#four year old race

[batsplat]

casey also talks about sepang 2015 what do you think of that

oh in that podcast? uh... lemme listen again...

yeah idk it's not really anything new I'd say? he's said basically all the same stuff in more interesting and extensive ways elsewhere. I think casey inevitably has a very 'well feuding is bad and helps nobody' point of view, has expressed that before in the past, does it here again, and he's also drawn a parallel between himself and marc on several occasions. which... well, of course there's similarities in terms of public discourse or whatever, but the parallel really falls apart whenever casey argues the feuds cost valentino. like, I do think it's sometimes important to just. keep in mind. it's interesting that casey draws this comparison in his mind but that doesn't necessarily means he's right about this. I'm not sure how you'd argue that starting a feud with casey cost valentino anything competitively? you can argue it didn't help him I guess, and then we can have a debate about the ins and outs of the 2008 season. we can also have an argument that in a hypothetical world where casey isn't ill in 2009, valentino doesn't break his leg and casey isn't on a piece of junk in 2010, and valentino isn't on a piece of junk in 2011-12, then actually maybe valentino sparking open animosity with casey COULD have cost him. but we don't know that! didn't happen! I wish we could have found out, but we never got the chance! as it stands, the tally on this is pretty straightforward: casey won the title when things were reasonably civil between them in 2007, and valentino took control of the following season at the exact moment he worsened the relationship between the pair of them in 2008. obviously, it's all more complicated than that and casey would of course argue laguna didn't negatively affect his subsequent performances... but it certainly didn't help them. like, at the very worst valentino escalating tensions in 2008 is a complete net neutral. after 2009, them being bitchy to each other every other tuesday was completely competitively irrelevant beyond maybe affecting how they approached occasionally fighting for a podium position. hey, maybe casey used that feud to fire himself up through sheer spite throughout the later stages of his career, but that doesn't actually support his anti-feud stance - it's basically the exact same thing as what valentino does. they're both quite similar in that regard! always so hungry to prove a point, to show how someone else is wrong. kinda half the point with this feuding business is to get yourself going, get yourself motivated, yeah. he straight up openly admits to using yamaha's repeat rejection of him as a way of giving himself motivation, and at the end of the day that's really not all that different?

anyway, what else does casey say... oh yeah, that him and the other aliens were already kinda prepared for this and had learned vale's tricks. that valentino had only been able to get into the minds of the previous generation. welllllll *wiggles hand* sure, I mean, he did clearly have to change his approach... he couldn't just use the exact same playbook to get to them, either on-track or off-track. but that's why he did change up the playbook... again, whether you want to believe valentino won his final two titles 'in the head' rather than just through pure pace kinda depends on how you assess the evidence, but it is at the very least a debate. and, y'know, it's always worth remembering that valentino's most important mind games with casey didn't happen in a press conference... it was on the track. and the on-track stuff really is just embedded in how valentino approaches winning. speaking of aliens, this is what dani and jorge have said:

like, valentino's entire approach to his riding, even to the way he's setting his bike up, is deliberately about directly fucking with you... he's not actually always trying to be faster than you as much as he's trying to give himself the tools to make your life miserable, to pressure you into mistakes, etc etc... and again, especially with casey (if anything because he was so mentally sturdy), the off-track stuff was really just window dressing. (I know they bicker a lot after 2009 but it's just so fundamentally irrelevant to actual on-track competition.) so you can be aware of those tricks, but it also doesn't necessarily help you when someone's being nasty to you on-track in a way you just fully do not enjoy. which is what it was like for casey! for casey, a lot of this comes back to the truly unpleasant context of how he was perceived by the public, how he was treated as mentally weak or 'broken' or whatever partly because he had the misfortune of coming up against a bloke who had the reputation for breaking rivals. I think it's quite natural to end up with a bit of a hardliner 'actually I've never been mentally affected by a result in my life' stance - and of course casey is a lot tougher than a lot of people give him credit for. that being said. sometimes your rivals affect you, shit happens, it's part of the game. it's fundamentally a nice idea to think that valentino's tactics weren't just morally wrong but also ineffective, which is kind of the appeal of this narrative, right? you want to believe you're above that, you want to believe you were adequately prepared and wise to valentino's tactic. it's unsurprising and understandable that casey does tend to tell the story that way, but again it's *wiggles hand* also hard to describe it as completely factual

uh. what else. oh I'm thrilled casey does canonically know valentino and marc were friends, he has said he wasn't following motogp too much during that time period so you couldn't be sure of that. does this mean anything? does it tell you anything? well, no, but it's just a pleasing thought to me. I like that. oh also 'provoking particularly aggressive riders isn't a good idea' is kinda a funny take from casey? like, he of all people would hate the idea of being cowed by someone's reputation like that... casey's right that provoking fast riders can potentially be dangerous, but y'know I do think that's probably not news to anyone almost nine years later. um. that's all I've got I think

[drewlyyours]

THE SHATTERED MEDALLION FANCAST

ND #30

Sonny Joon - Justin H. Min

Leena Patel - Rashida Jones

Patrick Dowsett - Tom Hopper

Kiri Nind - Anya Chalotra

AND FINALLY -

George Fayne - Jenny Walser

Bess Marvin - Rhea Norwood

well, i've seen aliens, but believing in aliens seems a little more involved

MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, WAC, TOT, SAW, CAP, ASH, TMB, DED, GTH, SPY

[aromanticasterisms]

yes yes arlecchino backstory sad lore interesting animation cool as hell but MOST IMPORTANTLY. signora and scara fatui coat LOOKS.

[sybbi]

i think people want to replace biden because they dont see any chance of him winning against trump anymore and most people have lost faith. another candidate would restore optimism and bring in more voters

Would it?

Here's my issue: what candidate should replace Biden? I ask that question and everyone seems to have a different answer. That, for me, is more dangerous than Biden stumbling over his words a little. It is too fucking late for us to go running around looking like chickens with our heads cut off while the Republicans present a strong, increasingly unified front behind Trump.

Harris, some people say. Well ffs, Harris is already on the ticket. If you're one of those people who's afraid Joe Biden can't run things or won't live through his full term or WHATEVER, SHE IS ALREADY GUARANTEED TO REPLACE HIM. And I see no reason to switch him out wholesale when, again, there needs to be a show of a unified front. That's part of what kills me in all this - you have to have faith to inspire it in others. To fight against a unified front, you have to show unity and strength in your own cause, but instead the left-leaners are doing what they have almost always historically done: fracturing over internal perceptions and differences instead of saying "The biggest threat right now is not us, it's them."

I saw, on that giant lame-ass post by Wheaton, that he was saying we needed a candidate that can force the American people to see what kind of danger we're in. And frankly that is horseshit. The American people, I believe, largely know the stakes here. And Biden has, repeatedly, made grim and coherent speeches about the threat our democracy currently faces. The only thing that has distracted the American public recently FROM the grim threat to our democracy is this aforementioned public pants shitting that, for some reason, has gained more traction than the fact that Trump will be in effect a fucking king if he is allowed in the Oval Office again.

If the Democrats and anti-Trumpers had ANY sense they would be fucking HAMMERING on that. They would be reemphasizing all of Trumps unpopular policies, his instability, his cozy relationship with foreign leaders who act antithetical to American values and ideals, his corruption, his EVERYTHING. Because again, THIS IS A REFERENDUM ON TRUMPISM, FIRST AND FOREMOST. But no. Once again, the left is letting perfect be the enemy of good.

How much faith do you think you can drum up for Harris, who has been torn apart by the left and the media separately, or any other random replacement this late in the game, that you couldn't manage for Biden with an actual concerted fucking effort? The logic of "we need a new candidate that can draw in voters" is so flawed because there is NO candidate that is not going to be torn to shreds by a certain crowd, that will not have doubt placed on them about something, who won't be scrutinized for a story under a magnifying glass. If you give in here, why the fuck wouldn't you give in when the next guy or girl gets torn up for something innocuous, something not reflective of their actual public service? What the fuck are you going to stand for if, every time people show an ounce of criticism about ANYTHING your side does, your solution is to throw the baby out with the bathwater? Meanwhile the MAGAts continue to fortify themselves, casting themselves as strong leaders, as we run around directionless and grasping.

All this is doing, in my view, is giving in to panic and inviting more confusion and panic which can have an even more demoralizing effect on more offline voters. Because where did the loss of faith come from? A bad debate that many voters didn't even watch, because most have probably already made up their mind? Once again, everyone already knows these two candidates. They know Biden is old. They know he's tripped over words before. And they know Trump, too. Biden wasn't elected the first time because he was the perfect candidate. He was the anti-Trump vote. And I agree that just being Not Trump shouldn't be good enough for a candidate. But Biden had managed to return the country to some semblance of normalcy, and despite far right politicians and interest groups throwing up obstruction after obstruction, he has still managed to help many and has done what was within his power to undo the harms brought on by the first Trump presidency.

All this to say, once again, that there WAS a time to talk about replacing Biden. IT IS PAST. I will eat my fucking words if the DNC doesn't nominate him and simultaneously mald over what I think would probably be one of the stupidest decisions they could make. But whatever. It's out of my hands.

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

okay curse of the zounds + singles is my fav album but as much as i love Zounds, The Selecter are by far my favorite band, its just because i mostly listened to them through greatest hits and two tone compilation cds i never got attached to a spesific album like with other artists who i listened to mainly via albums. that being said Human Algebra is a 10/10 album and i have major respect for Pauline and Gaps for still touring and releasing great albums and evolving their music even. oh dear god. over 40 years after their peak of popularity.

[sunlightmurdock]

ain’t afraid of a little thunder | tyler owens

“now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” his gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the middle of your thighs. “just because of a little thunder?”

warnings: minors dni, 18+. smut. unprotected pinv. oral (m+f). no physical descriptions of reader except some hair pulling mentioned.

…

Blinding white light flashes, spilling through and under the gaps in the curtains. The furniture is, at once, illuminated a ghastly white. The room remains still, aside from where you lay in your bed, tangled in sheets and breathing softly. 

What comes next isn’t the rolling kind of thunder that usually spills across these parts, there’s nothing slow or melodic about it. It comes as an almighty clap, shaking the old farmhouse down to its foundations. 

Seemingly spurred on by the sound, the wind joins the symphony by crashing into the window, slamming at the shutters and making the two panels swing wide open.

The storm howls now, spilling through these old walls and waking you with a start. You shoot upright in bed, eyes wide and heart thundering in your ears. Rain splatters on the worn floorboards as you look frantically around your childhood bedroom.

“Shit.” You huff out, hurling yourself out of the creaky, old metal-framed bed you had spent your teenage years in. You stumble towards the whirling wind and wrestle the window shut, snapping the latch shut once again.

You had been jolted so violently from your dreams that you aren’t even sure your eyes are open until you’re staring at streaks of lightning painting the dark sky. With a trembling hand, you reach for the edge of the curtain and pull it back across the window.

Even with your view gone, as you slip back into bed it’s impossible to pretend that the storm isn’t happening. It whips at the house, making the foundations creak and groan. Every few seconds, the sky will streak bright white and will roar with another clap of thunder. 

Eyes squeezed shut and the sheets pulled high isn’t cutting it. The weather rages just beyond these four walls, refusing to be ignored. Your heart thunders along with the bellowing horizon.

You toss onto your left side. Then your right. A frustrated sound slips your lips as you thrash onto your back. It’s like the storm is just getting worse. Closer. 

Each flash of lightning feels brighter. Each clap of thunder feels louder. You tremble under the confines of your comforter, lips pursed. You shoot a quick look toward the little digital alarm clock on your night stand. 1:55. 

Panic flares in your chest. You remember being small in this room, terrified of these same storms. The nights where you would tear out of bed and race down the hall to the safety of your parents’ bed.

You’re a little old for that now, and they chose this week of all to be vacationing at Niagara Falls. 

You pull the blankets tighter around yourself, momentarily blinded by the prospect of being alone in this big, rickety house all by yourself in the path of a storm — you’re miles away from help reaching you.

But you aren’t all alone. 

After a tough few days of field work, you had opened your doors — well, your parents’ doors — to a… colleague, of sorts. If that’s what you could call Tyler. You had a common goal, and he needed a place to stay while the two of you got some work done, that was all. It was easier than sending him to the motel an hour away.

He’s down the hall, probably sleeping like a baby, in the guest room.

You couldn’t possibly wake him. He would hold it over your head for the rest of your life. You would never live it down. Being a meteorologist who can’t sleep through a little—

Storm.

It’s that last, tremendous crash of thunder that sends you flying, once again, out of your childhood bed as it rattles the house. You’re cursing yourself under your breath already as you pad, barefoot down the hallway. 

Past pictures of yourself missing teeth and grinning, sporting pigtails and wearing overalls — all images of yourself that you would rather the famed ��Tornado Wrangler’ himself hadn’t seen. 

The only thing that stops you is a brief moment in front of the door to the guest room, where you stand debating whether it would be better to knock or to just slip in and hope that he doesn’t even notice you.

You should knock. He could be naked. Shit. 

Swallowing both your pride and the lump of solid anxiety in your throat, you close your eyes and rap your knuckles softly against the door. Maybe he doesn’t hear you over the storm, or maybe he’s just a deep sleeper, but he doesn’t answer.

You should leave him alone.

But you can’t stand the thought of being by yourself through this. What if it’s something big? — You should have checked the radar.

You’re already twisting the doorknob, as slow as you can. It complies silently, the door slipping open without a peep. You would have gotten away with it, if you had thought about the light in the hall.

You get a glimpse of him while he’s still asleep. Sprawled out across the bed, laying on his back on the side closest to the door, his hair mussed and his face turned away from you. Curtains wide open, still. His clothes are thrown on the chair in the corner. The sheets are slung low on his waist. A flash of lightning illuminates the ridges through the golden skin of his abdomen. 

Then, that darned light from the hallway casts across his face and wakes him. He stirs, groaning in soft complaint as he lifts his head from the pillow and blinks angrily in your direction.

He says your name, his voice deep and growly from sleep. His tone vaguely suggests that he’s checking if it’s really you, but you’re too distracted to answer him.

Tyler twists his neck and looks around for a clock, pushing himself up just a little and letting the sheets fall to reveal the waistband of his navy boxers. “What time is it?”

“Late. Sorry,” You mumble out, still standing in his wide-open doorway like an idiot. “You should go back to sleep.”

His brows knit together as he turns his head to look at you again. Grumpy looks good on him. Especially when he’s laying in bed, his hair disheveled and his clothes on the floor. 

He presses the base of his palm into his eye socket, every bit as disgruntled as he looks as he rubs the sleep away with his big hands. 

“You gonna stand there and watch me all night if I do?” 

Your immediate reaction is to put your hackles up and get defensive at the accusation, like that’s not kind of exactly how the situation would appear to him.

“No, I just… I couldn’t sleep.” Your answer isn’t really an answer at all. Tyler reminds you of this by simply raising his eyebrows, as if to say ‘and what might that have to do with me?’. You shrug your shoulders. “I was just coming to see if— if you were up.”

“I am now.” Tyler offers. “What did you want?”

Desperately to go back to sleep. You’re exhausted. These past few days have been some of the hardest of your life — and here you are, unable to sleep, trying to find a bed to sleep in, like a child.

You stand there, debating for a moment if you’re going to come clean. It would be easy enough to just admit your irrational little fear and crawl into bed, and deal with the constant teasing from then on. 

Unfortunately, your body makes the decision for you. Thunder and lightning crash together, shaking the house once again. The rain whipping at the shutters does nothing to conceal the gasp-bordering-shriek that slips your lips as you jump and rush into the room.

Tyler’s eyes widen through the dark. His gaze is quizzical as he studies the abject panic on your face, then looks to his window. Then, he looks slowly back to you. 

His mouth twitches. Excitement flashes across his face with a burst of lightning as a grin twists at his mouth.

“Now, sweetheart… I know you didn’t come crawling in here in the middle of the night,” His gaze flickers between your shadowed, sullen face and the way your sleep shirt ends at the tops of your thighs. “Just because of a little thunder?”

“Don’t be a dick about it — I know it’s ridiculous, I just can’t sleep.” You rush out, folding your arms across your chest. As you do so, your shirt bunches and rides up just enough to prove that you are, in fact, not wearing any shorts. He’d been wondering about that.

As he studies your face for the next few moments, you can see that he considers being a dick — and decides against it.

