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fanficapologist · 3 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Five

The next morning, dawn broke gently over Dragonstone, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow in the room. Outside, the sea was calm, the distant calls of seabirds the only sounds punctuating the stillness.

Maera woke up with a stretch, feeling the child within her wriggling around uncomfortably. She couldn't help but think of her mother, Lady Gael, during the late stages of her final pregnancy —how large and unsettled she had always seemed. Sitting up slowly, Maera's eyes were drawn to the chaise at the foot of the bed. There, Aemond lay with his feet propped up, his boots removed. His straight silver hair flowed freely, having been undone from its usual restraint. Most notably, he had removed his eyepatch, and his sapphire eye gleamed in the dawn’s early light.

As Maera shifted out of bed, Aemond immediately opened his eye, sitting up straight and looking at her. He had always been a light sleeper. They shared a moment of silent communication, their eyes locked as if they both knew what was on each other’s minds. The question hung unspoken in the air: Would this day bring forth a new alliance, or would more blood be spilled? Without words, the weight of their shared responsibilities and uncertainties pressed upon them, the quiet morning a brief reprieve before the potential storm of the day ahead.

The servants moved quickly to ready the royal couple for the day. Aemond insisted on an early meeting with Hugh and Ulf, despite knowing how much wine the dragonseeds had consumed the previous night. Maera was certain the men would not appreciate an early awakening, but Aemond's urgency allowed no room for delay.

None of Maera’s nor Aemond’s belongings had arrived yet, aside from the dragon egg that rested in a pot on the hearth, which Aemond had brought with him. The servants dressed them in what they could find within the castle. These clothes were not tailored for them, necessitating various pins and adjustments to hold them in place on bodies they were not meant for.

For Aemond, they found Prince Daemon’s clothes to be more his style. However, the King Consort was much broader in the shoulders, and the vests did not fit him properly. Instead, the servants provided him with old garments of Prince Jacaerys, though it took a considerable amount of time to find something that was purely black. The fit was not perfect, but it sufficed for the day.

Maera, too, was given borrowed clothes. Thanks to the size of Rhaenyra’s brood, she had many options to choose from. The servants dressed her in a long black chiffon robe that fit her like a glove and was comfortable to move around in. The soft fabric accommodated her swollen belly, offering some relief from the discomfort of her pregnancy. As they finished dressing, Aemond and Maera exchanged a glance, each understanding the underlying tension of the day ahead.

Breakfast was brought into their room with an elaborate display. Silver platters were carried in by a procession of servants, laden with freshly baked bread, golden butter, and various jams. There were plates of sliced fruits—apples, pears, and berries—alongside bowls of nuts and dried figs. A centerpiece of roasted ham glistened, flanked by smaller dishes of boiled eggs and cured meats. A large pot of steaming tea and a pitcher of chilled water were placed on the table, accompanied by delicate porcelain cups and glasses.

Maera and Aemond sat opposite one another, quietly sipping their tea. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension, a reflection of the impasse their marriage had reached after all they had endured. Aemond was making an effort, or at least trying to try, but the weight of their shared history loomed heavily.

The chamber doors suddenly burst open, and in stomped the dragonseeds. The aftermath of the previous night's indulgence was evident in their appearance. Ulf looked particularly pale, his face drawn and colorless, while Hugh shielded his eyes from the intrusive morning light, squinting as he entered the room. Their heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber, breaking the fragile morning calm.

Maera greeted the dragonseeds cheerily, raising her teacup in their direction. "Good morrow, my lords," she said with a bright smile, her voice cutting through the tension. Aemond, however, merely scowled, his expression a stark contrast to his wife's warmth. The dragonseeds skulked over to the table, their movements sluggish and eyes bleary. Eventually, they collapsed into their chairs with heavy sighs.

Maera, still smiling, presented each of the men with a glass of raw eggs mixed with garlic. "A remedy from my brothers at Rain House," she explained. "They swear by it for a miraculous recovery after a night of indulgence."

