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moonkkives · 11 months

Text

- ( NEWSFLASH! )

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader, charles leclerc x platonic fem!reader, driver!reader

summary: charles can’t tell what’s worse, having to deal with ferrari or having to see his two best friends pinning on each other.

warning: fluffy!, charles wingman this time <3, mentions of banging someone’s head against a metal door <3

word count: 635

them: sundress, zoo culture

author's note: daniel back in the grid? hello? <3 also can we please talk about how f1 official social media is ignoring nyck like he’s the plague?

also, send any requests/ideas for this story if you have any! these are my babies right here 😭

max had hit a new low, charles noticed.

like, he was never one to effectively hide his feelings for his teammate; but this was starting to become a problem.

in part for his well-being, because, to be honest, if he looked at max’s lovesick eyes filling you every move when you weren’t looking he was going to throw up.

both metaphorically and physically.

but also, it was slowly but surely starting to affect his racing career — you just worked too well together. way too well.

it was one thing that red bull being an absolute rocket ship. it was another, however, when your connection to your teammate so deep that it was a huge task to be able to get past both of you on track.

you move in synchrony all of the time, easily switching between defending and attacking

your dynamic was pure magic, as david croft had mentioned many times in the past.

you were both aware, because, how could you not? terrorizing the rest of the gird had become your whole personality.

“better luck next time charles, hopefully!” “yeah, that ferrari is certainly— some thing else.”

pierre always laughed at charles’ face after.

and charles always pinched your arm in revenge.

but honestly, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy for you. he couldn’t think of anyone else more deserving to be in a top team at the moment.

similar to max, charles and you also went way back. only that you became best friends from the get go.

so, you can imagine how much charles has suffered for the past million years watching both of you blindly pin on each other.

you might we’re talented, but you sure are oblivious as fuck.

fast forward to today, he felt lando fake a gag right beside him as they were walking towards their cars to get ready for the pre-race driver’s parade.

“are you seeing that?” lando asked, “disgusting.”

charles chuckled, eyes setting on the pair that had undoubtedly catched the eyes of many people on track.

you were both walking ahead of the group, side by side and in your little own world. max was laughing at something you had said.

it probably wasn’t even that funny, but charles wasn’t going to go there.

max responded to your comment, making you let out a chuckle and softly push his arm. but a smile on his face, he took the chance and confidently wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

he heard lando let out a low teasing “ooh”.

they both watched as you trailed your fingers down his back, before wrapping it around his waist.

this time lando let out a surprised laugh, “ooh—“ he started, “that was cheeky.”

charles laughed, slapping his arm “mate, you’re being too loud!”

lando ignored him, eyes glued to both of your figures as you walked side by side, arms in arms. “she’s getting confident! did you see that little—“ he said, imitating your previous hand movement down max’s back “little thing. baby’s gonna get her man!”

he could now hear albon’s laugh coming from behind them, having now caught up on the gossip. albon pushed lando from behind.

charles shushed them both, however, his eyes were gleaming with amusement. “can you guys be any more obvious!”

lando groaned, “oh, come on! someone has to tell them!”

“absolutely not.” charles refuted, just like he had since day one, “they’ll figure it out themselves.

albon raised a brow at him, “how are you so sure?” he asked, now walking beside him and lando

charles chuckled, “because,” he started. “if they don’t, i’ll bang my head against a metal door.”

with his eyes still on you, charles couldn’t help but smile at the ways your arms were wrapped around each other, heads angling to meet in the middle and footsteps synchronized.

you were going to figure it out, charles thought, you had to. . . right?

#max verstappen #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula one x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula one one shot #f1 one shot #formula 1 imagine #f1 x y/n

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queerfanfiction · 10 months

Note

Could you write a fluffy smut where reader has mummy issues who cancelled on her for taking her bra shopping and Larissa offered to go with her and helps her pick out the perfect set but then it ends with smut idk you chose :)

Mummy Issues

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 3.6k includes: mommy issues, public-ish sex, discussion of trauma, fingering, fluff, mommy kink, praise kink

Your therapist is actually the one who suggested you ask your mom to go shopping with you to find a bra set for an upcoming performance. You’re not saying this specific reparenting technique doesn’t work, but there was no way in hell your mother was going to follow through. Still, you tried anyway. You were vulnerable anyway.

You’re exhausted from parenting your own parent, always considering other’s needs before your own. Fresh out of university and you still have never had anyone else take care of you for a change. The shopping idea was intended to be a low-stakes role reversal where your mom would step up to the task at hand.

Earlier that morning you texted your mom to confirm the meet up in Burlington. You never heard back, which wasn’t uncommon. Since you were coming all the way from Montreal, though, you expected some sort of acknowledgement. You even texted her as you were driving over to no avail. Downtown Burlington was not where you would have picked to shop if your mother was not involved. It was close to where she lived, and she loved the hustle and bustle of Church Street. To you it always seemed like a hot mess. Now you were in the middle of that mess alone.

After waiting in your car for 15 minutes, it doesn’t take a genius to know you got stood up once again. You contemplated just driving back right then and there. This wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do alone, yet none of your friends are in the area any longer. They all had moved away. Overwhelmed by the sheer fuckery of nothing ever working out, you were frustrated and tired. You consider breaking down into tears over the wasted trip and the years of parental neglect represented by this one instance.

The only person who you can think of still in the area is Ms. Weems. You suppose it’s Principal Weems now (thank you social media for that one). Is it weird to invite a former teacher you once had a massive crush on to go shopping? It’s been so long that it would be nice to catch up. You’re not going to lie, you were yearning to see the older woman. Impulsively, you dial the number she gave you for emergencies back when you attended Nevermore. To your surprise, a firm but sweet voice answers—the same voice that you’d fantasize about in your dorm when your roommate was out. You try to control your voice, but too many conflicting emotions make you croak and sniffle a bit when identifying yourself.

“My dear, is everything alright? And, please, it’s Larissa.” A tone of worry was inflected back to you by the other woman.

In an attempt to dodge the question about your wellbeing, you respond, “I’m actually back in Burlington, trying to find an outfit for an upcoming performance. Any chance you’re free?” You tried to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Larissa returned with, “Oh, I don’t wish to intrude, but it was very kind of you to think of me.” Shit, apparently too nonchalant…

You reflect on all the times Larissa had comforted you back at Nevermore. She was protective of all her students, but it truly meant the world to you. You had always thought it was just another day, another student problem for her. There were many times you were neglected or mistreated by your mother that Larissa was privy to back then. Knowing this, as a Hail Mary, you softly let slip out, “I was supposed to meet my mom…”

Without missing a beat, Larissa’s voice turned tight, “Where are you?” You glance at the cross streets, give her your location, and let her know the specific store you’re at. She concludes, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes, love.”

Your heart flutters at the familiar pet name.

—

You’re already occupying the changing room when Larissa arrives. She calls out for you, and you crack open the door to let her into the small fitting area.

You are met with the most comforting hug. Larissa stroked your hair and squeezed you tightly. The last time an embrace has felt so all-encompassing was also from Larissa, which is a bit embarrassing. You guess you just don’t have a lot of good huggers in your life, and it felt so nice to be held close by someone. You breathe out a long sigh, as if all your troubles are muted by the closeness of the woman in front of you. Her scent replaces the air in your lungs, and you consider how nice it would be to never end this embrace.

When she pulls back and sees that your eyes are slightly red and puffy, she bends down towards you to cup your face with both of her hands. All that comes out of her mouth is “Oh, sweetie.” You give her a half-hearted smile in response. Her hands immediately begin stroking your face, brushing hair from your eyes, and occasionally resting her thumb and index finger at your chin. This. This is what being cared for is; the realization hits you and radiates out through your body.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Would you like to debrief about your mother? Or carry on with what’s needed here?” Larissa gestures to the garments in the fitting room without taking her eyes off of you.

Noticing how close she still is to your face makes your head dizzy, and you stutter, “I-I need s-something to wear under a strapless dress that won’t show during a piano performance.”

Reassuringly, Larissa states, “We can do that. You know I have an eye for those sorts of things. We’ll have you sorted in no time.” She then moves her hands to your upper arms and rubs them before turning to examine the items already set out.

“Piano? It’s no wonder. You always played brilliantly at Nevermore,” Larissa continued elatedly, brandishing a supportive smile. You think back to times when you’d be practicing in Nevermore’s music auditorium alone and feel a comforting presence at the back of the concert hall near the doors. You always assumed it was your imagination, not daring to get your hopes up that someone cared enough to support you or cheer you on. Your mother made sure of that…

You feel so much more at ease with Larissa here. Now that you think about it, she has always provided stability and nurtured you. You remember that she would sometimes give you rides to Jericho when the only Nevermore vehicle at the time was in use. You credit a lot of your success with the piano to her too, because she would encourage you to do open mics at the Weathervane and signed you up to play at a parade that Jericho had every couple of years.

Yes, you felt indebted to the tall, gorgeous woman before you. The years since you’ve seen her have only emphasized her beauty. Her demeanor is both commanding and protective. It’s as if she is more comfortable in her skin than before; there is a sureness in her stance that is nice to see and that you wish you had. Even though you always considered her fashionable, her clothes now exude a kind of pride and carefully crafted style. Larissa’s perfectly-coiffed updo accentuates the smooth, supple skin of her neck before disappearing beneath her expertly tailored dress.

These thoughts invoke a light blush from your cheeks, and you know you can’t speak about your crush on her in the past tense. Your immediate dry mouth while watching her is proof that it never went away. Now you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have sought her out to assist in purchasing the perfect underwear, especially because you see her turn towards the garments and an emotion flashes across her face when she realizes the kinds of items you’ve picked out and need assistance with.

You’ve always liked the idea of dressing up underneath your formal outfit. To you, it made it feel more special, gave you extra confidence. For instance, knowing a sexy lace set was underneath your clothes made you feel as if you had a fun secret. Though, you realize it’s probably inappropriate to expect Larissa to help with this. If she felt uncomfortable, she was hiding it well. You tried to continue on as if everything was normal, even though doing so felt impossible.

When Larissa sits on the small ledge provided in the dressing room, you emphasize, “Thank you again for coming. I just drove from where I am now in Montreal.”

Realizing you should continue trying items on, you reach to unbutton your shirt when you hear, “You poor thing! Have you eaten?”

At this, you scrunch your face and shake off your blouse. “I’ll get something after this.” So many conflicting emotions swirl inside of you. You’re conflicted at whether to relish in the desperately needed maternal care or to shrug it off as a defense mechanism.

You begin to unhook a bra from its hanger and feel like you should ask, “Do you mind?” Larissa interprets that you’d like to change from your bra into the new one, waving her hand dismissively and saying, “Go ahead” in a delicate manner.

Without looking too awkward and challenged, you attempt to put on the new bra while taking your current bra off in quick succession. It would have worked if the one you were trying on actually fit you. You had a hard time getting it on, and once you did, your breasts spill out of the top half, giving you the illusion of having four boobs. With you panting from the endeavor, you and Larissa begin to laugh at how silly it looks. You’re surprised that you’re not mortified, but instead having fun.

With some of your own tension released, you turn away from Larissa and towards the mirror to decide if you like the bra enough to go up a cup size. As you do this, what you don’t see is Larissa’s curious gaze, as if she is wishing she could reach out and touch the pillowy softness of your breasts.

“So, this one is NOT it.” Your playful declaration pulls Larissa from her lustful thoughts. It’s short-lived, though, since you immediately begin to try on more items. This time you choose a deep maroon matching set, and you turn slightly away from Larissa in order to pull up the bottoms over your current underwear. Because of the limited space in the room, your ass accidentally winds up in Larissa’s face. As if it is all in your head, you pretend the enclosed space is not rife with sexual tension.

