#I love that coat it’s like three sizes too big for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harstyle · 7 months

Text

the styles’ nanny

Summary: Y/N is a twenty-three year old uni student and Harry is a thirty-six year old single dad. Y/N is a part-time nanny and Harry is her employer. Y/N thinks Harry is hot, and Harry… well, he’s a bit confused.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!yn + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 7.3k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking and lashing out during an argument, no happy ending yet

A/N: I don’t know why I keep writing characters that start out insecure but I swear it’ll get better later!! Let me know if you want to read more, I’m thinking maybe three parts? Also, the fact that y/n is plus-size doesn’t really become a big deal in the story, but that was how I originally had her in mind so I’m leaving it that way. Hope you enjoy!

Y/N was twenty three. She was twenty three, and she used to love being twenty three. She used to love going out to party, the feeling of alcohol burning down her throat, the rush of palpable excitement when having sex with people she’d never met before. She used to love that. But she didn’t anymore.

And the reason for that? One Harry Styles.

It was ridiculous, of course; Harry had other companions he could turn to before ever settling on her— oh and not to mention, he was her boss. Yet, it felt daring, like that time she’d fallen in love with her biology teacher or looked differently at her camp instructor in high school. Authority figures did something to her brain, and Harry was no different.

But of course there was a lot at stake and she would never actually approach the idea; it was a fantasy at most. And she thought… as long as she didn’t act on her brain’s poisoning, it would be fine.

“Y/N, did you hear me?”

“Oh,” she was snapped back to her current state following the short distraction, the butter knife in her hand now seeming more dangerous than when she’d held it seconds before. “Sorry, Harry, what was that?”

She swore she could see an amused smile tugging at his lips for a brief second. She’d always wondered what he thought of her.

“Are you free next Thursday? I have this meeting until late and I doubt I’ll be home for dinner—I was thinking you could maybe put Jamie to bed? You can stay the night if it’s too late to catch a train, or just take the other car?”

Y/N’s work day at the Styles’ house ended at five pm most days in time for Harry to get home, but she did adore Jamie, so staying longer wasn’t remotely an issue.

“That’s okay, I can just stay the night like I did last time, if that’s alright?”

Harry had insisted when she’d begun working for him that she have a room in the house where she could take naps to rest or stay the night all together when it got too tiring to catch the train home, and the notion of it had pulled at her heartstrings. He was very considerate and that was rare in bosses.

Harry shook his head, waving her off with ease, “course it’s okay.”

“Great. I should get home, I have an important test coming up tomorrow. Am I good to go?”

He glanced at the clock, noticing how late it had gotten (he’d offered to cook dinner and Y/N had never been one to reject hot men’s company) and cursed quietly to himself. “I’ll drive you.”

“Oh no Harry, really, it’s okay!”

“It’s almost eight and I feel uneasy whenever I send you away in the dark. Sides, I’m sure Jamie will love a late road trip to your flat,” he reassured with a smile, standing up as if to restrict her getting a choice and starting to load the plates into the dish washer. “Grab your coat and I’ll wait by the door. I’ll get Jamie.”

Y/N did love the way he asserted his wishes to her, kind but dominant in his decisions. He didn’t let her deter him and she, for one, didn’t mind it at all.

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

—

“Can I please just get one scoop? Please?”

“I’m sorry, buddy, we just don’t have any ice cream! I would let you have it if we did, but we don’t. Is there any other snack you’re interested in?”

Jamie was being fussy today and Y/N couldn’t figure out why. He’d been happy when she’d picked him up from school, raving on about his art teacher’s praise on a drawing he’d done with the widest grin resting lazily on his small lips. It had been at around three that he’d started whining at her, not wanting to eat even though he’d requested the grilled cheese and flicking through about twenty channels until he’d finally settled on not watching anything at all. Y/N had figured he was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep either, so she was left thoroughly baffled trying to find ways to tame his mood.

But he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop whining and crying, wouldn’t stop flailing his tiny arms and legs, wouldn’t stop pouting at her. Jamie had the best behaviour Y/N had ever seen on a boy, really, so this behavior worried her. “I just want ice cream!”

“Jamie, we don’t have any ice cream. How about I get you ice cream tomorrow, hm? And today we’ll have something else? Come on, remember how we learned about compromise?”

Y/N was trying, pulling Jamie into her lap to comfort him even though he didn’t care for any of it. His face was red and angry and nothing she said registered in his brain. He cried into her shoulder instead, gripping at her sides in terror. “You’re being mean to me.”

“Hey, that’s not very nice, I’m trying to help you bud.”

“Please, I just want ice cream.”

It was kind of cute how even in his state of devastation, he still managed to be polite to her.

“And I hear you, Jamie, but we don’t have any right now. Will you settle for Oreos? Or chocolate?”

He merely shook his head.

Y/N breathed a grateful sigh when she heard the front door being unlocked, still bouncing Jamie up and down in her lap in hopes that he’d settle down just a bit. She was sure Harry’d heard the crying from the front door because his steps were fast and his expression of concern clear.

“What’s wrong, bub?”

Jamie reacted with a devastating whine, calling for his dad and reaching his arms out begging to be carried. Harry shot Y/N a look of mixed confusion and apology, leveling the boy out from inside of her lap. He mouthed the question she knew he’d been thinking and felt bad when all she could offer in return was a shrug because she knew it wasn’t the ice cream anymore

Harry sung in whispers into his ear in the hopes of calming him, bouncing him around on the spot. He pressed kisses to his forehead, drawing circles on his back. It worked better than when Y/N had done it, Jamie’s sobs having soothed into few hiccups and sniffles.

Y/N couldn’t help but admire how naturally skilled Harry was at being a father. She knew a little bit of the history— his fiancée at the time leaving him for another man months after having given birth to Jamie and having to raise him by himself. He was a busy man and Y/N could often tell that he felt bad about being unable to do things like pick up his son from preschool or spend all day playing in the den, but he was still a better father than hers had ever been. He was a great father.

Not long after his crying had died down, Jamie fell asleep in Harry’s arms. Y/N finally breathed a sigh, relieved to catch a break. She loved taking care of Jamie, but jesus had today been hard. Harry carried him up to his bedroom, careful as to not bother him and advised Y/N to wait for him to come back.

Whilst Harry was putting Jamie to bed, she decided to clean up a bit. She went through the array of toys Jamie had taken out and discarded after a short minute of playing with them, and placed them back in the drawers. A smile tugged at her lips when she saw the dino plush toy she’d gifted him when she’d first started working for this family months ago— he still played with it all of the time. In fact, Harry had once sent her a photo of it sitting next to him in the car when they’d gone on vacation in the summer. She recalled tearing up because of it.

“Hi, sorry for taking so long.”

She swore she almost jumped in reaction to his thick voice, gripping the plush tightly against her chest in shock. Harry allowed himself a chuckle, raising his arms just enough to surrender. “Sorry, should’ve knocked.”

Y/N’s only response was a forced chuckle. It still felt weird to be in a room with him by herself, without the presence of a cute five year old to tend to. It was moments like these she felt guilty about fancying him. Most of the time Harry was merely a ghost around the house and whenever he settled back in, she would leave. She rarely ever had time to utter more than a quick ‘see you tomorrow’ and rush off home. It wasn’t like he was there, so her thoughts about him didn’t seem too off putting— now, with the company of awkward silence engulfing them, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted by herself.

“Think he’s getting sick,” he then added.

“Probably,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him like that before so it was just a bit worrisome.”

“Yeah, he only really gets like that when he’s sick, so I think it’s safe to say… you’re alright, though?”

“I’m fine, just a bit worried, as I said.”

He smiled like he found that amusing, “he’ll be okay. Are you hungry? I was going to make pasta for dinner.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

Last time she’d had dinner here, Jamie had sat next to her. It hadn’t been just her and him.

“Yeah. Why don’t you put the dino down and we’ll go make it together?”

In an instant, her cheeks heated up. She hadn’t even noticed she was still clutching to it for support and figured he must’ve thought she looked so stupid welcoming the comfort of a plush toy. Another awkward chuckle escaped her as she threw it gently into its container, bucking down to lock it away as well as her memory of these last two minutes, hopefully.

Harry was a good cook, but that wasn’t really surprising at all— in fact, she couldn’t imagine there were many things he wouldn’t excel at. Y/N, on the other hand, she was terrible. She’d burned so many things in her apartments kitchen that she couldn’t keep count even if she tried. So naturally, he took the lead in every task she did, from cutting onions to seasoning the salmon.

“Wait, no, y’can’t— here,” she couldn’t help but giggle as he took the knife from her hands, cutting into the flesh himself. He huffed, but she knew it was teasing. “You’ve gotta learn how to cook.”

“I know how to cook basic things, just not some five star gourmet meal. I think you’d be surprised what I can do with some seasoning, eggs and tomatoes.”

“I have no choice but to take your word for it, do I?”

“Guess not. Can I do something else? I feel so useless.”

He clicked his tongue, not even sparing a glance her way. “Go sit on the counter and look pretty.”

And at first, Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. Did she just… literally sit on the counter? Probably not. It was… a joke, right? How did he expect she would react to such a bizarre request? For a second the guilt she’d been feeling about potentially being unprofessional subsided in a flush.

Then he finally let his eyes settle on her and she just about fainted at what he had to say, “what? Do you need help getting up?”

She was 99% sure at this point that he just got off on pestering her, what with the dino, and now this? Prior to these last two weeks he’d never even spoken more than five words to her, and now he was inviting her to dinner. He probably found the confusion written all over her face amusing.

She could probably indulge a little then, right?

“Yeah, I do.”

He didn’t just laugh, though, like she’d expected him to— no, he ran his hands under hot water, wiped his hands on his (very) expensive trousers and walked toward her. He motioned to the counter as if asking her to get closer and—

“Wait, no, I can do it.”

He immediately stepped back, hands dropping from her waist and smirk molding his mouth.

“You can now?”

“Yes.”

He held eye contact for a few more beats before moving away with a solid nod.

What the fuck was that?

Y/N had expected him to dismiss her, uttering something along the lines of ‘I was only joking’, but that? Never would she have thought that that would be the response.

It was funny, too, because he never could’ve carried her up without at least a bit of struggle. She knew what he was used to— thin women, supermodels even, and she was neither.

So despite the confusion, she got up on the counter like he’d asked. On her own.

And when he’d started asking her about normal things like family and uni, Y/N slowly eased out of her awkward stance. She told him about her mother, her brother, and left her deceased father out of it. He smiled, nodding along to her words whenever the situation allowed it and kept his eye on the food.

A blink was all it took for him to announce dinner and the two of them sat at the table together, peacefully quiet.

It was around six thirty when the patter of tiny feet sounded through the house, from the stairs to the kitchen. Both of the adults waited patiently, eyebrows raised in surprise that the little gremlin had decided to wake up after only having slept for two hours.

“Daddy?”

Y/N almost melted at his sweet, buttery voice.

Harry hummed, “is that you, bub?”

He finally poked his head into the room, carrying a plush toy in one hand and rubbing his sleepy eyes with the other. He studied the room before settling his green irises (clone of his dad’s) on Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re still here.”

She smiled, a pity smile, and answered in a sweet tone, “I am, bud. Is that okay?”

He merely nodded, stalking closer. Harry pulled him up into his lap, kissing his forehead before letting him rest against his front.

“I wanted to apologize for being mean before.”

Her stomach did another flip.

Was this a dream, or did a five year old just apologize to her on his own incentive? She swore these Styles boys surprised her every day!

Her eyes flickered to Harry and she watched as a proud smile stretched his mouth. He met her gaze, the grin undeniably wide, and shrugged as if to say didn’t tell him to.

“That’s okay, Jamie, I understand you were frustrated. Are you feeling better?”

He nodded again, although it was weak and subtle, “my throats itchy.”

Harry’s smile faded with his confession and he pressed the back of his palm to his son’s forehead, “why’d you get out of bed, then, silly? You need to rest if you’re sick.”

“Missed you, daddy.”

She could see that same guilt she’d seen so many times before manipulate Harry’s features again, and her heart broke a little bit for him. She couldn’t keep track of the amount of times she’d wanted to just break and say you’re a wonderful father to him, but stopped herself in fear of overstepping.

Knowing he wasn’t going to say anything soon enough, too lost in his own thoughts, she went on for him. “Tomorrow is Saturday, Jamie, how about you go rest so you can have a full day with your dad tomorrow? S’not nice spending weekends sick in bed, as you know.”

In a manner that was so much more than cute, Jamie’s fingers trapped his chin to appear deep in thought, and then he nodded. “That makes sense.”

Y/N almost laughed, “doesn’t it?”

“Will you be here too, Y/N?”

Jamie knew very well that Y/N wasn’t here on Saturdays, so she guessed he was only implying that she should be. An invitation of sorts.

But she really couldn’t handle being around Harry on the weekends as well as on weekdays, so she shook her head gently, “no, but I’ll be back on Monday, is that okay with you?”

To show his dismay, he jutted his lip out in a pout. “Can’t you come over for lunch?”

Harry nudged him, “Jamie, remember how we talked about what Y/N does when she isn’t here with us?”

“School. But there’s no school on Saturdays!”