He holds his palms up in surrender, and shrugs his shoulders as he peels back the other side of the covers. Amusement coats his words as he drawls a playful, “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Closing the door to the hallway, the room is plunged into darkness once again. You trudge around to the other side of the bed, begrudging every moment of this ridiculous night. You should have had him sleep in the barn like you had threatened to. But then you really would be all alone in this big old house.

His eyes follow your silhouette around the foot of the bed, as the sky flashes white once more he takes note of the way your cute graphic tee sits a little higher in the back, giving him just the smallest glimpse of where your thighs meet the swell of your ass.

He waits for you to reach the bed and set one knee on before he goes back to trying to rest. He lays down on his back and closes his eyes as the bed shifts slightly with your weight and the covers wriggle around with your movement.

Then, things settle.

The bed goes still, and so do the both of you as you lay side by side in it. It’s not an especially large double, but the two of you both seem to be choosing to ignore the way his warm shoulder is pressed right up against yours.

It’s just his shoulder. His bare shoulder, sure, but it’s not like you could ask him to put some clothes on — you’re the one who came crawling into his bed in your underwear. You’re just grateful that there’s just about enough room for the rest of you to not graze him at all.

You close your eyes, and inhale deeply. This whole house usually smells like lavender and vanilla, but not now. This room smells like spiced oak and pine, and the familiar smell of his cologne lingers on his clothes, his belongings— his bare skin.

His voice cuts through the dark. “So, you’re not like a bedwetter or anything, right? — D’your parents usually like give you a stuffed animal to get through this kind of thing, or—“

You reach out and smack him hard in his stomach. His hard, taught stomach. “Shut it, Owens.”

The bed rattles with his soft laughter.

“I just— I’m blindsided,” He admits, still laughing. He tucks an arm behind his head, meaning your shoulder now sits in the curve of his underarm. “You’re afraid of thunder.”

You throw yourself onto your side, turning swiftly away from him and tugging away his share of covers just out of spite. “No one will ever believe you. I’ll tell them you’re crazy.” 

He grins in the dark.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not gonna tattle on you — you have no idea how much I’m enjoying being the only person who knows that Little Miss ‘Do As I Say’ gets this rattled over a little rain.”

You roll your eyes, then close them. “Goodnight, Tyler.”

The bed shakes again with another bout of his quiet laughter. “Yeah, g’night, honey.”

The pet names are going to be put to an abrupt end first thing tomorrow morning. You’re going to give him hell before he even gets a chance to open his stupid, pretty mouth. Until then, you have to keep yourself from doing anything that might have you exiled back to your own room.

Once again, the room settles. The rain whips at the windows, soaking the soil outside. Thunder rumbles closer again, but the lightning flashes don’t seem quite so bright. 

You focus on the sound of him breathing. Deep, slow inhales. He’s calm as could be, his weight pressing into the mattress and his body heat radiating under the shared covers. Uncomfortable on your right side but not wanting to be facing him, you roll onto your back.

Unconsciously a few moments later, you roll back onto your right side. Maybe then your left side. After that, your back again. Then your front.  

As you sigh and twist, Tyler sucks in a sharp breath from beside you.

“God damn, will you sit still? — You’re gonna spin yourself out of this bed.” It’s not until he’s done complaining that you realize he’s now holding you. His arm is secured tight enough around your middle that you couldn’t roll over again, even if you wanted to. Facing away from him, your eyes stare at the painted wall.

He huffs, closing his eyes and flexing his arm around you as he drags you closer.

“Go to sleep.” He mumbles groggily, his breath tickling at the nape of your neck. 

Well, if you were struggling before, then the sentiment is entirely hopeless now. 

You lie awake, watching the sky crackle and glow with flashes of colour. Tyler lies with you, feeling you flinch at every boom that follows.

He shifts suddenly behind you, feeling you go rigid.

“This thing really has you spooked, doesn’t it?” His fingers sprawl across your covered stomach, his voice coated with a softness you weren’t expecting. You feel him lift his head and peer over your shoulder, trying to get a look at your face.

“No.” You bite back, trying to tug yourself free from his hold and shift closer to the edge of the bed. You’ll be hanging off of the side if you keep this up.

“Here, c’mere,” Tyler murmurs, catching your bicep and turning you back around. Your brows furrow and your face grows stormy, and he can just tell that you’re batting up to argue with him. 

He opens both of his arms and wraps them around you at once, giving you no choice but to squish against his chest. Your eyes squeeze open as he presses his lips to your hairline. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

You stare at the freckle on his neck up close as his fingers stroke at the length of your trembling spine, frozen.

“Listen,” He mumbles against your hair as another clap of thunder tears across the sky. “Two, three, four, five — it’s already getting further away. Was just passing us by.”

“I know that.” You mumble begrudgingly against his chest, hating the way your fingers instinctively splay across his bare ribs.

Quiet falls between the two of you. You get it, he’s just trying to help — and frankly you are being a little ridiculous. He gets it, sometimes there’s no explaining fear. It’s just there.

His fingers stop at the base of your spine, disrupting the soft pattern he had going. Just for a moment, before he skims them all the way to the nape of your neck and curls them around the curve of your shoulder.

Once again, his mouth grazes your temple. Barely a kiss. Maybe even something platonic. He’s just trying to settle you. But then, there doesn’t feel like there’s much platonic about the way you’re wrapped together.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs. You can feel the rumble of his voice in your chest as he gives your nape a soft squeeze. “Breathe with me.”

Tyler takes long, deep breaths. Slow, and steady, but not patronizing. The kind that make you feel a dizzy kind of sleepy. You could fall asleep just like this, wrapped in his arms and copying his breaths, but you won’t let yourself. 

You dip your head forwards just a fraction, and press your lips to his bare shoulder. It’s small, and again barely a kiss, maybe even something platonic. Just like his was. He doesn’t say anything about it, and the quiet continues for a little longer.

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat as he leans in, turning his nose towards your hair. “That’s it.” 

You turn your head too, closing your lips softly around his collarbone. This one’s an inch less polite than the others, just a bit more daring, but still easy to misunderstand.

Opening up your palm, you trail your nails along his side, brushing softly from his ribs to his hips. Then, you stretch your neck and reach higher.

His fingers squeeze at your nape as your lips close against his throat. His free hand comes from its resting place against the sheets to curl around your thigh.

The tip of your nose bumps his chin in passing, he looks down while you look up until your eyes are locked together through the dark.

You would never live this down. Your work is too important to risk it all by— he’s kissing you before you’re done arguing with yourself, and your mind is made up.

His stubble scrubs at your cheek as he presses against you, capturing your mouth with his, kneading at his hold on your thigh. 

Your palm presses into the muscle of his back, firm and pulling him against you. You’re the one who hikes your thigh around his hip. He’s the one who twists the two of you and plants you firmly on your back between the pillows.

And then, you’re looking at each other again.

Lightning flashes across the sky, making his green eyes glow emerald for a moment. They search across your face while his hands take hold of your hips.

He looks at you in a way he never has before, all those days working together, his eyes hungry with lust. The intensity in those pretty, green eyes sends shocks of electricity up your spine.

“Just for tonight, and we never speak of this again.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tyler’s lips twitch.

“You’re gonna regret those terms.” He promises, letting that cocky grin of his twist across his mouth, raising his brows in challenge. You swallow, narrowing your eyes back at him. “But, sure. Whatever you say.”

Right as you’re starting to think that maybe this isn’t worth its risk, he leans forwards and turns your head to the side, closing his mouth around your pulse point. 

His teeth graze against the spot, just sharp enough of a sting to make you gasp before he’s pressing against you harder, kissing harder, soothing his mark with his tongue. 

The tip of his angled nose bumps the curve of your jaw, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin. You hike your leg higher around his waist, pressing your foot into his thigh. His tongue dips from between his lips, flicking across your jugular before he captures the spot with his mouth.

Your fingers curl around his neck, squeezing at his nape, holding his mouth against your throat. A moan slips your lips as his teeth graze over your skin. He sucks a firm kiss into the spot below your ear.

He hums as your fingers slide up into his hair, rewarding you with another open-mouthed kiss in a spot that makes you squirm. Your eyes close contentedly as his mouth works against the smooth skin there.

When the next crash of thunder shakes the foundations, you almost forget to flinch. 

Tyler twists his head sharply and with a sudden, mutual urgency, you crash together. He pulls you flush against him, sliding his tongue into your mouth and caressing it expertly against yours.

Then, his attention turns to the large, old local team jersey you had worn to bed. It was the first thing you had found in your closet. He doesn’t seem to care, bunching it around your middle and tugging you forwards to lift it over your head.

Lightning strikes as the jersey hits the floor. As his knees sit between your thighs, Tyler studies your body. He has thought about this before, what you might look like under all that office-wear. His imagination doesn’t compare.

He sits back on his knees, cupping his palm over the tent straining against his boxer-briefs. Your gaze flickers downward, eye-lids drooping with want as you watch him palm a hand over his cock.

“Don’t move.” He mumbles, reaching out to settle his other hand against the soft curve of your bare waist. It’s clear that he has a plan in his head, you can practically hear the gears turning as his darkened eyes study your body.

Stroking himself carelessly, he drops his hand to the inside of your thigh and pushes it back just a bit. Then, Tyler groans as he lowers his mouth to your chest. One of his warm, weathered hands comes up to caress your breast while his mouth cares for the other.

He kisses softly over the swell of skin, more gentle than you would have expected someone like him to be. He glances up at you as he purses his lips and blows softly, fanning cool air against your already half-hardened nipple.

Then, that talented tongue dips from his lips again, and traces the colour of your nipple, flicking back and forth across the bud before he finally closes his mouth around it. 

Your head sinks into the pillows as your chest arches eagerly toward his kisses. Moans spill from your lips, and you just know that you’ll be soaked by the time he finally touches you.

He doesn’t keep you waiting long. Amidst his parade of kisses, as he’s approaching your navel, his hand dips between your legs. You almost flinch at the contact, keening into his touch instead. 

His fingertips are featherlight, trailing the seams of your underwear where they sit between your thighs. His thumb presses firmer, experimentally sliding between your folds. 

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance down as he looks up at you. His mouth twists as your excitement spills through the lace against the pad of his thumb.

This is most definitely territory that neither one of you have business venturing into. It’s certainly going to make your next venture a little bit more tense than usual. The irony of it being your common venture that had led you here isn’t lost on either of you either.

Tyler makes it known that he has every intention of bringing his usual cockiness to this encounter, smirking as he presses his mouth to your hipbone, circling his thumb softly over your clit.

Bright, white lightning streaks again outside the window. It bathes the farm you grew up on in sudden, harsh light. The rumble of thunder doesn’t come until Tyler’s sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh— he was right, it is getting further away.

And he’s getting closer.

You gasp sharply as he opens his lips and dives forwards, mouthing at your soaked core through the flimsy constraints of your lace underwear. 

The next streak of lightning catches all of the shadows in the muscles of his back, working and flexing as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He kisses the length of your legs, nipping and biting as he goes, tossing the lace to some far corner of the room as soon as he’s done.

Your fingers shoot into his hair, squeezing firmly as he buries his face between your legs. Eager and animalistic, he sucks and licks, holding your thighs over his strong shoulders. You shudder. He groans as you tug at his sandy roots.

As you have found with everything else he does, Tyler’s ginormous ego seems to be well-founded. He has every bit the right to be so confident. 

Though, you’ll never admit that outside of these four walls.

He doesn’t need you to. The way your body thrashes and arches against his mouth tells him all he needs to know. 

You hum softly like you haven’t been moaning openly into the chilled room, tugging at his short locks once again. He groans into your excitement. At once, ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

The sharp gasp it draws from you goes straight to his cock, eliciting another deep groan from his chest as he grinds himself against the patterned sheets.

All you can do is breathe, heels pressing into the mattress as you chase his mouth. Unhindered whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. Incredible, even.

For the sake of your dignity, you’re grateful to lack the ability to tell him how good this feels. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Tyler takes a break to nip at your thighs and coax you towards the finish line you’re already desperate to cross. He looks up at you from between your legs. Your head is thrown back into the pillows, your muscles tensed and trembling. You’re fucking yourself on his fingers. “Take what you need. You gonna get yourself there?”

Then, he leans down and licks one stripe along your core, making you cry out. “Or you need me to do it for you?”

“God, you’re an asshole,” You rush out, brows furrowing in concentration as you desperately chase that high. He chuckles softly, leaving you hanging as he waits for your answer. “Yes! Alright? — I need you.”

Tyler takes that answer with delight, pinning your thigh back against your middle with sudden strength as his fingers twist into you. You shiver as his mouth takes charge once again.

It doesn’t take him long to blind you with your orgasm, your eyes balled shut so tight that you’re seeing stars. You’re trembling as he’s kissing across your stomach

He licks his lips, still grinning as you drag his glistening mouth back to yours. Meeting you with exactly the same fervor, rolling his hips into yours. You groan at the gentle scratch of his stubble, holding him close.

“Fuck me.” You mumble against his lips, trying to reach between your bodies to push down his boxer-briefs. Your fingertips graze his straining cock, stilling immediately. You glance down, eyes wide as you take note of his size.

“I don’t have a condom.” He mumbles back, kissing you hard before you have enough time to comment on what he’s been packing beneath that stupid, huge buckle this whole time.

“You— You don’t?” You pant, trailing your nails down his back as he sucks at your throat.

“Didn’t think I’d be needing one.” His hands skim up your middle and grab at your tits together, kneading them in his capable hands. He drops his head to suck at the tops of them, his stubbled cheeks scratching at the sensitive skin in the best way.

You almost growl in frustration, thighs trying to clamp together around his hips. You don’t want the night to end here.

“I’m on birth control. If you’re—“

“I’m responsible, we’re good.” Tyler swears, flicking his tongue across your pebbled nipple. “If that’s what you want, baby. You want me bare?”

Your core throbs at his deep voice, so close and so filthy.

“Yes.” You whisper, arching your chest into his mouth as he turns his head to pay equal attention to your other breast. “Fuck, yes.” 

He finally pays himself some attention, sitting back on his knees and dipping his hand into his boxers. Your lips part, watching through lust-hooded eyes as he fists at his cock from between your legs.

“Take them off.” You demand, more urgently than you’ve been before. Tyler’s lips twitch, but you’re not letting him have this one without playing first. “You’re not shy, are you?”

He rolls his shoulders back, giving a slow and certain shake of his head. No, of course he isn’t shy. Why would he be? 

Your mouth goes dry as he pushes the boxers down his thighs and kicks them off of the bed. His cock springs free, standing to attention against the trail of sandy brown hair that trails Tyler’s navel.

It’s impressive, and pink at the tip. Annoyingly as pretty as the rest of him is.

He looks carved from stone, kneeling between your legs with broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Hair sprawling across his pecs neatly, and just down his sternum. The same kind of pretty light brown as his hair. Angled hipbones. He’s defined all over, with strong thighs to match.

“You have no fuckin’ clue how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” Tyler’s admission catches you by surprise, and the shock of it is just registering in your system as he leans down and covers your body with his. 

His weight leaning against you feels better than you’d like to admit, caging you in. The storm feels far, far away. 

The tip of his cock notches at your entrance and you forget all of the doubts you just had about what he had said.

“So, do it. Please,” You breathe out, turning your face towards his neck, kissing the vein that trails there. “I want it.”

Tyler revels in the desperate sound you make as he drags his cock between your folds, his lip between his teeth as he watches the tip sink into you. He really has been waiting a long time for this.

He had made the effort in the beginning, tested your boundaries and swung by your motel rooms every now and again. Every interaction you’ve had has been strictly professional, and he wasn’t going to keep chasing someone who didn’t want to be chased.

As your walls squeeze him tight and your mouth sucks at the column of his throat— fuck, he wishes he had chased a little harder.

You roll your hips into his eagerly, gasping as he pulls almost all the way out and drives back in. You trail your nails along his shoulders, squeezing your thighs around his hips. Thunder rumbles somewhere far away, deep and low like the sounds of Tyler’s groans.

“You feel like you’re fucking made for me.” He mutters, pressing his fingertips into the supple flesh of your ass as he hugs you as close as he possibly can. Buried in you as deeply as he possibly can be, he stills for a moment and pants hard.

You make an incoherent sound of vague agreement, nipping at the curve of his jaw as you rake your nails along his shoulder. He groans at the feeling, his hips stuttering.