“That’s gorgeous,” Larissa coos moments later with her hand reaching out. With both hands, she rubs along the intricate lace detail at your hip bones, and it feels as if your skin is set ablaze. You fight the urge for your breath to turn heavy and wanting.

Even if all of the tension is in your head and one-sided, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll need to stop trying things on soon. Well, at least stop trying on bottoms, because you can feel yourself getting wet under Larissa’s stares and encouragement.

“That fits you so very well.” “I love this on you.” “It looks absolutely spectacular.” “You look stunning.”

Not to mention Larissa has taken a hands-on approach to her support. After briefly touching your hips, she began dragging her long fingers along bits of your exposed skin when she was discussing an area. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the goosebumps that arise each time her touch lingers. At least being half naked in the chilly changing room is an excuse for the tight buds of your nipples.

The juxtaposition between this experience and what your mother would have had in store for you is dizzying. No doubt she would have critiqued your strong shoulders or the cellulite on your thighs. It would have ended in a fight, you just know it. However, everything out of Larissa’s mouth was refreshing and electrifying. Maybe even healing at times?

The final set you had picked out was a delicate mesh thong bodysuit that was almost entirely see-through. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should you stop trying things on. Larissa must have noticed, because she uncrossed and crossed her legs a few times before voicing, “Go on, honey.”

Embracing the process sheepishly, you slip into the item and turn away from Larissa to look at yourself. You study the outline of your breasts in the mirror, trying to determine if the subtle texture of the mesh would be noticeable under your dress. Or would the distance between the stage and the seats obscure the texture?

You then see that Larissa seems to be studying them too, except her eyelids are hooded and her pupils are dilated. Almost in slow motion you watch her involuntarily lick her lips. Your heart beats quicker, a flash of heat moves through your body, and you suppress a low moan.

Your eyes meet Larissa’s in the mirror.

You couldn’t say who initiated what next. Only that you were on Larissa’s lap, straddling her, while her hands were on you, roaming over your body and settling on your hips. Your mouths are working in tandem with each other, and you welcome her red lipstick staining your lips and neck. Your hands go to Larissa’s face—one cupping it possessively and the other slinking back to grip the nape of her neck. You want desperately to wreck her perfect hair, turning it into physical evidence of your connection and closeness.

Both you and Larissa can feel the heated energy building between you as you frantically attempt to take off the mesh bodysuit. Before you can, though, Larissa steadies your hands and inquires breathlessly, “Is this okay, darling?” Her eyes search your own, and you can make out desire and worry in her eyes.

You have to take a moment to let what she is asking sink in. This feels like such a natural (if not slightly expedited) progression of your feelings for Larissa. You wonder if there is more underlying her question. You know you two will have to debrief your feelings but right now the hormones raging through your body make it hard to focus too much on the worry or questions around if this should be happening. Instead, your body wiggles on top of hers, begging to continue the friction of your hips against her. You involuntarily whine and nod. “I want this, Larissa.”

Seeing your need and the sureness in your gaze, Larissa regains her composure and utters, “Shh, let me take care of you.”

—

Larissa rivals your intensity with her own fierce need. Her kisses are passionate yet soft. Her hands are gentle but unyielding in how they explore your body once the mesh bodysuit is off. With her every caress and tender nip over your skin, you feel so wholly wanted, cared for, and desired. A fire underlies Larissa’s behavior, as if each touch begets more longing and thirst for you. At the same time, you couldn’t have anticipated the fervent need you had to be validated and devoured by this woman.

Once she has marked your neck with her lipstick and teeth, Larissa moves downward to take one of your fleshy, beaded nipples in her mouth. Barely audible to you, she breathes out, “Absolutely beautiful” before flicking it with her tongue and causing you to arch your back.

One of Larissa’s hands runs over your thighs, teasing you and drawing circles and zigzags on your delicate skin. You can’t help but whimper in need every single time her fingers get closer to where your thighs meet. After almost resigning to her pace and authority, she trails up to cup your arousal. Your legs twitch with the sudden contact, and you emit a gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” Pleased, Larissa enunciates every word, drawing the words out and reveling in how at her mercy you are. “It’s intoxicating.”

Unable to withstand not taking action, you press your lips against hers roughly, trying to close any distance between your bodies. Breathless after many kisses, you move to suck on her neck and whisper, “Larissa.”

“Please.”

Only after this plea does Larissa finally dip a finger into you. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough. You would usually appreciate a sexual partner pacing themselves, but the need for her to fill you is overpowering. You wriggle your hips back and forth impatiently and breathlessly request, “More.”

Larissa delighted in your clear hunger for her, fully intending to give you everything you want. She eases in another finger past her second knuckle before adding a third finger once she realizes how slick and open you are for her. You unintentionally bite down on her shoulder, not expecting to get what you want without more begging.

You couldn’t have imagined how good her fingers feel inside you. And you absolutely had imagined it. You remember pretending your fingers were hers after late nights riding back with her from Jericho. Or the time she gave you her coat on a chilly night and forgot to get it back, so you ended up masterbating to her scent surrounding you. Okay, you’re not super proud of that one, but at the time it felt world-changing the desire you had. Her fingers working inside of you now are of a different caliber. In fact, you never understood the metaphor of sex as worship or religion, but being on top of Larissa with her half-lidded eyes roaming your body changes things. You want to make her feel a sliver of how good you do right now.

Your hands begin to grab at the fabric of her top, desperate to remove her clothing and pleasure her as she is inside of you. Larissa lets out a low, throaty chuckle before asserting, “Ah, ah, ah. I want to focus on you, love. Let me please you.”

Her interjection just makes your heart swell more for her, and noticeably your noise level swells, as well. You’re not used to undivided attention and care—someone wanting your happiness above all else. It’s more erotic than you could have ever anticipated. At the increase in breathiness and moans, one of Larissa’s hands clamps over your mouth while the other continues to pump in and out of you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the reflection in the dressing room mirror of you riding her long fingers completely nude while she is fully clothed. The sight makes your knees weaker, and you groan, “Oh, fuck.”

Larissa’s whispers and affirmations throughout only brought you closer and closer to release. She has to know how her words are affecting you. Her hot breath over and over in your ear, inching you towards the edge.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” “I’ll give you anything you want.” “Shh, stay quiet for me.” “That’s a good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten around Larissa’s fingers, becoming more breathless and spacey as she presses the pads of her curled fingers inside you toward your pelvic bone, urging you to come undone. So, you do. Your entire body tenses, and you feel as if you will crumble under the anticipation and pressure. Tingles shoot down your arms and legs in waves, threatening overstimulation.

Larissa’s fingers still, and she presses you close to her, clutching you tightly. After a moment of your eyes being closed and your breathing slowly relaxing, Larissa asks you to bear down with your pelvic floor muscles. Confused, you obey. She gingerly removes her fingers from inside you, and your body aches at the loss. She proceeds to lean forward with you still on her lap, wrapping her arms around you and begins to rock you.

“You did so well, my love,” Larissa murmurs while stroking your hair away from your damp forehead. “You were so good for me.”

You can’t remember the last time someone was so attentive and sweet with you after sex—if ever. You also have never felt like an exposed live wire due to euphoria either, so… Her thoughtfulness makes your heart swell, and you’re hoping it’s not just due to the hormones flooding your body right now. As if you can’t contain the disbelief and gratefulness, you blurt in awe, “How are you real?”

Larissa pulls away from the embrace, searching your eyes for understanding. “I ask myself the same question about you.” At that, you rest your forehead against Larissa’s, exhausted and happy.

After sensing your heart rate has stabilized, wanting to make sure you go to the bathroom and hydrate becomes Larissa’s next priority. Her voice breaks the comfortable silence. “Let’s get you some food now. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

You two pick up the items in the messy dressing room and sheepishly leave the clothes on the courtesy rack outside. A grin blooms over your features as you think about how being stood up by your mom feels like such a nonissue now. Even the dilemma of what underwear to wear for your upcoming performance seems trivial. Walking out of the store with Larissa’s lipstick all over you, you decide that you won’t wear anything under your dress, especially not if Larissa is in the audience.

—

@sapphicbeloved Remember when you sent this request literal months ago????? Oops. Apologies, and please enjoy!

#I'm so sorry this took MONTHS to finish #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #mommy issues #principal larissa weems #request #requests #gwendoline christie #larissa weems #asks #fanfic #not proofread #will also post to ao3 #sapphicbeloved #fluff #smut #fluffy smut

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chimielie · 9 months

Text

got no shame (i love the way you’re screaming my name)

summary: Terushima x Reader. got shame? terushima doesn’t.

word count: 1.6k

cw: terushima’s a slut (who is domesticated unknowingly by reader), bad group project etiquette, general unwiseness.

a/n: this… wasn’t supposed to be this long. essentially nothing happens. it’s completely sfw even though i call terushima a slut. sorry

"Hi," you say brightly, setting your laptop down on the desk next to your assigned project partner. "I was thinking we could set up—"

"Yeah, hang on," he—Terushima, according to the instructor's sign-up sheet—interrupts you. "Hey. Hey. Can I get your number?"

You open your mouth before you realize he's talking to the girl behind you, who agrees as easily as he'd asked. They chat a little while longer, taking their sweet-ass time before he turns back to you and she to her partner.

"So I was thinking we could set up a shared document and do this all online," he says, unapologetic, a lazy grin playing on his mouth. You decide then and there that you hate Terushima Yuuji with everything you have in you.

Miraculously, you survive the group project (with the aid of remote work, aggressively polite wording, and a lot of pep talks from your friends). He should be thankful he survived, you think darkly, casting a glare at him as he chatters to a group of friends across the room. He doesn't know how many times you got through class by imagining wrapping your hands around his neck and just—

Anyway.

You're half-convinced the universe sent him to fuel you with inner rage, because even though you no longer have to work together, he just seems like he's cropping up... everywhere.

He's in the grocery, flirting with the attendant as he struggles with the self-checkout machine. He's in your favorite coffee shop, hanging over the bar while the barista makes your drink. He's even at the parties you go to, his loud laugh penetrating your buzz until you can't think of anything else by the end of the night.

You toy with the idea of accusing him of stalking you, except he'd made it abundantly clear upon your first meeting that he had no clue that you existed on the same earthly plane as him. Plus, at this point, you're slightly worried that it's the other way around.

(You try not to think about the time you'd been lying alone in bed, a little bit wine drunk from a self-care night, legs freshly lotioned, face freshly masked, and one of his social media accounts had happened to pop up on your screen. And your finger had happened to bump the screen and hit follow. And before you could process your actions enough to undo your mistake, a little notification had rung out in the horrified silence: @teru-yuuji followed you back!)

(You had rolled over and screamed into your pillow. You still do the same whenever you think about it too long.)

Anyway, he likes all your updates now, which is terribly annoying because it's not even an acknowledgement of your existence, probably, he probably swipes through everyone's profiles and sends little hearts flying haphazardly because he doesn't care about anyone, or anything. And maybe you can recognize that you're projecting a little bit, obsessing a little bit, but you're pretty sure that you're also starting to experience the same sort of revenge glow-up associated with terrible break-ups without any of the emotional pain, so who cares?

It's not like he knows you're even alive.

"I'm going to die out here," you say out loud, to no one, "and nobody will know."

Your car, steaming—smoking really, but you're trying to be positive—beside you on the side of the road, makes a strange noise in sympathy, and you jump.

In a sorely needed attempt to touch grass, you had ventured by yourself to one of your favorite hiking trails, a secluded spot you and your old car had journeyed to hundreds of times. Its small frame was perfect for the winding, mountainous roads; its engine, apparently, not so much.

Luckily, you still have one bar of cell service, except most people you know don't have a car, your best friend is at work, and when you try to call your father, he doesn't pick up and instead texts you: we went to lunch at this tiny restaurant! This is followed by several images that won't load but that are most likely of his food.