Hugh smiled at her adoringly, his purple eyes lighting up despite his obvious discomfort. Without hesitation, he grabbed the glass and gulped down the drink, slamming the empty vessel down on the table with a satisfied grunt. Remnants of egg clung to his thick curly dark beard, giving him a rather unkempt appearance.

Ulf, on the other hand, seemed hesitant. He eyed the glass warily, glancing at Hugh for reassurance. Seeing Hugh apparently unharmed and even invigorated, Ulf finally lifted his glass and drank the contents. His face contorted briefly in disgust, but he managed to swallow it all, placing the glass back on the table with a relieved sigh.

A heavy silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional clearing of a throat from the steward. The atmosphere grew tense, laden with unspoken words and uncertain futures. No one seemed eager to break the stillness and address the matter at hand.

Eventually, Aemond set down his cutlery with a deliberate motion, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. His piercing gaze swept over the dragonseeds. "Have you come to a decision?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Hugh was quick to respond. "We spent the night talking it through," he said, smiling at Maera. She held her breath, her heart pounding as she waited to see if his eager response was positive or merely the prelude to a boast.

Maera's green eyes flicked to the pale-haired Ulf, who drummed his fingers against the table. He looked between Maera and Aemond before asking, "Horn Hill and Harrenhall?", alluding to the suggestion the Princess had made the previous night.

Before Aemond could respond, Maera interjected, her voice steady. "We swear by the Old Gods and the New." She glanced at Aemond, who nodded in agreement, his expression firm.

Ulf then uttered the words Maera had been hoping for. "We accept the proposed terms."

The Princess let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief washed over her. For now, at least, there would be no need for violence. She nodded respectfully towards Ulf before reaching out and squeezing Hugh’s hand with a smile, much to Aemond’s discomfort.

"How wonderful," she said, her voice light with relief. "I thank the Gods that today will not be a day of bloodshed." She then turned and smirked at Aemond, adding, "A shame for Vhagar and Ēbrion though."

Aemond couldn't help but smile at her jest, his stern demeanor softening just a bit. Ulf, however, rolled his eyes before asking, "What do you expect of us now, Prince Aemond?"

The one-eyed Prince ran his finger around the edge of his glass thoughtfully. "The same as you were told before.” he replied. "Go to Tumbleton."

Maera furrowed her brow at this, confusion flickering in her green eyes. Aemond elaborated, “Instead of defending the town, allow the Greens in to seize it, granting us greater stability in the Reach.”

Hugh’s agreement came with an eager nod, his large frame almost vibrating with anticipation. Ulf, on the other hand, took a moment longer, drumming his fingers against the table before finally nodding in consent. The strategy was clear and would serve their cause effectively. The tension in the room began to ease as the dragonseeds accepted their roles, their expressions shifting from cautious uncertainty to determined resolve. The room, once fraught with the potential for violence, now hummed with a shared purpose.

After they finished their meal, Maera glanced around the room, taking in the attending servants and guards. The thought gnawed at her: surely her most trusted advisors had journeyed to the Capital after their Queen, but what of those remaining at Dragonstone? She did not wish to risk any further spies or assassination attempts. Perhaps if they swore to recognize Aemond as the Regent and Maelor as the true King, they would see it was the right path for the Realm.

Maera looked at her husband, her expression thoughtful. "There may be others here that would swear to the Greens' cause, my Prince," she said softly. Aemond cocked his head, considering her words. Maera urged him, "Give the occupants an opportunity to declare their loyalties."

Aemond then scanned the room, his sharp purple eye focusing on each face of the servants attending them. The early morning light streamed in through the windows, casting a pale glow on his chiseled features.

His eye, keen and discerning, moved slowly from one servant to the next, as if he could see into their very souls. His face, illuminated by the soft dawn light, appeared both regal and formidable, the lines of worry and determination etched deeply into his skin.