Pulling out slowly one last time, Tyler glances down at where the two of you are joined. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he buries himself into you once again, hard this time. Then, he’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again.

The old bed creaks in complaint under the two of you, but it’s the furthest thing from your mind as your moans threaten to muffle the sound all together.

The sky rumbles again, another loud clap of thunder making your eyes snap open. Breathless, your head whips towards the window. You watch the streaks of lightning paint the sky shades of electric blue and white. 

Again, that irrational feeling starts to gnaw at you. 

Tyler’s fingers curl around your chin, turning you back to face him.

“Look at me,” He orders, giving a sharp snap of his hips and revelling in the way it makes your mouth fall open. “I’ve got you. Just keep looking at me.” 

Dumbly, you nod your head. Your fingertips skim the ridges of muscle in his arms. Warm and strong under your touch, his body surrounds yours. His green eyes are focused and unwavering, his hands anchoring your hips to the bed.

There’s no room left for that stupid, irrational feeling. It’s all him. Fucking into you, and staring down at you, weighing you down into the creaky mattress. 

You arch your back, pushing your chest up against his as he fills you up. Tyler’s hand abandons your hip to hook around the back of your shoulders, grabbing a firm fistful of your hair. 

His other hand shoves hard at the back of your thigh, bending it up and out of his way. Your ankle rests against his shoulder, your mind going blank as this new position allows him to angle himself deeper.

“Fuck— Tyler.” You whimper, eyes wide as you look up at him. 

His hand flexes around your roots, tugging hard and making you cry out. You muffle yourself in the crook of his neck, kissing at his salty skin. 

“I’m gonna come.” You breathe out. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs, lips grazing your ear as his thrusts grow deep and fast. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Make yourself come on me.”

You don’t need to be told twice, grabbing onto his shoulder for leverage with one hand as the other dips between your colliding bodies. 

His mouth is hot against your throat as you circle your clit, his deep and desperate groans filling your ears, the smell of his sweat and faint cologne making you want to bury closer to him.

It isn’t long before you’re spilling over that edge. You bite at his throat, moaning at the way he keens desperately into the feeling. Your thighs squeeze around him, trembling through the feeling. Your fingers scramble for purchase against his bicep. 

Tyler grunts hard as your body tenses all over, your walls squeezing him tight. His pace stutters just briefly, then picks up. Your brain feels like mush, your eyes rolling back as he fucks you hard.

His head falls forwards, resting against your collarbone as he cums hard. His fingers flex around both your thigh, and the nape of your next, his voice strained as he groans. His chest heaves with his next few breaths.

You sigh, contented as you turn your face towards his neck and close your eyes. He lingers there for a moment, covering you like a blanket, gently stroking the spots he had grabbed so tightly moments before.

Then, he pulls out of you with a sigh and turns to flop onto his back. You’re surprised as he drags you with him, eyes wide at the prospect of the famed ‘Tornado Wrangler’ being a cuddler of all things.

He turns your head toward him, wasting no time in capturing your mouth with his. “How are you feeling?”

You smile hazily, turning your face towards his bare shoulder for a moment. “Tired.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there for a few moments, catching your breath and enjoying the comfortable silence. His fingers trail the length of your spine, swirling soft patterns into your skin.

You almost let yourself fall asleep like that. He makes room for you to get up and watches you walk away as you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

He’s silent, but there’s a smile on his face when you slide back into his bed instead of your own. 

When the sun-rises and pours through the window, it wakes you first. You would complain about the curtains being wide open and the lack of sleep you had managed to get through the night, but it’s hard to when you turn and admire your view.

Tyler is asleep on his back, one arm outstretched toward you. You had been sleeping on top of it. The sheets are strewn messily around his middle and there’s a distinct purple mark at the base of his throat, a reminder of where your mouth had been.

His chest rises and falls steadily, his face calm. His hair is still disheveled, another reminder from last night. He looks even more beautiful in the daylight. 

Then, you remember what you said. Never again. How he had promised you would regret those terms— and you already do, thinking of how you’d like to wake him and repeat last night.

Unprompted, Tyler stirs in his sleep. In doing so, he shifts his hips and announces his morning wood as it stands against the sheets. 

Given that you’re still in the same room, and it’s still technically the same day, this surely doesn’t count as a separate encounter. Your terms could still stand, you reason with yourself as you lean down and kiss his shoulder. 

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, he doesn’t stir at all as you kiss your way down his muscled chest. 

His brows knit together as he starts to come to. He blinks through the abrupt morning light, squinting at the brightness as he remembers where he is. He jolts at the feeling of you mouthing along the length of his cock, eyes going wide.

He takes note, then, of the shape under the covers that sits between his legs. He peels them back slowly, meeting your gaze as you kiss his tip.

“Good morning.” You greet him cheekily. 

Tyler quirks a brow, but smiles. He shifts his hips and tucks a flexing bicep behind his head, settling back down against the pillows.

“It is now.”

[qqueenofhades]

I think its genuinely fascinating how Biden has somehow become the bad vibes sin eater for the party. I'm seeing people who were doing the whole "voting doesn't matter both old men are the same" pivot hard into voting as harm reduction. The anti voting rhetoric has COMPLETELY lost The Youths on tiktok. People suddenly remember the good things the Biden administration has done but don't associate Harris with any of the things they didn't like. In my swing state volunteers are signing up in droves. People feel ENERGIZED, the vibe shift pre and post Biden dropping from the race has just been insane

Y'know, that is a... good way of putting it. It's also why I'm quite sure that Biden has probably been planning it for a while. I don't think he was intending to step down, and didn't want to be forced out at the drop of a hat, but after he realized that the circus was never going to stop until he did, he did the honorable fall-on-his-own-sword thing and definitely, DEFINITELY spent some time choreographing this behind the scenes. Because while the roll-out has been very smooth, it could just as easily (as many of us were expecting) have been a total disaster, and that doesn't happen without SOME planning. It's also entirely possible that the campaign staff flipped from Biden to Harris are superhuman, to come up with a massive online roll-out, new branding, new signs (they had plenty of 'em in Wisconsin yesterday), new everything, but I'm guessing it's a combination of both. Biden has spent his entire political career being underestimated, and after we literally made a meme out of Dark Brandon juking the Republicans out of their shoes, we should definitely give credit where credit is due in how masterfully he pulled it off.

Because we have had eight years defined by the central question of Whether The President Is a God King Who Should Serve For Life (the MAGAts obviously think yes), the sheer idea of a president willingly giving up his power BEFORE he had to is also novel and admirable. It's sad that this is the case, but so be it. The Republicans also got a heaping helping of Be Careful What You Wish For that was undoubtedly brilliant; they've been yelling for years that Biden is old and frail and can't serve and should step down. Biden went "lol okay" and gave it to them, and now they're fucked.

Aside from that, on the most basic level, it's far, far easier to see the actual difference in the parties with Harris as the nominee, just because it shows that one party is willing to make progress and reflect the new demographic reality and social mores of America, and the other one is not. Now to be clear, Biden deserves an incredible amount of credit for coming out of retirement (he was ALREADY 77 years old when he became president and had had decades of a long and respected career in public service behind him) to fight, beat Trump, and deliver an incredibly successful presidency. He held the line against authoritarianism at home and abroad, he rescued the trashed American economy and managed a world-leading recovery from Covid, he stood up for democracy, he spent four years filling the benches with liberal judges to reverse even some of the Trump/McConnell hack job, he finally passed comprehensive infrastructure investment and the Green New Deal under the name of the Inflation Reduction Act -- and so on. Many of these priorities had been languishing for decades or were completely trashed under Trump, and he could not have done so much in just 4 years without all that age, skill, and experience. Hence why all the Ageism!!! was (aside from being a Republican/media smear job) dumb. He's able to do the job because he has had decades to study. Turns out that makes you actually pretty damn good at it.

Yes, Biden could not do as much as he wanted or originally planned, had to deal with MAGA Republicans and Joe Manchin/Kyrsten Sinema sabotaging him the whole time (lololol Manchin, possible possessor of the World's Biggest Ego and with Trump around that's saying something, popping out of obscurity to self-righteously announce he would not be willing to be Kamala's VP. YEAH ASSHOLE. LITERALLY NOBODY ASKED YOU. NOBODY WHATSOEVER. NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS AT LEAST WE WILL SOON NO LONGER HAVE MANCHIN IN THE SENATE). And yes, Biden made some serious mistakes of his own, because he IS from an older generation and a different style of doing politics/different beliefs that no longer resonate with the younger segments of the electorate. But this old white Catholic guy at the age of almost 80 still managed to be the most progressive president ever, coming in at a moment of incredible domestic and international crisis and getting us safely to the other side, and all cynicism, criticizing, and caveating aside, he deserves an incredible amount of credit for that. I mean that absolutely, and I am very grateful.

As I said, willingly relinquishing that power takes guts, and when Biden saw the writing on the wall that he had to sacrifice himself, he took his time, he didn't jump too early, and he didn't jump too late. On the most basic level, it becomes a hell of a lot easier to make the "both parties are not the same" argument when one is running a (comparatively) young brown woman and the other is still running their loathed felonious old demented orange traitor. Most Americans are not plugged into policy minutiae and details. They look at Biden-Trump, they see two old white guys. When you take one of those old white guys away (who goes in a self-sacrificially heroic manner and in sharp contrast with the coup-happy fascist) and put Kamala Harris in there instead, it generates an obvious jolt. People can see for themselves that there is a real difference that doesn't rely on closely reading news and tracking complex policy, because as noted, most Americans simply don't. The brown first-generation American daughter of brown immigrants is a quantifiably different story from "old white guy career politician," which for better or worse is how Biden was seen, especially the old part. We needed that establishment expertise to beat Trump in 2020; I still think Biden is the only one who could have done it, and as noted, we owe him a great debt for doing so.

However.... 2024 is not 2020, and it is not 2016. There has been this HUGE and unbelievable swing to Kamala because she represents the antithesis of what the last eight years of Trump-induced anger, fear, panic, chaos, and hatred has stirred up. That's why people are so ready to rally around her, just as they were (I daresay) around Obama in 2008, after the exhaustion, chaos, war, and mounting economic misery of Bush. Trump has been out of office for the last four years, but his shadow over the American political landscape has been omnipresent. Now people know that we finally have a real chance at getting rid of him forever, and just as Biden was uniquely positioned to capitalize on that in 2020, so Harris is now. Which is why, however tough it will be, she has a real shot at winning. I can guarantee the Republicans know that, and are shit scared. Because the Black Lady Army of Democracy has indeed arrived in force to Get This Shit Done and I don't know about you, but I found that incalculably comforting:

Yikes! All lined up for Kamala pic.twitter.com/Dt4OCDp7WX

— Alex Cole (@acnewsitics) July 24, 2024

This, at the most basic level, is what scares fascists the most, it's exactly what we need now, and what Harris is uniquely positioned to mobilize, along with her gangbusters appeal to young voters:

This is the energy we need. This is what Biden saw and planned for and which he launched us into, and where all that experience and age paid off. This is why people, even people otherwise disengaged, disillusioned, or checked out of the tedious and mind-numbering drudgery and depression of American politics, are responding to it. Because it's easy to understand, it offers hope, and it tells a very simple story that is nonetheless long overdue:

Thanks so much, Joe. Go absolutely waste that orange fucker, Kamala. We got your back.

[priestfrommidnightmass]

all the riverdale spoilers i’m seeing… i cannot WAIT to watch this fucking season dude

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run pt 2

By the time the five of you are in the house, you’re soaked through once more, teeth chattering when the cool air of the house hits your skin as Gaz opens the door, holding it open long enough to let the dogs trot in.

“Hey! Shake over there!” He shoos, flinching when Maggie sprays him with her shake off.

“Let’s get you taken care of pretty.” Price murmurs, and you push weakly at his chest, struggling to get down. Your mind is foggy, exhaustion fighting to take over, but there are four strange men now standing in your living room, and that seemed more pressing.

Price grunts, but finally gives in, setting you on your feet, and you put as much distance between yourself and them as you can. “What do you want? What is going on here?” You demand, trying to ignore the shake of your voice.

They glance at each other, having a silent conversation, and you glance towards the stairs. You had an old cell phone, and the service this far out was absolutely shit, but it was a chance-

“We would like a place to stay.” Price’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and your eyes shoot to look at them, and a shocked laugh tumbles past your lips.

“A place to stay? After what just happened? For god’s sake I don’t even know you!” You laugh, slightly hysteric, and Price takes a cautious step towards you, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to scare you sweetheart, honest. Didn’t think anyone lived here by the looks of it.” His tone is soft, comforting. He approaches you slowly, and you back away until your back hits the wall.

“How did you even know we were in there?” Ghost speaks this time, eyes trained on your face and you try not to crack under his gaze.

“You spooked Sebastian. In the six years I’ve lived here nothing has ever spooked that horse.” You glare, anger flaring when the four of them laugh. “You think scaring my stallion is funny?”

“No little bird, just…” Ghost trails off, chuckling and you can feel your eye twitch ever so slightly.

“It’s cute how protective you are over some animals.” He finishes, and he can tell his words are winding you up, the crinkle around his eyes indicating he finds this amusing. Bastard.

“They might just be animals to you,” You start, your frustration seeping into your words as you straighten your back. “But when I found this place they were starving and on the brink of death. I worked my ass off to make sure they made it. I worked for their trust after some asshole abandoned them here to fucking die. They are my herd, this is my land!” Your shoulders heave, sucking in a deep breath as you try to calm your racing heart.

They stare at you, quiet and you close your eyes, clenching your fist as you struggle to maintain yourself. “You broke into my barn and scared my animals, held my own knife to my throat and invited yourselves into my home. Why is god's name should I let you stay here?” You ask, opening your eyes to stare them down, and for the first time tonight, they seem to crack under your gaze for once.

“Have you… Do you have any way of hearing the news?” Price questions, wincing and you frown. “The radio when I’m cleaning the barn. Why?”

They hesitate, looking between themselves as they shuffle their feet. Your eyes bounce between them, trying to think back to anything of importance that a reporter has broadcasted as of late.

Missing sheep from a town more than four hours north of you, a four way pile up down one of the highways,a break out at the prison, a wheeler transporting 60,000 gallons of wine tipping near the river…

A break out at the prison.

You freeze, all air leaving your lungs as you stare at them, four wanted criminals standing in your living room. You feel your knees buckle.

They notice your realization, hesitation crossing Price’s face when he notices your stiff figure.

“Please. Let us explain ourselves.” He all but begs, and you feel your hands shaking.

“You are wanted criminals!” You hiss, and they cringe, their previous bravado has disappeared.

“We will explain everything to you, we swear. Just… Please give us a chance.” Soap steps forward this time, big wide eyes trained on you. They’re just as soaked as you are, and in the light of the living room you see the bags under their eyes, the tension in their shoulders. They look exhausted, and not just from this night. There’s a haunted look behind their eyes, and you curse yourself when you feel your heart ache ever so slightly.

You make a noise at the back of your throat, turning to head up the stairs.

“Pretty where are you-“

“You’re soaking my floor. You can explain it to me after I’m out of this damn gown.” You mumble, hearing one of them mumble ‘damn shame’.

“I heard that!”

After a few moments you come back, a box of clothes in hand and they all raise a brow. “Thought you said no one else lived here?” Gaz asks suspiciously when they notice it’s a box of men’s clothes. You roll your eyes, shoving it into his hands.

“They’re my ex-husbands, I took it by mistake when I moved my boxes.” You huff, crossing your arms. It’s your turn to raise a brow at their shocked expressions. “What’s with your faces?”

“What kind of eejit divorces such a gorgeous lass?” Soap asks, and you feel insulted, till you realise he’s not joking. They all look you over, and you feel your face warm at the way their eyes darken. Turning away, you clear your throat, pointing up the stairs.

“The guest room is down the hall, it has a bathroom and towels. Leave your clothes in the tub.” You order, making your way towards your bedroom. You feel the stairs shake as they bound up them, and as they pass, Price give’s your hip a little squeeze and you swat at his hand.

“Thank you pretty.”

“I haven’t said yes yet. You were just ruining my hardwood floors.” You sniff, smacking his hand once more when he doesn’t let go.

“You are testing my patience most of all.”

“You haven’t made us leave though.”

“I can change that very quickly.” You snap, pulling his hand off your side and he takes the opportunity to pull you close, leaning down next to your ear.