“She does school, you’re right. When you get older, there’s so much you have to do for school that it never stops, not even on weekends. And you know what else she does? She meets up with friends, she plays tennis, she goes shopping for groceries. There’s tons she has to do besides spend time with us, yeah?” He never met her gaze as he spoke to Jamie, and it was better that way— he’d probably have caught her loved up eyes if he dared to do it. He remember details about her she didn’t recall telling him about. As if it hadn’t been enough, he added onto it, “plus, I reckon she’d appreciate a break from us, huh? We’re definitely not the only boys in her life, so we should share once in a while. No matter how much we like having her around.”

It was almost magical, the connection Harry and Jamie shared with each other. Nevermind what he’d said to make Jamie understand (she definitely hadn’t missed that last sentence— or the idea of ‘other boys’ altogether), it just made her happy to listen to them converse. It was healthy, a bit serious when need be but mostly light and protective. He did everything in his power to preserve Jamie’s innocence, especially about his upbringing and the whole mother issue.

After a long train of thought, Jamie slowly nodded his small head, “okay. Fine. But I get you Monday! No other boys Monday through Friday.”

Y/N couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from her mouth, incessant and silly. “Okay, Jamie, I promise I won’t let other boys come between us Monday through Friday, okay? Is that good for you?”

“Me and daddy, though. He’s the only other boy allowed.”

She giggled again, avoiding Harry’s gaze but nodding nonetheless, “sure. Daddy too.”

She felt Harry shift out of her periphery.

“Okay,” he finally settled, outstretching his arm across the table, “pinky promise?”

She did the same, but just before Jamie had a chance to interlink his much smaller finger with hers, she pulled back. “If I pinky promise you on this, will you pinky promise me that you’ll finally go rest?”

He hummed in agreement.

She welcomed the promise, letting her finger link with Jamie’s for a few seconds until he felt ready to let go.

“Now go lay down. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

“Kay. Can I have a hug?”

“Of course,” she cooed at him, arms already outstretched the moment he’d climbed down from Harry’s lap. Jamie gave the best hugs, so she figured Harry would as well. She’d never gotten to test that theory, though. “Okay, good night.”

“Night.”

Jamie took slow steps (he was much like his father that way, taking his time in everything he did) and slowly disappeared into the main room, eventually stalking up the stairs as both Y/N and Harry listened for it.

“Thank you,” Harry then broke the silence. Her eyes flickered toward him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, but a nervous smile playing on her mouth. “You’re so good with him.”

“It’s my job to be good to him.”

“It’s your job to take care of him, but you’re not… you’re doing much more than just be nice to him and I appreciate that. So thank you.”

“He’s a great kid, so… not a very difficult thing to do.”

The air had somehow become thick and unwavering, unspoken words wafting between their bodies across the table and back. Harry looked like he wanted to say more but his jaw stayed shut in place and she certainly wasn’t going to pester him about it. It was already difficult to keep in mind that despite the lighthearted dinner, he was still her employer, and that the boundaries they had been practicing since the beginning of her time here were slowly being blurred and tested.

So it didn‘t really matter what she felt whenever he spoke to her, she had to preserve herself and her position here.

She feigned a glance at the clock to justify looking away and sat up in her chair, “I should go home.”

His nod was curt, “okay. I’ll get the keys.”

“No, don’t worry, I have to stop by somewhere else before. I’ll manage.”

It was a lie, of course it was.

“Fine.”

As Y/N made her way back outside, she regretted declining his offer and the farther she walked away from the house, the more she thought about the things they could’ve talked about had she let him grab his keys and escort her home. If he would walk her to the door like last time, without Jamie in the car of course, and bid her a proper goodbye. How maybe, if they’d inched close enough, they would share a moment of hesitation before kissing. Her imagination ran wild with it and she knew that it wouldn’t really happen, but the chances would’ve been greater had she just been bad.

Shit.

—

Y/N was crying.

She was bursting into tears outside of a bar looking like a pathetic, lost idiot— and it just wouldn‘t stop. She couldn’t recall anymore what exactly she‘d expected before going into the date she‘d spontaneously agreed to as a result of her mother‘s pleas, but it certainly hadn‘t been such an embarrassing let down. Her shoulders slumped as she thought back on her date‘s words: I don’t see this going anywhere, but you’re a really nice girl. Friends?

And why was she crying? She was crying because she knew what he’d really meant was: you’re not my type at all, and this was a waste of my time. How did she know? The way he’d looked at her, with a sparkle of disgust in his eyes, the tone he’d used; pitiful and mean. How he’d looked at other, skinny girls while Y/N had been planted directly in front of him and lastly, how he’d left before the date had even ended.

Y/N hadn’t left the bar as soon as he had, no, she’d stayed until now; closing time. She’d drunk herself to exhaustion, pulling shot after shot and even worrying the barista who went to her psych class at uni. Before she’d known it, the clock had struck three am and four hours had passed since what’s-his-face had left her to rot in there.

She had no idea what to do, she could barely even form a thought. It didn’t matter that she’d been rejected— this wasn’t about that, it was about something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Since the beginning of time relationships had been sparse and dreadful, so another notch on her belt couldn’t have mattered so much as to bring her to a multitude of tears, but she did feel unlovable and undesirable in the way she had throughout all of her life. People had told her things would get better if she waited it out, but they’d lied. Guys were still assholes.

There was really only one person she felt like contacting, and that was Harry. He’d been on her mind all weekend. She’d been wondering if she ever crossed his mind, if for a sliver of a second he allowed himself to think about her in the way she thought about him, and felt a disgustingly sour taste in her mouth when she realized the answer had to have been no.

But Y/N was drunk, and people did stupid things when they were drunk— so without much afterthought, she used the remainder of her battery on dialing his number. He answered after the first ring and her mind wandered to question the plausibility of him being awake at this hour.

“Y/N?”

She was struck watching the road in front of her, unable to answer. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

What had she done?

“Y/N, is everything okay?” another wave of tears overwhelmed her senses and as a result, she sobbed right into the speaker, and heard shuffling on the other side. “Sweetheart, where are you? What’s happened?”

“This guy— he just— he was so mean and he left me here—“

“Where? Where are you? Who left you?”

“The viper.”

“Y/N, that place closed twenty minutes ago. Are you inside?”

“No, she… she said I need to get out, so I did, but I didn’t know where to go cause m’drunk, and I…” there was a pause in which she realized how stupid he must’ve thought she was, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, listen to me. Please stay there, don’t move, and send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

She had no fight left in her, so she nodded to herself. Harry didn’t see, obviously, but he hung up with the hope that she’d understood him clearly.

When he arrived not fifteen minutes later, he put his car in park and hopped out to find Y/N sat on the floor, a lazy smile pulling at her lips when she laid eyes on him.

“Harry, hi! I was just thinking about you!”

He said nothing, a tick in his jaw as he helped her up on her feet, grounding her stature. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder and he kept a steady beat to bring her to warmth as quickly as possible. Y/N got the idea, aimlessly buckling up and failing miserably until he offered assistance.

“Thank you,” she murmured to him, though he refused to give a verbal response. He merely nodded, jaw still locked in place before he closed the door. Y/N watched as he walked over to the other side and opened the door.

He drove in silence and Y/N tried to be okay with that. She stared ahead, mind still gloomy, with her lips jutted out in a pout. The silent treatment made her feel like a scolded child, like Harry was her angry father who refused to speak to her because she’d come home past her bedtime. She looked over to scan over his features, make sure the crease between his forehead had subsided at least a little, but it hadn’t.

After the longest minute of her life, she finally asked, quietly, “are you mad at me?”

And when he didn’t say anything, her heart dropped.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Y/N didn’t dare to say anything for the rest of the ride. When they got back, Y/N opened her own door and hopped out, refusing to wait for Harry to help. He sighed, she could hear, but she just slowly trailed after him.

“Up on the counter,” he grumbled, grabbing a glass of water to help sober up. She took it from his hand.

“Harry, I’m sor—“

“Drink the water.”

She almost flinched at his angry tone.

Y/N was halfway done with the glass when he scoffed, unable to bite his tongue any longer, “I’m angry because you were irresponsible. First you go on a date with some dickhead—“ she opened her mouth to protest, but failed to when he put up a finger to halt her, “then you get yourself drunk and sit outside of the bar alone in a stingy area. Something could’ve happened to you, then what?”

All Y/N could say was, “it didn’t,” and it was the weakest argument she could’ve thought of.

“It very well could’ve and you’d have your stupidity to thank for it.”

Her heart banged again. She didn’t like getting reprimanded by Harry, nearly at the end of her rope anyway. She‘d never seen this side of him before, stern and miserly. Clearly Y/N had only really seen one version of him and had gotten lost in the illusion of it all.

In a last attempt to make him understand, vulnerable and naked, she let herself sniffle, “I don’t think anyone is ever going to love me.”

She‘d expected it to pull at her heartstrings more than it ended up doing— ironically enough, she felt fine confessing to him. Maybe it was the fact that she‘d bottled it up for so long that it was nice to finally admit to it, to allow somebody else to step into her shoes. Of course, every confession came with a tinge of embarrassment (it wouldn’t be a confession otherwise), but this one was still manageable. And yeah, maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her system, but who cared?

“What?”

“No one loves me. I’ve never… guys have never liked me enough to want to brag about it, or keep me around for longer than a month, and… and I do get it, cause I come with a shit ton of baggage, but it just… it takes a lot to be motivated about things that way. I’m twenty three and I’ve barely experienced what it means to love someone and actually have them love you back.”

The display of vulnerability floated heavily through the air.

He was silent for a second. He did that sometimes, she noticed, especially when he was processing things.

Once he did open his mouth, though, he knew exactly what to say, “you can’t let some immature boys get to you like this, you hear me? Tell me one good asset the guy you went on a date with had.”

Y/N shook her head, not because she couldn‘t have if she‘d thought about it hard enough but because she had no energy to continue this conversation any longer. He wouldn’t get it

“See? No guy is worth crying over, especially not on some dirty pavement outside of a bar.”

He truly did have a point there, she supposed.

But it wasn’t just about that, so she told him exactly that— well, at least tried to, “it’s more than… I don’t… I don’t feel good enough.”

“You’re being a bit silly, sweetheart.” She registered how sweet he’d gotten again, finger brushing against her knee and features softening just enough to convince her of safety. He probably felt bad for her. “You’re plenty good enough.”

“Y’don’t get it,” she murmured, “you don’t understand what it feels like to get rejected solely because of your looks.” Y/N had always felt slightly weird talking about her appearance with people who weren’t her closest friends, and even then she felt judgment coming from them. Each time they asked if she would come clubbing with them to score boys, she was never able to honestly express that she‘d never wanted to go because it was always her who was left riding home in an uber alone. And it wasn’t like she felt ugly— in fact, there were instances she felt so confident nobody could’ve told her anything, but then there were those few others… and her whole system came down crashing.

“What do you mean?”

He couldn’t be so daft, could he?

“You’re— you just don’t fucking get it, okay? It’s… whatever, I don’t care.”

That took some courage too, courage she only registered after having uttered the words, but she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t mutter the words this guy didn’t fancy me because I’m fat, because she still had more class than that— even drunk. Ever the childish, pouty person she was, she had more shame than that.

She buried her face in her hands, breathing out, “I’m sorry. Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“It’s fine,” he placed a warm hand on her thigh, thumb stroking soothingly. With a sympathetic look in his eye (confusion too, she guessed), he tried to pacify her concerns, “you need sleep, everything will be better when you wake up.”

He was probably right about that.

“Okay.”

As he escorted her up the stairs, she couldn’t help but let her eyes trail over his features, watching as they hardened and softened based on the turmoil occurring inside of his mind. She wanted to reach in there and grab onto clues, grasp an understanding of the workings of him, but he made that nearly impossible. She would look away if he caught her eye, cheeks heating up every time she was captured by his darkened green irises.

He opened the door, allowing her to take the first step. She didn’t really need the help, but she couldn’t complain when his hand posed on the small of her back so he could maneuver her onto the sheets.

“Do you want a change of clothes, Y/N?”

“Um, if you have something?”

She doubted there was anything in his huge closet that would fit her in the way she preferred, but the idea of spending the night in jeans was just as dreadful, so she took the chance and nodded.

He came back later with a stack of clothes perched on his left hand, the other holding another glass of water. “Anything else?”

Y/N paused for a moment to think and shook her head, “no. But just—“ she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She couldn’t believe the words she spoke next, no thought invested into them: “will you come into bed with me?”

Time refused to pass, the ball was in his court.

When he gave a subtle nod, it was like god and the universe were sending good karma her way. Her compensation for the night. “Just until you fall asleep.”

Y/N scooted to the other edge of the bed, reaching down under the blanket to rid herself of her jeans and pull on those grey sweatpants. Surprisingly enough, they fit extremely well. Harry laid down over the blanket (to prevent getting too comfortable, probably) and perched himself onto his forearm.

Another bold wave met with Y/N’s courage as she reached out her hand to trail over his chest. Harry swallowed thickly.

“You’re really nice t’me.”

“You deserve to be treated well.” The snort that left her was completely involuntary, but it still made Harry frown. “You do.”

“Everyone does,” she later mumbled in agreement. He seemed to dislike the way she’d surrendered, though, because he did that thing with his jaw whenever he was ticked off.

What he didn’t like was the implication behind her tone that she only deserved respect because everyone did, regardless of her own character. She was disregarding her beauty and her kindness, her character, and reducing it to a commodity when it wasn’t.

He’d always had difficulty expressing his feelings, though, so he stuck with silence. Stone cold silence.