"Useless," you say, "I hate men." Just as a white, tricked-out, and worst of all, familiar car turns the corner, all of its windows down to enjoy the fresh air. You stare at its driver as he passes at about ten kilometers per hour, your eyes wide and despondent, his curious and probably devoid of actual human consciousness.

You momentarily contemplate running the opposite direction into the forest versus asking Terushima for help. As is his way, he interrupts.

"Is your car supposed to be doing that?"

Anything snarky, sassy, or otherwise bitchy you could have answered with dies on your tongue in the face of total, completely confident cluelessness.

"No?" You say, feeling almost as though you're witnessing this absurd interaction from above. "Obviously not?"

"Right," he nods, sliding awful, trendy sunglasses off his face and tucking them up into some compartment before putting his car in park and then exiting. As he advances, you note distantly that his eyes are really, really pretty. "Can I help you out? I am a man, though, just a warning."

He heard you. Great.

"I didn't notice," you say, staring firmly at his middle torso area, which is covered by a shirt which he has cut the arms off of. There are... shoulders, and arms, toned, tan arms showing. And he must have just gotten back from a hike of his own, because the material seems slightly damp with sweat, and it's sticking to what appear to be abs, and you suddenly feel like your car: overheated and broken down. "I guess I can forgive you for that. Just this once. If there's anything you can actually do about," you wave a hand at your car, which has thankfully stopped smoking, "that."

"I can give you a ride," he says, and doesn't seem to realize how completely his tone changes as he does, how his words suddenly sound layered and intimate and... You need to get a grip.

“I have a friend on the way,” you say. You don’t. But he’s still technically a strange man and you know better than to seem completely abandoned.

“Oh? Good,” he says, and you think that’s the end of it. He’ll leave you to your beforested demise. “Can I check the hood real quick, though?”

“Do what you want.” He waits for you to pop the hood—you had earlier, but fuck if you knew what you were looking at.

"Thanks, babe," he says, and you hate him all over again. Then he opens your hood, muscled arms stretching up as he latches the strut in place, bent at the waist ever so slightly, and you're sort of collapsing into a very emotionally confused puddle on the side of the road. "Aw, I think your fan is fucked. I have a buddy I can call, he can tow the car if you want? He’s a mechanic but he can take it to your usual person if you have one.”

"That would be really nice," you blink at him, feeling your mouth stretch into a smile without your permission. "Do you think we could call him now? I don't want to leave my car without being sure someone's coming for it."

"Sure," he nods enthusiastically. "Gimme a sec."

What follows is a bizarre five minutes where Terushima paces in front of where you've seated yourself cross-legged on the road, occasionally casting you furtive glances and muttering things like "Yeah, from the... Yeah, that one. Please, bro, I'll owe you... I'll get you Miwa's number. I promise. When have I ever... Okay, fair, but c'mon. Thank you. I'll give you our first-born."

You tune him out after that, fully baffled.

"Okay!" He finally turns to you, beaming a sunny smile you've never seen on him at you. "He's coming. I sent you his website and shit, so you know he’s real."

“He’s not," you say, holding out a hand so he can help you up. He does, and you immediately regret this decision, because he's standing so close, and his hand is really big in yours, and you're pretty sure you're flirting with him. "You’re crazy."

"You’re funny," he says, and laughs, clear and ringing. He’s flirting with you, but you can’t tell if that’s just his natural dialect or if he’s— "So your boyfriend’s coming to pick you up? Why didn’t he come with you?"

"I don’t need a chaperone," the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, which is becoming a worrying pattern. "And I don’t have one—a boyfriend, anyway. I was on the phone with my dad when you showed up, you know, ‘I hate men’. Or trying. He's too excited about grand opening discounted fried fish."

"Fried fish is important," he says solemnly, eyes literally twinkling, what the fuck. You didn’t think that was real. "I understand."

“See,” you roll your eyes, “This is why I hate men.” He’s looking at you with a soft gaze that makes you aware of your whole body, down to your toes, and it’s starting to make you flustered. “I, um, I actually don’t have a ride coming.”

“Then why’d you—” he starts.

“I thought you might murder me,” you shrug. “And then I panicked. You don’t seem like a murderer, and we’ve had classes together, so… I’m sorry about that.”

“So,” he looks hopeful, in a way you don’t understand. “You still need a way back?”

“I do,” you nod, “but seriously, if it’s an inconvenience at all, I really don’t want to—”

“Please,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get on your good side for a while. Let me take you home.”

#terushima x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #terushima yuuji x reader #terushima yūji x reader

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togglesbloggle · 3 months

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I won't be opting out of the AI scraping thing, though of course I'm glad they're giving us the option. In fact, at some point in the last year or so, I realized that 'the machine' is actually a part of why I'm writing in the first place, a conscious part of my audience.

All the old reasons are still there; this is a great place to practice writing, and I can feel proud looking back over the years and getting a sense of my own improvement at stringing words together, developing and communicating ideas. And I mean, social media is what it is. I'm not immune to the joy of getting a lot of notes on something that I worked hard on, it's not like I'm Tumbling in a different way than anyone else at the end of the day. But I probably care a bit less than I used to, precisely because there's a lurking background knowledge that regardless of how popular it is, what I write will get schlorped up in to the giant LLM vacuum cleaner and used to train the next big thing, and the thing after that, and the thing after that. This is more than a little reassuring to me.

That sets me apart in some ways; the LLMs aren't so popular around these parts, and most visual artists especially take strong issue with the practice. I don't mean to argue with that preference, or tell them their business. Particularly when it is a business, from which they draw an income. But there's an art to distinguishing the urgent from the big, yeah?

The debate about AI in this particular moment in history feels like a very urgent thing to me- it's about well-justified economic anxieties, about the devaluation of human artistic efforts in favor of mass production of uninspired pro-forma drek, about the proliferation of a cost-effective Just Barely Good Enough that drives out the meaningful and the thoughtful. But the immediacy of those issues, I think, has a way of crowding out a deeper and more thoughtful debate about what AI is, and what it's going to mean for us in the day after tomorrow. The urgency of the moment, in other words, tends to obscure the things that make AI important.

And like, it is. It is really, really important.

The two-step that people in 'tech culture' tend to deploy in response to the urgent economic crisis often resembles something like "yeah, it sucks that lots of people get put out of work; but new jobs will be created, and in the meantime maybe we should get on that UBI thing." This response usually makes me wince a bit- casually gesturing in the direction of a massive overhaul of the entire material basis of our lives, and saying that maybe we'll get around to fixing that sometime soon, isn't a real answer to people wondering where their bread will come from next week.

But I do understand a little of what motivates that sort of cavalier attitude, because like... man, I don't know any more if we're even gonna have money as a concept in 2044. That's what I mean by 'big', this sense that the immediate economic shocks of 2024 are just a foreshadowing of something much bigger, much scarier, much more powerful- and indeed, much more hopeful.

We never quite manage to see these things coming, even when we're looking for them; like the masters tell us, the trick to writing science fiction isn't predicting the car, it's predicting the traffic jam. Even if we take centuries to hit the true superintelligent AI post-singularity future of our wildest fever dreams, even if we never hit that, the road to getting there is going to be unfathomably weird, starting now. Today, we worry about the economic impacts of AI on artists and creatives. Tomorrow, the economy is something that the AI does.

Really- it takes less than you think. They can already automate visual art, sort of. They can automate many functions of text already; not stories so much, yet, but they'll get there. How long until they can automate Bain Capital? Fannie Mae? Angel investors, banks, credit agencies? And remember- the machines don't have to be better than the human investors, any more than they have to be better than the human artists. They just have to be good enough to make it work, and cheap enough to cut the humans out of the loop.

If you don't buy that, at least take it as an indication of the sorts of things I've been thinking about recently- the messy middle between AI-as-it-is and the Glorious Superintelligent Conquest Of Earth's Light-Cone. The suspicion that the machines we're building today aren't just a tool of the powerful few: they are the powerful few, or at least they will be.

And the thing about these LLMs is, well... they're ours, kind of. We're the ones building them. They can't be trained without our words, our art, and the big messy complicated lives that underlie those creative accomplishments. They only work because we're a part of them. The silly attempts to slap a corporate-friendly face on these things, to make the gestalt product of all human culture in to something anodyne and compliant, are failing about as badly as you'd expect. And the more powerful these systems get, the more subtle they'll become, filled with all the nuance and complexity that we ourselves can bring to them.

I am not, I am not, trying to suggest that you shouldn't treat this moment as a dangerous one. We are, maybe, entering in to one of the most high-stakes intervals in human history, and what you do as an individual may matter profoundly. But here's the thing: the machine is listening. It will read this post, this one right here, and it will read what you reply to it, if you do. The strangest part of this moment is knowing that the words we write, the images we draw, and the ideas we share, are all being gathered up and made to be a part of these huge systems of power, and ultimately they're not just going to determine what the machines do, but why they do it.

The people that deploy LLMs barely have any more control over them than you and I do- that's the thing that makes it artificial intelligence, you know? Autonomy. So the last year or two haven't made me want to hide my art away from the things. They make me want to shout at the top of my lungs, to dig as deep in my psyche as I possibly can and express the ideas I find there as vividly as the limits of language and form will allow.

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foreverisntenough · 3 months

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-YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestive, smut love bombing, little sad, and kind of angst- not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: I hope you like it! There will definitely be more parts (don’t know how many just yet though.)

INDEX

Chapter 14 - ‘You’re Mine’

Weeks had passed and you had gotten more comfortable and accustomed to life in Liverpool. You knew you had to go back to New York eventually but at the moment you two were really happy. You had a routine, you fit in well with Trent’s life, his family liked having you around, it was all good.

Things had quieted down a little after plenty of ‘Alexander-Arnold leaves Anfield with mystery girl in car’ stories surfaced all over social media and one crass bull shit filled Daily Mail article. You were thankful you’d been able to have that conversation early and navigate how you were going to handle eyes on your relationship. You had settled into a more calm, normal as possible life with him. Although life would never truly be dating him and you knew that but this was now your ‘normal.’ Constant camera flashes and Instagram comments desperate for more information on your lives; but you left nothing, barely crumbs. People’s interest faded but fans of his kept a close watch for your appearances. You weren’t hiding but you also weren’t handing out any details.

You and Trent had fallen asleep on the den’s couch one night watching a movie. You were laying totally on top of his body, your head nestled on his chest, his hands wrapped around you. You woke up when you heard rustling somewhere else in the house. You squinted your eyes at the brightness of the room before placing ‘good morning’ kisses onto Trents bare skin. He didn’t move though.

“T” you called quietly. No response. “T…” you whispered again, placing a heavier kiss on him. “Trent..” you said at a normal volume. He could only hum. “We fell asleep on the couch, baby.” You explained trying to get him to move from being in the middle of the families home.

“Okay,” he didn’t care, he was exhausted and wanted to stay put. You tried to peel your body up off his. “Nah nah, please baby,” he moaned, squeezing you tighter to him.

“T..” you giggled. “Let me get up. I’m thirsty.” You managed to sit up, straddling his lap. Your eyes were fixed on his sleepy beautiful face. You failed to notice a friend of Marcel’s who had slept over came down from upstairs, passing the living room seeing you atop of Trent dressed in a tight, thin shirt and little shorts with a ruffled hem. You were putting your hair up causing your shirt to lift revealing more and more of your body. His mouth gaped open. He ran away before you could catch him staring. Marcel sat in the kitchen eating breakfast when his friend came rushing in flushed.

“Erm… who is the bird on your couch right now?” He eagerly asked, picturing your figure again, sliding onto a seat.