“But I don’t think you will, will you sweetheart?” He whispers, and you bite your lip, pushing at his chest. “For god's sake, go change you old perv.” You hiss, wiggling in his grasp and he flashes you a grin before letting you go.

You slip into your room, locking the door before pressing your head against it. What have you gotten yourself into?

You quickly take a hot shower, letting the scalding water bring warmth back to your stiff joints. You towel off quickly, slipping into an oversized hoodie and some old pajama pants.

You can still hear the shower running down the hall when you step out, a boom of thunder sounding in the distance. You slip down to the kitchen, grabbing one of your mugs. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

How could you be so foolish as to be letting escaped convicts use your bathroom?! God the feds were probably spread to every point in the world trying to track these men down. You can’t remember much the broadcast had said, just that there were four dangerous men on the run from one of the maximum security prisons a couple of hours away. How on earth did they wind up here?

You’re so lost to your thoughts you don’t hear the stairs creak, staring out into the backyard as you mull things over in your mind.

“‘Ppreciate the clothes lass, loads better!” A cheerful voice spooks you and you jump, dropping your mug to the floor. “Shit!” You curse, a matching ‘ah hell’ leaving Soap.

“Didn’t mean to scare you again bonnie, I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. You’re surprised to find genuine guilt there, and he gives you a sheepish look. “I’ll clean this up for ye.”

“Gone and lost us our chance Soap?” Gaz asks, frowning at the glass on the ground but Soap just waves him off. “Accident, scared the poor lass.”

“We keep doing that, she'll never give us a chance.” Gaz smiles at you, soft and sweet but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the bags under them worse after having cleaned up, and you feel that strange ache in your chest again. You glance at Soap, who is picking up the shards with his bare hands and you frown, swatting his hands away as you kneel beside him.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” You scold, and he gives you a surprised look before smiling, shrugging as he gently stops your hands from piling the remains of the mug. “Could ask the same of you bonnie, hands like these are much too pretty for such sharp things.” He mumbles, scooping up the shards without a care.

The two of them eye you nervously, and you can feel knots in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you motion towards the living room. “Sit. I’ll make something to drink.” You offer. They raise a brow and you glance at the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“No need to apologize, it’s just…” Gaz starts, trying to find the words and glances at Soap.

“We’re honestly surprised you didn't run for the nearest house possible when you had the chance.” Soap says bluntly, and you wince.

“No one around for miles.” You admit, and their faces fall slightly, shoulders tensing and you clear your throat. “I said I would hear you out. I plan to.” You say firmly, turning to walk into the kitchen, just to bump into a large chest.

“I gotta worry about you keeping your mouth shut little bird?” Ghost asks, arms crossing over his chest as he stares you down.

“I do have a radio that connects me to the closest ranger station. And another for the Police station in the little town 3 hours north.” You admit, and you see his eyes flash, but you hold up your hand before he speaks.

“No. You aren’t taking it.” You snap, and his eyes narrow, exhaling sharply.

“If they don’t hear from me periodically they get worried. It’s a small town, everyone knows one another and I do have to take trips to the store every month or so.” You don’t back down from his dark gaze, but your palms feel clammy.

“They ever check up on you unannounced?” Price is last to arrive, voice stern as he levels the same cold glare as Ghost and you swallow, standing straighter, Gaz and Soap looking between the three of you nervously.

“Not unless I ask them to or I haven’t called in a few weeks. Takes too long to get out here.” Your voice shakes towards the end, slipping between the two looming men.

“You’re all here, you can start talking anytime.” You quip, and Ghost scoffs. “Got a mouth on you don’t-“

“You are asking to stay in my home. Watch it.”

He snaps his mouth shut, glaring at you and you turn your back to him. Price clears his throat, his gaze heavy on your back as you turn on the stove.

“Listen. There has to be some type of trust for this to even begin to work. You haven’t hurt me, and besides that oaf holding a knife to my throat,” You and Simon glare at one another, but he breaks first, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re a feisty little thing.” He laughs, crossing the kitchen to plop down at the kitchen table like he owns it.

“Besides that, you haven’t given me any reason you’re here to harm me or rob me, considering you have no car. You could easily overpower me and keep me locked in one of my own rooms and you haven’t. That’s a good start.” You finish, hands shaking slightly as you start to make your tea, and Price gently takes the kettle from your hands.

“But you’re still scared.” He states, and your shoulders stiffen. “Four men are in my kitchen asking to hide from the police. I’ve only put together who is who with your little code names by listening to you talk to one another. I’m sorry for being a little frightened.” You spit, jumping when you feel his large hand on your hip.

“Oh if you don’t quit that-“

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you pretty.”

“Okay! I think we all need to take a minute, yeah?” Gaz announces, him and Soap staring at the three of you nervously. You pry Price’s hand off your hip, again, pushing him away.

“Start talking, now. Before I let Soap and Gaz stay here and let the two of you rot outside.” You huff, taking a seat at the table and they seem surprised.

“I told you, I put together who is who, and those two,” You point, glaring at Price and Ghost as you speak. “Have been very respectful and kind.”

The two of them perk up, lapping up the small praise like thirsty dogs as their chests puff out.

Price frowns, keeping eye contact with you as he slips into the chair opposite of you. “We’ll behave.” He mutters, cutting a look at Ghost when he makes an offended noise in the back of his throat.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean any of the harm or fear we have caused you, really thought this place was abandoned. The boys and I appreciate you hearing us out when you have absolutely no reason to. And I… apologize.” He clears his throat, casting you a glance over before meeting your eyes once more.

“Haven’t been around such a gorgeous little thing like yourself in a long time. Forgot my manners.” He grins now, causing heat to bloom in your chest and you splutter, narrowing your eyes at him as you fight the heart crawling up your neck.

“Story. Now.”

“Oh come on pretty, am I at least forgiven?” He asks, and you know he’d deny that he’s pouting, but it still makes a small smile tug your lips.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I could sweet talk you some more.”

“Much more interested in why you were in prison.”

Price sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he relaxes in his chair.

“Better settle in. It’s a bit of a tale.” He crosses his arms, settling back.

“I’ve got all night.” You shoot back, resting your chin on your hand as you get comfortable.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[kitasuno]

i'll keep every promise (if it's a promise with you) | oikawa tooru x reader

oikawa tooru has a bad habit of breaking promises and running from his first love. or: the four times oikawa breaks his promises and the one time he keeps one

( a / n ) - oh my god this is my magnum opus... my baby.. its a little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff and a little slice of life. u go through ages 6 to 28 LMFAO. iwaizumi + you + oikawa were such a fun trio to write for and i hope u guys enjoy !!

gn! reader | 2k words | happy birthday OIKAWA

Oikawa Tooru has a guilty conscience and a bad habit of breaking his promises. 

For every promise made and every promise broken, Tooru repents: 200 yen slid in a saisen-bako, a ninety degree bow, two wishes at a shrine. An offering to counter every promise he breaks, ample water to wash away his sins, and apologies written on wood.

 ( Iwaizumi has made the grand suggestion of: Maybe not breaking your promises? on several occasions, but Tooru can’t help it. ) 

He’s broken four promises and made eight wishes so far: four on blue Tanzaku and four atop Ema boards, followed with a prayer and an offering if the promise broken was particularly heinous or particularly his fault. 

He breaks his first promise at six years old– one made with you and Iwaizumi when the three of you were four and freshly neighbors. It was Tooru’s birthday, and he had promised this: 

I swear that I will take us all to the Ryokan before I turn six.

It’s a small promise: one that neither you nor Hajime had expected him to follow through with. But Tooru believed it, and Tooru had tried. He takes every single chore and odd job in the Oikawa household, scraping together a two-year-old Ryokan trust fund with mismatched coins and crumpled bills. He saves his allowances and puts everything in a glass jar next to his bed, and dreams.

Two Julys pass. Oikawa blows out four candles and then five, the jar gets bigger, you start Elementary school, and you and Hajime forget about the Ryokan. And then, on the third July, when Tooru turns six, you and Iwaizumi find Tooru mumbling about a broken promise— courtesy of his failure to take the three of you on an all inclusive trip to that Snow Monkey Ryokan that Iwaizumi wanted to go to. 

So he apologizes through prayers at a shrine and two wishes under a red Torii gate. It’s a thirty five stair climb to the neighborhood shrine: Hajime and Tooru race up and you come last, but the view is gorgeous and Tooru feels considerably less guilty.

It is 100 yen for each wish on a colored paper strip. Hajime says they’re called Tanzaku. Hajime drops one coin, Tooru drops four, you drop two. Seven thunks, four wishes. 

Tooru gets the honor of tying your tanzaku on bamboo branches as the tallest of your trio, and with it, the honor of reading your wishes.

Iwaizumi’s wish is messy and scrawled on bright red— Tooru tells him to Please work on your handwriting, but it’s legible and all well wishes for volleyball and you and Oikawa and cicadas.

Tooru’s got two wishes— a cyan one and a turquoise one, but he only lets you and Hajime read the cyan one. His cyan one is a little neater than Iwaizumi’s and reads:

Sorry I couldn’t take us to the Monkey Ryokan. 

He hangs the red one on his tippy-toes. Cyan next. Hajime cheers a little when Tooru hangs turquoise next to your pink one, and then asks: 

“Whaddya need two wishes for anyways?” 

He shrugs. 

“Guilty conscience, maybe?”

You’re thirteen when Tooru promises that he is going to ask you out in two years. Tooru is not allowed to date until he’s in high school, so he tells you under a blanket of stars that when the two of you are a little older, he will ask you out properly and maybe take you on a date. 

He walks you to school every morning. Hajime comes too, but the pink skies before the sun rises are for you and Tooru. Moments before you make it to Iwaizumi’s block are moments that Tooru gives you his scarf, and then his gloves, and when the wind bites at your cheeks too hard his jacket is draped over your shoulders. On rainy days, Tooru holds the umbrella and laughs as your fingers brush and your cheeks flush. Some mornings he brings you toast: and tells you in hushed whispers to eat it before Iwa-Chan sees. 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk you home after cram school and volleyball practice. Hajime’s house is first— so Iwaizumi bows first, heads back inside first, waves goodnight first. When the door closes and the light turns on, the black sky and twinkling stars are for you and Tooru. He always says Good Night saccharine sweet with a smile like the sun that makes you feel like you really can’t wait to turn fifteen. 

Oikawa blows out fourteen candles. The three of you graduate in blue and walk home like usual. Summer passes, another July goes by, Oikawa blows out fifteen candles, and high school starts.

You learn several things in your first year at high school: you really like the student council, Hajime is actually pretty smart, and Tooru is afraid of commitment. 

Tooru is popular: he is athletic and tall and the Volleyball Club’s golden first year. He smiles at the girls in his class, he slings arms around their shoulders, he winks when he passes by the student council room, and he preens a little and shines a lot.

Oikawa is fifteen when he goes on his first date with a girl from another school: and when he tells you and Iwaizumi after he gets home, he plays dumb as Hajime gives him a look and takes you home, overhearing Iwaizumi’s apologies and your crestfallen voice as you say something about a promise.

Oikawa’s chest hurts that night so he walks to the shrine with 200 yen in his pocket and a sorry scrawled on two pieces of colored Tanzaku. 

Oikawa turns sixteen and goes to the shrine again. 

This time, it’s a broken promise with a girl in his class. She was popular– she smelled like cotton candy and reminded Tooru of strawberries and daisies, so when she asked Tooru out, he had said Sure, and he had smiled like she was the sun. 

But he’s a bad boyfriend– a terrible boyfriend– because he’s only there when it’s convenient and he ditches her for volleyball practice and maybe sometimes he catches himself thinking about a certain childhood friend when she holds his hand and buys him milk bread at lunch. 

She was sweet and she was terribly pretty, but he doesn’t feel anything when she kisses him or when she rests her head on his shoulder.

Iwaizumi asks him what he’s running from after practice one day. Tooru knows Iwaizumi is asking why he is running from you. 

Tooru is a little scared of how you make him feel too much. Oikawa likes being in control and Oikawa likes stability, so when he realizes that his heart thumps erratically whenever you’re around and he finds himself all consumed with thoughts of you and a burning desire to please you; he rejects and refrains. And runs.

His girlfriend dumps him after a few months. Tooru says sorry, removes her phone contact, and faintly remembers a promise he made with her four weeks ago. 

I swear I’m not in love with someone else. 

from: tooru (23:20) shrine time!!! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

from: hajime (23:21) You broke another promise?? Ur a piece of shit lol

from: tooru (23:22) iwaaa chan U￣ｰ￣U  ur so mean !

from: you (23:24) bro . don’t tell me it was about ur ex ur a manwhore !!!!

from: hajime (23:25) Average Shittykawa moment

from: tooru (23:25) i can’t help it !! (✿ ♥‿♥)  everyone wants a piece of me !!! ill pick u guys up and we’ll go to the shrine and ramen after plsss ☆

from: hajime (23:26) Ur treat?

from: tooru (23:27) iwa-chan’s treat !! i’m going through a nasty breakup, remember ? \_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯

from: you (23:29) hajime we know his address we can burn his room down

from: tooru (23:30) OK FINE my treat! it’s on me!!! everyone say thank you tooru !!!

from: hajime (23:31) thank you tooooruuu chan (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

tooru and y/n reacted with: Scared !

from: tooru (23:32) um please don’t do that ever again

Oikawa’s fourth promise is one to himself and one to Seijoh. 

We will make it to Nationals. 

He doesn’t leave his room for a week when he breaks it. He’s inconsolable. He says he’s sick: he’s got a bad fever, it’s contagious, he’s bedridden, he’s fine. But the lights are never on in his room, his curtains are always drawn, and you know that Tooru devoted everything for a chance and a dream and a volleyball. 

He comes to you first. He’s standing in your doorway and there are bags under his eyes and he says, Hi, and then, I’m fine. He tries for a smile— and then you give him a look, and suddenly he’s in your arms and sobbing. 

He cries for two hours. Tooru ugly cries– his chest racks when he sobs and his arms are tight around you and digging into your back. Oikawa Tooru is not weak: but he is not a prodigy.  

He falls asleep in your bed with his head in your lap and your hands in his hair, but his eyebrows are furrowed and he’s shifting a lot and he’s probably having a nightmare. You call Hajime before gently shaking Tooru awake. 

He blinks up at you— all puffy eyes and tousled hair and swollen cheeks, but he sees you and he softens.

“Wanna go to the shrine?”

Iwaizumi still grumbles the whole way up the thirty five steps, but he’s quiet as Oikawa slips two coins into the saizen-bako. Hajime wraps an arm around your shoulder as the coins rattle in the box and you know he’s upset too— his hands are slightly shaking and he keeps sniffing. Nationals might have been Oikawa’s dream but Iwaizumi was also a dreamer, and sure, Oikawa was going to go, but they were going to go together.

Tooru hangs two Ema boards and for the first time, he bows at the Honden. Two claps. Head down and hands together as he prays. Iwaizumi joins him: and you watch as Oikawa apologizes to him and Hajime shakes his head- because it was Hajime’s promise too. 

Oikawa is twenty-eight and on a plane when he finally keeps his first promise. 

It’s a small promise: but a promise nonetheless, one that he made before he left for Argentina. He tells you he loves you at the airport but he has his boarding pass in one hand and his passport in the other. And you tell him you love him too, but also that he’s being unfair, and no you won’t go out with him. And Oikawa knew you would say that, but he still finds himself making a promise– a promise you laugh at because Oikawa Tooru never keeps his promises.

If we’re still single in ten years, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to ask you out. 

You cry, and Tooru wraps his arms around you and cries too— and then Iwaizumi’s there, and Iwaizumi’s crying, and you don’t know which part of you is Oikawa or Iwaizumi. Oikawa leaves for Argentina with a heavy heart but a hunger for the future. 

In the ten years that pass he plays a lot of volleyball. He tans a lot. He learns some Spanish. He tries beach volleyball. And then, he buys a plane ticket on his birthday. 

from: y/n (21:12) happy birthday tooru !! me n hajime r having an honorary drink for u. hope ur having fun in argentina!!! hajime and i say te amo !!!!

from: tooru (21:15) i’d like a hot sake plssss thank u!!! ( ˙▿˙ )

from: y/n (21:15) LMFAO. no. me and haji r drinking ASAHI DRRRRRRYYYYYYYY for u bro also hajime got BUFF wat the hell hope ur tanning good in argentina 

from: tooru (21:16) well tell BUFF iwa chan that ill be there in 5 and i want a HOT SAKE and also YES i tanned good SO EYES OFF IWAIZUMI

from: y/n (21:17) ? what? ur funny lol … TOORU?