After a moment of tense silence, Aemond nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice low and commanding. He turned to one of the guards and issued the order, "Call all within the castle to the western beach."

The guard bowed deeply before hurrying out of the room to carry out the command. Maera felt a sense of anticipation build within her. This was a pivotal moment, and the actions they took now could solidify their power and ensure the loyalty of those who served them.

The volcanic beach on Dragonstone was a stark and dramatic landscape. The black sand stretched out in a coarse, grainy expanse, glittering like onyx under the early morning light. Waves crashed violently against the rugged, rocky terrain, sending plumes of white spray into the air. The scent of salt and sulfur mingled, carried by the brisk wind that whipped across the shore. Jagged cliffs loomed on either side, their dark, craggy faces carved by centuries of relentless waves and volcanic activity.

Gathered on this beach was a large crowd, the castle's inhabitants drawn by the summons. Their faces displayed a mix of emotions—confusion, agitation, and fear. The servants and lesser courtiers glanced around nervously, whispering among themselves, their expressions betraying their uncertainty about what this sudden assembly might portend.

Among the gathering, the castle guards stood in disciplined rows, their stances rigid and alert. Their allegiances were not immediately clear; some bore the colours of Rhaenyra’s cause with pride, while others seemed more apprehensive, their eyes darting about as if weighing their options and assessing the situation.

All watched in anticipation as the one-eyed Prince, his wife, and the two dragonseeds approached them from the high stone bridge. The bridge, worn and ancient, seemed to groan under their purposeful strides. As they descended onto the volcanic beach, Aemond and Maera made their way to the front of the gathered onlookers. The Prince, tall and imposing, stepped onto a large rock, elevating himself to be seen by all. His wife, Maera, stood beside him on the sand, flanked by Ulf and Hugh.

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the rhythmic crashing of the waves and the occasional cawing of sea birds circling overhead. The atmosphere was tense, charged with the unspoken questions and the anticipation of what was to come. A bellowing roar, followed by a deep, rumbling growl caused gasps and screams amongst the crowd. People gasped and ducked, eyes wide with fear, as Vhagar and Ēbrion flew overhead.

Vhagar, with her green and bronze scales shimmering like an ancient relic and her orange eyes burning with a fierce intelligence, led the way. Her immense wings cast vast, shifting shadows over the crowd. Ēbrion followed closely, his deep blue and black scales absorbing the light, his own orange eyes glowing like embers. The two dragons called to each other, their voices resonating with a power that made the earth tremble.

The older war dragon circled and landed on a cliff to the east, her claws digging into the rocky terrain as her orange eyes scanned the crowd. Ēbrion descended gracefully onto the beach to the west, his wings folding elegantly as he settled, his gaze fixed on the gathering of people below him.

The atmosphere grew even more charged as lighter chirps and calls heralded the arrival of two more dragons. Vermithor, known as the Bronze Fury, appeared with a roar that echoed across the cliffs. His bronze scales gleamed in the light, and he landed on the high bridge, his massive form almost overwhelming the ancient structure. Silverwing, with her gleaming silver scales, descended behind the crowd, her wings creating a gust that whipped through the assembly.

The four dragons effectively encircled the attendants, their imposing forms creating an inescapable barrier. The sense of entrapment was clear, the onlookers now fully aware of the power and danger surrounding them. The stage was set for the declarations to come, the dragons' presence underscoring the gravity of the moment.

Aemond cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense silence, before addressing the crowd. His voice, strong and commanding, cut through the murmurs and whispers. "Two of Rhaenyra’s dragon riders have come to their senses and are now sworn to the Greens' cause," he announced, his words causing the onlookers to exchange confused and anxious glances, their murmuring growing louder. Aemond raised a hand, silencing them, and continued, "I am giving you all a chance to see the true path and recognize Rhaenyra for what she is: a usurper."