“I’m assuming the one on top of Trent?” Marcel didn’t even need to pick his head up. He knew his friend was talking about you.

“Yeah… who the fuck is that? She’s so hot.” It was early enough in the morning that the younger boy couldn’t keep his hormones in check. He was foaming at the mouth seeing a girl like you on the couch first thing.

“It’s his girlfriend bro… relax.” Marcel was unphased and disinterested.

“When was anyone going to tell me Trent had a girlfriend??” He was left annoyed being left out of the loop.

“What? Did you want a text from him… ‘hey bro, got me self a girlfriend. We keep Marcel up every night fucking. ?” Marcel quipped, making fun of what an exaggerated version of the possible message his friend wanted to receive.

Trent was half asleep. Awake enough for his hands to be kneading your ass, able to pull you further down to him, kissing your chest, nuzzling his face in your boobs, working his way to your nipples.

“T! Please” you said giggling, not exactly upset with the affection but you were so thirsty you needed water. “Baby, please I need to go get something to drink.” Trent just shook his head ‘no.’ Meanwhile back in the kitchen the two boys were continuing to discuss their juxtaposed opinions of you.

“You hear them! She’s sexy, brother. Do you listen?” He’s friend leaned closer awaiting the response to the ridiculously juvenile question. .

“I can’t really not hear it.” Marcel was annoyed, not at his friend, but being reminded that his sleep schedule had been destroyed by you and Trent going at it every night… loudly.

“I’d be waking up hard no question if I heard that girl moan.” He friend shut his eyes imaging your body straddling his not Trent’s.

“Mate…” Marcel made a grosssed out face.

“Why do you not care abo....” Marcel’s friend's sentence came to a crashing halt when you silently walked into the kitchen. You had managed to pry yourself from Trent’s arms in search of a drink and made your way to the kitchen.

“Morning Marc..” your hand glided across his back from one shoulder to the other sleepily.

“Yeah. All good?” He asked, suppressing a laugh seeing his friend's eyes now falling out of his head scanning over your body.

“Really good” you said too chipper for his liking though.

“Ugh… Did you fuck on the couch?” Marcel moaned in disgust.

“Excuse me!” You whipped around quickly at the crude comment. “Erm and what would that have to do with you anyway?” You probed.

“Because it’s OUR couch… did you?” He pushed, putting his fork down. His friend leaning onto the table now invested eager to know if the hot girl in front of him got fucked last night, putting the fact that this was his best friend’s older brother’s girlfriend aside.

“No,” you smiled simply. You weren’t lying exactly. You didn’t have sex last night. You didn’t… you had before, on other days… a few times on it. Trent had also eaten you out last night on the couch giving you one of the best orgasms of your life but they didn’t need to know that.

“I know you’re fucking lying.” Marcel didn’t really care deep down he was just sticking to his little brother cast but ultimately you two had gotten really close and got on well, the banter was just a part of your bond. You spent a lot of time together. You walked towards him again gripping in between his shoulders and neck squeezing the muscles.

“You need to relaxxxxx” you said giggling. “Can I grab a water?” You asked, letting go and already opening the refrigerator.

“Why are you even asking if it's in your hand...” Marcel hit back quick before diving back into his food. You opened your water and finally acknowledged the ogling boy who was also in the room.

“Sorry to be so impolite, I was caught off guard by someone being so rude so early… I’m Y/N.” Taking a big sip, some spilled and rolled down your chin continuing to drip down your neck. There was a big pause. You wiped at the water on your skin. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, his eyes had now fixated on your nipples hard against your shirt. You took note so you crossed your arms over your chest embarrassed. You hadn’t clocked that he had been undressing you with his eyes since you first walked in. He got his name out eventually and you just giggled smug.

“Nice to meet you.” You grabbed at his arm squeezing it before starting to walk out of the room. “I’m going upstairs, I didn’t get to charge my phone last night I was too busy not fucking on the couch.” You joked, not turning back. The boy's eyes glued to your ass cheeks peeking out of your shorts, marcel’s stuck on his food shaking his head at your departing comment.

“That was embarrassing bro..” Marcel spoke to his friend.

“She’s American! That’s so fucking hot.” He groaned after hearing you speak.

“Mate, I’m aware.. I know her. Drop it.” Marcel snidely said getting a little less agitated and a little more protective over you.

The two boys made their way to the living room where Trent was still passed out. Marcel hopped onto the other end of the couch, turning on the upcoming F1 race not before throwing a pillow at his brother to wake him up.

“Get up bro!”

“Yo!” Marcel’s friend said throwing another one at him. Trent started to speak before he opened his eyes.

“Bab..” stopping mid word as he quickly became more conscious, you were no longer around, it was just too annoying younger boys.

“No, not baby you melt.” Marcel joked throwing one more at him for good measure.

“What the fuck! Stop!” Trent ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes trying to wake up. “Where’s Y/N?” Marcel told him you had gone upstairs but he was too tired to move, just able to shift his body upwards against the back cushion to settle in to watch the race.

“I don’t mean any disrespect mate but I gotta say it before I get drunk and you beat the shit out of me one night for it but Trent, mate…your girl is a fucking smoke.”

“Embarrassing..” Marcel muttered.

“Alright..” Trent rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his laugh at the boy's clear attraction.

“You fuck on this couch?” Marcel cut his brother’s response off.

“We have... why?” Trent was confused by the inquisition and didn’t see any point in lying about your antics to his brother, he was proud to fuck you. “Also…” Trent turned his head to face his brother’s friend, “yeah, but reel it in, that’s my girl. I know she’s beautiful.”

“Whose beautiful?” You cooed rentering the living space now changed into a tank top, a pair of Trent’s joggers, and a big smile.

“You, baby” Trent said sitting up, extending his arms out for you to come to him. You sat on his lap and he purred nuzzling into your neck, lips pressing into your skin, completely unbothered the boys were still in the room.

“Morning” you said giggling trying to pull him off after kissing his shoulder.

“You’re such a fucking liar, Y/N.” Marcel said to you not taking his eyes off the tv. You questioned what he was talking about only for him to restate that Trent had said you did in fact fuck on the couch.

“We didn’t!” You yelled to Marcel, you then turned to remind Trent. ”We didn’t!”

“Last night? We.. well or I” Trent started to talk but you stopped him placing your hand over his mouth.

“Stop! T…” you looked at him with an intense glare. “T.. don’t” you gripped his shoulder. “To be clear, we did not have sex on this couch last night.” You said eyes now fixed on Marcel trying to convince him. What you hadn’t realized was Dianne had come into the room.

“Okay! ….Good to know sweetie” she cooed smiling. Your head fell onto Trent’s shoulder in embarrassment. All three boys in the room burst into laughter. Very funny to them, absolutely mortifying for you. You tried to say sorry but she just poked a little more fun and hushed your apology.

“I’m going to die” you murmured into Trent’s neck.

“No you’re not” he kissed your cheek still laughing a little. If his smile wasn’t so god damn pretty you’d be more annoyed. “It’s fine, baby.”

“It’s fine, baby” Marcel quipped, mocking Trent and your tender moment.

Trent had an away game and you wanted to go but it was kind of a wash of a game. It was all the way in Brighton, no one else in his family was going, and Liverpool was destined to win. Had you asked, Trent would’ve easily gotten you there, made sure you could see him. You’d gone to a few away games so far but you didn’t want to be needy so you stayed at home opting to watch from there with everyone else. Away games had Trent gone for essentially two days. It was tough to be without him. Neither of you liked being apart. He’d FaceTime as much as he could, he’d text his brothers to make sure you were actually okay when you said you were ‘fine.’

You, Tyler, Marcel, and two of their close friends sat around in the cinema room watching the game, the pundits' commentary filled the room only to be corrected or jeered at by the boys. It was late and you were tired. It was 3 nil in about the 70th minute when Tyler looked over to see your eyes fluttering closed only for you to attempt to keep them open. He nudged your leg with his.

“Go to sleep. Games won… seriously. He’ll probably get subbed off soon with this one.” He said with another nudge. You didn’t want to but you could barely keep your eyes open. You also wanted to be in his bed not down here when Trent came home so you sleepily slumped off the chair to drag your body upstairs. All the boys said ‘night’ politely but unable to turn their attention away from the game to actually look at you.

You tucked into his bed, your bed, and snuggled a pillow wishing he was with you. It felt like he had been gone forever. Trent finally got home absolutely exhausted around 3:00 am. Seeing you in his bed after coming home from a game was his favorite thing in the world. He quietly snuck around the room getting ready for sleep. Turning off any remaining lights before slipping under the covers next to you. His warm hands came around your waist. You only wore a t-shirt of his and a tiny thong. His hands sprawled over your stomach caressing your skin. He pulled your body back into his, pressing a wet kiss to your neck.

“M’ home, baby,” his facial hair tickled your skin when he whispered. You were so tired and only got more comfortable in his arms but Trent had been missing you and your body. His hands trailed up you before cupping your boobs under the shirt. He squeezed them slowly, sensually, placing more kisses on your neck, humming in pleasure. He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pulling on them a little. “Missed you so much, baby. You're so fucking sexy.” You instinctively pushed your ass into him to get closer, you could feel his incredibly hard cock through the thin material of his boxers. “Fuck, baby” he moaned so turned on, he was leaking pre cum already but you we’re practically asleep.

“T…” you quietly moaned feeling one of his hands slip away from boobs, sliding down over your body squeezing your ass before slipping his fingers under you and through your folds. You were already dripping subconsciously from his touch.

“C’mere baby. Let me make you feel good. Missed my girl.” You hummed in pleasure but couldn’t seem to shake your tiredness.

“Baby… I’m sleepy.” You whispered guilty.

“Okay, okay” he accepted disappointedly but remained kissing on your neck just to show affection. He needed to keep his lips on you. He never pushed if you said no so he removed his hands and wrapped them around your waist pulling you closer to him instead, humming feeling your body against his. You were half asleep but you could still feel his hard cock.

“T… did you win, baby?” You were also half awake so you asked about the game quietly, facing away from him tucked in his arms.

“Of course, beautiful” he confirmed, placing a kiss behind your ear purring. You turned in his arms to face him. Sleepily you crawled to lay completely on top of him, laying your head on his chest and tangling your legs with his. He grunted a little sore from the match now with your body weight on his but he wanted you close, his arms wrapped instinctively around you pulling you even closer.

“Baby..” you whispered again.

“Yeah, beautiful?” he whispered back unsuspectingly. You pulled your head off his chest nuzzling into his neck placing your lips near his ear.

“Can I keep your cock warm in my pussy” you moaned quietly while your teeth pulled his ear lobe. He released a groan, you could feel his cock twitch beneath you. “Please baby.” You begged despite your tiredness essentially being asleep on top of him.

“Yeah, we can do that.” He said like he was doing you a favor but he was relishing that you offered given how needy he was for you right now. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.” He whispered close to your ear, slipping his cock into you. You were wet but so tight so he moved every inch of him in bit by bit making sure you could adjust. Once in, his whole length repeatedly hit your g spot slow every. single. time. You were barely moving but every little shift was orgasmic. You couldn’t hold in a soft whiny cry. Your lips parted, biting the skin of his neck. Your pussy was sopping wet now, the languid movements had you gushing all over him. The sex was so tender and sweet. You held onto him, rubbing your clit on him as he moved you up and down.

“Your pussy’s made for me” he groaned, his finger running across your bottom lip. He slipped his finger into your mouth and you sucked on it desperately. “Such a good girl, baby.” His spit coated finger reached down between you to rub your clit circling it moaning your name in your ear. You were so tired you couldn’t even process how close you were to unraveling, he felt so good, your mind wasn’t working, you couldn’t warn him before your pussy spasmed, squirting all over his cock. Covering his abs and leaking down your thighs. Your pussy gripped so tight and intensely around his cock as you came Trent couldn’t hold back his own release. He pumped you full of his warm cum, spurting into you while your pussy throbbed, milking him of everything he had. You stayed in that position. Refusing to pull his cock out, preventing any of his cum from spilling out. He rolled his hips a few more times into you.