Tooru is twenty eight and might retire soon. Thirty five stairs is too many to climb and keeping promises is far more fun than breaking them. So he taps your shoulder, hands Iwaizumi your bouquet, and takes your cheeks in his palms to tilt your chin over. 

“Hi!” He says. 

 Tooru bends down to kiss you. 

[astonmartinii]

imgonnagetyouback [guilty as sin part four] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader

PR jail did a lot of damage, but unlike SOMEONE else, charles is ready for the apology tour

MASTERLIST | GUILTY AS SIN MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

note: the timeline is absolutely all over the place in this and for needs must pretend that the spanish and austrian races are swapped on the calendar!

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 1,045,389 others

yourusername: i think your house is haunted, why are they always mad?

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user239: i have had it with little miss poet over here TELL ME IF MY PARENTS ARE DIVORCED OR NOT

user240: i hate that as this generation, them following each other on instagram is a key feature to whether they're still together or not

user241: my grandparents didn't have to go through this 😭

maxverstappen1: spill it sis

user242: WHAT DO YOU KNOW MAX

maxverstappen1: ummm nothing, and if i did i only take cash bribes. this is baby max relating hard to the caption

user242: oh :(

yourusername: oh maxy .... at least we now have good ways to express our emotions!

user243: ma'am he tore lando's wheel off because he can't handle wheel to wheel racing

liked by landonorris

yourusername: it's called hard racing, maybe mclaren should watch some of senna's old races instead of doing their 100th tribute livery xx

landonorris: you know he said you would do this exact thing, you can't handle anyone linked to your brother doing well

yourusername: oh i was perfectly prepared for you to win every race after miami since it was clear that the mclaren is the fastest car on the grid EVEN THOUGH you've publicly sided with them when anyone with a moral backbone (and a hint of PR awareness) would've run for the hills

landonorris: i'd really worry about the fact that the one piece of relevance you had left is no where to be seen, you're not worth defending for him

yourusername: it's insane the way you all have the same pompous attitude about this (i know that's a big word, but maybe you guys could get a couple of quid together to buy a dictionary)

maxverstappen1: also don't try and pretend 1. that you're completely in the right about everything that happened in austria 2. that you weren't scrounging around me (when we were friends i guess) trying to get details on y/n and charles

user244: okay this is wild

user245: i really thought lando would see the light on this

user246: or he realised that he can't race wheel to wheel unless he has the power of carlando friendship so he's burning bridges

oscarpiastri: i miss leo

yourusername: we literally are down the street bozo

oscarpiastri: i am ON MY WAY

user247: she's in monaco ???

user248: has to be, oscar only has a rental place he stays in london for mclaren and y/n has only ever lived in madrid or monaco

user249: there is still hope everyone

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 2,309,677 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: was i out of line? did i say something way too honest?

there are a couple things i need to get off of my chest.

first, a massive apology to my girlfriend. y/n is the love of my life and will be my wife sooner or later and i hate that as a 26-year-old grown man i haven't had the backbone to stand up to ferrari when it comes to her. she's incredibly strong and i hate that she's had to go through this without my public support. i can't take it back now, but if i could i never would've let them take my phone and take control of my social media. they have now been dealt with and no one will stop me declaring my love and support for her.

second, if i hadn't already ran out of patience before, the legal trouble that family have put their own blood through threw me over the edge. they will never, ever deserve that girl and if i have anything to do with it they will never talk to her ever again. i may have been silent online but money talks and we will have vindication soon.

third, a big thank you to max, oscar and ollie for their continued support of y/n. it means so much that the public still saw how loved she is when i couldn't.

four, i am awake and i am angry, these people will learn who they are fucking with. see you soon lecfosi, it'll all be worth it in the end.

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user254: WAR IS OVER

user255: my heart dropped when i got the post notification but this is the best news possible

user256: am i going to excuse a 26-year-old man for being a pussy? no. but i am going to celebrate him seeing the light and y/n having him back in her corner

yourusername: he was never out of my corner. true there was no public support, but he was there. i would rather have his support behind closed doors where it matters than plastered all over social media

maxverstappen1: you wouldn't believe the lengths these two were going, i became a messenger pigeon when they physically took his phone and the letters were so grossly cute

yourusername: that's literally mail tampering

maxverstappen1: and i'm a human not a pigeon, we can't all get what we want

charles_leclerc: i did i got y/n 😁😁😁

maxverstappen1: ugh welcome back gross instagram comments

user257: so that's what max meant when someone referenced letters that's so cuteeeee

user258: the shout out to max and the extended leclerc family i know that's right

oscarpiastri: anything for my grid mum

olliebearman: actually charles can you get your phone taken away again cause the heist was VERY fun

yourusername: heist???????

charles_leclerc: don't answer that ollie

yourusername: answer it ollie, did you put yourself in harms way ???

charles_leclerc: it was hardly high-stakes

olliebearman: we only stole a phone from silvia's office

yourusername: ollie that's kind of slay but i'm going to need you to delete all of these incriminating comments i don't want you to get in trouble for charles

user259: i know this is just eating up carlos inside seeing how loved she is in his sport

user260: it really does seem that lando is the only one in his corner

sebastianvettel: i am proud of you charles, i know how much ferrari means to you, but never let them take you from those who matter

charles_leclerc: thank you seb, i couldn't have done it without you

yourusername: we love you seb

sebastianvettel: my impromptu not at all prompted trip to maranello definitely wasn't to give you a well-earned slap up the side of the head

user261: no carlos bitching it up in the comments... i've been dreaming of this

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 1,734,037 others

tagged: charles_leclerc & yourusername

maxverstappen1: back to being a third-wheel, balance is restored - the united front of hating is BACK BABY

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user263: i prayed for times like this

user264: i know they didn't break up but i'm so glad y/n and charles are back together they're too pretty not to be in our faces 24/7

yourusername: just paying you back for you and kelly let me crash on the sofa

maxverstappen1: that really wasn't the burden you thought it was, jimmy and sassy loved their interactive cat bed

yourusername: i miss them (don't tell leo)

charles_leclerc: HOW DARE YOU MUM :((((((((

yourusername: okay baby we're not going to do that ...

charles_leclerc: but :( his feelings are hurt

yourusername: i know lewis is cool and will be your new teammate, but i draw the line at pretending to be leo in the instagram comment section

roscoelovescoco: watch urs backs

yourusername: AHAHAHHAHAHA

maxverstappen1: this man is about to turn 40

lewishamilton: you people ever heard of having some whimsy in your life

yourusername: i got sued by my own family 👍

lewishamilton: um yeah, sorry that happened to you

user265: y/n be ticking up the amount of drivers she's gone toe to toe with in instagram comments

charles_leclerc: you can finally eat my ice cream without trying to hide it

maxverstappen1: i think it's against my partnership contracts to publicly say that i like that ice cream

yourusername: don't worry baby we both ate three tubs and cried watching chick flicks while you were locked away in maranello

charles_leclerc: there's a reason a special edition strawberry flavour made its way to you

yourusername: i love you :(

carlossainz55: you might be "united" but you haven't won yet

charles_leclerc: do you ever shut the fuck up?

carlossainz55: oh someone finally found their voice

charles_leclerc: yeah i did which means you don't get to control the narrative anymore and i can call you a bitch

maxverstappen1: also if there was anyway we would lose, at least we are united, i can count how many friends you have left in this sport on one hand and two of them are your dad and your cousin

charles_leclerc: and watch out, clearly you guys aren't afraid to betray family, who knows it could be you next?

user266: i think charles is still being restrained but can we please at least get one day when he can fully go off his rocker

user267: i think we deserve it after all of it

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,764,094 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: she's not only poet barbie but also lawyer barbie - THAT POETRY IS MINE BITCH, SUCK MY DICK AND RUN ME MY MONEY

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user268: i don't think i've ever been more happy for a stranger before in my life

user269: she deserves this so much i'm actually like over the moon

charles_leclerc: i'm so happy for you baby, i knew it would all be worth it in the end

yourusername: they can't stop my romantic ramblings now

charles_leclerc: i don't know if i want them to hear them all

yourusername: oh no some are for our ears only ;)

oscarpiastri: unfortunately it's NOT all just for your ears

olliebearman: for a millionaire i thought you'd at least buy a house with thick walls

maxverstappen1: you'll get used to it after a while

yourusername: THERE WAS CAUSE FOR CELEBRATION ARE YOU GUYS NOT HAPPY FOR ME ???

oscarpiastri: clearly not THAT happy

charles_leclerc: good. that would be entirely inappropriate

user270: finally some normal fucking couple stuff for y/n and charles

user271: their dynamic is so cute going from poetry to FUCKING

user272: i would be the exact same if i looked like either of them

fernandoalo_oficial: spoken like a real poet, i'm happy for you niña

yourusername: thank you pops !! couldn't have done it without you <3

fernandoalo_oficial: dealing with charles having close to a nervous breakdown every weekend was a lot, but i'm glad you have each other

charles_leclerc: thank you nando :)))) (i didn't have a nervous breakdown)

fernandoalo_oficial: you stress ate seven punnets of grapes

charles_leclerc: FERRARI I SWEAR I DIDN'T

charles_leclerc: wait i'm still annoyed at you ignore that

user273: i think charles is the first case of stockholm syndrome to a sports team

yourusername: @carlossainz55 come on i wanna tussle stop being a pussy

carlossainz55: enjoy your victory lap while you can, it won't last for long

yourusername: suck my actual dick, you put me through this i won't let you run away from it

yourusername: massive tip because i'm feeling generous, maybe actually come to court because there's a lot that you could know ...

carlossainz55: why would i waste my time on you?

yourusername: all will reveal itself

user274: oh it's finally on the other foot .... i'm enjoying this

user275: i think y/n and charles are too

f1tea

liked by user276, user277 and 21,056 others

tagged: carlossainz55

f1tea: sources close to us say that there is serious worry in the sainz camp after the courts decided they were unlawful in their actions against y/n sainz. the financial standings of the sainz family were already somewhat dyer before they took the youngest sainz' income but it's said to be even worse now they've had to pay damages.

in terms of f1, several of the teams that were interested in sainz were put off by the way he and his family were treating his sister but have fully backed out now the financial struggles of the sainzs has become clear.

this comes after a number of sponsors have ended their partnerships with the spaniard. where do you think he'll end up?

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user278: at the job centre hopefully

user279: i think this is what the kids call poetic justice

user280: the way charles just picked up a new sponsor... we love to see it!

user281: all the sponsors flocking to charles is so fucking real

user282: life comes at you so fucking fast

user283: in the words of his hero: KARMA!

user284: especially since fernando congratulated y/n on her win in court 😭

user285: bro can't even afford the tractor seat at williams i am HOWLING

user286: or at sauber, boy oh boy this is some great great content for a hater like me

user287: or HAAS and they fucking took nikita mazepin

user288: the next race can't come fast enough i wanna see how this guy spins it in the media

user289: for once in his life i can't see him spinning this is any way that makes him look good

user290: god i hope y/n is in the paddock as well

user291: oh gosh i need her diana revenge dress moment

user292: i don't care if that's your brother i need you to STUNT ON HIM

user293: other than y/n and charles, i know oscar is cheering at this news

user294: bro saw his grid parents get back together and his biggest opp be declared broke and jobless

user295: i really don't understand how y/n slutting round the paddock has been praised so much when her hopping from driver to driver has cost her brother his dream

user296: cope.

user297: also y/n has only ever been with charles DESPITE carlos and her father trying to pimp her out for favours

usr298: now we know this ^^ i don't understand why carlos was so annoyed that she was finally doing what they always wanted

user299: it was because it didn't serve him.

user300: he was probably happy y/n was with charles until he realised it was for you know an ACTUAL relationship rather than psychological teammate warfare

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, marcmarquez93 and 104,889 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

carlossainz55: it was never 'true love' if all you ever wanted was to bag a trophy husband and never work again

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user302: posting a picture of charles' crash and tagging him is nasty business

user303: would've been iconic if i wasn't him

user304: also that caption just really isn't the read he thought it was

user305: i grew up watching posh spice and cheryl cole in the stands at england games like obvs people want to be with athletes

user306: also this guy pretending he doesn't have a revolving door of models who are just there to be wags

yourusername: yes? and.

yourusername: at least wag isn't my only job. you better hope that rebecca stays booked honey

carlossainz55: don't bring rebecca into this she has nothing to do with any of this

yourusername: awwww did you already cheat? that does track...

yourusername: also you've been slandering my boyfriend all over the internet and ON THIS POST so shut the fuck up i'll bring up who i want to bring up

carlossainz55: get the fighting words out, you might need them when charles questions why you just happened to fall into his lap

yourusername: you've stolen every last penny from me, sued me and tried to turn everyone i care about against me - and guess what? YOU'RE STILL STUPID

carlossainz55: i'm not stupid you're a gold digging slut and you WILL BE FOUND OUT

yourusername: i actually think i could play pinball with the one remaining brain cell in your head

user307: i know this is serious drama but YES SASSY Y/N IS UNLEASHED FROM HER LAWYER'S GRASPS

user308: someone TAP CHARLES IN

user309: please you're out of the ferrari jail NOW IS THE TIME

charles_leclerc: you think i'm going to be offended that the most beautiful girl in the world has always wanted to be with me?

yourusername: what if i told you i'm a mastermind?

charles_leclerc: i would say i'm impressed and FLATTERED

yourusername: and now you're mine :P

charles_leclerc: and i'm glad

charles_leclerc: and i am of the serious belief that even if you didn't seek me out, we would've found each other regardless

yourusername: you made me believe in soulmates

maxverstappen1: @carlossainz55 this post really didn't do what you thought it would lOL

oscarpiastri: bro is falling at every hurdle

carlossainz55: yeah, yeah fuck you two. i'll see you on the track

maxverstappen1: if you can get close enough :P

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,783,088 others

tagged: charles_leclerc & maxverstappen1

yourusername: siri play hoes mad

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user310: this girl is a bestselling poet and this is how she's captioning her instagram posts

user311: babe we're like months into a family war that has had whole ass court cases we don't need eloquent captions

oscarpiastri: where's that one tiktok audio

yourusername: that audio has gone platinum in our house, i think i've saved every edit with it and charles

charles_leclerc: they do slap every time

maxverstappen1: HOES MAD HOES MAD HOES MAD

yourusername: someone is enjoying this

maxverstappen1: i've been praying on these people's downfall since i was 17 i've got a fancy bottle of wine i've been waiting to open

yourusername: we've really been through the wars with these people

charles_leclerc: and ME

maxverstappen1: well here's to them being BROKE AS FUCK LOL

yourusername: cheers!

charles_leclerc: 🥂

user312: this has been some kind of crazy turn around

user313: considering we all thought they had broken up not long ago we have come SO far

charles_leclerc: i'd have the whole world mad at me if it kept you by my side

yourusername: i love you so much

user314: tbf i'd say a good 80% of people were mad at you when you were being ferrari's bitch

charles_leclerc: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY I'M SORRY

sebastianvettel: if it's any consolation, he was very torn up about it

yourusername: i know what happened charles, don't worry. i know you're dedicated to your craft and have people you want to win for

charles_leclerc: but i'm also dedicated to you

yourusername: we're in it together, forever now

yourusername: although this does mean ferrari have to deal with me now

user314: ugh they're so precious

carlossainz55: i'll have the last laugh don't you worry. you may have won the battle but you have not won the war.

user315: does this guy ever Shut the FUCK UP

user316: i'm bored. can't you just let them be happy

carlossainz55: no.

fin.

note: I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG but here she is, can't tell whether i love it or hate it - probably because i've been looking at it so long xx i guess p5 will be out hopefully some time soon and i hope my tagging works

[eccentricwritingbaby]

please please please

lando norris x famous!reader

summary - with lando’s past track record of women, you get nervous entering this new relationship. it leads you to do the only thing you know how - write a song. based on please please please by sabrina carpenter. 

masterlist

-

I know I have good judgment, I know I have good taste

It's funny and it's ironic that only I feel that way

I promise 'em that you're different and everyone makes mistakes

But just don't

-

“hey baby,” lando greets you as he enters the hotel room, striding in with a kiss to your forehead while giving you a slight hug as he moves towards the bathroom. 