It pertained for five more minutes until he watched as sleep slowly overtook her figure, peaceful breaths cascading from her mouth. She looked so pretty asleep; relaxed, void of concerns and the crinkle in her forehead from tonight’s events dissipating into its initial form.

He wondered if she’d ever given him other implications of being an insecure girl— if she had, he’d caught none of them. He never would’ve thought somebody so effortlessly beautiful and kind as her could think to deserve less on such extreme levels. It made him wonder if anyone had ever treated her as she deserved; he noticed once that whenever she spoke about her family, she failed to mention her father. It seemed men had disappointed her in more ways than one.

There was inner turmoil bothering him. He didn’t know what he was feeling for his child’s nanny, but there was surely no other woman he felt as eager to take care of— picking her up, driving her home, clearing a room for her.

It was terrifying to allow himself these few minutes of observing her because he feared the impure thoughts which would cross his mind. Not perverse, but intimate. She deserved more than him, he was sure of it.

He left the room after another five minutes, trying to be as subtle as possible as he walked to the door. It was later than four am, so he stopped by his son’s room to check on him. When he saw nothing out of the ordinary, he finally carried himself to his own bedroom.

He would lie awake until sunrise.

—

Y/N had never woken up so panicked before, chest heaving and mind elsewhere entirely. Her head was pounding and her heart rate palpable, she was sweating all over and she could only recall last night in small, blurry tidbits.

God, and she had to face Harry. On a Monday morning.

After maybe ten minutes of lying around and procrastinating, she finally moved herself out of bed. She pulled on her clothes from last night, drank the water that was situated on her nightstand and tidied up in the bathroom before going to search for him. She looked upstairs— no trace of him, so she cascaded down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. On the way there, his office caught her eye. The door was cracked opened and at a closer peek, she saw him sitting at the desk with his hand buried in his hair, mumbling something. She knocked, he flinched.

“God, Y/N, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she gave a sheepish smile, “are you busy?”

“I—“ he sighed, shaking his head. It was when he spoke into the phone lying on his desk that she realized he’d been one a phone call. Before she could backtrack, he’d muttered an ‘I’ll call you later, Stace’ to them and hung up for her. She stood there, fingers interlaced in front of her body and balancing on the balls of her feet in intimidation.

He didn’t look happy either, and that was probably because ‘Stace’ was Jamie’s mother. She would call every few months, he’d told her, and cause some sort of havoc— from wanting to talk to Jamie on the phone to wanting to see him in person. When asked why he didn’t like letting her see Jamie, he’d given Y/N a very vague answer; wouldn’t do any good. She’d settled with that back then, having sensed the energy shifting.

Y/N felt bad for him now, the stress assuming control of his features almost overwhelming to look at.

He was already glancing up at her expectantly, but the words disappeared from her brain and all she wanted to do, really, was comfort him.

“I— are you okay?”

It was a visceral reaction he had to those few little words, the furrow in his eyebrow deepening, “yes, why?”

“Because… well because you were talking to Stacie on the phone—“

His scoff interrupted her pity stutter, “so you’re listening in on my conversations now?”

Oh, she was no longer sorry; she was scared. “No! No, I’m not, I swear! I was walking past looking for you and I heard you mumble something, I don’t— I would never…” and he must’ve known that. He must’ve known that she would never, ever listen in on his conversations, nor try to overstep the line by doing that (obviously she’d fucked up last night, but aside from that). He knew her, he’d trusted her for long enough for her to know that he knew that, so his accusation ticked her off.

But he looked terrifying right now; eyes dark, eyebrows furrowed, closed off stance, and nothing like the Harry she’d gotten to know well. And she had no idea if it had been last night or this that had finally pushed him over the edge.

“So why bring it up?”

“Because you— because you’ve talked about it before and I was just— I wanted to check on you!” She was stuttering like an idiot, she was aware, but with her comfort bubble gone, her speech wasn’t a reliable asset anymore. She’d always been terrible at communication and even worse at confrontation. And he must’ve known that because he was using it to his advantage— and that was mean, because he knew she would never. He knew. Didn’t he?

“It’s not professional, Y/N, but I’m sure you know that. I’m sure you know that last night wasn’t either, but you keep fucking pushing me.”

And that… well, was partly right.

“I know last night wasn’t…” she shook her head, “it wasn’t professional, I know that. I don’t know why I called you, I don’t get it either, it just happened, really, and I wanted to apologize. I understand if you—“ she peered down toward her hands, swallowing the lump in her throat, “if you don’t feel comfortable with me being here anymore. With your son, I mean, I’d totally understand.”

Y/N thought that was quite sensible of her. Of course, if she could get a chance to have a repeat of last night, she would take it in a heartbeat— but she couldn’t, so this was all she could do. She loved working here, giving it up would hurt, but she understood if that was what needed to be done.

“You just… you can’t fucking call me at three am in the morning drunk off of your arse—“

“I know that—“

“Clearly you don’t!” And she detested how his voice raised. “And clearly you don’t get that there are things you just can’t talk about; like Stacie, or your own relationships, or whatever the fuck else you’ve brought up to me.” If she felt like a scolded child yesterday, then she’d had no idea how bad it could get. “I’m your— I’m your employer, not your fucking therapist. I’m not here to clean up your fuck-ups, pat you on the head and tell you it’s alright.”

Her eyebrows furrowed because she knew that too, and she found it borderline preposterous that he would imply she didn’t.

There was a 180 here, and she was becoming less and less understanding.

“I told you I don’t know why I called you, Harry, I don’t know! What am I supposed to say? I was terrified and sad and don’t ask me why, but you’re the only person who actually gets what I’m talking about half of the time, so it just happened!”

“You act like I’m somehow responsible for you.”

Her frown deepened; she hated the notion that he had to take care of her in some way, as if she was incapable of it on her own account. “On what basis? I think you might be pressuring yourself into that, Harry, because it’s fucking ridiculous. I never made you do anything.”

He released a frustrated breath, “you have to stop worming your way into our lives— you’re our nanny, that’s it. You don’t ask me about my personal life, you don’t call me in the middle of the night to make me worry and you don’t ask me to get into bed with you.”

“You act like I don’t know that!”

“Evidently you don’t.”

“Yes I d—“

“Just—just stop. Stop talking.”

It shut her up. It did not only that, the increase of his volume had made her flinch on the spot. She wasn’t a fan of confrontation, as mentioned before, but what she despised even more was yelling. She couldn’t stand yelling, fighting, accusations being thrown in the air with no regard to anyone’s feelings. It was an extremely sensitive thing for her and she definitely hadn’t expected to experience it with him today.

Y/N saw him a little differently in this light. The sternness with which he delivered those words, strict and mean, reminded her of her childhood. He saw her weakness, saw the stress she was under, and did nothing to relieve the situation. Instead he’d yelled at her.

Her hand was shaking a little and tears were forming in her eyes. She couldn’t let him see it, though, the weakness. She couldn’t allow him to see that a simple instruction had made her want to cry.

“I can’t deal with you today, Y/N, so please just… just go.”

She left without another word— straight up turned around and closed the door behind her with shaky hands. She couldn’t stand him right now, but even more she couldn’t stand herself.

She’d fucked up so badly.

And maybe… maybe she needed to quit.

part two!

And there we have it! don’t hate me for that ending it was necessary!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles concept #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles series

1K notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 4 months

Note

I know dreaming of you are group works but I literally want one for katakuri sooo bad like, the GRIP this man has on me is insane

(I love him so much🍩❤)

(Ps.I'm sorry if this sounds like a demand I didn't mean it to❤)

Sweet anon, I have had a grapefruit flavoured soju and immediately began this as soon as I saw it in my ask box an hour ago. I hope you enjoy! (Don't worry, honey. I crave the big guy too).

Dreaming of you

Masterlist Here

Word count: 1,800+

SFW Part 2 Here

Synopsis: He couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in his dream. The way you writhed on his lap, cried his name and allowed him to please you had him wake to sticky blankets when he jolted upright. His thoughts got the better of him, and he was wracked with a new mission to seek out whether it was a possibility to see it become a reality.

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader x katakuri, fingering, nicknames, haki, dub con (Using your image to picture satisfying him in his fantasy), suggestive content, size difference, feelings, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I normally do this in threes, but as soon as I saw the ask, I needed to know. Enjoy playing the part of Katakuri's fantasy. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Sat on his lap with your back on his chest, his middle digit gently began pistoning in soft beckoning motions into your glistening cunt. His face was coated in a soft glow of blush, his toothy grin tugging dotingly up his cheeks as he watched you cum on his hand through half-hooded lashes.

Your legs shook as he slowly brushed against your g-spot, angling his large hand over your clit and grinding into it with his palm. Huffing and panting, your release gushed over his leather pants and coated them with another wave of your slick as he stretched your tight pussy with his large fingers.

“Did you cum again for me, little mouse?” he cooed down at you, gently drawing his index finger over your chin and dragging the pad of his fingertips over your jaw. You looked up at him, the soft sheen of your dewy sweat coated your forehead and stuck the loose strands of your hair against your head.

“I-I-...” you struggled to find the words, your head fuzzy and spiraling with the sheer number of times Katakuri had devoted to making you whimper, writhe and cream your desires over his fingers, lips and tongue. He offered you nothing but love in his hazel eyes, blinking slowly and angling his face down to smile at you in a soft gaze.

“I know you did, sweet thing,” he affirmed, drawing soft patterns into your cheek and offering you a kiss on your glistening forehead, “I felt you flutter around me when you called my name. So pretty,” he complimented, rubbing his large cheek over your head and inhaling your perfume, “So sweet.”

You whimpered, drawing your hands up to his face and tugging at his jaw. Moaning and pleading with him, you pressed intentional and desperate kisses against his cheeks, lips, teeth and chin while confessing your desires.

“I want to try again,” you called to him, imploring him to give into your demands, “Please can we try again? I promise I’ll behave and listen. I can do it this time, promise.” Katakuri groaned, his cheeks deepening with their soft flush as he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, your gummy walls contracting with aftershocks of pleasure as he did so.

“We can’t, you know this,” he attempted to relay to you, gently pressing on your shoulders and turning you in his lap, “I am over seventeen feet tall,” he gestured to his tattooed chest before gently caressing your shoulders, “You don’t even reach half that height. Where are you going to fit it-?”

“-I don’t care,” you reassured him and cut off his train of thought, pressing needy kisses against his chest, trailing lower to his belt buckle, “I’ll make it fit. I am determined to make it fit.” You tugged hard on his belt and released the metal clamp from the leathery holster, “I promise it’ll fit.”

“It won’t fit,” he again argued, gently tugging at your shoulder with a soft nudge, “You can’t fit it in both of your hands, let alone anywhere else. It’s okay, I assure you,” he urged you to look up at him by drawing up your chin with his index and middle fingers, “It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

You grit your teeth, looking down at him and hardening your resolve. He smiled at your expression, adoring your soft pout and closing his eyes as he was sure he had convinced you to give up on your little mission. It was true, there was no natural way for him to slot himself within you without tearing open your abdomen and breaking your smaller body.

As he closed his eyes, he felt something soft, wet and tight begin to descend onto his knob. He immediately snapped his eyes open, his eyes wide with shock as you took him within your pussy while wincing back the pain.

“What are y-you-...?” he began, halting as he gasped at the sensation of your body choking his shaft with your tight pussy. His hands shook, his body ignited with lust and arguing with himself to tug your body away from him, while fighting the urge to buck up into you.

“I-... I can do it,” you grit your teeth, your eyes clenching shut as you descend onto him inch by inch. Finally taking his large tip into your body, he could see the outline of his knob sheathed within you. Gritting his teeth, he balled his hands into fists and held them firmly at his sides.

“D-Don’t,” he implored you, his breath hitching in his throat as you took more of him into yourself, “Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.” He begged, huffing and panting as he felt more of you descend onto his throbbing cock. His shaft twitched at the base involuntarily, prompting a cry to fall from his lips as they parted in shock.

“I…” you growled at him, prompting his eyes to open at the tone of your cadence, “...can do this.” Your determination held something else in your eye, his own gaze meeting your steely determination as you took the final few inches of his shaft deep within you. He looked closer, noticing the tinge of red around your irises, the lightning veins of swirly command prompting him to fall his toothy jaw slack in shock.

“Armament haki?” he whispered at you, his gaze trickling over your naked form in shock and awe, “You’re-... nnnnhg-... you’re using armament haki in order to take my cock?” His voice stuttered as his resolve nearly crumbled in its cower. Your eyes darkened, your pussy fluttering around him as it contracted to endure his size.

“I am,” you confirmed with a curt, dangerous and feral nod, “And I can hold this armament haki for three minutes,” you splayed your fingers on his happy trail and bounced a little to ensure it was working. You looked up at him with a manic glint in your eye, his eyes trembling in shock as you uttered mischievously, “So you have about one minute forty five to use me the way you so desperately want to, sweetheart. Better get going.”

Without much further warning, Katakuri spun you beneath him and began mercilessly bullying you with his exceptionally girthy cock. The indent of his shaft molded your body to fit his contour, the bulge in your abdomen protruding as he sheathed himself with every harsh thrust.

He had never been with a partner, always fearing to tear them in half and break them the moment he gave into his desire. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hold out for the remaining minute and thirty seconds you had remaining of this armament, simply lost to all other thoughts than how perfect you felt wrapped around him. He huffed and panted your name, using you as his personal sleeve as he grasped your hips in a single hand beneath where you lay under him.

