#i promise we will get it. i promise we don't need to know how every minutia of techniques work even if gege is hard for it

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.

[littleprinces]

Slavecretary

Haewon x M! Reader

"Haewon," I said, my voice low and husky. "Can you come into my office for a moment?"

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and innocent. "Yes, Sir?"

I gestured for her to take a seat. "I wanted to discuss something with you. It's about your performance at work."

She looked at me, a hint of fear in her eyes. "My performance, Sir?"

I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. "Yes, Haewon. I've been watching you, and I have to say, I'm not impressed. You've been making mistakes, showing up late, and your attitude has been less than stellar."

She looked down at her hands, her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'll try to do better."

I stood up and walked around my desk. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I have a better idea. How about you come to my house tonight, and I'll show you exactly what I expect from you?"

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock. "Sir, I don't think that's appropriate."

I chuckled and ran my finger down her cheek. "Oh, Haewon. You know you want to. And I promise, you won't be disappointed."

She hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "Okay, Sir. I'll come to your house tonight."

I smiled and handed her a small box. "Good girl. And here's a little something to wear for me tonight."

She opened the box and gasped. Inside was a small, black chastity cage. "Sir, I can't wear this!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why not? It's a symbol of my control over you. You'll wear it, or you won't be coming to my house tonight."

She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. "Please, Sir. I can't."

I leaned in closer and whispered, "You can, and you will. Now, go back to work and think about what you're going to do tonight."

She stood up and walked to the door, her legs shaky. "Yes, Sir."

When she arrived at my house that night, she was wearing the chastity cage and a tight black dress. I could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric, and I knew she was ready for me.

I led her to my bedroom and pushed her down on the bed. "You look stunning, Haewon. But I think we need to get you out of this dress."

I slowly unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing a black lace bra and panties, and I could see the wet spot on her panties.

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You're already wet for me, aren't you?"

She nodded and bit her lip. "Yes, Sir."

I reached down and ripped her panties off. "Good girl. Now, let's see how you taste."

I spread her legs apart and leaned down. I started licking her pussy, slowly at first, and then faster and harder. She was moaning and writhing beneath me, her hands clutching the sheets.

I looked up at her and said, "You taste so good, Haewon. I could eat you all night."

She looked down at me and said, "Please, Sir. I want you inside me tonight."

I stood up and took off my clothes. I was hard and ready for her. I climbed on top of her and pushed inside her pussy. She was tight and wet, and I groaned with pleasure.

I started fucking her harder and faster, my balls slapping against her ass. "You like that, Haewon?" I said.

She nodded and moaned. "Yes, Sir. Fuck me harder." Her face already show how horny she is. I still fuck her hard.

I grabbed her hips and started pounding her, my cock going deeper and deeper. "You're mine, Haewon. Say it."

She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. "I'm yours, Master."

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to cum inside you, Haewon. I'm going to breed you."

She moaned and nodded. "Yes, master. Cum in me."

I felt my orgasm building, and then I exploded inside her, filling her pussy with my cum. She moaned and clung to me, her body shaking with pleasure.

I pulled out and looked down at her. "Good girl, Haewon. You took every inch of me. You will be my sex slave."

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, Master. I will be your slave."

Haewon is my slave now and i decide to keep her in my house and make her as my pet.

[f1-jay]

Hi, I have a request for Jenson if that's alright. You said that you struggle with plot because you don't know what people want, so this is going to be super detailed but add or taking away whatever you want from the plot.

Jenson has been dating a younger woman (reader) for a while now and everything is going great, they're even talking about going public! And then her ex starts trying to get in contact with her. He's been calling or texting or dm'ing her every day and finally one day Jenson gets tired of it. She's in the shower, he's studying what he needs to study for commentating (idk how that works lol) and her phone just keeps going off. He of course, knows her password as she does his and opens up her phone and goes to his messages. The messages are things like 'I know you miss me so stop playing hard to get' and 'You'll never find another guy like me' and Jenson gets so fed up with it that he decides to bite the bullet and post the hard launch already. They had already agreed on a series of photos and short video's they would post. He posts them all, tagging her and the ex-boyfriend and the caption is 'She's taken, buddy'. And then she comes out of the bathroom, and he freaks out, thinking she's gonna be pissed at him but she finds in really hot insted.

Mine - Jenson Button

Pairing: Jenson Button x Younger reader

Summary: read request

Warnings: nothing

Words 0.8k

Note: Thank you very much for sending a request

You and Jenson had managed to have a pretty private relationship from the beginning. Eight perfect months before the rumours started, to be honest, you were both surprised that it remained private for such a long period. Neither of you minded that much, as you had talked about going public and planning what photos you would post on Instagram.

Unfortunately for you, the rumours meant your ex tried to get back in contact with you by messaging, calling, and on social media, but to no success. You two didn't necessarily end on bad terms, but you didn't care to talk to him. He was persistent, but you were stubborn. You didn't bother telling Jenson about it at first; he'd stop soon, right?

Four days later, you're sitting on the couch, enjoying each other's company. Your phone rings again, and you hit the decline button, letting out an annoyed sigh.

