Yves

boyfriend!erling who is absolutely no help at all. if you’re in need for help when it comes to making a decision like what jewelry you should wear, or what shoes, or what top, or what this, or what that— you’re better off buying a magic 8-ball.

“you think this dress looks nice?” you asked, your face as unsure as can be. this was only the third you’d tried in today(not counting the other stores, of course). “or.. is it too.. i dunno- short?”

erling looked up from his phone. he’d been banished to the corner of the dressing room while you tried on your potential purchases.

“yea- that looks good, that.”

your face dropped, lips pulling into a thin line.

yup. thats all you get.

boyfriend!erling who never has any idea what the hell you’re on about. you could blame it on the linguistic barrier, or maybe the difference in nationalities, but he might as well be an 80 year old with how out of the loop he is.

“oh, this dress is teaaa-“

“tea?.. the fuck does that mean?”

then you had to explain what tea meant to him like he was your grandpa or something. just for him to ask you why you didn’t just say it looked nice. and then the cycle continues-

“no shade? what is this stuff you’re always saying-“

“i mean, like… no shade, but…”

boyfriend!erling who is a walking stink bomb. eggs, and raw milk’ll do that to you. he’s the reason you no longer sleep with you head under the blankets. you’ve found out you’re not too fond of getting dutch oven-ed daily.

boyfriend!erling who plays minecraft religiously, but looked at you crazy when you asked to put your beds together(uh… fuck you??).

boyfriend!erling who leaves no room for insecurity. blame it on his rather blunt way of speaking, or maybe just the fact that he genuinely believes you have no reason to be insecure. it’s not even something he thinks about— reassuring you. it’s just something that comes out naturally.

“i’m such a fat fucking chud..” you’d muttered one day, after falling to your death. in minecraft, of course. erling says keep inventory is for babies, so all you could do as you watched your inventory disperse all around your sad blocky body was hold back tears.

“no you’re not,” his eyebrows furrowed. it would’ve totally been comforting if he hadn’t let out that laugh when you fell.

boyfriend!erling who will genuinely sit and go back and forth with you. it would be funny— hearing his little english-norwegian fusion.. accent, whatever the hell as he tried(and failed) to get the last word. you can’t lie, a couple times you’ve caught yourself laughing in his face.

thank god he never took it seriously. you were almost 100 percent sure he was completely incapable of taking himself seriously, anyways.

boyfriend!erling who isn’t exactly the best candidate for a play fight. weight classes exist for a reason— and the guy walks like belongs under a bridge telling people riddles(fee fi fo fum..) is definitely not in yours.

he was going to win. even a baby could tell you that. but you really just hated accepting defeat.

he was standing there laughing as he picked you up and threw you on the bed like a basketball, pushing you down by your arm. there was no point in kicking at him— you knew this. you… also did it anyways.

boyfriend!erling who’s got a little ass on him…unsurprising for a guy who works out for a living. but still— it always catches your eye whenever they do those little slow-mo replays during the games. one would think it’s fair that you get to feel up on his cheeks like he does you. but he has the audacity to jump and move away whenever you move up behind him.

“hey-“ he jerks away, looking over his shoulder. he gave you a quick once over— a sassy one. “hands off,” he scoffed.

the nerve.

boyfriend!erling who does not play about his hair. as most everyone, he’s not too big of a fan of just any and everyone touching his hair— that’s his little behbeh.

but, being as you’re his partner, he does, yes, let you play with his hair. occasionally(like once or twice a year, if that) he’ll ask you to braid it. it’s rather impressive, how healthy it is. he doesn’t quite trust himself— or anyone else, for that matter— to trim his ends, so he asks you to do it.

lilymhe so you must hate me then…😒

yourusername i could never hate you, queen😣

alexandramalenaleclerc ❤️❤️❤️ liked by author

rebeccadonaldson beautiful girl❤️ liked by author

yourbsfusername body teaaa 🤏🏽 liked by author

yourusername ikdr 😘🤏🏾

yourbsfusername my girl😍😍 liked by author

yourusername my mannn🥹

yourbsfusername mind you, i was here first liked by author

yourusername it’s always been you anyways

user OMG SHE POSTED HIM

user omg lando dragged her along even though he knows he hates golf😂😂😂

user the pr is pring

user “pr” but they’ve been together probably as long as you’ve been alive

user oh the cope is insane

user get a grip bro🤣✌️

….

not that lando norris was the best golfer in the world, or anything.

but if there’s one sport he enjoyed doing nearly half as much as driving cars in circles for an hour, it was hitting balls with a stick.

you always tried your hardest to avoid having to join him out on the course— no matter how bad you felt, seeing how dejected he looked when you denied his requests. unfortunately, people who love you also probably enjoy your presence as well.