“I-I’m-... I’m-... I’m-...” he growled, feeling his release pool in his abdomen and tighten in the pit of his belly, “I’m gonna cum. I’m g-gonna cum.”

“Cum in me, Katakuri,” you urged him, your body taking him effortlessly without a hint of pain or sorrow, “Claim me, make me yours. I’m yours. Only yours.” He pulled you into him further, harder, faster, stronger. His hips stapled you against the mattress as he felt the first twitches of his cock readying for erruption.

“Hh-hah-... I’m c-cumming,” he sobbed, his teeth drawing down to nibble at your neck as he began to ride his high, “I’m cumming, I’m-... f-fuck-... I’m cumming.” He shot rope after rope of his pearlescent cum deep within your abdomen, immediately splashing back and coating the base of his shaft and balls with each hefty wave of sticky release.

Huffing and panting, he continued riding through his high, his bucking, tugging and grinding continuing to have him sob your name as he finally experienced the unity between the two of you. He felt relief and bittersweet sorrow eclipse his being the moment his ecstasy ceased, looking down at you with awe and amazement.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss on your forehead as he felt the final spurts of his pent up release brush into your body and splash back onto his own. As he darted his eyes between yours, your image dissipated into a cloud of vapor and his eyes widened in shock.

He shook his head, reopening his eyes and noticing his room was without luminance and dark in comparison to the soft, smoky glow it was lit with moments before. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, he looked down at himself and noticed another duvet ruined by his midnight muse. He growled at himself, his jaws clenching tightly shut as he came to terms with everything he dreaded.

It was another dream.

Another dream about you.

When he met you and the rest of the Straw-Hat crew back at Cake Island for the wedding between his sister and the Vinsmoke boy, he was immediately captivated by you. You had a fiery temper, a need to care for your crew, and compassion for your enemies by heeding a code of conduct while you battled.

You hurt his sister, Brulee, by engaging her in combat. Something he was going to ensure you paid for with interest the moment he had an opportunity to do so. As she was harmed a little more than you potentially intended, you halted the combat to ensure she was truly okay. Your need to ensure she had an ‘out’ from the fight, to offer her a swift execution or an honorable understanding if she stood down had him immediately smitten with you.

The minister of flour was in love with you, something he didn’t anticipate ever feeling for an individual. And this was the twelfth time this month he had dreamt of you. His dreams started with him engaging you in battle for you to halt it and offer him peace in the form of a donut. As the dreams became more intense, he pictured himself revealing his face to you and having you accept him for who he was.

This was the first time he had ever pictured himself fucking you. He had always ever pleasured you in his dreams, never seeking satisfaction for himself due to the sheer impossibility of it. You were small, he was tall: there was nothing he could do to change that fact.

Nothing, until his dreams offered him this solution.

He immediately began cleaning up after his night visit, reaching for his tissue box beside his bed and tidying the glubs of his release over his abdomen, deflating shaft, and bedsheets beneath him. Getting up from his reline, he headed over to his desk and pulled out a small collection of information regarding armament haki. Sifting through the pages, he thought this time he had finally found the solution.

This time, he could finally find a way to experience what he had denied himself for so long.

He could only hope that you were not only able to wield armament haki, but that you could consider the possibility to engage yourself with him in a relationship. He loved you from afar, using his sister’s ability to check in with you from time to time after the battle. You seemed friendly enough with them both whenever they checked in, perhaps you could see yourself with someone like him.

His hope would come soon enough, his sister's face split up in a large smile as she spoke with you on a den-den snail. You were aboard the Thousand Sunny and sailing with your captain towards Elegia to see Uta's concert. Inviting Brulee to join you at the venue, to sing along to Uta's music with her, was potentially his way to confess his love for you once the festivities concluded.

#one piece #x reader #katakuri #charlotte katakuri #katakuri one piece #op katakuri #katakuri x reader #charlotte katakuri x reader #charlotte family #one piece smut #katakuri smut

792 notes · View notes

badbtssmut · 6 months

Note

here is my request mommy!!!

yn and her best friend (let's call her Yui) go to a live sex show, where tae is the main performer with two other girls. Tae comes up to the stage and tells the public that their partners for the night couldn't make it so the show has to be cancelled, but yn and Yui offer themselves as volunteers to get fucked by Tae. here is what I thought(I'll mark with the 🤭 the ones I'd like you to put if you can't fit all of them in the request):

- yn and yui have big tits!(🤭)

- double tit fuck and nipples rubbing

- best friend rides tae while tae eats yn out

- tae tells yn to lay on her back and yui to lay on top of her, so he can go between pussies back and forth? you know? because their pussies are so close and their nipples rub (🤭)

- best friend sucks on yn clit and while Tae fucks her, tae takes his cock out of yn and tells yui to suck it, just to put it back in (Yui takes his cock and puts it inside yn) (🤭)

- a lot of tit sucking

inspo:

thats what they are wearing : https://twitter.com/VismaraMartina/status/1641517403027697665?t=JLYSPjh3xqUij76U2oMGow&s=19

https://twitter.com/P_hedonists/status/1771444581869002819?t=OrmMtnIoic25WZPLxwg8qQ&s=19

https://es.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5b4473dc1974d

/☔/

How could you and your friend possibly not jump on this once in a lifetime opportunity? You had been in love with Taehyung ever since the first time you had seen him on social media. He was so fucking hot and you had seen how good he was at working that cock.

“Shit, are those tits all natural?” You heard him ask, and you nodded meekly.

“Yeah, all real.” Your friend boasted. You both had pretty big breasts.

Taehyung held his cock in his hand, looking down at the both of you. “Go on, take it off, let me bury my cock into those big tits and fuck them.” You did as you were told, taking off your top and letting your breasts free, and so did your friend.

The three of you were soon enough in a circle, Taehyung between your bodies. Your breasts were squished together as he thrust his cock between them. His precum coated your breasts and his cock, making it easier for him to move. The crowd watched, amazed by the scene.

“Fuck.” The sight of his cock disappearing in the massive pillowy soft breasts made him rock hard. His tip would push against your chin and you could tell he was as hard as a steel pipe.

“Come here, gorgeous.” Taehyung took you by the arm, looking at your friend. “You too, sweetheart.” He led the both of you to the bed and he ordered you to lay down, whereas he pushed your friend’s head towards your bare pussy.

You gasped, watching her start to lick at your wet folds, her fingers spreading your lips wide as she worked her tongue all around you, moaning into your core as she did. You had never done this with your friend before, but you had to admit, her lips felt heavenly against your core.

Taehyung watched the two of you as he neared you, bringing his cock to your pussy. He was so close, and yet so far. His cock was hovering over your pussy, but he hadn't yet slipped it in.

But then he finally did.

“O-oh!” You gasped, feeling him split you open inch by inch. Your friend kept sucking and licking at your clit, her hand searching for yours and holding onto it as you got adjusted to his size. Her thumb stroked over your skin as you laid there gritting your teeth, feeling him push in his full length.

He pulled back and then thrust his hips forward, and you started to moan at the steady thrusts into you. Your friend kept her face buried between your thighs, sucking on your clit. You held onto her hand tighter as he fucked into you. He only paused to pull out and have Yui suck his cock, before she’d held onto it and guide it back into your pussy.

Then, after a few more thrusts, he pulled out and made your friend get on top of you. She looked down at you, her body moving against yours, her tits pushing against your own as they rubbed against each other. Her pussy was now pressed against yours, and the friction caused you to moan.

Taehyung approached and he started with your friend. You could tell from your friend’s expression that he was filling her up inch by inch first.

“Fuck, y/n he’s so big… how’d you take him? Oh fuck…” She whimpered, leaning down to kiss your lips, and you could feel him fuck into her. Her tits pressed harder against yours and her body bounced back and forth.

The crowd cheered, watching the sight before them. You could hear some cameras clicking as well.

Your friend moaned against your lips, her eyes squeezed shut. You then felt his fingers pump in and out of you, and you cried out, throwing your head back as you bucked your hips against him. Your friend kissed your neck, and you held onto her, your fingers digging into her skin.

Then, Taehyung pulled out and you could feel his tip pressing against your folds before he pushed in his length in one go. Your walls stretched open, and you let out a cry.

“His cock feels so good, doesn’t it, y/n?” Yui whispered, cupping your face and making you look at her. “I can tell how good it feels from the look on your face.” She smirked, kissing your lips again.

Her eyes were glazed over and her cheeks were flushed. She was clearly enjoying herself and you were too.

“Yes.. feels so good…” You couldn’t get enough of his rock hard cock pounding into your body. Yui leaned down and took your breast into her mouth, her tongue lapping over the nipple and you arched your back, pushing your breast further into her mouth. She sucked harder and your hand went to her head, pushing her against you.

Taehyung groaned, fucking harder and faster, his tip pushing against the most sensitive spot inside of you. You could feel the head of his cock rubbing against it, and you could tell he knew just where to hit.

His cock was twitching inside of you, and he pulled out, only to push himself back into your friend. Your friend moaned against your breast, taking it out of her mouth and looking down at you. She was panting, and her tongue hung out of her mouth. She looked utterly lost in pleasure, and her body shook as she came.

Your friend didn’t move, instead she rested on top of you, her eyes closed as she continued to caress and suck on your breasts, as Taehyung was now pounding in to you again, his wet cock sliding in and out easily.

“Does everyone want to see me coat those beautiful tits?” He called out to the watching crowd, and they all cheered and screamed “YES!” in unison. You could feel your legs trembling, and you could tell that his cock was twitching, ready to spill inside.

He was so close. So very close.

Taehyung was breathing heavily and the pace of his thrusts slowed. He was getting there, his cock was aching. His wish to make you cum caused him to keep pushing himself, and when he heard you cry and felt your walls tighten and loosen around his cock, was when he stopped pounding into you.

Then, he pulled out, and pulled you two onto the floor, and you and your friend looked up at him expectantly. Your mouths were open and waiting for his load.

And so, he came.

His hot thick seed shot out of him and landed on the both of you, coating your tits.

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #bts smut fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung x female reader #taehyung x yn #taehyung bts smut

469 notes · View notes

gojo-mochi · 11 months

Text

A/N: yeah I wrote half of this when I went to see a live show… (shoutout to gho/st file/s!) Non edited/proofread bleh it just my rambling anyways

MDNI

Getting fucked dumb by a bigger man. In mass, size, and length. By the time their cock enters you, you’re already halfway to being a drooling and mindless mess. He needed to prep you thoroughly before you could take his cock, he didn’t want to hurt you after all.

“Oh? What’s that? You think you can take me with no prep?”

“Oh, little one, maybe we can try that tomorrow. For now, just lay back against me and let me stretch you out on my fingers.”

“Yes, I know they’re so big, aren’t they? Bet you never reached this deep in your own before.” “Bet those boys before couldn’t even dream of reaching this deep with their dicks, huh? I’ll show you what a real man is made of soon enough, darling.. “

You find purchase by holding on to his biceps while he fingers you, your arousal coating his palm while he smacks it against your puffy clit. The wet squelching noises made you try to cover your face and ears in embarrassment. But he couldn’t have that, oh no, no…

His free hand will pinch in your cheeks if you try to hide any of those sweet noises he loves. Scolding you gently for being embarrassed as his fingers plunged in faster and faster. If you still feel like fighting and escaping his hold on you. He’ll take it a step deeper, shoving two fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He doesn’t care if you drool or even try to bite down on him. As long as you keep on making those cute and sweet whimpers and moans unhindered.

You scratch and claw at his biceps as he flexes under your hands. Your pitiful attempts at damaging him barely did a dent to his muscular form. His mouth next to your ear, hot, heavy, laced with desire and need. Your pussy pulling in his fingers, sucking them in so sloppily.

“Fuck, maybe this slutty pussy can take me already. Look at how she’s crying out for me.”

Once he pulls one, two, maybe even three orgasms from just his fingers, your body quivering and twitching, only held down by his big encompassing arm around your waist. Depending on the mood he would pull out a small vibrartor bullet pressing down on your abused swollen clit, ignoring your cries to stop and attempts to push his hands away. His free hand trapping your wrists together, forcing your thighs to go over his own thick ones, spreading you out fully for his assault. Letting the vibrartor roam around your lips, just teasing you for a bit, he loves watching you twitch and struggle, licking the tears from your cheeks as he prods the bullet against your clit until the bed sheet underneath gets completely soaked.

If he doesn't care for toys or is feeling a bit hungry that day, he would kneel down on the bed but keep his back straight, his height still towering over you even in this position as he flips you upside down. Throwing your legs over his broad shoulders as he delves down for his feast. HIs fat tongue lapping at your juices like a starved dog, his arm squeezing at your soft chest and waist, sometimes yanking you back up to crash into his mouth when you slip a bit. Sucking and rolling his tongue and mouth over your sensitive little nub unless your cries become voiceless and your head gets dizzy from the position.

Then when you’re finally in that dumb state, nothing but incoherent babbles spilling from your lips, your body too exhausted to fight back. Turned into nothing but a toy for him to ram his cock into, He’ll pick you up once more, bringing your legs together and locking them in under one bicep. The other arm around your neck, not choking but pushing your head back so he can whisper filth in your ear as he lowers you down on his length. Your pussy so weak and wet, still struggles to fit him in all fully. Whines still come out when he’s halfway in, your breath gets hitch in your throat when he fully bottoms out. When he starts rutting into you, his balls slapping against your ass heavily with each bounce, he’ll press a hand down on the bulge protruding in your stomach.