"You okay?" Jenson looks up from his phone and over to you. You hum in agreement at him. "That sounded believable" He says with sarcasm. Now you look at him.

"It's nothing. Promise" "Wow, I can't believe I'm dating a liar..." He says it overdramatically as he slowly shakes his head and clicks his tongue. A mix of laughter and scoff comes from you.

"It's just Broc; see, nothing to worry about." You shrug it off while Jenson's eyebrows knit together.

"Broc? like your ex, Broc?" You nod. "Why is he calling? Just block him."

"He'll stop soon; it doesn't matter. I know he's an ex, but we do get along. If he starts to say anything that makes me uncomfortable, then I'll block him; trust me." That's all it takes for Jenson to stop talking about it because he does trust you.

Overnight, a month-old photo comes out that confirms your relationship: you and Jenson sharing a kiss while holding hands. The communication from Brocs starts to become more intense, and so do the words, but you don't keep your promise to Jenson. Something about the messages and the change in attitude made you want to see what else he would say.

You had gone in for a shower just before Broc started another rant over text. Jenson sits at the desk, going over some information for the upcoming GP, and ignores the noise from your phone, assuming it's just a friend. The constant message tones then turn into a ringtone, so he gets up to see what all the fuss is about. He isn't thrilled when he sees that it's Broc, and he considers just blocking him for you. Another message comes through: 'You really think he loves you? You're just a worthless slut'. That is enough for Jenson to unlock your phone and go into his messages. What he sees pisses him off, and he decides that he wants to send him a public message.

Jenson picks up his phone and puts those preselected photos into a post, making you officially public.

JensonButton: She's happily taken, @/Broc

User1: Iconic

User2: The text!?! She's so real for that

User3: I literally screamed

JensonButton: So did she

User4: Ain't no way he tagged her ex 😦

User5: Isn't she only like 22? That's half his age 🤢

User6: Acting like you wouldn't if you got the chance

You get out of the shower and start to dry off when you hear your notification tone going wild. You unlock the door and poke your head out, questioning what's going on. Jenson just handed you your phone with a smile. You see the post and look at him with a slightly open jaw.

"What's this? I know we said we would, but I thought we meant together." You say, looking through the photos.

"I saw the messages that he was sending you, so I sent one back." He scrolls down, so you can read the caption. Your jaw opens a little wider. "I also blocked him for you since that 'trust me' obviously wasn't reliable."

"Oh, Mr. Button, you are very attractive when you're jealous." You place a hand on his chest, which he removes right away with a strong grasp on your wrist.

"Uh, uh, don't even try it. What happened to blocking him when he went too far?" He says as he looks down at you with a serious look. You pout and flutter your eyelashes a couple times.

"Are you going to punish me?" A fake sad look is etched on your face. "Please, sir, don't. I'm sorry" You say, obviously wanting him to do something. Jenson can't help the smirk that appears on his lips.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" The small smile that you try to hold back gives him the answer. "Fucking brat" he mumbles through his teeth. He pulls you towards the bed with his hold on your wrist, sitting down and pulling you over his lap. He was thankful that you hadn't gotten dressed yet. Your wrists are then pulled behind your back, and he holds them there with one hand, and his other hand comes down hard on your ass. 

[endless-ineffabilities]

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country. 

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it. 

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever. 

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store. 

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out. 

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead. 

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t. 

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen. 

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach. 

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention. 

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is. 

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena. 

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media. 

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you. 

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down. 

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter. 

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow. 

Just constant dizzying electricity. 

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that. 

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.” 

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve. 

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather. 

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine. 

Not that it matters. 

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it. 

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place. 

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts. 

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it. 

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine. 

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend. 

Until Aemond. 

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly. 

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art. 

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face. 

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets. 

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register. 

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space. 

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness. 

Twelve fucking fifteen. 

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that. 

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves. 

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through. 

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you. 

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know. 

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too. 

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this? 

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him. 

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse. 

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up. 

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond. 

It can wait, whatever it is. 

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one. 

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend. 

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s. 

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper. 

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area. 

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond. 

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others. 

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion. 

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it. 

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know. 

This is not going to end well. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before. 

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this. 

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too. 

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that. 

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant. 

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants. 

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond. 

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes. 

You feel it all at once. 

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight. 

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned. 

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good. 

As long as you think of Art…  As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck. 

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument. 

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it. 

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on. 

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again… 

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling… 

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real. 

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. 

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ” 

“No.” 

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse. 

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal. 

Beautiful. And just not yours. 

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings. 

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking. 

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him. 

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything. 

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his. 

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth. 

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge. 

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine. 

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants. 

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock. 

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time. 

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet. 

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open. 

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.” 

You have him. He has you. 

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck -  ” you moan, words breathy and irregular. 

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters. 

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?” 

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin. 

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready. 

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch. 

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill. 

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly. 

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see. 

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea. 

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder. 

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly. 

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds. 

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets. 