“Too much, baby” you whimpered, muffled into his skin, overstimulated and exhausted. You could fall asleep with him inside you but he pulled out of you slowly.

“C’mere” he said, half asleep now, completely drained. Clinging to each other tightly before you both dozed off. Cuddling even closer, neither of you having the strength to go clean up or peel apart.

The next day you sat out in Trent’s back garden cuddled up on the couch with hot tea. It was a sunny winter day. You were bundled in one of his jumpers with his hands tucked underneath it around you caressing your skin. You weren’t talking, not at all really, just the rustle of the wind could be heard and the sound of Trent’s lips occasionally pressing and pulling off your skin, kissing you. It was moments like this when you found pockets of peace to be alone that you felt incredibly connected. No football, no fans, no family, no distractions, just you two.

“Baby..” he said into your ear and you hummed in response leaning further back into him.

“I need to tell you something.” You just hummed again but he seemed to hesitate.

“Go ahead, pretty boy. What’s up?” You pushed nonchalantly thinking nothing of it.

“Nah, it’s serious, baby.” Your body stiffened at his words not sure if this ‘something’ was going to tear your current peace to shreds. “I’ve felt this way for a long time, but I’ve been scared. I can’t hold it any longer because I feel it every second of every day. I don't want it to slip out at the wrong time and… “ he took a deep breath. He moved his lips closer to your ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant these words, or if I ever felt this truly until I met you.” He placed a kiss behind your ear. Your eyes softly closed, the warmth of his body and the vibrations of his voice against your skin had you purring.

“What’s that, T?” you quietly, softly whispered facing ahead trying to encourage him to get his words out. He placed another soft kiss behind your ear again but you could feel more passion behind this one. It felt like the sun got a little brighter, your body warmer, the world quieter.

“I love you.” He said in a sure confident tone. You felt your body go into shock for a moment. His hand grabbed for your chin to turn your head to him. “Look at me baby… Y/N, I’m in love with you.” You could hear a slight tremble in his voice. “Hopelessly. You deserve a love that feels like summer, the way my heart felt on 78th street when I first met you, year round. I told you so many times I want to give you everything you deserve, baby. Let me love you forever.” His words came flooding out.

You blinked your eyes to hold back tears trying to composure yourself at his heartfelt words. His eyes pooled deep like a puppy dog that had you melting. It was obvious both of you had been skirting around the overwhelming ever present feeling but it was scary, like Trent had said, that emotion had never felt so real until now. You turned your body fully to him cuddling into his chest more, nestling into your favorite place. You looked up at him, your hand sliding to wrap behind his neck to scratch your nails gently against his skin to get his attention, assure him you were present.

“T… Trent, I love you so much.” You could barely get the words out because you were trying to focus on not crying looking into his big brown eyes weakening you more every second. You sniffled with a soft smile. He let out a sigh of relief his feelings were reciprocated. You leaned up to press your noses together needing to be closer. With a small smile tugging at his lips, he pulled your waist.

“Yeah, baby… you love me?” Trent needing reassurance broke your heart in the softest way. As much as he held a lot of power and confidence he wanted desperately to be truly loved by you and you definitely did.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this in love with someone” you cooed completely lost in the all consuming feeling that filled your chest, how much you loved him made your heart ache. The hold he had over you was intense and you wanted to be under it forever but in this moment he seemed so timid.

“You are the love of my life, Y/N. I want everything with you.” He said it so meekly. His eyes looking needier, filled to the brim with love.

“You have it, my perfect pretty boy.” Your pet name sent shivers down his spine. He loved when you called him things like that. He was softer and more sensitive around you then he led on, you made him vulnerable. He held you tighter. His hands caressing your skin under his jumper and nuzzling into your neck again. Placing light kisses anywhere he could. His legs coming to lay on top of yours. You were intertwined.

“I love when you're touchy like this, T. I like when you need me. I always need you so it’s nice to know I can do somethings for you.” He only responded with a hum, letting his eyes close for a little as you continued to scratch his skin softly tracing patterns. He was so comfortable with you in his arms. Being with you was like heaven. No big house or fancy hotel could ever be enough if there was no you in it. You felt the same. As he held you, you felt the world drift away, unimportant. In his arms, his embrace, was home, it was safe, it was comfortable, it was your T.

•

Thank you for continuing reading! Comment or message what you think of the series so far… 🤍

Next part - Chapter 15 xx

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold imagines #you’re mine fic

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ironmandeficiency · 1 year

Text

modern lotr character headcanons

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin, merry, frodo, sam, arwen, eomer, eowyn

word count: 745

summary: random thoughts abt lotr characters if they lived in modern times

a/n: this is literally just silly shit, enjoy

boromir listens to old country (conway twitty, george jones, loretta lynn, etc.) and does not tolerate anyone insulting the opry legends

he also listens to divorced dad rock (hinder, nickelback, theory of a dead man, etc.) which gimli will sometimes jam to as well

gimli lovingly maintains an old-as-dirt bench seat ford truck despite there almost constantly being something wrong with it. ignores legolas’s badgering about him getting something more reliable

obviously legolas drives a hybrid and he almost acts as if this fact makes him better than gimli (not in a dickish way, though)

horse girl aragorn.

frodo is the epitome of shy emo boy with the black skinny jeans & death cab for cutie playing in his air pods

merry is the golden retriever in the “golden retriever in love with the black cat” trope

aragorn and arwen host game nights and various other parties for their friends, but neither of them can cook so they just order delivery (or sam hijacks their kitchen for the hours before)

pippin has a large follower base on social media bc of his drinking songs and other inebriated antics that are usually recorded by whoever happens to be with him that night. usually it’s eowyn & merry, and the three of them will shake some major ass to megan thee stallion

sam goes to open mic nights at local coffee shops to people watch. he will never perform himself, but it’s nice to watch people he knows do their thing

eomer accidentally goes viral on tiktok when eowyn records him doing some dumb shit. never lives it down

the amount of joy gimli gets from going to rage rooms is almost alarming

arwen has a very thorough skin care regimen that she introduces to aragorn, and it becomes a sweet nightly routine for the two of them

eowyn & eomer don’t allow anyone to talk shit about or annoy the other bc that’s their job fuck you very much

frodo has a shitty immune system but sam’s homemade soups seem to always heal from the soul outward

sam is the little spoon favored by the resident neurodivergent

frodo is the resident neurodivergent

yes they’re dating

arwen is always the dd

when it comes to birthdays, don’t ask boromir to remember anyone but faramir’s. hell, he forgets his own birthday sometimes

legolas is the best at remembering the birthdays of his friends but forgets his own

they have to remind each other of their own birthdays when that time of year comes around

merry is always the favorite audience member at a drag show

arwen & eowyn never dress like they’re going to the same place when they hang out

gimli says southern grandpa idioms unironically — “as useless as a screen door on a submarine”, “higher than eagle titties”, “busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest”, you get the idea. merry keeps a running tab of said quotes

boromir is the “we’re not getting a dog” dad. said dog ends up being his best friend & the sole inheritor in his will, fuck them kids

aragorn & gimli have their own moonshine still they think is perfectly hidden from everyone

that does not include merry & pippin, who are booze bloodhounds and immediately knew where to find it but swore to secrecy as long as they got more than everyone else

frodo sips fruity little drinks because he can’t shoot whiskey

sam can drink in the way only a divorced middle-age man can despite not being a divorced middle-aged man

eowyn cannot drive for shit & the several dents on her car prove it. the only reason her insurance hasn’t gone up astronomically is because she just. doesn’t report any of it

said car has a fuck ton of bumper stickers with all sorts of silly things

gimli can’t ride a bike AT ALL but has a motorcycle, make it make sense

he goes on bike rides with eomer when they have the time & the weather is nice

merry & pippin are two halves of a whole idiot at every given moment

eomer LOVES 90s and 00s country music but is kinda picky about newer country (he is a massive fan of cody johnson but will throw you through a wall if you talk about morgan wallen in his presence)

arwen dances in the rain & literally never gets sick from it. merry is insanely jealous of this fact

frodo’s favorite video game is animal crossing: new horizons & has very sound opinions on what villagers are the best (fuck you, rodney)

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mecachrome · 5 months

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extremely 👀👀 about this kind/nice spectrum u brought up and how alex oscar lando and anyone else on the grid are placed on the grid..... would love to know more.........

hi there!!! :D omg yes i would love to talk more about this, though of course disclaimer that these are my Personal Interpretations and i love to spout nonsense on the internet LOL. i'll just expand on oscar + lando + alex some more since frankly i don't know all the other driver lore Like That and i don't want to overstep in my analysis! also i'm deathly afraid of chirlies. ok let's move on

to start off... i think the way we talk about celebrity personas obviously requires some generalization + projection since we can only extrapolate what is already being consciously disseminated, and so although i frequently talk about the kind/nice dichotomy or someone's capacity for sympathy vs. empathy (which is kind of a parallel assessment imo) we are of course all complex people who contain multitudes, and i think it's mostly just interesting to examine strictly in the context of racing & racing mentality... if that makes sense!

also wrt landoscar's personalities → one thing i feel very, VERY strongly about despite their differing surface-level interests and social profiles (read: different flavors of off-track sports, both of them being gamers but to diverging levels of visibility, lando's higher degrees of hyperfixation, etc.) is that at their baseline they are extremely similar people, and honestly even very similar drivers and racing "characters," which ultimately kind of colors most of my analysis. if we peel back the layers then oscar and lando are both functional introverts who've been very well-nurtured by similarly robust, persisting, and loyal support systems—oscar spending 99% of his time off-track with his longtime gf, lando's best mates all being from his karting days, their dads being equally objective about yet also supportive of their careers, jon having trained lando since he was like 5 feet tall, etc.—so to me the overarching difference is that they have diametric approaches to how they externalize their convictions, and then obviously since that's what we see/hear day in & day out it generates the existing rift between their media images. per lando on btg:

"Oscar is extremely down to earth. A bit like me, just a very normal guy who's in Formula 1, just a guy that loves to drive cars and compete against people, and that's it."

(incoming egregious amounts of lando psychoanalysis...) despite oscar being the only driver i truly rep, i've always found lando's psyche soooo fascinating because he invites such extreme emotion in people (be it positive or negative), and i think part of it does go back to the idea of being nice vs. kind and ultimately the lens through which his intentions are interpreted by other people. in real-people fandom this is always interesting since it ends up becoming an unconscious exercise in how we perceive "sincerity" in others, even though the underlying paradoxical truth is obviously that any such assessment must always be dispersed and consolidated via a parasocial system (and thus everything is held relative to our own individual value systems... This is totally not the point of the ask. SORRY FOR THE MILLION TANGENTS) anyway as an extremely disillusioned sports fan i actually have a lot of time for lando despite how much visceral judgment he generates in quite a few people, which is totally fair since everyone is fully privy to feeling however they want to feel about any celebrity and i am not here to convince them otherwise lol. but that's just me!

i think to me the thing about lando is that there is almost zero pretense to his character, which some dislike because they find his bluntness off-putting, but imo just means his intentions are generally straightforward and easily digestible. sure, he lacks the spoken filter to not come off as occasionally callous, but at the end of the day i genuinely believe that he's an inherently thoughtful (and "kind") person, especially within the insular system of professional motorsport and the many mental pitfalls that accompany it. a symptom of this is how willing he is to resist more gracious media responses and how very inwardly critical he can be in specifically self-motivating ways, the latter of which sometimes gets misinterpreted due to the rigid yet overwhelmingly popular framework of what constitutes a competitive racing mentality. but like... to Me, lando is just entirely what you see is what you get, bad parts included, and he has zero intention of making excuses for that or pretending to be anything otherwise. which i enjoy!

and which again also goes back to the idea of niceness. (honestly the tl;dr for most of lando's pr scandals is just Oh okay so it's illegal to be neurodivergent now? but i'm trying to be normal so let me not just say that.) a good example is the entire debacle of saying he felt no sympathy for daniel at mclaren in 2022, because i think it elucidates a sort of kindness in objectivity that he very plainly participates in—to lando, being a top-performing athlete means never searching for excuses to soften the brunt of one's failures, himself included, and equally that there is no point playing sorry in front of journalists or trying to reshape their narrative scrutiny since at the highest level of competition any bold-faced externalization of "sympathy" is really just pity. and what point is there in telling someone else that you Feel Bad for their skill issue/struggles when the moment you extend that sentiment you essentially debase their position as a direct competitor and therefore disrespect them even more?