“Full enough yet, love?”

“Pussy still so fucking tight, gotta train her better.”

“Oh, little one, you’re nothing but a toy for me to fuck, aren’t cha?”

“So pliant, you’ll let me do whatever I want to you, right? Cause you love this cock so much..”

#toji smut #konig smut #softy talks to you (·•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ) (•᷄ •᷅ ;)#softy write #kidd smut #one piece smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #simon riley smut #uhh who else is huge #zoro smut #softy spice #idk tag ur fav huge man

896 notes · View notes

thewulf · 1 year

Text

Frozen || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Aaron has a new neighbor, a sweet young woman. There's something between them. She new in the city and he invites her when he has the team over for a bbq... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahh, just love him! Enjoy :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Word Count: 5.2k+

It was hot. Way too hot. You’d been out weeding the garden for far too long now. A sweaty mess with dirt coating far too many different parts of your body. Super cute look. You were on a mission to get the damn garden bed weeded out. You’d, very fortunately, inherited the house from your aging grandma who wanted to downsize. You’d visited throughout the years and fell in love with the home and the area. The best thing about having a small family is that nobody fought you for the home.

But boy, were you in over your head. It wasn’t a massive home you’d just never owned one before and things were a tad overwhelming. Everything suddenly becoming your responsibility when you were least expecting it. Not that you were complaining. You owned a paid off home. How much better could it get than that?

The only thing that seemed to rip you right from your focus of pulling weeds was the small voice of boy behind you wondering about you, “Daddy! Who’s that new lady?” Shit. You were in the middle of crawling around the damn garden bed. Cursing lightly, you stood and turned towards the sidewalk with a smile on your face while simultaneously attempting wipe the dirt off your face but only smudging it further.

When you turned your heart about sunk to the floor. Why you? Why of all people that had to walk on by was it him? You were looking into the eyes of perhaps one of the most handsome men you’d come across in all of your years. And you were covered in dirt? The universe was playing a cruel trick on you.

Looking down at yourself you cursed yourself again. Quickly you looked back to the boy responding to him, “Hello.” You waved to the small boy keeping your eyes off his extremely attractive father, “I just moved in here.”

His eyes lit up, “A new neighbor?” He looked up to what you assumed to be his dad with big bright eyes pulling on his pants, “What happened to Mrs. Fields?” He looked you over curiously.

An interested one, he took a few steps forward to converse with you. A fearless little guy, “Mrs. Fields is my grandma. She wanted to go live in a warmer place, so she let me have her home and she moved down south.”

He took another few steps, almost to you now. His father had a pleading look in his eyes as if to apologize for his chatty son, “Cool! Do you like dinosaur’s?” He asked you excitedly.

“I love dinosaurs.” You knelt down so you were chatting with him on his level, “They’re like the coolest animals.” You responding drawing both a soft smile out of his father and fist pump from the little one.

“I know right!” He stepped even closer now, “Which one is your favorite?”

“Jack.” His father put a gentle hand on his sons shoulder, “You can ask about dinosaur’s another time. She’s busy.”

You shook your head looking up to him from your crouched position, “It’s alright. Gives me an excuse to take a break.” You turned back to Jack giving him a sweet smile, “My favorite dinosaur has to be the Velociraptor.”

He nodded excitedly at you, “That’s a good pick, but not the best…. Wait, what’s your name?” He asked after realizing he hadn’t asked earlier.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Jack.” You held you hand out for the little boy to take or reject.

He happily took your hand in his, albeit being three times the size. With a cheeky grin coating his face he responded, “It’s nice to meet you Y/N. That’s my dad! Daddy”

You looked away from Jack at his dad smiling at him, dirty face, and all, “Hi dad.” You waved up to him.

You could’ve sworn a hint of a blush crossed his face, “Aaron.” He held out his hand for you to take. Offering help up from the squat you’d been stuck in for a little too long. You took it feeling all too comfortable doing so, “We live next door.” He pointed over to his house, “Let either of us know if you ever need anything. Jack here loves to help.” He patted his sons head. For some reason that didn’t surprise you, not a bit.

“Thank you.” Your raging anxiety of home ownership dwindling a bit as you got to know the seemingly handy man next door.

He nodded smiling down at you, “We mean it. Now, let’s go Jack. You have homework to finish before soccer tonight.”

He groaned, “Okay dad. Bye Y/N.” He hugged your leg quickly before waltzing off with a pep in his step.

“Bye Jack.” You laughed watching him run over to his home, sliding in through the back door they left open.

“He’s a cutie.” You turned back to the rather striking man who just happened to be your neighbor. You wondered who his wife was. What she looked like. He had to have one right?

He ran a hand through his hair letting out a soft sigh, “He’s a handful, that’s for sure.”

“Aren’t all young boys?” You grinned.

He nodded, “That might be the truth.” He let out a small laugh, “I’ll let you get back to it. Nice meeting you Y/N.” His smile made him even more handsome. Damn. Did you have a crush on the older neighbor or what?

You nodded, “Likewise, see you around Aaron.” He tried to slow his racing heart hearing his name off your lips. Oh, he was in trouble. He waved going to the front of the house before disappearing within it.

See him around you did, whenever he was home at least. You’d become fast friends with Jack often playing with his dinosaurs in your shared backyards. You couldn’t say no to the sweet face when he asked so kindly, not even if you tried. Aaron had told you plenty of times that it was okay to ignore him, but you couldn’t. Especially when Aaron was home, he’d always come outside and join the two of you when he had the time.

You’d gotten to know, and love, the far too kind man over the last few months. You’d learned of his devastating past. You’d felt awful for him and just as equally broken for Jack. He’d lost his mom before he even got to know her and cherish her.

He’d gotten to know you too. Falling just as much for you as you did him. You were something nobody, but he and Jack knew about. A simple pleasure to come home to. He’d learned how you were a nurse, but you were back in school going for a Nurse Practitioner position. Aaron admired your drive for what you did. He really just admired you. The far too cute for your own good neighbor he’d never admitted he had a crush on.

You asked about work. He didn’t tell you much. But as the months progressed his lips became like putty around you. Anything you asked he answered. It felt to right to fight whatever this was. You were too young for him. Too you, he had to keep telling himself.

You’d learned about the team. How Derek was a player but a lover deep down. How Reid was the boy genius of the group. How JJ turned out to excel as a profiler. You’d learned about them all. It felt like you knew them. It felt odd to think you knew people who didn’t have a clue about you.

So, one summer evening a devious plan sparked in your mind as you were sitting in the sandbox across from Aaron. You smiled up at him giving him a look. A look he picked up on, “What?” He asked making sure not to draw Jack’s attention away from the castle he was building.

You shook your head, “Nothing, just thinking.”

“About?” He pressed leaning forward with his elbows on his knees looking right at you.

“We should have a cookout. A barbeque. When you guys are here for a weekend.” You said as nonchalantly as possible feeling the nerves bubble up when you spoke.

He raised an eyebrow processing it. He’d kept you as his own for so long. Would it ruin things if he mixed his personal life with his work life like it had so often before? He knew deep down that’s why he was hiding you away. Every time these paths crossed bad, bad things happened. He couldn’t be the reason why somebody else got hurt. He wouldn’t.

“If you want.” You added making sure there was no pressure. You understood his apprehension to letting you all the way in.

“Sure.” The words were out of his mouth before he really thought about it too much longer. The grin that crossed your face was all worth it though. He’d really do anything to see that smile.

“Really?”

He nodded, “Next weekend? If we don’t get called in? I can ask the team Monday.” He didn’t want to blow their phones up on a weekend off. Rare as they were. He knew the chances were slim that it’d happen that weekend, but he wanted to show you he was committed to it.

You nodded gleefully, “That sounds great. I’ll iron out the details this weekend.” You were a little nervous at the thought. But you knew they had to be great if he talked so highly of them.

He was wrong. They had an easy case that week that brought them home early on a Friday. They all said their goodbyes planning to meet at his place around 6:00 that night for the cookout. You’d gotten the final confirmation and started preparing everything the second he gave you the green light. It didn’t have to be perfect but you sure as hell wanted it to go smoothly.

There was nothing to stress about, just as Aaron had reassured you numerous times that evening leading up to everybody arriving. He could see the anxiety radiating off you

“Would you stop staring?” You asked pacing back and forth trying to think of any last-minute details.

He shook his head, “Not until you relax.”

You let out a huff. It was sweet but not the right time, “I just want it to go well, that’s all. I’ll relax once everybody is here.”

He was right, naturally. There was nothing to be stressed about. Each one more lovely than the next. Jack had gravitated towards you most of the night, even holding your hand and hiding behind you when Rossi was playing with him. Derek noticed Hotch watching you throughout the night. Smiling more than he’d ever seen the man before in his life. Derek clocked it quickly. Hotch probably didn’t even realize what he was doing. A man who was about to deny his feelings.

Derek had cornered his boss in the kitchen of his home not having a clue you were sitting in the room over responding to a few texts you ignored while getting the party ready.

“Hotch, what the hell?” You heard Derek’s booming voice from where you were sitting. You peaked up from your phone way too curious to hear the conversation that was so easily heard from the kitchen.

“What?” He sounded a bit taken aback by the confrontation, if only you could see their faces.

Derek laughed, “You know what.”

A brief pause, “I’m afraid I don’t Morgan.” He sounded a little agitated now. Nothing like he did when he was with you. It was interesting to watch him, listen to him, in such a different environment than the two of you had found so often.

You didn’t know Derek, but you had to assume he was rolling his eyes at that moment, “You like her. Your neighbor. Y/N.” This, you were not expecting.

“What are you talking about?” He answered. Ouch. Your heart was still racing though. What in the hell was he going to say next?

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been smiling like a love drunk fool for the last two hours. You’ve been watching her like a hawk.” Profilers were scary. You hadn’t even noticed. Far too preoccupied with socializing and making sure everything was going okay.

He sighed, “She’s too young Derek.” You frowned. That was just untrue. You were in your late twenties. What’s twelve or so years?

“She’s not too young. Stop that. You’re talking yourself out of it.” Derek replied to his friend.

What came next hurt, hurt deeply, “She’s not my type though. She’s too young and not my type. It would never happen.” The sting that came from your heart radiated with each pulse.

Derek let out a howl, “That’s rich Hotchner. Whatever you want to tell yourself boss man.”

You didn’t let yourself hear the rest of the conversation. You shot right out of his house making a beeline towards the ladies with a fake ass smile adorning it. You’d successfully avoided him the rest of the night not able to bear the thought of looking at him. Who were you kidding? He was just being kind to you because you were kind to his son. Nothing more. Nothing less. No hard feelings. But you had the feelings. Real feelings that weren’t going to go away unless he went away. Operation avoid Aaron Hotchner was a go.

You’d been successful the better part of a month. Lucky for you he had been pretty wrapped up in cases leaving you and Jack more time to connect while Jess watched him. When Aaron was there you’d strategically leave when he showed up bidding a goodnight with some lame ass excuse. Jack would wine and Aaron would give you a pained nod in response. You never gave them much time to question you before you dashed home.

Aaron wasn’t dumb. This was his job for God’s sake. He knew it had something to do with him, but he couldn’t pinpoint what he could’ve done, and it was slowly driving him mad. Jack was getting frustrated too. You’d be fine until dad came around. He needed to figure it out. He missed you. He missed laughing and smiling with you.

He’d thought about it for days while he was off on a case. He thought about it as the team landed at the airport late on a Saturday night merging into Sunday morning. You on the other hand were having the time of your life out with your friends drinking far too much. Tipsiness, soon to be drunkenness, consumed your body throughout the night. You pouted when your friends pulled you into the backseat of one of their boyfriends SUV’s, making sure to drop all the girls off safe and sound.

You’d waved them off before you had the chance to actually enter the house. You fumbled with your keys before finding the right one. A shiver ripped down your spine, it was chilly. Odd for a summer evening you thought to yourself.

You turned the key in the lock only to rip the key right in half as you turned it. One half in your hand and the other stuck in the lock, “Fuck.” You began to panic. Your spare key was with a friend so you couldn’t even get in through the back. You tried to pick the key out of the lock only to be met with resistance. You were far too drunk to be dealing with this right now. The lock kept going in and out of focus.

You looked down at your phone, no. No, there was no way in hell you were calling him. You were too young and not his type. You couldn’t be the burden. Think, you had to think. After standing there for far too long without a damn thought in your mind you sat down on the bench you had outside. No locksmith’s would be open at this hour. Your parents were out of state. You didn’t have any family around. You could try and call a friend, but they were all probably still too drunk and passed out by now.

You groaned laying back on the bench thankful you’d at least turned the house light on before you left. Deciding that sleep would be better than lying awake dizzy all night you tried your best to get some sleep. Teeth chattering you curled up in a ball trying to preserve some warmth it felt like sleep would never come.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point because when you were woken up very abruptly it was still dark. You let out a small yelp before thrashing out at whomever grabbed your wrist.

“It’s me.” That familiar voice calmed you down instantly. Your thrashing stopped but your head still spun. Yup, you were definitely still drunk. Damn tequila sodas were lethal to you. But you’d never stop.

“What?” You asked far too confused. Shivering even more than you were earlier. What time was it anyway?