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.” 

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum. 

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his. 

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts. 

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning. 

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again. 

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind. 

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you. 

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you. 

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does. 

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment. 

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing. 

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything. 

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time. 

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match. 

But Aemond can. He knows this now. 

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail. 

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing. 

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games. 

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend. 

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. 

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone. 

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels. 

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you. 

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours. 

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels. 

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more. 

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

taglist (all who commented on this post - surprise double feature incoming!) : @odeioemail @sapphossongbird @toodlesxcuddles @sinistersnakey9419 @fan-goddess @jhroseok @diannnsss @dixie-elocin @tostadasdetinga @1-800shootmeplease @goldyfishsstuff @pineappleicelostmary @raging-panda

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[pickingupmymercedes]

Lewis Masterlist

Series

Not just a pretty face p.1

"You know, I've always been serious about us." "I know. But you're a f1 driver, Lewis"

Maybe in another life - p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"A what-if that will forever linger in the quiet corners of my mind."

She’s here and she’s ours - p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / p.4

You couldn’t really tell if he was telling you or himself that. "How you feeling dad?" "Amazed, hopeful, scared... in love"

Get me out of here p.1 / p.2

“Why are you defending him?” “Because we need to think this through, babe. Toto’s not one of us anymore, you saw it.”

Your future was Ferrari - p.1 / p.2

Surely, it meant nothing for Lewis and you would probably never see him again. Your future was at Ferrari, somewhere he would never step foot in. Or would he?!

Multichapters

Ways to say “I love you” p.1 / p.2 / p.3(NSFW)

All these little things p.1 / p.2

Small firsts p.1

One-Shots

Angst

An impossible dream - "Don't you ever wonder what could have been?"

I didn't get scared. I'm always scared - “Do you even understand what it’s like for me? To love someone who lives every day like it might be their last?”

Not now, not ever - "You don't have to go through this alone, you know"

I'll come find you - “I’m scared… of how things have been, of how things are going to be.”

If these wings could fly - “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like Sunday. It’s been so long and everyone’s worked so hard for that”

And just like the sun, we will rise - “I can’t promise to have all the answers, but please let me in”

Fluffs

He always rises - "Like I knew I'd given it my all, every lap, every strategy meeting. And finally, finally, it’s paying off. It feels… good. It feels so damn good."

R for Roscoe, C for Coco - "You went through all this trouble just for Father's Day with Roscoe?"

Whispered fairytale - "The point is in the surprise. The joy of meeting them, whoever they are, for the very first time."

A thousand times over - "Since I still don’t believe it’s true… would you marry me, again?"

It sounds silly - "I'm a grown woman who’s achieved success in life, yet… I find myself comparing to those other women."

NSFW (+18 only)

Improvised Compensation - "My plans definitely involve you" he continued, "but they can be done anywhere"

As good as chocolate - "That's a new way to claim your share"

I'm yours, only yours - Vegas special - “You really thought she was any match for you?”

It always points South - “Your compass tattoo, huh?”

My Venus - MET special - "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

I want South - "Hello, miss explorer”

You only need to ask - "Seems like someone's forgotten how we got here in the first place"

It's Mrs. Hamilton - “Mark me, show me who I belong to”

The things we do for fashion - "Like what you see?" "More than you'll ever know."

Show me you care - “I’m asking you to, show me how much you want this, because I know you do”

My mark - “I’m not one to leave things unfinished”

NSFW alphabet

Senna!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Thank you for everything - "It doesn't matter how long it's been" "Grief doesn't have a deadline."

Under an Ipê tree - “He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure."

Drabbles

Do not under any circumstance plagarize, edit, repurpose, or repost any of my original work. this includes all of my works.

copyright © 2024 pickingupmymercedes all right reserved.

[pia-nor481]

Backpack

Oscar Piastri x reader SMUT

1.5K words

“Come on, you'll love it." Oscar exclaimed, looking back at her with a unusually wide smile, eagerness showing. "I don't know... It's a bit scary." That's not her way of rejecting, but more a desire for reassurance. "Love, listen, I'm a professional, but I'll go slow, just so you're comfortable." He practically whispered, hand resting on her arm. "It's still scary, I trust you, I promise. But so many people have a licence when they shouldn't." She was right, anytime Oscar was driving his car the only commentary would be his complaints. "Idiot in her fucking white Range," or "I didn't know Peugeots don't come with indicators anymore." but her personal favourite was "You and your fucking Renault." On the race track Oscar was usually sangfroid, but when his precious girlfriend in the car, it was easy to vex him. "I'll keep  you safe baby." She wanted to see him happy, and if this would, then she would be willing. "Okay, but you have to teach me." His hands covered her waist quickly, pulling her in tightly. 