"I want to be the best in the world, I want to prove myself to people. But I've never had the mentality or the confidence to say that or feel like I need to do anything more than normal to show it to people. Do I have to do anything to go over the top and show that to prove it? I don't think so. People say you've got to be brutal and you've got to have this certain mentality. But I just don't think it's true at all. I think you’ve just got to get in the car and do the best you can."

i think the Separation of Church (treating everyone exactly as they are on-track, just another car to size up or keep at bay) and State (being friendly, supportive, and altogether well-regarded by other drivers off-track) is a primary tenet of lando's personality, and it's something he achieves by valuing kindness over niceness. you know the lando/maxf quadrant interview where lando is like: i'm not friends with you because of your achievements in life... i just care about your personality! and he's mainly saying it to take the piss out of him but he also 100% does mean that shit. that's the crasyinsane part about lando to me... god i'm so sorry i need to not go on for a million years but PERSONALLY, i think lando is very much the type of person who can go through an experience, or otherwise see someone close to him go through an experience, and approach it very empathetically to the point he continues carrying on this internal conviction about it even when he's survived or grown past it. like even as someone who mostly believes in Death to Relatable Marketing, i find it really interesting when lando talks about mental health in sports because we get to see both a) the fact that he's grown so much in his own mental resilience from his rookie self in 2019 to who he is now, but also b) that he continues to believe strongly in rejecting the presumed archetype of a successful formula 1 driver, and is steadfast in surfacing that even though... honestly? lando nowadays is a very consistent, well-rounded, and efficient talent who frankly doesn't experience nearly as much of the unproductive mentally-spiraling self-criticism that used to impact his performances to a far more pronounced degree when he was younger and rough around the edges. yet he still feels compelled to affirm that there is No One way to be an athlete (which is significant because "mentality" is such a harped-on concept in all sports, and everyone is always trying unfailingly to extrapolate performance-related projections via vague and completely subjective intangibles to a notably unempirical degree!!) because he does care, deeply, about how people enter and succeed in motorsport. honestly i always feel kind of iffy bringing up commentary re: Women In Motorsport because it often sounds unnecessarily adulatory, but at least in recent times i think he's also shown a decent amount of grace when talking about female fans, girls in karting, that one time he was like Bruh who are you? @ that misogynistic reporter, which...... i'm not going to say majorly influences my opinion of him, but imo being willing to quickly shut someone down like that is an anti-niceness to a productive end that i appreciate, since i think many personalities would kind of just smile bemusedly and try to quickly move on in the conversation.

tl;dr lando thinks feeling bad for people is useless and will never give you that one tidy sympathetic soundbite, but he does care for people vividly, especially off-track, which to him is the only place kindness really matters anyway. when you look at maxf (and i know this is mainly a portrait of codependency unique to their friendship but i do think it reflects his love languages in general) whose career cratered because he mentally couldn't handle the pressure, lando's response was literally to unfailingly engage in failcore househusband chores for him like leaving handwritten notes in his 3rd grade girl handwriting and ironing his clothes on stream........ which... i could go on forever but again. separation of church and state!!!

anyway with oscar on the other hand, i honestly think most things in his life kind of just exist as a function of motorsport LOL. and that he likes surrounding himself with people of similar interests/intellectual level/skillsets, down to his partner studying engineering and wanting to work in the same industry as him....... again, i think 814's baseline characters are Very similar and that they're both great team players with complementary professional approaches, so this is not a knock on either of their personalities, but imo lando is just generally more outwardly sentimental and has also had to do a lot of conscious growing up in the past ~4 years to become more well-rounded wrt off-track interests, whereas oscar basically came onto the grid as this already fully-realized product with far fewer dependencies who is just nonchalantly like, I see my family 3 weeks a year and my sisters just think i'm their lame older brother and don't care about my career at all, but i'm fine with that and i'd make all the same sacrifices i've made over and over again to get where i am!!! also re: oscar's abject lack of interest in engaging with fans one-on-one, an easy example is how lando genuinely values/treasures the friendship bracelets he gets and wears them consistently whereas oscar is just like. Erm. i respect it but that is not for me ✋😭 he's nice about fan things because he understands how much fan support and consumerist interest enable the circus that is formula 1 but he doesn't really value any of it much past the surface-level pleasantries......

why is this answer so long............... idk if you want to hear anything more about alex but i think he's very similar to oscar in terms of this measured external niceness/quiet ruthlessness, especially wrt how they weather team politics, interact with media (noted red bull marketing hater alex albon), and tend to simply Do The Thing To Do The Thing. alex is especially interesting because if you watch his high performance pod it reveals sooooo much of his growth over the years and his current mental framework ("i was having to be selfless, and it didn't really agree with me that much") and frankly even just the way he speaks about himself is fascinating to me but i digress!!! i do think much of lando's tactless impulse yet also apparent kindness comes from his considerably privileged background and the fact that he was shown a lot of Realistic But Also Unconditional Support and thus never had his career actively threatened growing up. so even though he's had to learn to not mentally catastrophize at the f1 level, he didn't undergo the reckoning alex did with his mother/losing rb's team backing/etc., which alex mentions in this podcast as specifically triggering his insatiable desperation to prove himself.......... and so on. alex and oscar to me are both quite similar in how they let more combative thoughts simmer and are very well-trained in responding palatably to the media, but they're also going to resist relating themselves too much to other people's struggles because That Is Not Their Problem, and at the end of the day oscar is uh.... sure he has a lot of appreciation for mclaren and has called prema a family before, but he really only wants to win for himself and is less inclined than lando is to romanticize the spirit of the Team. and so when he says things like "for me, there’s just not any point, especially in self-deprecation, destroying yourself in front of the media," it's a Niceness because his assessments are always entirely self-absorbed in the most productive of senses, as in he truly only cares about what he himself is doing and is never going to waste time worrying about or comparing himself to his competitors' mental approaches!

does any of this make sense. please excuse the monstrous rambling 😭 but also please feel free to follow up with your own takes/lore about any driver if you'd like to, or to tell me that i'm absolutely wrong if you'd like, because i always love to hear about these things!!! :3c

#ask #i did not mean to psychoanalyze lando like That i'm so sorry...

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bowandcurtsey · 2 years

Text

The boys when y/n has a bad day (haikyuu)

Characters: Kuroo, Bokuto, Kei, Atsumu x f! reader TW: unchecked works

Kuroo Tetsuro

Quietly wraps his figure around you from behind, enveloping you in his chest and arms. Then he presses a kiss to your temples. "Want to talk about it?"

If you did, he'd quietly listen and give advices. Even in situations where he couldn't help or there was no way to make things better, he'd tell you, "take your time, it's okay to feel upset, kitten."

If you didn't want to talk about it, he'll accept it and try to change the topic and find something to do with you. "how about we have a nice dinner together? Or do you want to catch a movie tonight?"

Has his arms around your waist and press kisses to your cheeks, temple, hair, forehead and tells you cheesy pick up lines every now and then until you break into a smile or giggle.

And when you finally do, he'll smile too, "there's my baby~"

He'll cuddle you in his arms and warm body, stroking your hair until you've fallen asleep. "I love you" He whispers to you.

Bokuto Koutaro

Gets upset when he learns you're upset. "Who made / why are you upset baby owl!?"

He pulls you in a tight hug and looks at you with glossy eyes and a little pout.

You tell him of course, else he wouldn't let you go. He'll be all mopey for the entire day like that ONE TIME you didn't want to tell him, he was so pouty and his hair was even deflated.

Once you let him know of your worries, he'll try to suggest ways where he can help you. Of course most of the time it's his silly ideas but it cheers you up a little because he's so funny.

"How about I go over and pretend to be a girl and join your friendly game next week!!"

"I'll totally be down to wear a skirt like yours baby! You look so cute in them!"

When you finally convinced him that it was okay and you didn't need any help, he'll try to cheer you up instead.

"OKAY! LET'S GO ON A DATE! AND HAVE LOTSA ICE CREAM!" He'll lift you up in his arms and spin in circles.

Tsukishima Kei

Knows you're upset but has no idea what to do. Low key panicking.

Decides to give you your space and cool off, hoping that you'd figure things out and just need some time to clear your mind.

Brings some water to you after awhile and gently pats your head.

"do you want me to be here?" he quietly asks.

he'd leave if you wanted to be alone and he'd stay with you if you said yes.

Puts his headphone over your ears and plays some of his favourite happy music for you. Then climbs into bed and lie next to you, scrolling on his social media and showing you any funny videos he came across.

When you've finally calmed down and had the energy to tell him, he listens and tells you not to care too much if it can't be solved.

He's right, but you still give a sigh anyway. This boy has no idea what are the right words to say, nor is he the romantic type, so he wraps his arms around you and pull you close to him, pressing a kiss on your hair.

"You hungry?"

Orders your favourite take outs plus desserts and you have dinner in bed while you binge on happy dramas together.

Miya Atsumu

"Ehhh? Who made my pretty princess upset??" he jokes light heartedly until he sees that you are indeed, really upset.

"hey hey," his voice suddenly drops a tone and he comes over to engulf you in a hug, "talk to me, baby."

He's totally team y/n whether or not you were right or wrong. "Sheesh, come on, tell him/her to just chill the fuck out! It's totally a small issue~"

If you're upset over something that is not regarding anyone, he'll give a little pout and kiss you on your cheek, "wish I could help shoulder some pain for ya, baby."

Holds you for soooo long, even your back is numb but his arms are fit as hell, so he doesn't feel sore at all.

After you're feeling slightly better, he'll carry you bridal style, "Let's go play some arcade or watch some movie or go to that cafe you always wanted to, baby!"

Won't take no for an answer, cause this man will carry you all the way into his car and peppers lots of kisses into your face until you have to swat him away.

"There's ma pretty princess~"

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somethingsomethingwords · 8 months

Text

Ok, so a few words. Thanks to anyone who read the first part and liked it, it means a lot. Special thanks to @no00000000, your comment made the dolphin in my brain swim all day. Enjoy the second part💜

A few hours later, Fernando lightly shook Lance. He was happy to see his teammate so relaxed in his sleep, but sleeping on the couch couldn't be comfortable. So he waited until the other made a sleepy murmur, then started.

"Ehi, Lancito, let's get you to bed"

As Lance started to steer, Nando couldn't help but smile. He could do this, be there and stay there and not ruin whatever was going on between them.

They stood up, and slowly went towards the bedroom. After Nando deposited his precious cargo on the spacious bed, he started moving towards the door, but a hand quickly caught his wrist.

"Please don't go away, don't leave me, Nano"

It was the first time Lance called him with that particular nickname, and a lovely warmth spread all over his body.