He pulled you up in a swift motion shrugging his jacket off placing it around your shivering frame softly, “What are you doing?” He asked urgently feeling how cold you really were as he held onto your frozen wrists.

You mumbled something incoherent feeling the ill effects of the cold. You wrapped his warm jacket around you further trying to find any ounce of warmth you could in it. It smelled too damn good on top of it. It made your already dizzy head even fuzzier.

He placed a gentle hand on your cheek trying to get you to look at him, “Can you hear me?” His heart was racing. One moment he was pulling into the driveway. He always looked over at your house just to check, he always did when he pulled in late. His heart about dropped out of his body when he saw you laying there. He hadn’t thought much of it before running over to you. You were okay. You were fine. When you didn’t respond to his calls he had to resort to shaking you gently.

You mumbled some more clear “Yes’s”, but he still didn’t buy it. Not a bit. He looked you over quickly making sure you weren’t hurt before turning your body to his.

“That’s it.” He didn’t waste a second more before scooping you up into his arms with ease. You leaned your head into his chest shamelessly absorbing the warmth within you. It just felt too good to pass up. You’d let yourself be embarrassed later.

Once he got you inside he set you down on the couch. He wrapped you from head to toe in a few different blankets. You nuzzled in suddenly very thankful your neighbor had not only found you put kind of saved your ass. You were cold. Freezing. Who knows what you would’ve been like in the morning. Frozen most likely.

“I put a few blankets in the dryer for ten minutes. That should help warm you up.” Aaron squatted down so he was level with your horizontal body. With the utmost caution he brushed some hair out of your eyesight. Your body shivered at his touch sending a grimace to his face.

“Thank you.” You were more coherent but totally tipsy. The effects of the alcohol had finally started dying down, but it was still there.

His eyes snapped to yours. He must’ve been thinking the same thing. Not expecting you to be coherent just yet, “What the hell were you doing? Thinking? You could’ve been attacked out there. You could’ve frozen to death out there Y/N.” He sighed knowing he needed to reel it back. You were probably just as freaked out as he was.

You turned away. His stare suddenly too much for you to handle, “I’m sorry.” You closed your eyes willing the alcohol to just go away.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. He needed to try again, “What happened?” There, that was a start.

You started on how you went out with your friends and ending with the “My key snapped in the lock.” Holding up the broken stub still attached to your keyring.

Aaron frowned taking it from you, “Why didn’t you call.”

You shrugged, “Didn’t want to bother you.”

A groan escaped his lips, “You are never a bother. You have to know that. Please, just call me next time, okay?” Again, he wracked his brain for anything that he could’ve done. Why you’d pulled back so suddenly on him. It just didn’t make sense. What happened at the cookout? What did he do?

“Okay.” You didn’t feel like arguing. Not anymore. You were tired and cold but thankfully warming up. You knew that’d appease the man.

He sat down from the kneeling position, “Thank you.”

You didn’t respond only nodding a little. You finally felt warm. Wiggling your toes, you sighed in relief. He just watched you. Watched as your eyes drooped, clearly tired. Before he could respond the dryer went off. He shot to his feet the moment he heard it go off, “Wait here.”

You didn’t listen. You shrugged off the blankets. Why oh why were you still so drunk? You tried shrugging it off. Pushing off the couch you stood to your feet wobbling in the slightest. You hadn’t made it a few steps before you heard his voice again.

“What are you doing?” His scolding voice asked you. Your eyes shot up from the floor looking right at him. Blood rushed right to your cheeks. Busted. What else would’ve happened? You weren’t thinking right.

“Walking.” You smiled hesitantly feeling the room begin to spin around you.

He didn’t return the smile. His lips drawn in a harsh line. Mean Aaron Hotchner was terrifying. You wobbled slightly before stepping to the side.

“What were you thinking? You could’ve died out there! You were half frozen when I found you. Somebody could have found you before I did! Did you even think? You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch pneumonia let alone a nasty cold.” He dropped the warm blankets on the ground ready for the inevitable. He was pissed but he was trying to reel it in for your sake. You looked like a scared deer caught in some headlights.

You shook your head quickly, “I’m sorry.” You mumbled for a second time wiping your eyes quickly, not daring to cry in front of him right now. It was too much though, he was too much, “I can’t… I can’t do this.” You let out trying to walk around him. But between the tears, alcohol, achy muscles, and him you nearly tripped right onto your face had he not been standing right there. With quick reflexes Aaron caught you before you toppled completely. He pulled you up into his arms.

“What is going on Y/N?” His eyes searched yours as he steadied you back on your feet, desperate for some kind of answer. You stepped back away from his burning grip you liked far too much. Far, far too much for somebody who didn’t like you. Staying away from Aaron Hotchner was just not working. The operation was suddenly amiss.

Fuck it. Who cares if he knew? You’d blame the alcohol for this confession anyway, “I heard you.” You let out.

He shook his head, unsure of what you were referring to, “Where? What’d you hear?” He was afraid you’d heard some gruesome detail of his job he’d never be able to recover from. He wasn’t expecting you to say the next words that came out of your mouth though.

“At the barbeque. You and Derek in the kitchen.” You looked down and away. Anywhere but his eyes, you just couldn’t. Not after admitting that.

He thought for a moment and cursed. How could he have been so stupid? You watched as he registered your words. His mouth opened to say something before it closed, taking it back. Never letting that thought come to life.

You couldn’t take the silence, not knowing what he was thinking, “I’m sorry, let me call a friend. I’ll get out of here.”

He shook his head quickly, “No, please don’t.” He picked up a blanket before wrapping it around you at a distance, “Stay. Sit. Please?” He spoke in broken sentences as he watched you. Watched as you went through the different options in your head.

Of course, you would. You’d do anything for him, that much was clear. A sucker for Aaron Hotchner. You walked over to the kitchen table with him close in tow just in case you were to stumble again. He only relaxed when you were seated and steady. You place your hands on the table waiting for him to say something. You were at a loss for words, it was his turn to speak.

He looked around before his eyes landed on your glassy ones, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” It sounded awful as it came out of his mouth, and he knew it. He knew it from the way your eyebrow arched up as if to question him.

You couldn’t help the light chuckle that escaped your lips, “Clearly.”

“No.” He groaned palming his hands across his face, “That’s not what I meant. I just wanted him to back off is all. It was the easiest thing to do to get him to do so.” Aaron pleaded both with his hands and his eyes right next to you at the table.

You rolled your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But were you too young? Were you not his type? I mean you were you. Not unattractive but not the most beautiful creature to walk across the stage either.

“Y/N, Jesus, I…” He sighed taking one of your hands by surprise. Your eyes finally found his again. He’d finally gotten your attention again, “I feel things for you that I shouldn’t. You aren’t too young for me but I’m far too old for you. You’re incredible. Kind. Sweet. One of the funniest people I’ve ever met. The way you treat Jack is unlike anything I’d ever dreamed of. As hard as it is for me to say, you should find somebody that isn’t as old as me.” He smiled giving your hand a squeeze before hesitantly dropping it.

You let out a breath you’d been holding in. Well, he’d laid it all out on the line for you. It made sense. But it didn’t. He didn’t even give a chance to voice your opinion. You didn’t care. It didn’t bother you. You in fact had never met anybody like him before. No man had ever asked you the question he’d asked you before. Gotten to know you so deeply, right down to your core. It wasn’t even really your fault you fell in love with the man as quickly as you did. He did everything you wanted, you needed.

You took his hand back, relishing in the feeling, “What if I don’t want to?”

“You should.” He tried once more.

But you weren’t having it, “Not.”

He shook his head letting his fingers lace with yours, “Y/N.”

“Aaron.” You widened your eyes giving his hand a squeeze this time, “Can I have a word now?”

He nodded, “Yeah, sorry.” That was the second time you’d seen a blush on his cheeks. He must’ve been feeling awfully vulnerable or maybe he was finally letting you in.

“You’re unlike any man I’ve ever met Aaron Hotchner. You’ve made me feel things I’ve never ever felt or dreamed of feeling before and you’ve only been my friend. You too are so kind, incredibly sweet, the most thoughtful guy and the best dad I’ve seen. You balance everything so beautifully. You’re a light and I love being around you if you’d want me to that is.” You felt as his thumb brushed up and down your index finger. A chill shot right up your arm and down your back when you realized what he was doing.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I like you. A lot more than I should.” He pulled your hand up so he could kiss the back of it. You watched as his lips brushed across the back of your hand so gently it only made you ache for something more. That was just cruel.

You grinned squeezing his hand tight, “I like you too. A whole lot. Who cares what you should or shouldn’t feel. That’s stupid. I like you. You like me. It’s that simple.” It was a combination of everything that had your eyes watering. It felt so damn good to spit it out at him. To let him know how you felt. To ramble everything out. You didn’t just like him. You loved the damn man.

He laughed shaking his head. You admired him as you watched the smile grow on his face, “Is it that simple?”

You shrugged, “I don’t see why it couldn’t be.”

He stood from the seat pulling you up with him. He pulled you close seeing as you were still as unsure of your own steps as ever, “How much have you had to drink tonight?” Damn profilers know everything, not that it wasn’t terribly obvious.

Might as well play it off, right? You leaned forward whispering in his ear, “You sound like a scary officer when you ask that.” You noticed the small shiver that rocked his body as you did so. A small, satisfied smile graced your lips as you drew back.

He shook his head running his eyes up and down your frame wrapped in a blanket, “Are you warm enough?”

You saluted him, “Yes, sir. And for the record I only had eight drinks tonight.”

He laughed, “Stop that. This is serious.” He put his hands on your shoulders to steady you out, “You have no idea how bad I want to kiss you right now.” He pulled back, as much as he didn’t want to.

You whined looking up to him, “Then do it.”

“No can-do pretty lady. You’re intoxicated.” He answered far too quickly for your liking.

“So? I can still make decisions.” You challenged his ability to use reason. So persistent you were being.

“Afraid not, let’s get you to sleep.” He let his hands fall from your shoulders.

You frowned, “Oh, come on Aaron.” Maybe pouting would work. But no, he was too much of a gentleman for your own good.

He shook his head quickly, “Let’s make a deal. How about, if in the morning you still want to kiss me, I’ll let you do just that?”

You sighed, “Fine. Come find me first thing though. Promise me that?” You started walking towards the couch before a light tug at your wrist stopped you.

He nodded in response to you, “I promise. There’s a guest room sweetheart. Let me tuck you in.” He pointed up the steps.

You nodded sheepishly feeling his eyes on you the entire way up. Before he could protest you pulled off your top off leaving you in a tank top and jean shorts, comfortable enough. He gulped as he watched the entire ordeal play out before him, thankful you weren’t just in a bra.

“Sleep tight.” He brushed the stray hairs out of your face once you slid under the covers, fighting every urge in him to lean down and kiss you goodnight. Not yet.

“Night Aaron.” You yawned letting the warmth of the bed consume you, “Can’t wait to kiss the crap out of you in the morning.”

He laughed, that full hearty Aaron Hotchner laugh that warmed your soul, “Goodnight sweetheart. I’ll find you first thing.” A smile adorned your face as you fell asleep to those words.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556

Request Taglist: @daily-evanstan @criminalized-mind @iluvvmeeee

909 notes · View notes

storiesfromafan · 1 year

Note

Hey, okay?

I wanted to ask Mattheo Riddle for something cute, where maybe the reader is very insecure about her body, especially her thighs and breasts....

maybe where the reader has a super nice body and such, but in her eyes, her body is super weird.... she thinks her thighs are too thick, and her breasts are big and she doesn't like that...

Thanks!!

A/N: I loved this idea!! I just hope this good enough haha. Been working on in since I got your request. I'm sorry if it's not that good, I did have a little trouble getting it out of my head in the best words 😅

Why Me?

Every time you look in a mirror you ask yourself; why does Mattheo Riddle like me? What is it about me that made him ask me out? Or made him want me as his girlfriend? In your eyes you weren’t that special. You got decent grades. Weren’t that sporty. You thought your looks were average, with (E/C) eyes that were a nice dark shade. (H/C) (H/L) hair that was always maintained and presentable. But then we get to your body. You didn’t think you were fat. Just average size. Though there were parts of your body that stuck out more to you. You didn’t have a thigh gap like the girls that you share your room with. Your thighs just touching. Not to mention you thought they were maybe too thick. While the other girls in your room had slimmer thighs.

Next it was your breast. Compared to the girls around you, they were larger. To you they were too big. You couldn’t wear tops like the girls with smaller chests. And if you did you had to go up a size, just to feel comfortable with your larger chest. But then it’s to lose in the waist. You couldn’t win. Why couldn’t you be like the other petite girls? Why was your genetics cruel to you?

You thought that as you stared at your reflection in your dorm rooms full length mirror. You were getting ready for a day trip to Hogsmeade with Mattheo and your friends. You’d had picked some jeans, which had highlighted your thoughts on your thighs. And had changed your top three times, because you didn’t like how obvious your assets were in them.

“He’ll like you in whatever you wear!” Pansy Parkinson laughed, thinking it was trying to look good for your boyfriend and not your insecurities.

You shot her a silly smile, hoping it hid the embarrassment of your friend watching you get ready. You didn’t think she or anyone else was paying you any attention. Pansy came up and placed a hand on your shoulder, a warm smile on her face.

“Wear the (colour/pattern) turtleneck with that black corduroy skirt of yours, the one with the buttons down the front” Pansy suggested. “You can borrow a pair of my black thigh high socks. Mattheo will love it!”