What Oscar didn't tell her was how prepared he was for this, he'd already brought a helmet and some gloves, the only decent ones he could get were alpine, much to his distaste. They made way to the garage quickly, Oscar's hand tight on her waist, keeping her secure. "I will admit, its a nice bike." His excitement was clear, but her nerves continued. "So there are a few things you need to know, before we actually get on. It's mostly hand signals as I wont be able to hear your voice well while we are riding. When we turn corners you have to lean a little bit so we don't throw off the balance, so I'll tap you right leg if you to lean slightly, okay?" She nodded slowly, taking in his voice while trying to ease her nerves. "Because I'm the one driving I don't have to signal you as much, but I'll probably grab you, pull you closer...So I want you to tap my leg twice if you want me to slow down, That's the main one." She was looking between him and the bike every few words, hands becoming slightly shaky. "I want you to 'hit' me with your knuckles twice if you see either a BMW or a Range rover, hate those drivers." She giggled at his statement, voice dropping with annoyance. "Then if you see the police, or if you notice someone else do the signal, tap the top of my helmet twice. The bike is completely legal but sometimes the police are annoying, so wait for me to get off first okay." There was so much to take in but she was more than willing to learn for him. Oscar pointed to different parts of the bike, ensuring she was well informed. "Make sure you don't move your feet from here."

"Do you still want to do this?" He asked sweetly. One thing she loved about Oscar was how caring he was, he would always take her into consideration, until the last second. "Yes, I promise." A small smile adorned he face as she spoke. Oscar walked away slowly, to corner of the room. "Come here." He beckoned her over, she met him almost immediately. "Let's sort your hair first...It might actually be best to use a balaclava." He helped the best he could, despite his inexperience with hair in general. "When did you get this?" She asked, curious as to how long he's been planning on this. "A few weeks ago." He was sheepish in his answer, pink painting his face. "You're so cute." She giggled, slipping the gloves on, Oscar shook his head at the comment, deciding on when he should get her back for the statement. He pulled the helmet over her head and made sure it was secure, before turning around and dropping to his knees. She tilted her head slightly before realising he wanted her to climb onto his back. His hands were resting on her thighs as he walked back towards the bike. Oscar swung one leg over before sitting down, placing her behind him. She felt his hands trail down her legs, until he was confident she was positioned correctly. "Still sure?" He asked before pulling his helmet on. "Yes." She practically shouted. Oscar laughed at her enthusiasm, he of course could still hear, but it was better to make sure communication was as clear as possible. 

His hands left her thighs after a soft squeeze, he turned the keys and let the engine run for a while, letting her become accustom to the feeling of the bike. "Ready, Love?" He spoke looking back slightly, she nodded with a small yes and hugged Oscar's waist as tight as possible. 

Soon they made it to a quite road, Oscar was as calm and collected as ever, he could feel her loosening her grip slightly, still secure but she relaxed slightly. The feeling of being free enveloped her, she could see why so many people love riding; the breeze against her and the blur of objects in her peripheral vison. She was at ease. 

After a while, and the scare of filtering, they reached a red light. "You okay, Baby?" He asked, hands sliding up her thighs once again. "Yes." She shouted back, helmet resting against his back. A thought crossed her mind so she let her hands slide from his waist, down to his lower abs. She waited for Oscar to say something, perhaps tell her off, but no. Oscars hands squeezed the plush of her thighs once again. Soon her hands reached his quickly hardening cock, pressing down lightly and squeezing, excited to hear his voice. "Love?" Oscar gasped, words muffled by the helmet. Her hand ran up and down slowly, teasing the best she could with him fully clothed. Oscar looked up as he heard the sound of a horn and quickly realised the light was now green. His hands pulled her arms around his middle before he set off rather quick. 

Oscar enjoyed the feeling of her around him it was worrying that she was all he could think about at the moment. He shook his head slightly and focused on the roads, more specifically the road signs. The Australian was keen on finding a more secluded area. 

It took her a moment to acknowledge that he tapped her left thigh, but she slowly leaned with him and the bike as he turned into what looked like a forest. She could feel the bounce of the bike decrease slightly as Oscar slowed pulling to the edge of the road. Once fully stopped he aided her movements so both her feet were off the ground; one hand was around her waist for support and the other pulling her legs in the right direction. As she slipped the helmet and balaclava off she noticed Oscar was leaning against the side of the bike, helmet still on.  

"You can't even wait one hour to get you're hands on me, it's unreal," He laughed, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down slightly. "Come on then, since you're so desperate. One important fact about Oscar is how sweet he is, never once was he condescending, even now out in public taking his cock out just so his pretty girlfriend could suck him off. Her knees made contact with the ground swiftly. Her tongue ran up the underside of him, slow, before taking just the tip into her mouth. She sucked and kissed lightly, making sure to tease the slit. "Fuck Love, don't tease me, not now." he rushed out, hands making way to the top her her head, guiding her mouth to take him further. "That's it, so good to me." His excitement elevated as she began to suck harder, finally bobbing her head at a good pace. Once hand covered the base of his cock while the other gripped his thigh tight, needing the support. She desperately needed a breath and pulled away, letting her hands stroke him a few times, slow with a lose grip. "Ah, please Love." He groaned, head falling back slightly. She took his whole cock, tip reaching the back of her throat. She gagged around him but continued as she felt his cock twitch slightly. "Fuck Love, so close, please. She bobbed her head faster and almost immediately felt his cum running down her throat. 