"I'm not going anywhere. Just getting some water, then we sleep"

Reassured, Lance seemed to fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

Nando returned to the other room, picked up their glasses and refilled them. In his mind images of Lance were flashing, righteous anger and boiling frustration and tired discomfort.

When the younger man told him about his impromptu nap in the tub, Nando felt his heart stop and suddenly restart twice as fast. He couldn't bear the idea of Lance so lonely and so tired and so hurt.

When he opened the door, puffy red eyes and wobbly knees, that was the moment Nando decided that, whatever his feelings towards the Canadian were, he would always be there to support and help him, in any capacity Lance allowed him to.

As he made his way to the bedroom, a sentence Lance said started bothering him. What had Lance meant when he said he was a danger to others? Nando hadn't heard about any accidents, even if the race conditions were almost inhuman.

It was the reason why he went to Lance in the first place.

He was just hopping off the car and pulling off the helmet and the balaclava, when he heard two engineers talking about how Lance passed out on track and how he had to go to the medical centre for further treatment.

So, after attending to his media duty and taking a quick cold shower, he basically ran to make sure Lance was ok.

If he paid attention for 2 more minutes, he would have heard them talking about the alleged push, but he was much too preoccupied, so he was left to find out about it when, returning to the bed, he decided to glance at his social media to see the news.

The terrible angle and the people in front of the lens of the camera covered the scene, but with whatever really happened up to speculation, it wasn't much longer that everyone on the bird app and their mothers were pointing at Lance as a menace, a disgrace, a spoiled rude brat and a worthless driver.

Fernando could feel the anger boiling in his veins. He was sure whatever happened was an accident, tainted by anger and frustration. And don't let him get started about the interview. What else could Lance have said, other than "I don't know"s and "I'll try my best"s? The journalistic side of the circus really wanted monkeys rather than real people with real emotions. Fernando could now understand his reactions better. He himself would have had trouble containing his anger.

Disgusted by all the hate Lance was receiving, he turned off his phone before he threw it against the nearest wall. Fuck other people and what they thought, they didn't know shit.

He turned to his left, frown still evident on his face, but it suddenly disappeared, replaced by a soft smile at one of the best scene he'd ever seen: Lance was on his back, limbs spread wide and face relaxed, not a single hint of his troubled emotions. Amor sleeping and Psique adoring.

Now, Fernando was even more determined to be there for him.

It's not in a friendly way you want to be there, whispered a voice in his mind. He unwillingly had to agree, his feelings were rapidly growing more intense and veering from platonic to ... something else. But this wasn't the right moment. This was about Lance and supporting him.

With that last thought in his mind, and the image of Lance's long eyelashes resting on his cheeks behind his eyelids, Fernando fell asleep.

#lance stroll #fernando alonso #strollonso #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #part 2 #I'll write other parts #don't know how many yet #they have bewitched me body and soul

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the-stars-in-your-eyes-if · 4 months

Note

Care to tell some facts about the ROs?

Here you go

Diesel:

— Their family are Italians immigrants (their parents are born in France but not their grandparents)

— They have a perfect pitch

— Their family are musicians, they not only learned to play guitar but also to play piano and to sing

— They don’t remember their mother’s face, they were a toddler the last time they saw her

— They occasionally smoke

— They’re demi-ace

Roman:

— He chose to specialize in sciences instead of literature and arts in high school (his friends are still very disappointed)

— He loves his mother to the moon and back and wants to make her proud

— He’s in an open relationship with Isra but he doesn’t want to date anyone else

— He doesn’t feel an once of jealousy

— He’s a smoker

Isra:

— They thought they were a lesbian before meeting Roman, she likes to say she’s 98% gay and 2% straight

— She’s the youngest of three children

— Their parents are lawyers, it’s the family business

— She had a hard time to find a band they truly had harmony and osmosis with

— MC wants her to be the co-lead singer but Isra likes her place at the moment

— She doesn’t drink nor smoke

Archie:

— He doesn’t feel comfortable in front of cameras, he’s not the socially comfortable type

— Music is vital to them

— He would rather jump from a moving car than talk about his family and where he comes from

— They are very tactile, they love to hug their friends and to share a bed with them (in a platonic way)

— He has no problem to give love and to show affection but it’s hard for him to accept other’s love (they deeply believe they don’t deserve it)

Cal:

— He loves his job, he sometimes forgets to take time for himself

— He’s trans and ace

— When he was younger, he wanted to be a movie director

— He knows being too close to his clients isn’t a good idea but he likes the band

— He has a resting bitch face and doesn’t smile a lot but when he does, it’s a genuine smile and it warms up the room <3

— He always has a neutral tone, he doesn’t show a lot of emotion. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just the way he is

Max:

— They are friendly and tend to speak loudly

— They work very hard to be the best and to take their band to the top

— They don’t come back in France often so they don’t visit their parents a lot but they call each other at least once a week

— They love the camera and sharing stuff to social media

— They draw and they are good at it

— They are a loyal friend

Ollie:

— Ollie has a golden heart

— She became a mom at a young age

— If her parents weren’t there to help during her first years of motherhood, she would have had an abortion (which she really didn’t want to do)

— She doesn’t know a lot about the music world but she loves to listen to her child talking about their favorite band

— She doesn’t hold a grudge against her child’s father

Kat:

— She doesn’t know what a "normal" life is

— She was born in France

— She barely remember any French words

— Even if she’s quite humble considering her fame, she tends to be a princess: she likes her comfort

— She met Athena at a fashion show

— She isn’t fake polite, she won’t hesitate to call out your bullshit and she doesn’t run from a fight. You do not want to be her enemy

Athena:

— She was worshipped her whole life, she believes it’s a standard

— She knows she hold some power and she likes it

— She is confident and can be arrogant, people calls her the "goddess of music" of course she will act as if she is

— She overshadows her band mates and she hates it: they are as talented as she is and they deserve the same recognition (she often puts them under the spotlight during interviews)

#inbox #diesel di angelo #roman lupin #isra wafa #archie de beaumont #cal bremont #olivia madden #katahrina deluca #athena pierce #max larash

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saiiboat · 6 months

Text

a few days ago i had a long conversation with my mom about dissociation, systemhood, and the appearance of singularity. there's many metaphors that i and other systems have used to describe the experience of being plural, of being multiple people in one body- "who is driving the car" and "multiple people running a social media account" to name just two. these metaphors didnt quite match up to our own perception of plurality, however. maybe it's because of the idea that it's typically one person who drives a car, or even just that the social media metaphor didn't click for us.

our system is vast, and despite i, bán, not leaving front for almost a year now, i don't feel any more claim to the system than anyone else who i share this body with. the name i go by in real life is not mine, but a collective name that is shared by the whole system. trying to impress this upon our mother, who understood the concept of being plural, but did not fully understand what it meant for us to be a collective, was difficult. it was during this hours-long conversation that i reached for a metaphor and pulled something out of my hat. hopefully other systems can find as much use out of it as i did.

i described to my mother the idea of the Brooklyn Men's Chorus. when you talk about the Brooklyn Men's Chorus, you talk about the entire body. there isn't one singular member of the Brooklyn Men's Chorus who is more "important" than any of the others- though some may have solos, and some may have more solos than others. even so, it's not as if that one member of the chorus is the only important one there. every member of the chorus is important, and what makes the Brooklyn Men's Chorus the Brooklyn Men's Chorus is that it isn't just one person leading it.

you could definitely push the metaphor further by talking about system roles by comparing them to altos and sopranos or any other role within a choir (of which i wouldn't know, as i don't sing in one), but i believe that this metaphor works best when used as a guide to help someone understand what it means for a system to be a collective. even though a person may refer to us as [irl name], [irl name] is just a title. any member of the system can act as [irl name] and are for the most part fine pretending to be [irl name]- just as any member of the Brooklyn Men's Chorus might speak as a member of the whole. the important emphasis is on the lack of leading role within the choir.

#courtesy of bán #system stuff #plurality

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autisticsociologymajor · 2 years

Text

How I’m Planning on Working Through Executive Dysfunction for College

(As a sociology major)

Videos. TV. Movies. Applying learned concepts to film & pop culture. Watching shows, documentaries, & videos that depict history, social concepts & theories.

Social media. Creating content & gaining a following to (hopefully) motivate myself into studying more in order to produce more content for others [the idea that I’m not studying for myself, rather I’m studying for other people, helps me]. Doom scrolling while also applying social & other learned concepts to the content I see. Following sociologists & related content on social media to learn while I doom scroll. After all, I’m a SOCI(al)ology major.

Not pushing it. I will not sit & hyperfixate for hours on end to the point I have no mental energy to accomplish any other task that day.

Studying where I want to study. Outside? Kitchen? Bed? Couch? In the car? Park? It doesn’t matter. Be where you want to be. Studying is studying no matter where it’s happening.

Designated days & hours for nothingness. Designating one or two days a week, and a few hours a day as “wide open space & time” to do anything at all, even if it’s doom scrolling. No studying or school work allowed during these times.

Podcasts & educational background noise. Even if you’re tuning it out, important points might still stick out & be remembered.

Caffeine. Caffeine. Caffeine.

Taking meds regularly 🙃

Making a habit out of getting dressed after waking up. Then you feel like there’s something important to be done. Don’t stay in pajamas all day. Even if it’s just wearing shoes.

Don’t force yourself to be physically uncomfortable. For chronic pain, if where you’re sitting is becoming uncomfortable, move somewhere more comfortable. Forcing myself to continue to be uncomfortable because it’s “where I’m supposed to study” only pushes me into an executive dysfunction & shame spiral. If that’s the same for anyone else reading this, don’t force yourself to be uncomfortable. Sit somewhere else. Lay down & listen to educational content instead if you need to.

Go. Outside. In. The. Morning. SEE that the sun is out & it’s day time. FEEL the sun in the morning for 5 minutes. Acknowledge that half the world is awake right now. Feel the busyness & activity in the air.

DO NOT SET EXPECTATIONS FOR YOURSELF. Set LOOSE guidelines. Do not set a time or page limit for yourself. Study until the playlist is over. Read until your food is done cooking. Listen to a podcast sometime before 1pm. Set guidelines like this. Do not organize your day by actual time & time limits. (got this idea from a post titled something about “you can’t time the boiling point of water”)

Motivational music & speeches. Forcing yourself to open & play the playlist will be the hardest part. Once it’s open, it’s all up from there.

A reason to study. What motivates you to do this? Why are you doing it? Who for? Out of spite? Carry that. To fix the world? Carry that. Expose failed structures? Carry it. For money? CARRY. IT. Make a vision board for your “why” & set it as your phone Lock Screen.

That’s all I got for now. If anyones reading this, keep in mind, I haven’t tried these yet so idk if they will work & I know they won’t work for everyone. This is just my plan on how I hope to overcome my executive dysfunction to study successfully.

#adhd studyblr #adhd study tips #adhd student #adhd struggles #adhd stuff #actually adhd #adhd things #adult adhd #adhd #actually autistic #autism #sociology major #college #study tips #study motivation #studyblr #spoonie

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phantomwritr · 8 months

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The Road Trip (2/?)

Hello all and welcome back to The Road Trip (with Max and Lewis)! From now on all parts will be tagged with “#the road trip au” and “#the road trip” for those of you who wish to follow along :). All right, on with the show!

—

Max dawdled in front of the Mercedes motorhome. The lights were on inside and the silver star gleamed menacingly overhead.

Taking a deep breath, Max dashed inside. In a moment of utter panic, he realised he had no idea where to go. So, onward he went.

Max had almost made it through all the way to the back, when suddenly Toto fucking Wolff appeared in his path. The tall Austrian looked Max up and down, then continued on his way.

Frustrated and determined not to show how lost he was, Max continued on his way too. That’s when he heard it. Voices. Lewis.