Hearing Pansy’s offer to lend you the thigh high socks triggered some panic in you. You couldn’t wear them. You’d either stretch them out, and all will know how big your thighs are. Or they wouldn’t fit, showing all the truth.

“Ah thanks Pans” you started with a touch of panic. “I will wear black stockings. More warmer”.

She laughed. ��But they aren’t very practical. At least with the thigh highs they’re easy access”.

You blushed at her words. Yet she wasn’t wrong. But you couldn’t risk the truth getting out. With a shaky laugh you told her you’d stick with the stockings. Pansy didn’t say anything after that, grabbed her jacket and headed to the common room, along with the other girls of the room. Once alone you moved to change into your outfit, before grabbing your coat and leaving to meet your boyfriend and friends. “(Y/N/N) is so cute! She kept changing her outfit to find something cute to wear today” you heard Pansy giggle to Mattheo, as you approached your group.

Hearing her words made you want to crawl under a rock. Sure, you wanted to look good for your boyfriend, and yourself. But they didn’t know the thoughts and feelings you had for your body. You don’t know if you could tell them, ever. Would they understand? Would shedding light on your imperfections pull back the veil for them to really see them? Would they find it gross or dislike you for them?

Pansy’s eyes landed on you and a smile formed on her lips. Seeing the Slytherin girls’ attention was elsewhere, Mattheo turned around and laid his chocolate brown orbs on you. The warmest of smiles forming on his sinful lips, his smile reaching his eyes as he looked at you. You felt your cheeks warm from his attention. But then that voice in the back of your head piped up; you’re nothing special. He could do better then you…

Standing next to Mattheo, you felt unworthy of being here with him. But as soon as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and placed a kiss to your cheek, it gave some reassurance.

“Hello love” he whispered in your ear, just for you, only for you. His words giving you butterflies.

“H-hello” you stutter out. “Sorry for keeping you waiting”. Mattheo gave you another warm smile of his, “it’s alright, happy to wait”. And then he gave you a wink.

Once everyone was there you all headed out to Hogsmeade for the day. You enjoyed the walk to the small town. The whole way Mattheo held your hand, or he had you link arms. Either way he wanted you close.

Upon arriving, you all went to Honeydukes. It was one of the most popular places in the town, next being The Three Broomsticks. Entering Honeydukes, Mattheo holding the door open for you, always a gentleman, you were greeting to a warm and sweet-smelling atmosphere. You and Mattheo walked around the shop, laughing and smiling. You picked out some sweets to take back to school. And Mattheo did the same, he even brought you a few extras of your favourite chocolates.

Exiting the shop, you both walked past the shops window, looking at the display. Your face fell as you looked at yourself. Why did you buy so many sweets (Y/N)? Want to get fat? Want your thighs to get thicker? Disgusting. The voice was back. You gripped the handle of the bag you’re holding tighter, contemplating if you should drop it or not.

A warm hand envelope your free hand, bringing your eyes to the reflection of your boyfriend. The warm smile upon his face sent the voice back to the dark corner of your mind. You returned his smile before he dragged you off to The Three Broomsticks. Upon entering the cosy pub, you both removed your coats. Mattheo took your coat and said he’d hang them both up while you get a table. You found a free table in the back corner. Soon Mattheo joined you with a couple of butterbeers.

“Thank you” you said warmly, before taking a sip.

Mattheo took the seat next to you and proceeded to take a drink from his own glass mug. You both smiled at the other, Mattheo then chuckled before moving his hand in and whipped some of the froth from your top lip. You laughed sheepishly, feeling a blush rise on your cheeks. He always found you cute when embarrassed and couldn’t understand how he had gotten so lucky with you. For some time, it was just the both of you, cosy together drinking and chatting. But soon Pansy, Draco and Blaise joined the both of you.

More drinking and chats took place, followed with laughter when something funny was said or someone was made the joke. You always enjoy these moments; this atmosphere was what made school bearable. Eventually you excused yourself to use the bathroom. And upon returning to the table, you found Blaise in your spot.

“Come here love” Mattheo said after noticing your lack of spot. “You can sit on my lap” he smiled.

With those words panic set in. You sitting on Mattheo’s lap. That is not good. The voice returned, taunting you. Telling you how heavy you were. How he would find out how fat your thighs are. How disgusted he would be with you. You stood there looking at your boyfriend, heart racing. Sensing something wasn’t right, Mattheo gave you a comforting smile while taking a hold of your hand. He proceeded to slowly draw you close to him, before bringing you to sit on his lap.

You didn’t lean back into your boyfriend, nor did you let your whole weight on to him. Mattheo didn’t seem to notice how you were sitting. He just moved his left arm to wrap around your waist, while resting his chin on your right shoulder as he listened to Pansy and Draco. He was so comfortable with you on his lap. You on the other hand were being careful. And when his left hand would caress your thigh you stiffened, heart jumping into your throat. Surely any minute he would make a comment or push you away. But he didn’t.

Every moment was torture. The voice in your head saying cruel things. Eventually it got too much for you. Getting up abruptly from Mattheo’s lap you excused yourself, making up an excuse to get out of there and back to the castle, and your dorm room. Not waiting for a response, you grabbed your coat before leaving The Three Broomsticks. Mattheo and your three friends sat there confused and a little worried.

You hated leaving like you did. But it was becoming too much. The voice continuing to put you down. You were on the walk back to the castle, not far from the turn off that would take you to the Forbidden Forest, when a hand grabbed your arm pulling you to a stop.

“Bloody hell love!” Sighed Mattheo, “I’ve been calling your name for ages!”

You kept your eyes on the ground, “sorry. Didn’t hear you…” you said softly.

He let go of your arm and ran his hand through his curly brown locks. “Did I do something? Please tell me if I did, because I didn’t mean to” he said with concern.

You shook your head. “No Theo, you didn’t do anything”.

Mattheo stepped closer, bringing his hands up and cup your cheeks. He moved your head, so your eyes locked with his. “Then why did you run out of there like you did?” He asked softly.

“I-I” you stammered, unsure what to say. “I forgot about homework I have to do” you lied. Which Mattheo picked up on right away.

“Really love, what’s up?” He asked with worry.

At the moment a group of girls walked past the both of you. They giggled and said hello to Mattheo, who didn’t entirely give them his attention. He did return the hello, all the while focusing on you. You felt your heart warm seeing his eyes on you, and not once leaving you.

He is pitying you, the voice creeped from its dark corner of your mind. It’s only time before he realises the heifer he is dating, and will dump you for one of those girls…

Your heart sake from what the voice said. It was getting harder to ignore the voice or push it away. It made some sense to you. You did not understand why Mattheo was with you. Pulling yourself from him, you once again took off towards the castle. And Mattheo was right on your heels. He called your name, asked you what was wrong and talk to him. You hated ignoring him, but what could you say? You couldn’t tell him the dark truth, as he would see how crazy you were and possibly call you it too.

Once again Mattheo grabbed your arm, but this time he used apparition. Realising what had happened, you took in your new surroundings. Mattheo had brought you to the boathouse, which was quiet except for the water softly hitting against the building. You turned from where boats would be loaded into the water, and to your boyfriend, whom was watching you closely with concern.

“Love, no more running” he said softly, stepping towards you but stopped when he saw you stiffen. “Please tell me what’s going on?”

You released a shaky sigh. How could you admit to the gorgeous guy before you how fat you were. How disgusting your thighs are. How you weren’t like the other girls, and that made you feel like nothing. The dark voice taunted you right now, laughing at you for allowing yourself to get into this position, how Mattheo would once and for all see you for everything you are. You felt the heat and prick in your eyes, knowing tears were rising in them but you couldn’t let him see them. Only Mattheo was more observant than you thought. Before you could stop him, Mattheo had wrapped his arms around you, holding you close while whispering sweet words in your ear in hopes to comfort you.

“It’s alright” Mattheo cooed in your ear. “Please don’t cry love. I’m sorry if I have done or said anything to hurt you. I never want to hurt you or upset you”.

Hearing his words, his apology for nothing he had done, made those pesky tears fall from your eyes. You were the problem not him. Mattheo was sweet, kind, affectionate, caring, thoughtful and the list goes on! All the while you were disgusting, practically repulsive. He’d now finally see you for it after you let it out. For the word vomit was coming. And all because he was so worried and concerned for you.

You pulled away from Mattheo. “It’s not you, it’s me” you said trying to stay calm while whipping your eyes. “I’m the problem. Not you. You’re wonderful, perfect Theo. Me, I’m disgusting. I don’t get why me, why choose me!” Here it all came. “There are better looking girls you could be with. I’m average, but I have thick thighs, I’m fat and I don’t have the chest of other petite girls! I’m absolutely disgusting!”

By the time you got all your words out you were crying profusely, bordering on ugly crying, which you wanted to add to that list but couldn’t voice it. You covered your eyes and most of your face with your hands, not wanting to see Mattheo’s face or for him to see how terrible you looked. Suddenly you were pulled into a solid form, arms wrapping tightly around you, that familiar scent of cigarettes and mint hit you.

“You are not disgusting. You are not fat. You are the most beautiful girl with the most bewitching (E/C) eyes that hold me captive with one look. You have the perfect body, thighs included, that make me weak and lose all control, but I have to stop myself from grabbing you and holding you closely. I spend lessons next to you, telling myself to keep my hand from your thigh, as all I want to do is place my hand there and never let it go. I go crazy from having to behave in public love” Mattheo took a moment to take in a few shaky breathes. “It’s not only the physical side that I want either. You – (F/N) (L/N) – are sweet, generous, caring, kind, loving, gentle, intelligent, funny – just everything that makes you the best person I know, and love unconditionally. You are perfect for me. I want you because you are you, and because you make me want to be better, the best for you. I’m not worthy of you love!”

Slowly Mattheo words sunk in, slower than you wanted. The gorgeous male before you believed he wasn’t worthy of you. And he thought you were the best person. It couldn’t be true, surely. Mattheo moved back and pulled your hands from you face. He wiped the tears from your face, all the while looking at you with so much love. Finally, you heard his words, letting them sink in. Yet that dark voice began to speak up but you weren’t listening anymore. For your boyfriend’s words were true.

“(Y/N/N), you are perfect for me in every way".

That was it. That declaration was all you needed to send that dark voice to the deepest, darkest place of your mind, and for it to never return while Mattheo was around. Your boyfriend now knew of your insecurities and he would make sure to reassure you that you were beautiful, your body was perfect and you were worthy.

Without skipping a beat, you kissed your boyfriend, silently thanking him. Mattheo once again wrapped his arms around you and held you close, while you both shared a tender kiss. After the kiss you opened up to him more, he had asked you to without pushing and said to always talk to him when you needed. You agreed to come to him when you needed to talk. There would be no more secrets kept between you. And let’s just say he showed you and your body how much he loved you, all of you. 😉

A/N: I don't this it's as good as some of my other works, but I am content with it. Feel free to keep requesting. I've got a few now to do. But I'm having trouble logging into tumblr on my computer and app on my phone. Hopefully it gets sorted out soon.

#mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader

293 notes · View notes

marksbear · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I hope you’re doing well <3 I was wondering if I could request a Thomas Shelby x Male reader. Reader is the head of a gang from another town and known for being a sarcastic a-hole. His power is similar to Thomas‘ + he kinda has a thing for him and flirts nonstop whenever he gets the chance to interact with Tommy. The Reader never engaged in activities that would cause serious harm to the blinders but he provokes them from time to time just to get Tommys attention. He opens a Pub in the blinders territory and uses it for his own gang and then Shelby finally confronts him, is about to start a literal gang war after the big amount of provocation over the months but the reader just thinks him being mad is hot asf. They kinda start to argue and maybe you can add that the reader saved Tommys life in the war (but they were enemies on front lines) Tommy can only remember the tattoo his saviour has on the back of his hand. And then he sees the tattoo and instantly remembers.

I’d be so happy if you’d write it because I really love all your stories and I haven’t been reading anything else the last three days 🥲🥲

Hi! Thank you for loving my stories and thank you for even requesting my friend! I hope you like this one! And have a nice day!

THOMAS SHELBY X GANG LEADER MALE READER

Quick little background.

"L/N..." The last name that his been running around through everyone in Birmingham.

A new gang in a different town somehow caught almost everybody's attention in Birmingham. The town wasn't too far from Birmingham, but it was a good distance between both towns.

The gang has been doing many things. Like robbing banks from different towns, getting families out the streets, and what really caught everyone by surprise was a special types of business they ran.

They ran business/ motels full of prostitutes all of the workers different sizes and colors hell they even had men working for them. Some of the gang's bars weren't just regular bars they were gay.

And that's only the business side of them. The more known part of them was their leader. Y/n L/n. He was a sarcastic asshole who knew what he wanted and would do anything to get there. The gang have done cruel things to their enemies and sometimes allies.

The gang had gotten almost too powerful and reckless for only a short amount of time.

And sadly the Leader of the Peaky Blinders have gotten an earful about them everyday. Everyday there was a complaint about them from his men and other people. So to keep the peace Tommy had arranged a meeting with both leaders privately.

Background over!

Tommy walked inside the unfamiliar building with his hands deep inside his coat. Tommy's cold blue eyes looked around keeping note of how many men are patrolling.

Many people of different genders and colors of all sizes were moving around the building freely as they worked without a single sign of hate or discomfort. The workers played around, but got the job done.