"Fuck, you're too good to me." He said with haste, pulling her body up from the ground and against his, head falling to her shoulders. "I love you Oscar." She whispered, questioning if he can even hear her. "I love you Darling."

I hope everyone is okay and I’m sorry this took so long. This is 🏎️ from the poll that I did like 3 months ago. Plus I struggled with the actual writing since it’s been so long.

[silent-stories]

I'm with the band

(Eddie Munson x F!reader) reader has long hair, mention of drugs.

"There are too many people out there,” Eddie said nervously, aimlessly pacing in the backstage for the fourth time, nearly colliding with the other band members who were getting ready to go on stage.

He wasn’t wrong; the Hideout had never been this crowded, and you were the one to thank (or to blame). You had invited Robin to come see Corroded Coffin play that night, and she had called Vickie, who in turn had invited some of her friends. While chatting with Robin, Nancy and Jonathan overheard and joined in (despite Nancy not seeming thrilled about “listening to four guys scream all night”), and Jonathan had invited his quirky friend visiting from California too, who brought along more friends.

In short, friends had invited more friends, and they, in turn, had invited others, making the place more packed than it had ever been.

Eddie’s dark curls bounced on his shoulders with each step, and his self-cropped Anthrax t-shirt, cut with kitchen scissors a few days prior, revealed a sliver of his stomach.

Jeff rolled his eyes and walked away. He wasn’t ready to hear Eddie give the same speech for the fifth time in half an hour.

“Eddie, can you stop for a moment?” you got up from the old armchair where you’d been sitting since they let you into the backstage area that evening.

You grabbed a drumstick Gareth had left on the table and used it to secure your hair into something that was supposed to be a messy bun. It was a habit you’d picked up a few weeks ago, and you were pretty sure your drummer friend was starting to hate you for it.

"Eddie,” you repeated his name when you reached him, placing your hands on his arms to stop him. “It's gonna be okay.”

He let out a long sigh, wondering if you were aware that your touch alone could calm him in seconds, more effectively than hundreds of words ever could. When your hands returned to your sides, he already missed that contact.

He stared at you for a moment, his brown eyes filled with insecurity. “No,” he shook his head.

“Eds, you need to stay calm. They’ll like you, and-”

“Sweetheart, no one likes us. You’re the only person who claps every time we play here.”

“Because the other times, there wasn’t enough audience! This time will be different, trust me.”

“The last time I played in front of so many people, I was in middle school, and the whole school laughed at me. I’m not ready to experience that again.”

Eddie saw how your expression softened and worried at the same time, and he almost wished he hadn’t said it.

He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it even more than his quick pacing had already done. “God, I really need a joint right now.”

You let out a little laugh at that comment, and one corner of Eddie’s lips involuntarily lifted. The sound of your laughter always made him happier.

“No, all you need is a friend who tells you that you’ll rock it and that everything will be fine. And I’m here now, telling you that.” You stood on tiptoe to fix a stray curl.

“Trust me, please?” When you looked at him like that he couldn't help but believe you, or at least try. You always believed in him.

"Okay."

You smiled. God, you were so pretty and he had been so anxious that night that he hadn't even remembered to tell you.

"Okay?"

"Okay." He repeated, more confident this time.

Somewhere behind you you heard Jeff shout. "Five minutes and we're on stage!"

“Fuck.” Eddie sighed.

"Eddie. Eds, look at me. You have to promise me two things before you go out there. I'm serious."

Eddie remained silent, nodding slightly.

"The first is that whatever people do, think or say, you have to remember that it won't define you. I know who you are. I know what you're worth. I don't give a shit about them. A shit. Zero. Nada."

Eddie chuckled. "Second thing?"

"Second thing is, when you're famous you'll let me come on tour with you."

Eddie laughed, for real this time. Those dimples that you loved so much have appeared on his face. "You said you were serious!"

"Oh and I am! One hundred percent!"

Eddie, still laughing, placed his hand over his heart, as if swearing a solemn oath. "I promise on my honor."

"Okay, I'm happy now."

"I wouldn't go anywhere without you anyway. You're pretty much an integral part of the band now. I planned on kidnapping you in case I ever left town but you make things a lot easier now."

"Well, I guess you won't need it."

"Two minutes!" Jeff shouted.

"I think I have to go now."

You nodded, a smile still on your lips.

"C'mere." He quickly said before wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest in a hug.

You inhaled his scent for a few seconds, it was smoke and cheap beer, like all the other times. For you, there was nothing better.

After a moment, you slightly pulled away but his hand was still on your back, as if he wasn't ready to let you go, and you found yourself looking into his chocolate brown eyes trying to figure out what was happening.

His gaze wasn't on your eyes though. It seemed like your mouth had caught his attention.

When you realized his lips were so close to yours that you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin, a voice interrupted the moment.

You cleared your throat as Eddie took a step back.

"My drum stick!" Gareth repeated, a bit of frustration but also amazement because of what he had just seen in his voice, moving his gaze between the two of you.