“hi, love,” you response from your place on the bed, “how was media day?”

“eh, boring,” lando shrugs as he begins to gather his things for the shower, “but some of the guys and i are going to go out later, you’re coming right?”

“yeah, i’ll come,” you nod with your response, “are you going to be so drunk i have to carry you home again?” laughing through your question, lando just shakes his head at you as he readies the shower. 

“no no,” he keeps chuckling, “paparazzi will probably be there and my pr team will freak if they get that story again,”

“yeah, well now you have my pr team to worry about too,” you giggle towards him, “and if you’re surrounded by girls and getting hammered-”

“i know, love,” lando heads over to your place on the bed in order to give you a reassuring kiss, “i won’t embarrass you, i love you too much,”

you chase his lips again to receive another kiss before patting his cheek lightly, “please don’t, i know your history,” you warn him with a little laugh. 

“yeah, yeah,” he hops off the bed with an eye roll and a playful shove to you, “you know i wouldn’t do that to you,”

“i know, lan, i know,”

-

All I'm asking, baby

Please, please, please

Don't prove I'm right

-

“i just get nervous i guess,” you speak into the phone to your friend, emma, “i mean last night we went out and he was hammered and a bunch of girls were on him after he promised-”

“y/n, y/n, slow down,” she attempts to calm you, “he’s a twenty-four year old millionaire, he’s gonna party you have to get that,” you sigh in realization that she’s right as she continues, “he didn’t and wouldn’t cheat on you, he loves you,”

“i know,” you sigh again.

“where is he now? you should probably talk about this with him,”

“he’s at the track, it’s race day,”

“well then do what you do best,”

“leave him?” you ask with a laugh, thinking about your own track record of ditching relationships when you get scared.

“no,” emma giggles through the phone, “write a song, y/n,”

“oh right,” the giggles escalate between you and your friend right as lando walks through the hotel door, “i gotta go, em, lando just got here,”

“alright, don’t leave him, y/n. he’s good for you, you’ve just got trust issues, and remember that you’re also a twenty-four year old millionaire, you can have fun too,”

“shut up,” you laugh again, hanging up the phone and heading towards your boyfriend, “what are you doing here?” 

“are you not happy to see me, baby?” lando asks as he waltzes towards you, hands landing on your waist to pull you into a kiss.

“mm,” you hum in approval, “always happy to see you, lan,”

“good,” he giggles, separating from you and jogging a bit towards his suitcase, “i forgot this team gear thing i have to wear today, so i had to run back really quick,”

“ah okay,” you nod in understanding.

“are you coming soon?” he asks as he grabs the shirt he was looking for, moving to the door to leave. 

“yes, baby, i’m going to head down in about an hour,”

“okay, i’ll see you there,” he reaches out for a kiss before he leaves as you blush behind him once the door shuts. you can’t help but notice the way he makes you feel, understanding that your nervousness had no real reason to be there. you both were young and successful, and reaping the benefits of that shouldn’t be so bad in the public eye. 

so you take emma’s advice and get out your notepad in order to hopefully release your stress. 

-

Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another

I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker, oh

Please, please, please 

-

it was three weeks later when you arrived home to your apartment after another studio session. your song had taken about two weeks to write, quickly written due to the words being on a constant replay in your head. all you could think was ‘please please please’ therefore the song almost wrote itself. now with a week of recording under your belt, the song was taking off with your production team. they loved it. and so did you. it was determined to be the main single on your album release which was approaching fast. 

“hey, lan, i didn’t think you’d get here until later,” you say to your boyfriend as you lock up the door behind you. 

“i flew with some of the guys on a private flight, so we landed early,” he explains while getting up and walking to meet you at the door for a kiss, “how was the studio?”

“it was good,” you breathe out, beginning to take off your shoes and toss your bag onto the couch, then going to the kitchen to try and find some food, “i have a few more sessions before the single is ready, and then the album should be finished,”

“that’s nice,” lando replies, stealing a few grapes from the bowl of fruit you grabbed, “can i come with tomorrow?”

“what?” you choke out, not prepared for his question. lando had accompanied you a few times to recording sessions, he seemed to really enjoy them. however, he had never watched you record a song about him, especially one that may be taken the wrong way.

“can i come with you tomorrow?” he asks you a bit slower, attempting to read your facial expression, “to your recording session?”

“oh, um,” you stumble out, “i thought you had to be in the sim?”

“no, that’s in two days, tomorrow i’m free,” he looks you up and down with confusion before continuing, “what’s going on?”

“i’m sorry, lan,” you sigh, pushing the fruit in your bowl around a bit as a distraction, “the song i’ve been recording, well, it’s…” you slow your speech in an attempt to find the right words.

“what?” he pushes, confused on what could be so bad.

“it’s about you, okay?” you finally get out, “and it’s not really a love song,”

“then what is it?” lando asks and you finally take a look at him, but you aren’t able to read his face. 

“you’ll hear it tomorrow,”

“no, y/n, what is it?” he demands, pushing forward on the counter in order to get closer to you. 

“it’s just-”

“a breakup song?”

“no! no,” you exclaim, still trying to read his face, “it’s kind of a ‘please don’t make me break up with you’ song,” you let out the last part quietly, now looking back down at your fruit again.

“is this about the other night? at the club? or the weekend before?”

“i mean kind of all of it,” you shrug off honestly, “you’ll hear it tomorrow,”

“fine,” he answers, quiet and solemn, “i’m sorry, y/n,”

“why are you sorry?” you ask, finally looking up at him again.

“you clearly don’t trust me, and i know i have a history, i get it, i really do, but-”

“but what?” you cut him off, relieved that he finally may be understanding your point of view, “lando i know we’re young and rich and we can go out and have fun-”

“y/n-” lando attempts to butt in, however you keep going.

“no, lando, let me finish. i know that we are young and stupid but that is us as individuals. i don’t want to have to keep going on fucking podcasts or talk shows where i have to explain why my boyfriend is acting single! it’s one thing to have fun, it’s another to embarrass the shit out of me,” you huff out your feelings, and finally the weight on your chest seemingly disappears. 

“i’m sorry, y/n," he sighs out, running a hand down his face, "i guess i’m just used to not dating other famous people and forgot that it can impact your career too, i’m used to it only affecting mine,” lando begins to move towards you, his hands finding their home on your waist. 

“it’s fine, like i said, i understand,” you breathe into his chest as you hug him, “i just needed to relieve that stress, and writing does that for me,”

“i get it,” he replies, his left hand coming to rub your back, soothing you further into his arms, “i love you, y/n,”

“i love you too, lando,”

-

If you wanna go and be stupid

Don't do it in front of me

If you don't wanna cry to my music

Don't make me hate you prolifically

-

it was finally your album release party a few months later. lando, along with his family and friends were there as well as your whole team and your friends and family. your fresh single had broken records and skyrocketed with presales for your album which would be fully released at midnight. to say you were on a high was an understatement. as you sat next to lando in your finest dress, he squeezed your hand a few times, bringing you back down to earth. 

“are you alright?” he nudges you quietly, distracting you from your upcoming speech. 

“i sing in front of stadiums, lan,” you chuckle, “i think a speech won’t kill me,” you whisper back to him.

“i know,” he laughs, “just making sure,”

“thank you, love,” you kiss his cheek just as your manager pulls you away from him and near the stage. your producer was giving a speech before you, and he was just about to introduce you for yours. 

“and now, the lady you’ve been waiting for all evening, y/n y/l/n!” he cries out, the venue erupting in cheers of encouragement as you waltz across the stage to the mic. giving your producer a light hug and a kiss on each cheek, you stop in front of the microphone and clear your throat to begin. 

“i just want to say, first off, thank you to everyone who came tonight. i’m absolutely sure it wasn’t because of the free alcohol and food provided,” you chuckle with the rest of the crowd at your brief joke before continuing.

“as always, being able to even make an album and live out my dream is a blessing, so thank you to everyone who always makes that possible. that would easily be my manager, my production team, and my fans, you guys are the best and i wouldn’t be here without you,”

you pause again briefly for the crowd to cheer in acknowledgment and proceed, “my family and friends, you all never stopped believing in me and there is no way i would be on this stage right now if it weren’t for your support,” one more pause and a deep breath before you begin again. 

“and finally, lando,” your teary eyes meet his as you spot max fewtrell giving him a few playful jabs to the shoulder.

“you are and will forever be my muse, my light, my inspiration, and my heart. thank you, for your patience, for your love, and for trusting me with your heart,” you begin to choke up, leading you to swallow your tears as the crowd begins to ‘awe’, “i love you, lan. this album wouldn’t be possible without you, and i wouldn’t be the woman i am today without you by my side. thank you,” you finish off, blowing a kiss in his direction as he quickly wipes a tear from his eye. he wouldn’t embarrass you, he wouldn’t even think about risking the joy you bring him everyday. 

-

Please, please, please (Please)

Please, please, please (Please)

Please (Please), please (Please), please

[luveline]

𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k 

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt. 

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat. 

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too. 

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well. 

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause. 

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun. 

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years. 

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled. 

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!” 

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love). 

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.” 

“It’s raining.” 

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?” 

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.” 

“How’d you figure?” 

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface. 

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall. 

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.” 

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?” 

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry. 

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.” 

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.” 

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash. 

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?” 

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.” 

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole. 

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it. 

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.” 

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?” 

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries. 

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it? 

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself. 

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says. 

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek. 

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume. 

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom. 

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full. 

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.” 

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.” 

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you. 

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies. 

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn. 

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!” 

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.” 

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.” 

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease. 

“Take the towels, loser.” 

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin. 

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life. 

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you. 

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain. 

Eddie just stares at you. 

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry. 

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic. 

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh. 

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.” 

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?” 

“What?” 

“Eddie, are you okay?” 

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

“I don’t have any underwear.” 

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry. 

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose. 

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says. 

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.” 

“I’m twenty one.” 

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.” 

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest. 

“Wait, where are you going?” 

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks. 

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes. 

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?” 

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.” 

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.” 

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Get lost,” Eddie says. 

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.” 

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved. 

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed. 

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.” 

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?” 

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser. 

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.” 

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on. 

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet. 

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.” 

“It felt important at the time.” 

“Yeah?” 

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him. 

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.” 

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.” 

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment. 

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.” 

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head. 

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks. 

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable. 

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.” 

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead. 

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You’re rubbing my arm.” 

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach. 

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest. 

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end. 

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume. 

“You smell nice,” he murmurs. 

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back. 

Right. Eddie should remember. 

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days. 

“Too much?” 

“The right amount,” he says firmly. 

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this. 

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before. 

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back. 

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.” 

“For me or you?” 

“For me, duh.” 

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.” 

“You think so?” 

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.” 

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.” 

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it. 

“We’re very close together,” you whisper. 

“Super close,” he whispers back. 

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm. 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do. 

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?” 

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.” 

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?” 

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?” 

What does Eddie think about it? 

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer. 

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?” 

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly. 

He can’t not give it to you. 

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead. 

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue. 

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur. 

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse. 

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly. 

“You wanted to?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.” 

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy. 

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs. 

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly. 

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency. 

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask. 

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring. 

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door. 

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him. 

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says. 

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?” 

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.” 

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?” 

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.” 

Eddie grins back. 

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring. 

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather. 

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.” 

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding. 

He sighs. “No, it does not.” 

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.” 

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.” 

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less. 

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.” 

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw. 

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped. 

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say. 

“Then open it.” 

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?” 

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it. 

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease. 

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze. 

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier. 

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working. 

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” 

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully. 

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.” 

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended. 

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.” 

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.” 

“Now who’s not funny?” 

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

[keepthedelta]

scenes that should be included in the brad pitt f1 film

(for legal purposes this is a joke, no one should support this film)

60 year old  brad pitt has to do the mandatory driver fitness test and almost collapses at the cardio. 28 year old carlos sainz does it next to him without hesitation or struggle two weeks after an appendectomy whilst wearing a mesh shirt

alex albon’s radio message calling brad pitt an ancient fuck after cutting the corner to smash the williams out of the way

leo leclerc and/or roscoe shitting next to brad pitt’s feet

damson idris’s character saying fernando’s “I knew he would brake because he has a wife and two children at home” quote. the wife and children will never be mentioned again or seen on screen. the romance will be exclusively between 60 year old brad pitt and the engineer woman half his age

damson idris’s character tweeting ocon’s my teammate tried to kill me but I survived tweet before getting drunk with a billionaire’s son

brad pitt attends a team principal’s meeting that goes oddly silent the moment that he walks in and three of the other team bosses immediately begin speaking to each other in italian. zak brown gives a sympathetic look but turns away, andreas seidl sniggers in german

four drivers call out brad and damson idris for their bullshit driving during the drivers’ briefing romain grosjean head of the gpda style. george russell ends the meeting with a powerpoint explaining to them why they are assholes

brad and damson idris have an emotional bonding moment where 60 year old brad reminds 32 year old damson idris that he is still young, still a rookie, and he has plenty of time to develop as, I assume, the lewis hamilton character insert despite lewis actually being in the film??? in the background kimi antonelli scooters past on his way to get a bath and bottle because it’s nearly his bedtime

k-mag hands over his stewards room loyalty card to brad pitt who gets a race ban

triumphant moment where the team finally scores a podium but the post-race inspection reveals that their car is wildly illegal and they are disqualified

stefano domenicali enthusiastically welcomes the american audience that brad pitt’s team brings, ross brawn is sat next to him listing off the many ways that their car does not comply with the fia’s safety standards

brad pitt and damson idris are battling for their lives at the back of the grid, max verstappen laps them

the engineer woman describes speed in kilometres. brad pitt tells her to explain it in “english”

a hilariously corrupt Italian businessman who bears absolutely no resemblance to flavio briatore none at all says something hilariously corrupt at a sponsor meeting. brad pitt nobly rises above it

fernando alonso sniffing plants in the background of every other scene

a blonde reporter/presenter has sexual tension with damson idris. when brad pitt asks who she is, he simply says “a girl I used to know” and looks longingly in the distance

michael and/or mario andretti with an axe demanding to know why it’s okay for brad pitt to have an 11th f1 team but not him, even though the andretti name is incredibly well respected in the motorsports world

[pucksandpower]

Wagification

Max Verstappen x analyst!Reader

Summary: your job was slowly crushing your soul and stealing your sanity … until Max showed you the pleasure to be found in letting yourself be cherished and cared for (or in which a chronically overworked Sky Sports analyst becomes a WAG)

Monaco Grand Prix, 2025

You take a deep breath as you step out of the car, the Monaco sunshine bright and warm on your face. Max comes around and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You ready for this?” He asks, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, though your stomach is fluttering with nerves. It’s been nearly a year since you were last at a Grand Prix, and so much has changed. You glance down at the massive diamond on your left hand, still not quite used to seeing it there.

Max kisses your temple. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

Hand-in-hand, you make your way into the paddock. Immediately you’re assaulted by the familiar sights and sounds — mechanics yelling, engines revving, reporters gesturing to their cameras. It’s like you never left.

You keep your sunglasses on and your head down, hoping to avoid notice. The last thing you want is to be bombarded by your old coworkers. As a data analyst for Sky Sports F1, you knew everyone in the paddock. But you walked away from it all for Max and you aren’t sure what kind of reception awaits you now.

“Max! Max Verstappen!” You hear a female voice call out. You suppress a groan as you recognize it as belonging to Emma, one of the network’s top reporters. She hurries over, dictaphone in hand. “Max, can I get a quick interview for the pre-race show?”

“Sure,” Max says easily. He keeps holding your hand, drawing you forward. “Just make it quick, yeah?”

Emma nods, then seems to notice you for the first time. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m Emma Walsh, with Sky Sports.” She sticks her hand out with a friendly smile.

You hesitate a second before shaking her hand. “Y/N,” you say simply, not offering your last name.

Emma’s eyes widen behind her glasses and she leans in for a closer look. “Wait a minute, I know you ...” Her jaw drops open. “Y/N Y/L/N? Is that you?”

You give a little shrug. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” Emma practically shouts. “I can’t believe it! We all thought you fell off the face of the earth after you left Sky. What happened to you?”

Max slides an arm around your waist. “She fell for me,” he says with a grin.

Emma’s eyes bug out even more as she takes in your designer dress, heels, and rock on your finger. “You mean … you and Max ...”