"Mr Shelby?"

Tommy turns his head to the side looking at the woman. The woman had a bright smile and a hand out.

Hello, my name is Mrs Ramos it's a pleasure to finally meet." She says with a trusting smile as Tommy takes her hand shaking it. "Where's L/n?" Tommy says wasting no time.

"He's in his office sir. Please let me guide you." Mrs Ramos says already turning around walking leaving Tommy no room to talk.

"What's your relationship with Mr L/n?" Tommy says striking up a conversation.

"I'm his right hand's man wife on a more personal level. But here I'm the secretary around this place." She answers as she guides Tommy through many hallways and different rooms. Tommy hums as he digs inside his pocket for a cigarette.

"Here we are." Mrs Ramos says looking at Tommy to see his reaction to the name plate above the door.

"Y/N WHORE L/N" With bold bright letters above the door.

"Whore?" Tommy questions with a raised brow and a puzzled expression. Mrs Ramos tries to contain her giggles.

"One of his older nieces made it for him as a birthday gift." She says trying to help with the confusion as she pulls the door open for him.

Tommy looks at the long hallway as there are many people in seats waiting.

"Are these men waiting?" Tommy questions as he lights the cigarette taking a deep inhale.

"Yes sir. The boss put all his meetings on hold for yours. So whatever you two are talking about must be important. So just walk down that hallway you'll see the door and just step inside." The woman says before adding.

"Good luck Mr Shelby~" She says as if shes teasing him before turning around on her heels walking away.

The shelby inhales the smoke for one last time as as he walks inside the long hallway.

Tommy could feel all the men's eyes burn into them. Some with confusion and most with anger and hate. Tommy only ignores them and keeps walking straight ahead.

Soon enough Tommy reaches the door and opens inside his eyes meeting the back of who he's guessing Mr L/n's.

"How many times I've got to tell you fuckers to stop bothering me!" Mr L/n's shouts without even turning to see who it is.

"Mr L/n." Tommy says as he walks to the seat across from his desk.

Spinning his chair around looking at the man who just sat in his chair.

"Mr Shelby? I've thought you were one of those idiotic men outside my door. I should have known only people with cold stone hearts could open my door." Y/n jokes as he leans back into his chair.

"But I have to say... You're much prettier than the way that my man stalked you have described. But they did have one thing right. Your eyes are beautiful." Y/n says with a smile as he reaches inside his drawer getting to glasses.

"You sent people to stalk me?" Tommy says ignoring the way Y/n flirted so boldly.

"Naturally. I wanted to know who i'm going against. And especially now since they might just be my future partner.~" L/n flirts again as he pours whiskey into the glasses.

Y/n reaches the glass out putting the full glass of whiskey in front of Tommy.

As Y/n was doing it Tommy stared at the hand tattoo almost getting memorized by it. Y/n looked at Tommy's once cold eyes, but this time they were softened and warm less tense.

“You like my tattoo huh? Maybe you’ll like me more if I get one that has your name.” Y/n teases with a wink before taking his hand way putting it back to his side.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to flirt with me Mr L/n. Flirting isn't going to help any of our problems. Your charms won't foll me." Tommy says bluntly as he takes a sip of the whiskey.

Y/n bites the inside of his cheek thinking of a response before the smirk on his lips grows brighter.

"So, you think i'm charming?" Y/n responds back earning an annoyed groan from the Shelby. "Please. Lets get serious shall we?" "Okay fine. I won't make any promises about how long that'll last." Y/n jokes as he crosses his arms.

TIMESKIP

Months with past since the first meeting that the two head leaders of the separate gangs met. The meeting was long and deeply meaningful, it could have more meanings than just if Y/n would stop flirting and teasing.

Since the meeting Y/n started to become reckless and daring to get Thomas Shelby's attention.

Ever since then it has been The gang messing and provoking the Peaky Blinders. Like finding ways to ruin horse races, sending their men into the garrison, ruining the peace around Birmingham. The gang were being little shits and assholes to the blinders much to their leader request.

The leader Y/n had even walked Ada to her home acting like he was new to town.

Y/n started to buy some of the businesses around Birmingham. Like auto shops, Saloons, bars and such. Slowly invading the Peaky blinder area.

Others gangs noticed the tension between the two and started to pick sides.

What really pissed off the Blinders was when they built a new bar directly in the Peaky Blinder territory. They stole Garrison's customers and money that messed up everything.

It became clear to Thomas that Y/n clearly wanted his attention. But sadly Y/n had the wrong type of attention that anyone with some sense would not want from the shelby.

The Peaky Blinders were the first to start the war. Going to the bar that almost took them out of business and trashing it. Breaking and stealing whatever they found. But they didn't stop there. They burned the nearby business the gang owned. They even went as far to get the coopers on them.

People who had a nick of common sense sided with the Shelby's in fear that they'll be next, but somehow Y/n had loyal allies.

The allies Y/n had helped him rebuild the businesses and got the coopers off of his back.

Most thought Y/n and his gang learned their lesson, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

If only it seemed that it excited Y/n and the gang to create more problems.

During the course of months the gang war became more and more heated. Y/n's gang doing no serious harm to the other unlike the Peaky Blinders. Somehow even from the spilled blood the Blinders made Y/n remained calm and mischievous.

With all of that it leads to now.

Tommy was tied up to a chair. Blood stained his suit with bruises all over his body. For once. The shelby thought he was gonna die there. Help was nowhere to be seen.

A drip of blood falls from the head of Tommy landing onto his tied up hand.

Thomas was too weak to raise up his head. Pain overwhelmed his body.

He has been getting tortured for the past three days. He didn't want to give up completely, but damn he was close.

With footsteps coming from behind him Tommy knew who was inside the empty warehouse with him. It was his capture. Tommy could recognize that foot pattern from anywhere.

"Tsk tsk... No one is still here to save you huh Tom. Not even that dumb god you worship." The capture teases as he walks in front of the Shelby. The capture takes a hand full of Thomas hair yanking it forcing Thomas head up.

"You think the man you're at war with will be jealous that i'm the pain who gets to kill you?" He jokes as he uses his free hand to dig his thumb into a open cut on Tommy's cheek.

"You're so pathetic! Not even having enough to open your eyes fully." He degrades as he drops Tommy's hair.

"Its bout time I kill you tom." The capture says as he digs inside his coat pocket.

Finally finding what he needs the man is about to take his hand out of his pockets but before he can.

A gun shot rings to Tommy's ears. Tommy opens his eyes looking at his capture dead body in front of him. The hole in his head is proof that he's been shot from behind.

A different pair of footsteps walk towards Tommy and the dead man on the floor. The shooter kicks the man's dead body away giving him room to stand in front of Tommy.

The shooter begins to untie Tommy's legs and hands. At the last hand Tommy stares at the tattoo on his hand before closing his eyes passing out.

TIMESKIP

"What the hell happened to ya Tom?" The eldest Shelby questions as he and John expect the injuries.

"Gotten snatched in an alley. Been tortured at a warehouse for about three days before someone saved me." Tommy answers as he takes a swing off the whisky that Arthur gave him.

"What type of madman would save you?" John questions with a slight laugh.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you who I think saved me." Tommy responds back before standing up from the chair his brothers forced him to sit on.

"I'll be back alright." Tommy says before getting his coat and leaving.

"How much you wanna bet its a whore that Tommy slept with who took their husbands gun." Arthur teases watching Tommy leave as John his Arthur in his side laughing.

With Tommy.

Tommy stood in front of the same building he swore to himself that he'll never stand in front of again. Stepping inside of the building Tommy went straight towards the leader of the whole thing office.

Many workers and assistants tried to stop the Shelby, but he just marched right past them.

Finally reaching the door to the hallway he swings open the door walking straight inside ignoring the people shouting at him to wait his turn.

Reaching the door to Y/n's door he swings it open walking straight inside.

There were a couple of men inside the room talking with Y/n. The men who was halfway naked only inside their briefs whip their heads around staring at the man who just stormed in.

"Maybe I should just install a lock on my door. For the cunts who doesn't know how to wait their turn." Y/n groans out as he moves his eyes from the resume he was just reading.

Looking up to see who it is Y/n smiles at the Shelby.

"Gentleman you all are hired! Now please put your clothes on and make hast." Y/n says signing their resumes and putting the papers on his desk.

The men quickly puts their clothes back on and hurries out of the room.

Tommy sits down in the chair with a raised eyebrow.

"They wanted a job at one of my motels. I needed to see what i'm working with." Y/n answers the question that was written all over the Shelby face. "Don't be jealous now.~ They're not as pretty as you or as hot you can be when angry." Y/n flirts before giving Tommy his full attention.

Y/n lays his hands on the desk waiting for Tommy to shoot his flirting down.

The room became silent as Tommy stared at the back of Y/n's hand intensely. Tommy slowly looks at Y/n staring into his eyes.

"You saved my life..." Tommy breathes out breaking the silence

"Why?" Tommy questions.

"What makes you think I saved you?" Y/n questions with a raised brow. "One because my savior had the same tattoo you have. And two you're the only man I know who has that tattoo design." Tommy answers watching Y/n bite back a smile.

"You always show off that tattoo as if you were a peacock with its feathers." Tommy says watching Y/n turn his head away.

"Why'd you do it? We are at war right now. Me and my men killed dozens of your men and ruined your business so why? You saved me so you can take my life instead huh?" Tommy adds.

"Not at all Tom. You and I both know that I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." Y/n dismisses fast shaking his head at the thought.

"Then why save me!?" Tommy cuts him off raising his voice lightly.

"Because I like you Thomas! Are you that blind to see that I am in love with you! I caused all the problems for your attention just for you to think of me!" Y/n answers standing up from his chair and walking around it.

Tommy stands up from his chair watching Y/n move to him.

"You're in love with me?..." Tommy breathes out.

"Yes! I did all of this for you Tommy! And i'll be damned if some guy tries to take you away from me before I could confess." Y/n answers again not a single lie in his tone.

"..." Tommy is silent staring at Y/n with wide eyes.

"If you do not love me or like me it is okay. Sure it will hurt, but I can get over it." Y/n says watching Tommy take a few steps back away from him.

"Tom--" Y/n says before trailing off. "You don't trust me. I can tell that you don't trust me even though I saved your life. But that's okay. I will work for your trust as well as your love." Y/n adds before taking Tommy's hands.

"Watch me as I earn your trust. Then wait as I earn your love." Y/n says.

"Will you Tommy. Watch and wait for me?" Y/n says.

The shelby is in deep thought as he stares at Y/n looking for any sign that he's lying or just playing him.

This wasn't Y/n's usual tease or flirting. That means Tommy couldn't deny that Y/n was telling the truth.

"I will...."

THE END

#Thomas Shelby #thomas shelby x male reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x male reader #peaky blinders x male reader #peaky fookin blinders #x male reader #x gang leader male reader #male reader #the bear club

893 notes · View notes

discokicks · 1 year

Text

BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.

PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.

word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)

chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)

author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags

PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)

Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.

While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.

She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.

“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.

You blink at her. “Hi.”

She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”

Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.

Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”

The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”

Well, okay. “Then why—”

Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”

You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.

“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”

“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”

As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.

Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”

Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.

“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”

“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”

“Mastered it?”

You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”

Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”

“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.

And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”

A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.

You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”

“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”

She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.

“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”

You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”

You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. ��You know my college coaching stats?”

Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”

A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.

Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”

Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”

That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.

(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)

A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”

Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.

An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.

Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.

“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”

“But?” Rebecca questions.

The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”

It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”

Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”

You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”

Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.

“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.

When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.

But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.

“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”

You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”

“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.

It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”

It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”

The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.

You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.

She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.

You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.

“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”

This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”

The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.

“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”

Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”

A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”

Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”

“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”

The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.

She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.

So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”

There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.

“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”

Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.

“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”

Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”

Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”

The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”

“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.

“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”

“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”

“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”

“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”

“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”

The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”

Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”

Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.

Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”

“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”

“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”

Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”

“ROY FUCKING KENT!”

The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.

But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.

Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.

Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.

Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.

“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”

Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”

But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.

“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”

All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”

Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”

Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.

(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)

He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”

That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”

That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.

Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.

Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.

So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.

“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”

Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”

Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”

He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”

“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”

Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.

He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.

“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”

(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)

Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”

His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”

Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”

“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”

And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.

This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.

And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.

With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.

And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”

Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”

As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.

Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”

Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.

However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”

“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”

You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”

Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”

You push harder on the door.

Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”

While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…

The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”

“I just want to talk,” he replies.

You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”

It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.

“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.

Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.

The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.

He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.

(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)

The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.

However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.

Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.

So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.

And wait.

But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.

Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”

Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”

Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”

When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.

A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”

You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”

“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”

You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”

“And how long did you coach?”

He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”

That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”

Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”

“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”

Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”

“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”

As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.

So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.

Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”

The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.

A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”

“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.

You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.

But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.

(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)

You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”

Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.

“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”

This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.

“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”

Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”

You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.

However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.

That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”

For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.

But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.

He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."

You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.

But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.

“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”

Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”

You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”

His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.

“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”

He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.

You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”

If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”

Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”

Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”

“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.

That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”

Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.

“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”

The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.

You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.

But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.

And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.

You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.

You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”

Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”

“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”

Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.

You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”

That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.

Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”

Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”

He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”

You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.

This fucking week, man.

You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.

You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.

You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.

You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.

#roy kent #ted lasso #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent x you #ted lasso fanfiction #aatwe #the one who can't walk up stairs #aces

301 notes · View notes