"Fuck, you're right." You murmured, pulling it out of your hair and handing it to him. You had completely forgotten about it.

Gareth looked at his friend. "Are you coming with us or you two want to get a room?"

"Yes, no, I mean. I'm coming, fuck, I mean. I'm ready. All ready. Yes. Ready."

You giggled when you saw a light shade of red on his cheeks.

"I'll be cheering for you in the front row, you know that."

"I know. Thank you sweetheart."

He looked at you one last time before following Gareth onto the stage.

You stood there for a second. Wondering what the hell just happened.

Then you left the backstage.

[olderthannetfic]

As far as pride flag discourse goes, I always think of a time in high school where a classmate excitedly asked if I wanted to go to some big flashy pride event in our city. I had to explain that I couldn't handle crowds or loud noises or that many bright colours in one place at once, so I couldn't really attend most pride events, ever. She responded by telling me she was surprised to know I hated myself for being gay that much and how sad it was that I was ashamed of it.

(Additional context: every classmate knew I was gay. The teachers knew. The other year levels knew. It was not a secret. My big on-display-in-the-school-hallway art project was two women making out. That was all I ever drew. There was very little shame in me for that, I promise.)

The response was so baffling to me that I couldn't work out how to just say "conflicting access needs" back at her. Anyway, I do think the Progress flag is ugly, but I also get why it's important to some people and why it makes them feel safe to see it used, I also get why some people don't like it and think arrays of several more specific flags all together send a better message, or why some people feel safest with the all-encompassing but safely ambiguous nine stripe flag. I get why some people find the rainbow flag eye hurty in all forms!

If people can argue over which flag they like best without being assholes about it, then fantastic. If only.

--

I find it funny and sad that the reason we got the main rainbow flag back in the day is that it was the one with colors that were easy to mass produce.

[misty--nights]

Episode 5, here we go! This episode is a roller coaster. It has some of the funniest gags in the series, but also some of the most heartbreaking scenes. I'm surprised at how many thoughts I had about the characters with this one.

The editing of the recap has me dying! Who decided to cut from Niko asking if Edwin wanted to kiss Monty to that shot of Charles from when Edwin was enraptured by him and then back to Edwin saying "I don't know"? I gasped when I saw that. Fantastic

Charles is leaning in for a kiss when before Crystal says they need to talk. No, my boy, someone give him a hug

I said it before in episode 4, but it's wild to me that there was apparently like no real investigation done into Brad and Hunter's deaths

The envelope with Niko's letter has the same stickers as her envelope with rent from last episode. As someone who also finds every excuse to use cute stickers, I find this amazing

For all of Maxine's glaring problems, she actually makes a pretty good librarian. Love that she greets Niko by asking if she's done with her reading. Also love that apparently Niko borrows at least some of her manga from the library (we love supporting libraries in this house)

Charles looks genuinely intrigued when Niko mentions having her own case. I really wish we had gotten to see more scenes with these two because they'd make an amazing team. Just imagine the chaos and good vibes of the two of them combined

I know the eight ball is supposed to be predicting her imminent death, but the "outlook not so good" fits really well with the outlook of the date. And it shows right after she says she's feeling lucky about her case, so, I think it applies to that as well (in a way, you could say it's predicting Maxine's death in the episode? Maybe?)

When they go to the dragon's den, Brad says people don't go there anymore because they miss him and Hunter too much, which is an interesting way to put it. Like, I understand why he'd interpret it like that, given the kind of people the two of them are, but still. It didn't click until now that that is most likely not what other students think when they imagine going to the dragon's den

Edwin looks so concerned about what a hand job is. Especially after Charles reaction, I'm dying

There is a genuine record scratch after Maxine mentions the nightshirt thing. I rarely pay attention to the background music in shows and music, so this one took me by surprise. It works really well with the scene, though, I like it

I know part of the reason this case affects Charles so much is because he's trying to tell himself he's not this terrible person because of his trauma and anger. But do you also think Brad and Hunter remind him of the guys he used to hang out with when he was alive? The ones who killed him? He looks really hurt when he tells them "you were cruel just for the shits", and I think it would make sense for him to be remembering his own friends' cruelty. Towards that other boy they were kicking and that he tried to defend, and towards Charles himself when they killed him. I think maybe in that moment he's remembering the way they laughed as they hurt him, how they cheered as he froze in the lake and tried to avoid their blows

Did they put eyeliner on Charles just so that his eyes would look all smudged every time he cries? Because it's devastating seeing him like that each time. And that hopeful smile he gets right before hugging Edwin? Ugh, my heart

Also in that scene, the way Charles nuzzles against Edwin's face during the hug, I swear!! Someone needs to give this boy like a thousand hugs right now

"I could smooth everything out again." This line breaks me knowing Crystal's backstory. Can you imagine her, letting David posses her because he promised to dull out all of this rage and hurt that have festered inside of her for years? And he does, he takes all of that and the memories and everything, but she's left trapped inside of herself, unable to do anything but watch him do as he pleases with her body. I think she should also get like a thousand hugs right away

Is Monty's ring a bird skull? Because that's adorable and very on brand

[cosyvelvetorchid]

for the prompt thing: beach day with jee-yun

Such a cute prompt! Thank you!

