n, how about you ride with lo’ak and spider rides with me tonight.”

lo’ak and spider both whip around and look to me, about to complain about how it’s never been this way when i just shake my head. spider raises an eyebrow at me but walks over to neteyams ikran anyways. i walk to lo’aks, waiting for his to grab me by the waist to help me but he doesn’t. i climb up, and go to hold onto his waist, but i stop and hold his shoulders.

neteyam and spider take off first, lo’ak and i soon after. we sit in science for a little before he asks, “so what happened?”

i sigh, “he just seemed off. he’s been more distant and sad lately, but i guess that’s just a journey of him becoming a man.”

“yeah well he has been stressed out about the whole ‘becoming a man and choosing a mate’ thing. it’s not like there’s not 20 girls that would die for him to stick it in them,” he snickers.

“ew come on lo’ak that’s disgusting.”

“i mean, i know who im choosing when i become a man.”

“the hottest girl who wants me, duh cuz. i mean that’s skxawng has always been picky, but now it seems like he’s trying to always want what he can’t have.”

“what do you mean?”

“come on cuz, you can’t be that blind. did you notice when he started getting all whiny earlier?”

“no? i mean after we talked i guess?”

“and we talked about what...”

i pause, trying to remember.

“ummmmm we talked about how you wanted to bang that girl we saw that was healing you and neteyam’s dumb asses, we talked about how spider is never going to find a na’vi that wants his tiny ass but let’s be honest, him and kiri totally have something going-“

“no you fucking skxawng we talked about humans and na’vi, then neteyam got all whiny and shit.”

i pause, “so?”

“so who is the human that neteyam spends all his time with?”

i stop.

“you’re saying that neteyam likes me?”

“YES THATS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING AND YOU CLEARLY LIKE HIM TOO”

i blush and laugh, “ lo’ak, there’s no way he likes me. you said it yourself, he was like 30 hot girls lined up for him.”

“he totally does like you-“

“he totally doesn’t-“

“but you like him anyways. that’s the point, it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not because we all know that you two like each other.”

we ride back home in silence, i think about what he has said. could it neteyam actually like me too? is that why he didn’t want to talk about it with me? i wonder what would even happen if he did, it’s not like we could mate.

when we land at home, i get of lo’aks ikran and thank him for telling me. i walk to my tent and lay down, thinking about how this could change everything. i should probably talk to neteyam about it instead of just mulling it over by myself.

i decide to get up and go talk to him, even though i’m scared that lo’ak could be wrong. i mean, what if i talk to him about it and tell him i like him when he doesn’t even like me back? i stand by his family’s tent, not sure if i should go it on not.

while i’m standing there thinking, i don’t notice that neteyam walked up behind me. he taps me on the shoulder and when i turn around i see that it’s him.

“hi.”

“hey?” he says, nervously scratching his neck.

“i think we need to talk, i was about to go in and ask for you.”

“i told you i don’t want to talk about it-“

“lo’ak told me you have a crush on me.”

he stares down at me with wide eyes. i can see his cheeks turn purple as he blushes and he opens and closes his mouth, trying to say something. i grab his hand, my small one grabbing on to 3 of his fingers. i walk us over to my tent, thankfully lo’ak must have gotten spider to stay away for a little.

when we go inside my tent, neteyam looks so nervous that you would think i’m trying to shoot him. he starts rambling, “ listen i don’t know why lo’ak would tell you that because i don’t have a crush on you i mean, you’re my bestfriend that would be kind of weird right? i mean not to say that you’re not funny or pretty, because you definitely are but even if i did like you, i mean how would that even work, i’m na’vi and you’re human and we probably would even be able to kiss because of your exopack and-“

i cut him off, “neteyam, i like you.”

“you do?”

“yeah, i do.”

“but why me, why not lo’ak? or anyone else?”

i look at the floor, “because i don’t want lo’ak. i want you. i want your smile and how funny you are. i want to talk to you and go on your ikran with you. you understand me like no one else. i see you nete.”

i feel a his hand on my chin, guiding me to look up at him. he hugs me, my forehead on his chest.

“i see you y/n,” he says, kissing the top of my head.