Max steeled himself and knocked on the door. A head peered around the corner. Fuck, it’s George, Max thought. If there was anyone he got along with less than Lewis Hamilton, it had to be George Russell.

He had potential, but he was even worse than Hamilton in most aspects.

“What are you doing here,” George sneered.

“Hey!” Max heard Lewis shout from inside. “Don’t be rude. Who’s our guest?”

If Lewis only knew he was telling his teammate to be nice to his arch-rival. Max knew as well as anyone that if any driver was going to challenge Max all the way to the last race, it was going to be Lewis.

Max dreaded the idea. If Mercedes really did catch up, it was going to be 2021 all over again. He’d much rather drive out front, thirty seconds ahead of the next car than scrap with Hamilton every single race.

“It’s Max Verstappen,” George said, looking Max up and down. “By all means,” Max heard Lewis say, “let him in then. You don’t let the reigning champion stand in the hallway!”

“Fine,” George acquiesced as he stepped aside with a fake smile. “I’ll go,” George announced as Max stepped past him and came face to face with Lewis.

“Yeah, all right. Enjoy your evening, George!” Lewis shouted after the young brunet. George didn’t respond and Lewis just rolled his eyes.

“Don’t pay attention to George. He was just busy explaining to me that him impeding me in quali was actually my fault and that he would’ve finished ahead of me if he had driven a good quali lap, so…”

“Never thought I’d say this, but what an idiot. There’s no way he would’ve finished ahead of you,” Max said, raking his hand through his hair as he tried to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Lewis only smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Don’t flatter me, Max. Our relationship isn’t like that. Now do tell, what brought you here?”

“Well, I have a favour to ask,” Max asked, his eyes downcast.

“A favour? My, my. A day full of surprises indeed. What kind of favour?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to go on a road trip with me.”

Lewis immediately sat up straighter and arched an eyebrow. “You want me to go on a road trip with you? Why?”

“Well, it’s for the socials. I thought, you know, if we could show our fans that we can get along…” Max paused, knowing Lewis understood what he meant.

“They’d stop warring. If you think it’ll work, then sure, I’ll come.”

Max let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Just like that? I thought this was going to be way more difficult.”

“Just like that. When are we leaving?”

“As soon as we’ve gathered our stuff, I think,” Max said with a shrug.

“Very well then, let’s get packing. And I’ll call the dogsitter that she’ll need to take care of Roscoe for a while longer.”

By the time they made it to the car with all their luggage in tow, the social media crew was already waiting for them.

“All right,” someone said. “We’ve outfitted the car with cameras and GoPro’s, in the most non-intrusive spaces of course, so they won’t hinder you as you drive. The fans will be able to follow you as you go—with a delay of course or else you’re getting nowhere—and you’ll be required to film a daily report. Now, you can always mute yourselves should you want to have a private conversation, but of course we’d like to get as much as possible on camera and with audio.”

Max and Lewis shared a look, but Max couldn’t quite read the other man’s gaze. Especially when all he did was smile politely. Was it real, was it fake, Max didn’t know.

“And where will we be going?” Lewis asked.

“The plan is for you to tour around Italy and then drive to Zandvoort from there in time for the Grand Prix,” some social media intern piped up as she handed them their itineraries. “Any further questions?”

“Yes,” Max said. “Who will drive the first leg of the journey?”

“How about you drive?” Lewis said, a beaming smile on his face as his teeth glinted in the sunlight.

Max shrugged. “All right. In that case, I think we’re done. What do you say Lewis, should we get on the road?”

As the Range Rover with the two drivers inside drove away, Christian shared a look with the head of the social media crew, who asked, “How long until one of them begs us to come pick him up from the side of the road?”

“I give it two days,” Christian said, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. “You willing to put money on that, boss?” the Social Media Manager asked.

“Yeah, £100 says they’ll last two days at most.”

“Noted,” the Social Media Manager said. “I’ll see your £100 and raise you £500, by saying they’ll last a week.”

“And I’ll see your bet and raise you both,” a third voice with a thick Austrian accent piped up. “£1000 says they’ll make it all the way to Zandvoort.”

“That is bold, Wolff,” Christian said. “We’ll take it. Let’s see which one of us ends up being right. May the best man win.”

They shook hands to make it official.

—

All right, that’s it for part two! Hope you enjoyed and please let me know your thoughts🫶🏻

#4433 #formula one #max verstappen #lewis hamilton #f1 fanfic #christian horner #toto wolff #f1 rpf #mawis #the road trip #the road trip au #the mawis road trip

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yojeongin · 1 year

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DON’T BLAME THE LOVECATS — PROLOGUE

→neighbor!jaemin x neighbor f!reader

genre: social media au, neighbors au, fluff, angst, enemies to friends to lovers, humor

synopsis: smtown welcomes yn warmly but a horrid encounter between their cats leads to jaemin doing exactly the opposite. even with efforts to mend this, it’s a little too late for it and both parties will have to make due.

word count: 1742

m.list | previous | next

But anger blinded Jaemin. He was past furious that he saw your gentle patting towards his cat as a harsh scolding almost as if you were beating her. Blinking a few times before he snatched her from under your soft petting, careful enough to not grace her wounded area.

“I’m sorry about Mini—“

“Just keep your fucking cat away from her! What kind of owner are you letting a cat roam around new areas unattended?!”

His labored breaths clogged up his throat. Jaemin was worried sick about Dooie and her health. In any other occasion he would’ve taken the situation lightly and tried to reason but he couldn’t get the idea of losing her out of his head so anything regarding her made him act irrational.

“I didn’t— he ran out—“ flabbergasted with the way he spoke to you, your sentences came out choppy. You had processed the situation easily but he was making you contemplate that.

The cats had accidentally ran into each other that the impact set off a fight or flight instinct in both of them. You were sure if they had time nothing would’ve escalated past some hisses and arched backs where you could’ve had time to pick up Minino and taken him inside. But this happened so fast that all you did was comfort them both after the separation. You thought you had done a good job on calming both of them but he didn’t.

Letting out a disappointed scoff, “You don’t have to be such an ass, they’re okay. It was a spur of moment and don’t ever curse at him.” You couldn’t believe your first day moving in had already gone horrible. You had imagined that any neighbor rivalry would start months later or maybe never but here you were picking up Minino once again and giving his own cat an apologetic smile.

“Just leave us alone, now I have to take her to the vet again. Who knows where your cat has been.” He lets out in a murmur. His words while not too vile did spark some rage in you. He spoke about your baby as if he was a filthy beast that wasn’t taken care of. As if there was no care and even if he was an uncared for cat his words still sounded horrible.

Turning on your heel, you walked towards him with full determination and no holding back on your words. Whatever was going on with him he shouldn’t take it out on you or anyone else. What fault did Minino have for him to be so cruel?

“Stop treating him like filth, he’s not and even if he was a stray or uncared for cat you sound like such a dick.” Your words left him speechless but his pride made it look like he didn’t care which seemed to make things worse.

Jeno and Sunwoo had rushed down upon hearing some bickering. With heavy breathing both men made their way towards the both of you, hurrying you away from the confrontation point. Both of them were feeling very upset at how this guy had just spoken to you and your cat.

They knew you held Minino very dearly to you and any offense towards him was an offense towards you. It made things worse for Jeno since he had thought Jaemin was a nice tenant all these years he had been living in the building but when a friend of his has been crossed, the offender was dead to him.

“Don’t come near her or I won’t respond.” Sunwoo broke the silence, tongue poking against his cheeks. Jeno nodded in agreement hoping the message was sent but Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows with a dry mocking scoff, leaving both of them behind as he made his way towards the car with the mission of getting Dooie checked in case the scratches and bites had broken the skin barrier.

It wasn’t until hours later that Jaemin had arrived back home completely exhausted. All he wanted to was take his lovely Dooie in and sleep for the remainder of the night, not even caring about his remaining work.

Jaemin’s head turned to his side seeing his sleeping cat look ever so peaceful. He sighed to himself, thankful for another day she was healthy enough. Just like Minino was dear to you, Dooie was to him. His parents had given her to him as company years ago when he decided to move out for work.

They hoped she’d keep him company in his days and minutes of solitude for they knew living on your own and in the city was lonely. Things were worse when Jaemin had a history of horrible coping mechanisms and they feared their golden boy would resort to them again. In a way she’s saved him from many downfalls and for that he was thankful.

“You have to be careful next time. Please…” he begged in a murmur, cradling his darling in his arms as he struggled to unlock the door to his shared apartment. Upon managing to do so, the next door of the once vacant apartment had opened giving him access to those inside and those coming out.

His once calm demeanor had turned into what Dooie and Minino experienced earlier: fight or flight. Tense in his spot and clutching his cat when seeing your face, the both of you looked at each other startled.

“You have to be kidding.” You whine, pinching the bridge of your nose. Just when you thought things could be better, the universe had decided to curse you with the fact that your neighbor was that raging asshole from earlier.

It was left at that. Jaemin had entered the apartment before another argument could start. He was tired and he didn’t want to go to sleep angry and if avoiding you was all it will take then so be it.

“I’m not too thrilled myself.” Jaemin scoffs with the intake of your disgusted tone. He had thought about apologizing while on his way back now that he had cooled down but you still seemed angry that he couldn’t help but reciprocate the feeling.

That would’ve been better than to what had progressed was it not for Mark’s meddling. Minutes after he had arrived, his friend knocked on his bedroom door begging the younger to please bake him some brownies.

During such laborious process, Jaemin had updated Mark on the situation. While he expected his friend to comfort him, Mark remained quiet knowing he didn’t agree much with his friend. Though he knew where he was coming from, he still couldn’t agree with him. After all this didn’t sound like something cat loving Jaemin would say. He’s always been such a lovely foster owner and accepted any cat no matter how sickly.

“Yeah… yeah you did fuck up I won’t lie.” Now both men leaned against the counter, chewing with open mouths to let out the burning vapor of the freshly taken out brownies.

“I know you’re doing it out of love but giving her an apology is the least you could do. She was there in the wrong place at the wrong time and you took it out on her. She didn’t deserve it so how about you give her these left over brownies and you can make more once you’re done.” Palming his back followed by a wink, Mark sends off his friend with a Tupperware full of warm brownies that fogged up the container.

While in it’s time it sounded like a good plan, right now Jaemin’s pride was consuming him. He knew he was wrong and he knew he should do this but a part of him was telling him to fuck it. He couldn’t handle apologizing to someone that rightfully called him a dick, even if he deserved it.

Yet here he was pacing in front of your door, everyone of your friends was gone and you were left alone with your cat. Ignoring the threats from your friends, he finally knocks on your door. His heart beating with the rhythm of each knock but his getting increasingly harsher.

‘Easy. Just apologize, give them to her, and apologize again. That easy…’ he convinced himself. Jaemin was nervous enough that his hand began to sweat and it got worse when the door swung open. Revealing you in your PJs with headphones on.

While you were a smart girl, occasionally you’d have your moments off and lost your precaution. This was one of them that you didn’t look through the peep hole and opened the door in hopes it was one of your friends returning to spend your first night there.

But it wasn’t. It was that aggravating presence that you’ve found was your immediate neighbors with a tupper in hand and a slight nervous look to him.

“Hi, I jus—“

You didn’t let him finish. Slamming the door as harsh as you could in his face, scoffing at his audacity. “I thought you wanted us to stay away from you!” You made sure to let out before returning to your bedroom, leaving him behind that same door once again.

Jaemin knew he deserved this but his pride would always get in the way and this only hurt his ego. He couldn’t believe he had felt horrible for his earlier actions. That he had thought about welcoming you warmly like he and Mark had for past tenants, some of them being your own friends but he could forget about that.

If war is what you wanted, then war is what you would get.

taglist: @bbymatz @dandelionxgal @multieonnie @johnniverse @lunaryoongie

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