Enjoy 🩶

As always you can send bucktommy prompts to my ask box at any time. I love writing them so have at it 😊

*************

"So what plans have you got for the day?" Maddie asked on the phone.

"Tommy and I are taking Christopher to the beach for the day. What about you?" He asked. Maddie grunted in response.

"Everything. I promised Jee's daycare I'd make 50 cupcakes for tomorrow. The house is a mess that I need to clean. And I have to find time to go to the bank and the lawyer."

"Lawyer? Is-is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah. You wouldn't believe the amount of paperwork that comes with getting married. Doug wouldn't put my name on anything, so I had no idea. But with me and Howie combining everything equally, it means putting his name on my stuff and mine on his. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the lawyer fees topped the cost of the wedding itself."

"Well, hey, why don't we take Jee with us? Give you some time and space to get everything done."

"Oh my god, really?!"

"Sure. I haven't seen her in at least 4 days, so I need some Jee time anyway."

"You are the best little brother in the world!"

***

"There's snacks in the bag, extra clothes. Her swimsuit is on under her clothes now. Oh, and don't forget sunscreen. Every hour and extra if she goes into the ocean." Buck swung Jees backpack over his shoulder and picked her up.

"You ready for a fun day at the beach?" He asked her.

"Yeah!" She nodded .

***

They had a blast at the beach. Tommy helped the kids dig a hole. Buck consoled Jee when the tide came in and filled it. They ate ice cream, and sandwiches that probably had sand in them, though nobody really noticed.

"What?" Buck asked noticing Tommy watching him.

"Its sweet - the way you're looking at them." He gestured to Jee-yun and Christopher playing a few metres in front of them. "You want that in the future? Kids, I mean?"

"Uh, yeah. Someday. What about you?" He asked. Tommy sighed and looked towards the kids.

"Honestly, I'd never really considered it. I guess I always thought I'd never find someone to have that chance with." He answered honestly.

"Thought? Past tense? You, uh.. you think differently now?" He asked tentatively. They were way too early on their relationship to think seriously about kids, or even marriage, but knowing where their intentions laid was a good thing.

"Now.. let's just say that there's more hope these days." He smiled softly at Buck.

***

The sun was starting its descent, allowing the sky to begin glowing in beautiful shades of pink and the temperature to begin lowering.

Tommy was helping the kids build a sand castle. Sand city was more accurate. If he wasn't a firefighter, he could definitely throw his hand at architecture, Buck thought.

He sat back on his chair just watching him. The way Tommy joyfully and enthusiastically played with the kids made Bucks' heart bubble over in his chest. He'd make a great dad.

"Letting Tommy do all the work I see?" Eddie's voice came from above. He looked behind to see both Eddie and Chim walking towards him, then sit down.

"They have a good day?" Chimney asked.

"Let's just say I think they'll both sleep tonight." He laughed.

Buck continued to watch Tommy fondly. He thought about how different his life was a year ago. Struck by lightning and having no idea where is life was going. Now he was sat on a beach, at the end of a beautiful day, staring at the man he was hopelessly and disgustingly in love with. Eddie and Chim both noticed how he was looking at Tommy.

"It's a bit early, don't ya think? Eddie told him.

"Huh?"

"To think about having kids with Tommy." He said

"I am not." Buck replied defensively, with a glint in his eye. "We've been together barely 6 months."

"Exactly." Chimney added. "So I hope you're both using protection."

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

I'm not the person who asked but 👁👁 may I inquire as to the spoilery season 5 problems

Understand that everything I'm about the say Under the Cut, comes from a place of bias. Bias that truly does love the Juno Steel storyline, bias that absolutely hates the plot direction Kabert took with the last two seasons

Slip Jackson. He is the plothole they wrote, the corner Kabert backed themselves into and had to write themselves out of. The one NO ONE ASKED FOR but they wrote in anyways to explain "this is what happened After Nureyev saved NK and killed Mag". I cannot stress enough how pissed off and annoyed Slappery Junkyard makes me from a plot standpoint.

Too many plot devices disguised as characters. Every other episode the listener and Juno is introduced to someone new. And every other episode they are forgotten about and we move on to the next. This is the equivalent I feel to early TMA and early WTNV monster of the week and even early TPP where Juno is solving one case after the next-

Only this time Juno's chasing after Nureyev across the fucking galaxy. I love Juno with all my heart, but it still is super annoying that all of season 5 is spent of him chasing after Nureyev, getting tripped up, chasing after Nureyev, getting tripped up, wash rinse repeat. Especially more annoying and upsetting when you factor in that Nureyev blatantly does not want to be followed (but me and every other listener is a fucking sucker for a hopeful fool and dramatic love story. If this happened to someone you actually knew, you wouldn't encourage or condone Juno's behavior, but because the Lady isn't real and it's all a work of fiction and Juno is the Hero, ofc we're all cheering him on)

Grandpappy's recipe. We're given a hint of worldbuilding to the rest of the galaxy, and Juno shows some appreciation towards Rita, but it is not her storyline. It is not Rita-centric. And the depiction of Nureyev in these couple of episodes (i don't know how anyone else felt) came so far out of left field for me, that I almost didn't believe what Juno and Rita were saying about him. Something along the lines of Nureyev is a con, and he sweet talks and seduces all of his targets into falling for him, before ultimately turning on them and stealing from their pockets. The Homme Fatale thing gets really pushed, and it's like everything discussed in Man in Glass never happened.