“what did you even send me over here to get?” you huff, looking over your shoulder. all the clubs in the golf bag looked the exact same to you. maybe past the big fat one staring at you, front and center at the top of the bag. everyone knows that one- the… driver, or something. everyone knew that.

you heard him groan from the green. so dramatic— you could almost feel him rolling his eyes. not that you planned on turning around to confirm, being as you were too concerned with trying to identify at least one of these clubs. maybe it’d help you remember what he made you go look in his golf bag for?..

maybe not.

“y/n,” he drags, slowing down as if he was talking to a child, “the pitching wedge. the little silver one? with the ‘p’ on it?"

he gestured vaguely toward his bag where it clearly sat in its designated spot.

"you’ve seen me use it before- like… every other hole?"

“ohh!!..” you say, nodding, as if that suddenly made it click to you. and maybe you’d managed to convince yourself that it did click, but you and him both knew you still had no idea what the hell a pitching wedge was.

“…is it this?” you ask, picking out the skinny, flat one. you looked over your shoulder at him, from your place behind the cart, fully expecting a firm no. but, you smiled when you realized that you actually got it right!

“yes!- yes, that one,” he nods, extending his arm, “bring it here.”

you hummed, walking up from the path to the green, taking the club he previously had in exchange for the one you had in your hand.

“thank ya’,” he hums, looking down at the club in his hand as if confirming that you actually got it right. “watch this shot,” he says, placing his ball down.

*puck!-*

and it’s off. these golf-freaks have got to be kidding themselves, shading their eyes with their hands as if they could see that tiny-ass ball as it flies through the sky.

for all you know, a bird could’ve snatched it up, and was taking it back to its nest as they spoke.

“mint,” he whispers to himself, doing a little celebratory first bump. “you saw how far that went?”

….

“Uh..” you scratch the back of your neck.

The urge to lie was strong.

but, you gave up at the thought of having to actually keep up with said lie. you were never really all that good at that, and he was all too good at seeing straight through you.

“to be frank- i... i lost sight of it like,” you pause, “like, as soon as you hit it. but, i’m sure it went far! i trust you. and stuff.”

great save.

after a million(four) more holes, you suddenly remembered why you always try your absolute hardest to avoid joining him out here, no matter how much it pains you to see his disappointed face. because, in short, golf is boring.

of course, no shade to the people who do like it. but, over the years, you’ve gotten all too used to fast paced, aggressive racing.

you’ve stuck to sitting in the cart since he’d fired you from caddie duty. it was hot outside, anyways. you were thankful for the shade. at least he let you drive the cart. that’s gotta count for something.

“ayee.. lemme drive da boat,” you mutter to yourself, thinking of that infamous kodak black video. sliding into the drivers seat, you huff. he was still doing.. whatever the hell he was doing— trying to aim his shot?

no way golfing is that hard to where he has to get all up on the ground like that. you snorted to yourself, reaching for your phone.

…

you couldn’t help yourself— giggling down at your phone. no one was funnier than you. something lando knew well, of course. comedians should be rejoicing the fact that you decided to be humble. sparing them by taking the motorsport route.

the cursive font really adds a bit of depth to it-

“what’re you over there giggling at?”

you nearly jumped out of your own skin. “uh.. when did you get over here?..”

“uh.. just now?” he says, in that sassy little tone of his.

okay- silly question. but seriously, he was just over there. but still. “oh- that sounded really bratty,” you huff.

“where to next?” you say, foot on the gas. that story put you in a better mood.

“the next hole.”

“…right.”

he was supposed to say home. but, you supposed you got a little ahead of yourself there.

…

the pr team knew this. yet, you still somehow found yourself on a soccer field, surrounded by an endless sea of cameras and microphones, waiting for whoever your collaborator was supposed to be to show up. they gave you little information past “you’ll be working with another redbull athlete for a fun little video,” then they slapped a redbull soccer kit and some cleats on you, and fed you some lines to say to the camera when the time came to film.

you’d been standing off to the side, looking down at your phone as you idly sipped on a coffee they’d so graciously provided for you this morning on the way out to the stadium. 30 minutes ago, they told you your collaborator would arrive.