You nod, feeling yourself blush. “About a year ago, yeah.”

“Wow.” Emma shakes her head in disbelief. “Just … wow. I mean, look at you! You look incredible!”

You smooth your hands self-consciously over your dress. Your style has certainly changed since your Sky Sports days of sensible pantsuits. As an analyst, you had lived in jeans, flats, and minimal makeup, your hair always pulled back in a simple ponytail. Now your hair falls in soft waves over your shoulders, and you’re wearing a floaty floral maxi dress and strappy heels. You went from broadcasting racing stats to being a WAG almost overnight.

“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks growing even warmer. “It’s really good to see you, Emma.”

“You too!” She grins. “I have so many questions, but I better let you go for now. Don’t want to keep the championship leader waiting.” She winks at Max. “We’ll catch up later, yeah? Drinks tonight to celebrate your return?”

“Sure, sounds good.” You smile, thankful she’s not pressing for more details now. Emma waves and heads off in search of her next interview.

Max keeps his arm around you as you continue through the paddock. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmurs.

You let out a shaky laugh. “One down, about a hundred more to go.”

Over the next hour you run into what feels like every person you used to work with. They all react with similar shock at the former paddock nerd turned glamorous girlfriend of the reigning four-time World Champion.

You chat briefly with Will, who stutters over his words and goes bright red when you say hello. He had the biggest crush on you back when you worked together. Sarah can’t stop gushing over your ring. Tom tells you how weird it is not to see you hunched over a laptop crunching numbers.

The encounters leave you feeling drained, but also relieved. Your old coworkers seem genuinely happy for you, not resentful like you had worried. They don’t pry too much into how exactly you went from reporting race stats to ending up with Max Verstappen. That’s a story for another time.

Eventually you make it to the Red Bull garage, where you let out a long breath. “Phew, I survived.”

Max grins and pulls you close. “You were amazing. And you look beautiful, as always.” He nuzzles your neck.

You smile and loop your arms around his shoulders. “Have I mentioned how happy I am whenever I’m with you?”

“Mmm, maybe once or twice.” Max kisses you softly. “But feel free to keep reminding me.”

“Ahem.” Christian Horner clears his throat from behind you. “If you two can pause the PDA for a moment, we have a race to focus on.”

You spring apart, blushing furiously at being caught by Max’s team principal. Max just laughs and slings an arm around your shoulders.

“Lighten up, Christian. I’m allowed to kiss my fiancée.”

Christian shakes his head, but he’s fighting a smile. “Indeed you are. But perhaps when there aren’t cameras around?” He nods over your shoulder.

You turn to see several photographers zooming in, no doubt dying to get shots of the paddock’s newest it couple. You bury your face in Max’s shoulder.

“Ugh, no privacy anywhere,” you grumble.

Max kisses your hair. “It’s not so bad. Just part of the deal when you’re with me, remember?”

You smile up at him. “Very true. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

The day passes in a blur of activity. Max has various sponsor obligations and media commitments. You stick close by his side, learning how to avoid the cameras and deflect the constant questions about your relationship. Being the center of attention still feels strange, but you’re getting better at handling it.

During Max’s autograph session, you chat with some of the other drivers’ girlfriends and wives. They give you tips on dealing with the madness. You’re touched by how kind and welcoming they are.

“It takes some getting used to,” Alex Albon’s girlfriend, Lily, says. “But once you figure out how to focus on what really matters, the rest just becomes background noise.”

You nod. Your priority is Max. Everything else is just part of the ride.

***

One Year Ago

You sink down onto a stack of tires behind the Red Bull motorhome, finally letting the tears fall. This weekend in Barcelona has been a nightmare so far. Your team at Sky Sports is chronically understaffed, so you’ve been working 18 hour days analyzing data and prepping stats graphics.

You’re exhausted, frustrated, and seriously questioning your career choices.

On top of that, you just found out that your coworker and boyfriend Jamie has been cheating on you for months with one of the new junior reporters. You feel like such an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

You just need a few minutes to yourself to cry it out before plastering a smile back on and soldiering through the rest of the weekend. You hear footsteps approaching and quickly dab at your eyes with your sleeve, but it’s too late.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to ...” The voice trails off awkwardly.

You glance up to see none other than Max Verstappen standing there, a look of concern on his face. Great. The last thing you need is Formula 1’s wunderkind catching you bawling behind the motorhome.

You scramble to your feet, trying to compose yourself. “Um, hi. No worries, I was just ...” You trail off, at a loss for how to explain.

Max steps closer, head tilted. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

His kindness makes the tears threaten again. You stare down at your scuffed sneakers, embarrassed.

“I’m fine, really. Just had a bad day. You know how it goes.” You force a weak laugh.

Max doesn’t seem convinced. “Here, come sit for a minute,” he says gently, guiding you back over to the stack of tires.

To your surprise, he sits down next to you in his designer jeans and Red Bull Racing hoodie like it’s no big deal. You would laugh if you weren’t still fighting more tears.

“I’m Max, by the way.” He smiles and holds out his hand.

You shake it weakly. “Yeah, I know. I mean, uh, I’m Y/N.” You blush. Smooth.

Max either doesn’t notice or is too polite to comment. “So Y/N, what has you so upset? Boyfriend troubles?” He raises an eyebrow knowingly.

You let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah, something like that. The idiot’s been cheating on me it turns out.” Saying it out loud makes the hurt swell back up.

Max shakes his head angrily. “What a dick. I don’t understand guys who treat girls like that. You deserve so much better, Y/N.”

The genuine outrage on your behalf makes you smile a bit through the tears. “Thanks, Max. I appreciate that.”

He nods. “Any guy would be lucky to have a girl as pretty and smart as you. This loser doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

Now you really can’t help blushing. You’re used to being called a lot of things — nerdy, awkward, obsessive about stats — but no one’s ever called you pretty before. Especially not a kind, cute, and famous race car driver.

You dip your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear self-consciously. “You’re very sweet to say that.”

Max bumps your shoulder with his. “Just calling it like I see it.”

You chat for a few more minutes about nothing in particular. Max is easy to talk to, and makes you laugh with funny stories about mishaps in the garage. By the time you hear your boss calling your name, you’ve almost forgotten about Jamie and your tear-stained face.

“Shit, I have to get back to work,” you say, standing quickly and grabbing your laptop bag. “Thanks for listening, Max. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

“Of course.” Max stands too, shoving his hands in his pockets. He seems reluctant to end the conversation. “Hey, maybe I’ll see you around again this weekend?”

You give him a curious look, wondering why he’d want to see you again after witnessing that mess of emotions. But he looks sincere. “Yeah, maybe! I’m around if you need any stats analysis or data work.” You tap your temple. “Numbers nerd, at your service.”

Max grins. “Good to know. Take care, Y/N.” With a little wave, he heads off, leaving you staring after him in surprise.

The rest of the day you keep replaying those moments with Max in your head, unable to focus. Why did he seem so interested in a frumpy data analyst having a meltdown? You can’t make sense of it.

By the time qualifying ends on Saturday, you’re practically dead on your feet. Your eyelids keep drooping as you pack up your equipment. Maybe you’ll just sleep under your desk tonight instead of walking all the way to the hotel.

“Long day, huh?”

You jerk awake to see Max leaning in the doorway of your makeshift office, thumbs hooked in his pockets. He looks annoyingly energetic and put together compared to your disheveled state.

“Uh, yeah.” You smooth your hair back,feeling self-conscious. Why does he have to catch you looking like such a mess yet again? “Just have about a million graphics to finish before tomorrow’s broadcast. The glamorous life of a data analyst,” you say wryly.

Max frowns. “They keep you here this late doing all the work yourself?”

You sigh, rubbing your grainy eyes beneath your glasses. “Unfortunately yes. We’re way understaffed, but it’s not like they’ll give us more budget to hire help.”

Max shakes his head. “That’s unacceptable. You deserve so much better than this.”

The kindness in his voice makes you suddenly emotional again. You bite your lip, willing yourself not to tear up at work twice in one day.

“Thanks, Max. I’ll be okay though, once I get some sleep ...” You know you don’t sound convincing.

Max appears to think for a moment, his brow furrowed. “You know what, enough of this. Come on.”

Before you can react, he takes your hand and gently tugs you to your feet.

“W-what? Where are we going?” You stammer, heartbeat quickening.

“We’re getting out of here. You’re clearly exhausted and need a break.” Max keeps hold of your hand as he leads you from the office.

“But-but my work … I have to finish-” Even as you protest, you let him continue pulling you along. A rebellious part of you is thrilled at this sudden adventure.

“It can wait. Right now, we’re getting some food and drinks in you so you actually have energy left for tomorrow.” Max winks at you as you exit the paddock into the cool night air. “Trust me.”

And despite barely knowing this man, you realize you do trust him. Max guides you around the corner to a lively tapas bar, chatting all the while about random topics to make you laugh. He seems genuinely interested in getting to know you.

Over shared plates of patatas bravas and fizzy cocktails, you find yourself opening up to Max in a way you never do with people you just met. But his kindness and openness make you feel comfortable. He tells you more about life as an F1 driver, the pressures and perks.

“It must be amazing getting to travel all over the world racing cars,” you muse after your second cocktail. “Like a dream.”

“Part of it is, yeah.” Max smiles wryly. “But it can also be lonely. Never really putting down roots anywhere. Hard to meet people outside the racing bubble, you know?”

You nod thoughtfully. Under the playboy racer exterior, it seems there’s a down-to-earth guy who just wants connection. On impulse, you cover his hand with yours and give it a squeeze.

“Well, you’ve got a friend here now if you ever need company at a race.”

Max turns his palm over to link his fingers through yours. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His smile is so warm and genuine, you feel your cheeks heat.

By the time you stumble back to your hotel, you’re laughing and chatting with Max like old friends. When you get to your door though, you blink blearily and sway on your feet — the long day and alcohol hitting you hard.

Max steadies you with a hand on your waist. “Whoa there. You gonna make it okay?”

You wave a hand drunkenly. “Oh yeah, totally fiiiine ...” Your balance wavers again. Okay, maybe not so fine.

Max bites his lip, seeming to have an internal debate. “Alright, slight change of plans. You’re in no state to be left alone right now.”

In one smooth motion he scoops you up bridal-style. You make a very dignified squeaking noise and clutch his shoulders.

“Max! What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re safe for the night.” He grins down at you. “You can stay in my suite where I can keep an eye on you.”

“But … people will think ...” Even tipsy, you know spending the night in Max Verstappen’s hotel room is probably a bad idea.

“Let them think whatever. I’m being a gentleman, I promise.” The sincerity in his eyes melts your feeble protests. You really are in no state to be left alone.

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. “Okay fine, you win. But just for tonight!”

Max chuckles, carrying you towards the elevator. “Deal. We’ll get you sobered up and rested for tomorrow.”

You have vague impressions of a plush suite, being tucked into cool satin sheets and handed water and pills for your headache. Max brushes hair off your face with a lingering touch. “Get some sleep, Y/N. I’m right next door if you need me.”

His kindness brings tears to your eyes again, but happy ones this time. As you drift off surrounded by his scent, you think dazedly that maybe this race weekend hasn’t been so terrible after all.

In the morning, waking up in Max Verstappen’s hotel bed, you at first think it was all some crazy dream. Then the smell of brewing coffee draws you out to the living room, where Max stands in the kitchenette.

“Morning! I ordered us some breakfast.” He hands you a mug, smiling softly.

Daylight streaming through the windows makes last night’s events seem even more surreal. You feel suddenly shy as memories return. A part of you wishes you could stay here in this peaceful bubble with him forever, away from the outside world.

But reality calls, as you both have jobs to return to. Max convinces you to eat some food and take more pain meds before he walks you back to your own room to shower and change.

At your door he pulls you into a gentle hug. “Take care of yourself today, okay Y/N? And if you need another break or company again, you know where to find me.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead that sends tingles through your entire body.

Somehow you make it through the day fueled by Max’s kindness and the smallest hope this could lead to more. You catch sight of him striding through the paddock, fans clamoring for his attention. His eyes always seem to find you though, lighting up with that warm smile.

After the race, you’re back in your makeshift office trying not to fall asleep at your desk before the last minutes of broadcasts. When you walk outside into the golden hour sunset though, Max is waiting for you.

“So, ready for round two at the tapas place to celebrate my win?” He bumps your shoulder playfully.

You grin up at him, this beautiful boy who inexplicably wants to spend all his free moments with you. “Definitely. Bring on the croquetas.”

Laughing together, you start making your way there. And though you don’t know what this budding connection will lead to, you’re ready to find out.

***

Nine Months Ago

You snuggle deeper into Max’s arms with a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest. The lights are dim and music plays softly in the background of his hotel suite. Rain patters against the windows, making it the perfect night to get cozy indoors.

Being wrapped up with Max like this, away from the chaos of the race weekend, has become your favorite place to be over the past few months. After that impulsive first night in Barcelona when he took care of you, you started spending more and more time together.

What began as a supportive friendship soon turned into dates, kisses, and eventually becoming official boyfriend and girlfriend. You still can’t believe that Max Verstappen, Formula 1 superstar, wants to be with a plain data analyst like yourself. But from the way he looks at you — like you’re the most captivating person in the world — you don’t doubt his sincerity.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” Max murmurs, trailing his fingers slowly up and down your arm.

You smile and nuzzle his neck. “Mmm, I think you mentioned it once or twice.”

His hands drift up to stroke your hair and you practically purr, eyes drifting shut. Max kisses the top of your head. “I mean it though, Y/N. Being with you makes me so happy.”

You lift your head to meet his lips in a soft kiss. “You make me happy too, Max. I-” You cut off with an enormous yawn that you fail to stifle in time.

Max chuckles. “Am I boring you over here?”

“No no,” you insist around another yawn. “I just can’t seem to keep my eyes open tonight.”

It’s true. As blissful as you feel cuddled up with Max, you’re utterly exhausted. This weekend has been nonstop work with little sleep. By the time you wrapped the Sky broadcasts up for the night, you could barely see straight.

Max brushes a strand of hair back from your face, his expression growing serious. “You’re completely worn out, schatje. I hate seeing you push yourself to the breaking point like this.”

You give him a tired smile. “It’s okay, really. I’m used to the long hours by now. Occupational hazard.” It comes out less convincingly than you intended.

Max’s frown deepens. He shifts around to face you, cradling your cheek in his palm. “But you shouldn’t have to be used to it, Y/N. Your bosses take advantage of your dedication. It’s not right.”

You bite your lip, not meeting his earnest gaze. Deep down you know he’s correct, but you don’t know what else to do. This career has been your life for years now.

Max gently turns your face back to his. “You deserve so much better. You keep giving everything to this job and they just keep demanding more. When’s the last time you took a real break?”

You look down, feeling the prickle of tears. You can’t even remember your last vacation or rest day. “It’s okay, really ...” you whisper half-heartedly.

“No, it’s not.” Max’s voice is firm but caring. He tips your chin up to meet his eyes. “I can’t stand seeing you being taken advantage of. It makes me want to take care of you properly, the way you should be.”

Your breath catches at the intensity in his gaze. Being taken care of and cherished so deeply is new for you. You don’t know how to respond.

Max seems to take your silence as uncertainty. “Just think about it, liefje. You could finally put yourself first and do what makes you happy instead of what makes Sky Sports happy.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Doesn’t a break to rest and recover sound nice?”

You close your eyes with a shaky exhale, admitting to yourself just how badly you need it. Your health and mental wellbeing have been steadily declining under the relentless stress.

“It really does sound nice,” you whisper. A few tears leak out beneath your lashes.

Max kisses them away tenderly, holding you close. “Shh I know, baby. You’re burning yourself out trying to do the impossible. Anyone would be exhausted.”

You cling to him, sniffling. “But it’s my job, my career. I can’t just walk away ...” Even as you say it, the prospect doesn’t seem as scary as it once did. Not if you get to have this, being wrapped in Max’s love and care.

“You can walk away from anything that’s making you suffer. You’re so much more than this job. And you’ll never have to worry or want for anything ever again.” His tone drips with promise.

You lean back to search his face. “What do you mean?”

Max smiles and brushes his nose against yours. “I mean, I’ll take care of you. If you leave your job to focus on yourself and our relationship, you will want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your eyes go wide. “You mean … quit working altogether and just … be with you full time?”

Max nods, still smiling. “It can be that simple if you want. No more crazy hours and stress. Just let me spoil you and give you the life you deserve. What do you say?”