The amazing moment in Heart of it All when he reminds Buddy "a legend is a dead thing" (and by extension the discussion he had with her in Man in Glass) might as well never fucking happened. Peter goes the entirety of season 5 with his head so far up his own ass, he can't see past his own bullshit, until it's literally 10 minutes too late.

Nureyev is deliberately rude towards Juno (who did cross a boundary MULTIPLE TIMES) but is also extremely fucking dismissive of the Ruby7 being anything but a car (it's not, it's an alien from outside of this galaxy and Nureyev cannot accept that for some reason, but he can totally get behind reviving his long lost first love???)

OH AND RITA!!! POOR POOR FUCKING RITA OMG- Juno is a massive fuckin dick to her in Season 1, he promises to do better for her at end of Season 2, and she is the first Aurinko he rescues in Season 4 because he knows without her he won't be of much use. Rita is supposed to be Juno's backbone, but she's more like the brace he wears when he needs it. The Rita episode in Season 3 is framed as a good thing for her character and meant to be a confidence boost, but it's really not. And Season 4 I don't remember, but literally in Season 5 Rita is sidelined and put over on the bench because she "makes too many mistakes" on missions. Juno dresses it up as "You're our ace in the hole" but cmon. Come the fuck on.

[fionapplespiano]

Tom Brevoort's whole "Scott and Jean having kids will age them" thing is kinda unfounded. (an analysis)

First of all, Tom Brevoort has stated that he believes that Scott and Jean are 28 years old, the same age as Peter Parker.

However, using the rule that four years our time is one year in the marvel universe, that claim simply isn't true. Scott and Jean debuted a little over 60 years ago, when they were 15-16 years old. 60 divided by 4 equals 15, so 16 + 15 means they are 31 years old as of right now.

But it should be noted that it was said that Jean was 24 years old when she died during the Dark Phoenix Saga, which was 44 years ago. 44 divided by 4 equals 11, so by that metric, Scott and Jean are 35.

So, Scott and Jean are NOT 28 years old, they're most likely somewhere between 31 and 35 years old in the current cannon.

Regardless of where you stand with their ages, one thing we can all agree on is that they are canonically older than Cannonball and Jubilee. And yet, they both have kids...

I mean, yeah, having a kid ages them a bit. But that's because they aren't in their 20s anymore? They were the first X-Men, so they're older than most of the other X-Men.

Also, they already kinda have a kid? In Cable? I mean, he wasn't born to Jean, he was born to her clone Madelyne Pryor. But she still raised him after Madelyne tried sacrificing him to demons.

But the problem is that Cable had to be raised in the future due to some techno-organic virus bullshit (I've never been a fan of the storyline), and they could only raise him until he turned 13.

Cable is 100% Scott and Jean's baby boy. But us Jott fans want them to have a baby they can raise in present day from start to finish.

I don't Rachel really counts, because I think she was around 18 years old when she came to the 616 universe. And I don't think they even remember Nate Grey...the writers certainly don't!

So, since they're already parents, are the first members of the X-Men, and X-Men that are canonically younger than them have kids themselves, how would them having another child be detrimental?

Listen, I get that we all have preferences, and not every couple needs to have a kid. But in the same breath, not every superhero needs to be a bachelor in their 20s, it's okay to let them evolve and let them get married or have kids.

If there's any X-Men couple that should have a child (that they don't have to send to the future) and be the Reed and Sue of the X-Men, it should be Jean and Scott.

Plus, Jean promised Rachel all the way back in the 90s that they would have the 616 version of her. It's rude to keep her waiting!

That's one way of saying you're gonna raw dog it tonight

So yeah, that's my rant for tonight. Scott and Jean are my favorite couple, and I know that I speak for a lot of Jott fans when I say that they should have a kid.

I think it would allow their relationship to evolve in a beautiful way ❤️❤️❤️

(p.s While we're at it, can we give Peter his marriage back? He's allowed to evolve too)

[terrorbirb]

I'm bored at work so I'm seeing if I should report my old company for violating labor standards.

[elliesbelle]

lol

[scorndotexe]

also sorry but if a conversation is about what something means it doesn't feel like the place to talk about how rude or tactless it is. we're having an autistic conversation can we move past "people will be hurt by that." well at least in this situation the person who could have been hurt by it wasn't. people might be hurt by that but you know what that's a separate discussion

[marklikely]

really love amateur Internet horror as a whole like its a great medium for passion projects and creativity but if there's one thing id like to never ever see in the space again its "legitimately good subtle story but we added a scary monster that runs at you BWAH!!"