…it’s been thirty minutes.

however, you’d been too focused on scrolling through your own instagram page to notice. of course, until you heard voices echoing through the tunnel. you looked up, only for a moment. but in that moment, he caught your eye immediately.

he?

who was he?-

you must have been looking pretty hard. at least, hard enough to catch his eye.

his eyes picked up from the ground, instantly finding yours. and in a gesture you could only assume was kind, he smiled. not an ear to ear smile— no. that’d be a little much coming from someone you don’t even know the name of. but, a smile is a smile nonetheless. and despite how your knees nearly gave out beneath you, you’d managed to smile back. not before nervously caving and looking away.

“who’s.. who’s that?” you muttered to the staff member beside you. your pr manager, who was obviously there with you, just like all the other staff. she looked up, following the line of your eyes.

“him?- uh.. that’s Richard Ríos. football-“ she pauses, “soccer player,” she corrects. as if your pea sized american brain wouldn’t an couldn’t handle a discrepancy between british and american english.

“oh.. oh- you tryna’ be funny..” you laugh shortly, face dropping. her laughter that followed only served to anger you a bit more. well.. not really, but still. “no, but- for real, who is he?..”

“uhh… your collaborator?” she raises a brow. “what- you think he’s cute?” she snorts, as if this was just.. peak comedy.

cute, is an understatement.

…

the first meeting was awkward. only for you, really. he had a voice to match his handsome face. which, you really weren’t expecting.

but at the same time, you weren’t expecting to be blessed with a collaborator like him today, either.

you’d nearly shit your pants when they told you why you were really here.

to practice soccer drills with a soccer player. but, if you read in between the lines, you’ll see that you were really here to make an absolute fool out of yourself in front of a cute(more than cute) guy.

…

“so- do you have any experience in football, or-“ the host asks, referring to you, of course. you snorted, shaking your head no immediately. “no, i don’t.”

“oh. do you watch the matches?-“

“uh…” your eyes dart to Richard, standing beside you. he had this smile on his face. the same one he’d worn when he walked in, his eyes squinted slightly from the glare of the sun.

the hosts’ face lit up like he’d struck gold. “what’s- what’s his team name?” he asked, laughing softly as he gestured to richard.

“uh- uh..” you’d said, snapping your fingers in the air as you tried to remember. “wait- wait i know this,” you paused. “wait-“ you laughs, “wait- don’t put me on the spot-“

“you don’t even know what team i play for?” richard pitches in from the side. “damn,” he adds, feigning disappointment as he kissed his teeth, and shook his head. but, that smile didn’t leave his face.

“oh my god, not too much on me,” you laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart suddenly started beating faster in your chest.

not when the cameras are around.

…

kick the ball through the mini cones… or something. thats what the host had them doing first, for this video. he’d left it to richard to explain to you how to do the drill, being that he was the professional and all.

but, the entire time, you were nothing short of hypnotized.

the way the sun was hitting his skin— his tanned skin. his quads peeking out from beneath those shorts. and his voice…

richard ríos has the voice every girl dreams of. you were being lulled in, it felt like. the words just blended together. the world around him turned pink… roses— roses everywhere-

it all screeched to a halt, as you fell back to earth.

“did you get that?”

“oh- uh… yea, yea- i got it,” you assure, nodding, knowing good and well you were lying.

in the end, he definitely ended up laughing at how terrible you did. “you did better than i did the first time,” he laughs, shrugging.

…right.

…

penalty kicks.

…for scoring when you get a penalty. pretty in your face. the name makes a lot of sense, now that you think about it.

“okay- i just kick it?” you ask, turning over your shoulder to look at him.

“yea-“ he pauses, examining your stance. “no,” he corrects. “you’re too close to the goal.”

he walked forward, grabbing your forearm— gently, but firmly— to pull you backwards. he stepped back, evaluating you again.

“wait- i’m nervous,” you chuckle softly. nervous to make the goal, and totally not because of the guy looming over you. “do i just kick it?”

“yea,” he says as he gestures for you to go.

and maybe the goalie purposely dived to the right when the ball was clearly going left. but, you made the goal!

you gasped, immediately jumping up. and, he smiled. no hug was offered, but.. high fives were cool, too.

….

if there’s one thing that rich people loved more than shattering champagne glasses on yachts, it was sitting around, larping as philanthropists.

that’s why they created charity events.

you’d been invited to this one. along with a whole bunch of sponsors, and other red bull athletes, and… influencers, for some reason.

you stood off to the side, by yourself. not even max had the decency to show up. annoying as it was that he could get away with shit like that, you didn’t necessarily blame him for it. one can only fake laugh so many times before feeling like choking someone out.

even the drinks. just water and soda. and don’t forget the redbull, of course. can’t forget the redbull.

what kind of event was this?

the view from inside the venue was nice, at least.

the view from inside the venue was nice, too.

you found yourself taking pictures in your phone. maybe you post them on your story later.

the large, ornate building sat on a hill, overlooking the mediterranean sea. yellow lighting washed over the room, coming from the large chandeliers that decorated the ceiling. like the ones that fall on people in movies for a comedic relief. you almost wished that would happen right now, as that would most definitely make your night more interesting. but, you cringed when you realized this wasn’t a movie, and a chandelier falling on someone could definitely be deadly.