Your pulse races as you imagine it. No more coming home at 2 am and collapsing, living off vending machine snacks. Instead you could be leisurely mornings with Max, seeing the world together, doing activities you actually enjoy instead of endless stats analysis ...

It sounds idyllic. But could you really just stop working and let Max support you? Would people judge you for it?

As if reading your mind, Max says “Ignore whatever anyone else might think. This is about what’s right for you and makes you happy. I’m sure of this, Y/N. Please trust me.”

His eyes radiate so much love and certainty. Slowly you nod, feeling a weight lift from your chest.

“Okay,” you whisper. “If you’re sure then … I trust you, Max.”

Joy spreads across his face. He kisses you deeply, pouring all his feelings into it. When he finally pulls back you’re both breathless.

“You won’t regret this, schatje. I’m going to take such good care of you from now on.” Max strokes your hair, eyes shining. “No more exhaustion and stress. Just being together and enjoying life. It will be amazing.”

You truly believe it as you drift off, safe in his arms. No more pressure to single-handedly carry Sky Sports’ data analysis. From now on, you can just be his … and find yourself again.

The next day you take a deep breath and knock on your boss’ door. Within minutes, you’ve quit your job and ended a years long chapter. It feels bittersweet but right as you box up your belongings from your little makeshift office. This time when tears prick your eyes, they’re from overwhelming relief.

Max is waiting to pick you up, greeting you with a spinning hug and long kiss. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be so much happier and healthier from now on, I just know it.”

You hug him tight, burying your face in his neck. “I already feel lighter. This was the right choice.”

And it truly is. As you jet off to a tropical island just the two of you that weekend, it feels like a new life.

The days pass in a dreamy haze — sleeping in, long massages, breakfast in bed courtesy of Max, sunset walks on the beach holding hands. He delights in pampering you with gifts, gourmet meals, and your every whim met often before you even speak it.

“I could get used to this,” you sigh contentedly as you lounge together in a cabana, sipping fruity cocktails.

Max smiles and nuzzles your neck. “That’s the idea. You’ll never lift a finger except when you want to from now on.”

It amazes you how he transforms from fierce competitor on the track to this caring, protective boyfriend behind closed doors. He seems to find his greatest happiness in making sure you’re thoroughly spoiled.

You do occasionally think of the drastic shift your life has taken. But any flicker of doubt is erased by Max’s love and devotion. He’s given you freedom from exhaustion and anxiety. You’ve never felt more adored.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper one night as you sway together on the balcony under the stars, your silk robe fluttering around you.

Max gazes at you like you hold the secrets of the universe. “You just had to be yourself, schatje. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

He takes your breath away with slow, passionate kisses until you meltingly agree to take things inside. Your first time together is everything you imagined and more.

Afterwards, lying entwined with Max stroking your hair, you have never felt more whole. You found in each other what you needed most — care, understanding, and unwavering love.

This blissful new life together has only just begun.

***

A Few Hours Ago

You hum to yourself as you flip through the designer outfits in your massive walk-in closet, selecting options for the upcoming race. This will be your first time attending a Grand Prix on Max’s arm and you want to look perfect.

As you sift through rows of Chanel, Dior, Valentino, and Prada, you feel a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist.

“Need any help choosing?” Max asks, nuzzling your neck.

You lean back into him with a smile. “I was just trying to narrow it down. I want to look nice for your big weekend.”

Max turns you in his arms, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. “Schatje, you could show up in sweatpants and you’d still be the most beautiful woman there.”

You scrunch your nose. “But it’s Monaco! I need to look at least semi put-together.”

“It’s impossible for you to look anything but,” Max declares, stealing a quick kiss. “You always look perfect to me.”

You swat his chest but can’t help grinning. His constant compliments and admiration still give you flutters even after months together.

Taking your hand, Max comes to stand before the endless clothing options. “Okay, let’s see what we’re working with here.”

You pull out two of your favorites: a sleek black Balmain jumpsuit with a deep neckline and waist cutouts, and a shimmering floral Givenchy maxi dress.

“Ooh, these are both amazing,” Max says, fingering the luxe fabrics. “That jumpsuit would show off your sexy legs, but this fabric is so pretty with your skin tone ...”

You chew your bottom lip thoughtfully. “I’m torn too. What’s your vote?”

Max pretends to scrutinize them closely before breaking into a smile. “Well you know I love you in anything. Or nothing,” he adds with a wink.

You roll your eyes and swat him with a hanger. “Behave! I need actual fashion advice please.”

“Okay okay.” Max puts on an exaggerated serious expression. “The Givenchy dress is very classy and princess-like. But I love the way this Balmain hugs your curves.” To demonstrate, he traces a hand along the waist and down your side.

You shiver pleasantly at his touch. “Mmm, good point ...”

Max leans in close behind you, hands resting on your hips. “Imagine me peeling it off of you after my win.” He presses a kiss below your ear.

You melt back into him, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. “Well when you put it that way ...”

“The dress would be pretty easy access too though.” Max slides his hands under the fabric across your thighs teasingly.

You gasp and swat him away again, laughing. “Okay stop distracting me! I really do need to pick.”

Max relents with a grin, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, you win. I officially vote for the dress. It’s sexy yet elegant, just like you.”

You smile and give him a peck on the lips. “Now, what about bags and shoes?”

You move through your endless options as Max offers his input. He has a surprising eye for fashion despite his own relaxed, sporty style.

“This one matches the best.” He selects a sleek black crocodile Birkin. “Classy and understated.”

You turn the bag over in your hands. “Ooh I forgot I had this one. Good call!”

After picking strappy heels to complete the look, you start browsing your jewelry selection.

“That’s a lot of shiny stuff,” Max remarks, eyes roving over the boxes of diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and more.

You arch an eyebrow. “Says the one who got carried away with the jewelry purchases ...”

Max just grins and pulls you close. “I want you to have it all. You deserve to be spoiled.” He captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

You hum happily against his mouth before pulling back. “Will you help me pick something?”

“Hmm let’s see ...” Max peruses the options before selecting an elegant diamond necklace. “Yeah, this one is perfect. Really complements the dress.”

He fastens it carefully around your neck, meeting your eyes in the mirror with a smile. His gaze trails down your body as you model the full outfit together.

“You look absolutely incredible, liefje. Every man in Monaco will be drooling over you.”

You turn to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Well I only care about impressing one man.” You kiss the tip of his nose.

Max’s hands find your waist again, warm on your exposed skin. “Oh trust me, I am very impressed. And the second we’re alone after the race this outfit will be on the floor.”

You laugh as he nuzzles into your neck, nipping lightly. Somehow, you manage to fall more in love with Max every day.

You eventually disentangle, needing to actually get ready for the day ahead.

“What should I wear in the meantime?” You muse, fingers drifting over the designer options.

Before you can choose, Max comes up behind you and starts guiding a silk robe onto your shoulders.

“How about nothing at all? I’m enjoying this view already,” he murmurs against your skin as he wraps the sash loosely around your waist.

You lean back into him with a hum of pleasure. “Well if you insist ...”

Max takes your hand and leads you to the bed, laying you back against the pillows. He undoes the robe just enough to expose your body as he trails kisses everywhere. “Mmm yes, this is much better than any outfit.”

You run your fingers through his hair, arching into his touch. “What happened to getting ready for the race?” You breathe.

Max pauses his kisses just below your navel to flash a wicked grin up at you. “Race day can wait for a few more minutes. Right now I want to appreciate my gorgeous girl.”

You have zero arguments with that logic. With a happy sigh, you surrender to his skilled and eager mouth, letting all other concerns fade away. Everything else will have its turn — being worshiped by Max is the only thing on your schedule this morning.

Eventually though, you manage to dress and make your way to the circuit. As you ride through the streets together on the way, Max keeps an arm curled tightly around you.

“You know, despite the fancy clothes and jewelry, you’re still the same humble, kind-hearted woman I fell for,” Max says, kissing your temple. “All that other stuff just enhances your inner beauty.”

You smile and squeeze his hand as you lift your lips to meet his. “You always know just what to say.”

You keep your chin up and shoulders back as you step onto the harborside track that will soon be swarming with VIPs. With Max by your side, you have everything you need — now and always.

***

Monaco Grand Prix, 2025

The cheers of the crowd echo in your ears as you watch Max pass the chequered flag, securing his win. Your heart swells with pride and love as he pulls the car over to parc fermé and hops out, immediately searching for you on the other side of the barriers.

The second his eyes land on yours, his face lights up with that smile that melts you every time. He’s barely stepped out of the car before you launch yourself into his arms.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you,” you breathlessly exclaim.

Max laughs and pulls you closer. “I’m just happy to win it for you, liefje.”

Still holding you against his chest, he claims your mouth in a fierce celebratory kiss as the team and cameras swarm around. Your world narrows to just the feeling of his lips on yours, his race suit damp with sweat under your palms.

When you finally break for air, foreheads touching, Max murmurs “I love you so much. This one was for you.”

Your answering smile feels brighter than the Monaco sunshine. “I love you too. You were incredible today.”

The podium ceremony and interviews pass in a euphoric blur. Max keeps you tucked close to his side whenever he can, his arm firmly around your waist. He only has eyes for you despite the chaos surrounding him.

Finally escaping to the privacy of his driver’s room in the Red Bull motorhome, Max properly ravages you up against the door. The heady mix of victory and desire is intoxicating.

Much later, surrounded by empty champagne bottles with Max nuzzling lazy kisses across your bare shoulders, you hear a tentative knock.

“Decent?” Comes Emma’s teasing voice.

“Just a minute!” You call out, scrambling for your discarded dress.

Max pouts adorably as you wriggle back into it. “Do we have to go out? I’m enjoying having you all to myself ...”

You smile and kiss him sweetly. “Soon baby. But let’s celebrate with some friends first.”

Max sighs but nods, taking your hand as you go open the door. Emma’s eyebrows shoot up as she takes in your thoroughly debauched state, but she politely doesn’t comment.

“Y/N! There you are! Oh, and congrats on the win,” she says to Max before turning back to you. “We’re all heading to Jimmy’z for the afterparty. You have to come!”

You hesitate, glancing at Max. “Oh, actually we already have plans ...”

“Come on, it will be like old times! We can squeeze you both in, I’m sure,” Emma pleads. Your former colleagues are beckoned over — Tom, Will, Sarah, and others waving excitedly.

Their eager faces make you pause, but Max just chuckles and slides an arm around your waist. “No need for squeezing into crowded clubs. I’ve already reserved some VIP booths so we can party properly.” He winks down at you.

“Oh! Well in that case, we’ll see you there.” Emma looks impressed. The others chatter excitedly as they head off to get ready.

You grin up at Max, arms looped around his neck. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Only the best for you, beautiful.” He kisses you softly before you head off hand-in-hand.

After making yourselves presentable again, you set out into the Monaco night. The Circuit de Monaco is still abuzz with energy, music and laughter pouring from every corner.

The line outside Jimmy’z stretches far down the block. But the bouncer immediately waves you through with a respectful “Mr. Verstappen, this way please.”

You exchange a smile with Max, who keeps you tucked close against his side. It still feels surreal being ushered into exclusive areas that once intimidated you. Now it’s your glamorous new normal.

“Y/N, you made it!” Emma jumps up and hugs you tight. She eyes your designer outfit and perfectly styled hair. “Damn, look at you! Got that WAG glow going on.”

You smooth your hands self-consciously over your dress. “Oh, thanks! Just trying to look the part, I guess.”

You chat and laugh with Emma and your former coworkers as music pulses around you. When the Go-Go dancer comes by with a tray of sparklers, you impulsively grab two, popping one in your mouth and handing the other to a wide-eyed Emma.

She fumbles to light hers, watching as you tilt your head back and laugh, little sparks showering your face.

“Girl, you are wild tonight!” Emma has to shout over the music. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You just smile and rummage through your Birkin for lipstick to touch up, crossing and uncrossing your legs that sport sky-high Louboutins. Your time working 18 hour days hunched over a laptop feels like another lifetime.

Eventually needing a break from the noise, you head to the bar to refresh your drink. Emma joins you, peering at the menu.

“Damn, I can’t even pronounce half this stuff,” she laughs. “What are you thinking of getting?”

You scan the options. “Mmm, maybe the Dom Pérignon Rosé? Sounds nice.”

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. “You really have gone full glam. I don’t think I ever saw you drink anything but Heineken at the track.”

You scoff, “Well we didn’t exactly have champagne on offer in our part of the paddock.”

You smile politely as the bartender brings your drink over. Emma is still eyeing you curiously.

“What?” You ask, laughing under her scrutiny.

“Nothing, just ...” She waves a hand at you. “Look at you with the designer outfit, Birkin bag, $500 drinks … you’re a whole new woman!”

You take a sip of the bubbly pink liquid and just smile. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No no, not at all!” Emma rushes to say. “You seem really happy. I’ve just never seen you like this before. You were always the practical, focused one. Now you look … fully embraced by the glitz.”

You lean against the bar, considering her words. She’s right — the old you never could’ve imagined fully embracing this lifestyle. But now you can’t imagine anything else.

“I am happier than I’ve ever been,” you tell her honestly. “With Max I’m free to enjoy life and not worry about anything. He takes care of it all.”

Emma raises her eyebrows. “So he just … pays for everything, and you live this champagne lifestyle together?”

You smile, fingering the enormous diamond on your left hand. “Basically, yes. And it’s as amazing as it sounds. I’ll never need to work or stress over bills or anything again.”

“Huh.” Emma takes a thoughtful sip of her own drink. “Don’t you ever miss the thrill of data crunching and racing strategy though?”

You consider it for a moment. The thought of long hours analyzing race stats and performance metrics makes your brain hurt.

“You know … I really don’t,” you realize. “I can barely even remember the programs and systems we used. And I like it that way.”

Emma nods slowly. You can tell she’s making an effort to be open-minded about your new life. Before she can respond, you feel the presence of someone behind you.

“There’s my beautiful girl,” Max murmurs, sliding his arms around your waist and nuzzling your neck. “This party is nowhere near as fun without you.”

You lean back into him happily. His passion and desire for you still give you the same flutters as that first night together in Barcelona. You doubt that will ever change.

Turning in his arms, you accept the kiss he gives you, not caring that Emma is still standing there. Let her see how crazy you are for each other.

When you pull back, Max smiles down at you like you’re the only person in the crowded club. “Dance with me?” He extends a hand, already gently pulling you towards the dancefloor.

You let him lead you away without a backwards glance. Emma can think what she wants, but she can’t possibly understand your relationship with Max. You know this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Max hands you a fresh glass of champagne and keeps an arm curled around your waist as you sway together. The music and alcohol fill you with euphoria.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Max murmurs in your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

You smile up at him coyly. “Feel free to keep reminding me.”

Max’s answering grin is sinful. His hands travel your body as you move together. “I plan to show you later just how irresistible I find you.”

The night flies by in a blur of dancing, drinks, and stolen kisses in the shadows with Max. Your former colleagues party into the early morning, but eventually stumble back to their hotels.

You and Max retreat back to your shared apartment just as dawn breaks over the horizon. As promised, your dress hits the floor immediately. He ravages you with hungry kisses, urging you higher and higher until you cry out his name again and again.

After, wrapped securely in his arms, you sigh in utter contentment. The smooth sheets feel divine against your skin and Max gently strokes your hair as you doze against his chest.

“So I take it you had fun?” He asks, a smile in his voice.

You lift your head to grin at him. “It was amazing. Although ...” You bite your lip coyly.

Max raises an eyebrow. “Although what, schatje?”

“Well, this part is still my favorite.” You punctuate your point by straddling his waist again, bending to kiss him deeply.

Max groans appreciatively against your mouth, hands grasping your hips. “Mmm mine too. In fact, I don’t think we’re done celebrating yet ...”

Your lips part in ecstasy and your nails rake down his back as he takes you right to the edge again and again. Finally collapsing in a tangle of sweaty limbs, you’re both completely spent and blissful. You curl into Max’s side, eyes drifting shut.

“I love you so much,” you murmur, the words slurring together.

Max kisses your hair, stroking your back. “I love you too, Y/N. Being with you is a dream.”

You slip into peaceful dreams still wrapped in each other. The glitz and glamour of F1 life is fun, but nothing compares to the private world you share with Max.

You’ll face the crowds and cameras again soon. But right now, lost in Max’s embrace, you have everything you need.