“y/n?”

“huh?” you’d respond reflexively, turning over your shoulder, as you lowered your phone. “oh- hi,” you smile, waving— as if he wasn’t literally right there. your body was on autopilot, taking over for your brain that had went rogue seeing the same man from a week or two ago.

“richard, right?” you tilt your head to the side, brows slightly furrowed. “you… i didn’t know you’d be here,” you finished with a light chuckle.

“i could say the same for you,” he says, returning your smile. “you look beautiful tonight. i saw you- i thought i’d just come over to.. let you know,” he shrugs.

“i..” you pause. he said it so casually. it just rolled off of his tongue, as if it was something he truly believed. which- of course he did, right? he wouldn’t say it if not. however, you weren’t exactly used to guys just outright saying stuff like that, so casually, as if not expecting anything in return.

“thank you,” you smile, heart thumping faster again, just like the first time you saw him. “you’re- you’re not here with anyone?”

you couldn’t help but ask.

“nah,” he shakes his head. he had a look on his face, as if he knew why you’d asked him. but, he didn’t move to point it out, or call you out, for matter. “you’re not either, i don’t think? at least, not if you’re over here by yourself.”

“oh- no, i’m not,” you were quick to affirm. “i just..” you trail off with a shrug, looking over all the people here. everyone who wasn’t an influencer just looked rich and stuck up.

“don’t know anyone?” he offered. and, you were silent for a moment. but, you nodded in the end. “yea. just- you, i guess.”

“well- you should’ve came and found me. i would’ve kept you company,” he says playfully, smiling again.

and, he stayed with her the whole entire night. no one really made a move to come up to them. probably because of how isolated they were from the crowd.

but, you weren’t complaining.

the conversation wasn’t exactly long enough to know whether or not you had things in common, or to know his goals, or this, or that, and yadda yadda yadda-

but it was enough to know that he wasnt just putting on an act that day during filming, or even when he walked up.

he didn’t want anything from you. past, a good conversation.

you two had found yourselves laughing, more often than not. he was a good guy, you’d gotten that much.

he even walked you to your car. even though his wasn’t even in the same parking garage as yours— something he’d mentioned in passing, however you still picked it up nonetheless.

“you swear you’re not cold?-“

“richard- i swear. i’m fine,” you say, denying the offer fit his blazer that he’d already taken off four offers ago. “i’m not cold, but thank you anyways.”

“you literally have goosebumps.”

…

he’d managed to convince you to take the blazer. which, smelt very good. you’d told yourself you’d give it back before you got into your car, but found yourself opening the door with it still on.

thankfully, he was still standing behind you, just beside your car.

“uh- oh shit, your jacket,” you say, moving to take it on.

“no, it’s fine.”

your brows furrow. “you.. you don’t want it back?”

he’d managed to convince her to take the blazer. which, smelt very good. she’d told herself she’d give it back before she got into her car, but found herself opening the door with it still on.

thankfully, he was still standing behind you, just beside your car.

“uh- oh shit, your jacket,” she said, moving to take it on.

“no, it’s fine.”

her brows furrow. “you.. you don’t want it back?”

“nah- it’s fine, i swear.”

“you sure? it looks expensive.” you sigh, “i.. i’d just really feel bad, keeping your jacket,” she huffs out a laugh.

“then… i guess you’re gonna have to see me again.” he shrugs as he puts his hand in his pockets.

you stood there, a little dumb struck, for a moment.

you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. “is that your way of trying to get me to go out with you?”

“depends on if it’s working or not,” he says, smiling.

was that kind of corny?

well.. because it was him, it was kind of charming. which was evident from the smile it brought to your face.

“uh.. yea. yea- i.. it is,” you huff out a laugh.

“when’re you free, then?”

you look up at the sky in thought, “uh… tuesday? i believe?..”

“oh, perfect,” he shrugs, reaching for his phone. “just.. gimme your number, and i’ll text you.”

simple as that.

he waved goodbye, but still waiting for her to get in her car abd lock in before he walked away.

you hadn’t realized how deprived you’d been of genuine human interaction until you caught yourself geeking out in the front seat.

“oh.. yikes.”

hey guys… omg my first work EVER. sorry if this is too short or if the ending is too abrupt😭