He paused, letting his words sink in, before resuming. "My half-sister fled like a coward, stealing the Iron Throne from her own nephew rather than allowing her husband to face a challenger in singular combat. Is that the kind of leader you want? One who runs and hides when faced with direct confrontation?" His voice grew colder, more intense. "Recognize me as Prince Regent for Maelor, heir of the firstborn son of King Viserys, who will ascend the throne when he comes of age, or face the consequences."

Maera watched the crowd hesitate, their faces a mix of fear, confusion, and defiance. Not a single person bowed or pledged their allegiance. She knew what they thought of Aemond: a Kinslayer, a cold, one-eyed man, a cripple. She glanced at her husband, seeing the tension in his jaw, his frustration growing at the crowd’s lack of action.

Suddenly, Vhagar roared from the cliff top, the sound a deafening bellow that shook the ground and sent a wave of terror through the crowd. The people flinched and cowered, but still, none stepped forward. The silence that followed the roar was thick with tension, the crowd's defiance hanging in the air like a palpable force.

The Princess had had enough. The crowd’s hesitation and murmurs threatened to spiral into chaos, and she knew she had to take control. Determined, she attempted to pull herself up onto the rock beside her husband, but her large stomach and injured arm and leg made it difficult. She gritted her teeth, feeling the strain in her muscles and the sharp sting in her wounds, but she refused to give up.

After a few moments of struggling, she finally managed to pull herself up, standing tall and proud next to Prince Aemond. Her presence, regal and defiant, commanded attention. As she prepared to address the crowd, her left leg gave way, and she stumbled forward with a gasp. In an instant, she felt two strong arms grab onto her firmly, keeping her in place. She looked up to see Aemond, his face etched with concern. She couldn't tell if it was for her physical stumble or for what she might say to the onlookers.

Granting him a small smile and a nod, she reassured him before he let her go. Turning to face the crowd, Maera drew a deep breath, her eyes scanning the sea of faces before her. The silence was heavy, all eyes fixed on her, waiting to hear what she would say.

"I know everyone in attendance, including myself, has been affected so far by the Dance of the Dragons." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, recognizing the worry and fatigue etched into their faces. "There has already been enough bloodshed from both the Greens and Blacks."

The crowd stirred, whispers and nods rippling through them as Maera continued. "My nephew, Maelor, represents a new age of peace and prosperity for the future." She emphasized the innocence of the young prince, contrasting it with Rhaenyra’s ambitions. "Whilst Rhaenyra wishes to live in the past, invading the Capital and plotting to kill children, Maelor is innocent. With the right guidance, he will grow to be a great King."

Maera rubbed her belly tenderly as her child kicked beneath her skin, a visible symbol of a new beginning. "My own child gives me hope for the future, a future that does not know war or violence between kin," she said, her voice tinged with emotion. She turned to look out onto the dark sea, the waves crashing onto the beach in a rhythmic reminder of time’s passage. "Some of you may value the past more than the future, and that is fine. If that is the case, you can leave now without any harm coming to you."

The crowd held its breath, the silence filled only by the sound of the sea and the distant roars of dragons. Maera’s offer hung in the air, a glimmer of mercy in a world torn apart by conflict. The tension was palpable as they awaited the response, the weight of their decision bearing down upon them.

Suspicion lingered in the eyes of those gathered, as they glanced nervously at the four dragons surrounding them. The formidable presence of Vhagar, Ēbrion, Vermithor, and Silverwing was a stark reminder of the power held by the dragon riders, capable of striking at any moment upon command.

A murmur ran through the crowd as her words sank in. A small group of servants, stewards, and guards began to edge away from the crowd, their faces a mixture of fear and resolve. As they swerved past Ēbrion, the dragon growled menacingly, snapping his teeth in an intimidating manner. The defectors flinched but continued their retreat, leaving the rest of the Dragonstone inhabitants standing in uncertain silence.

Maera, sensing the hesitation in those who remained, spoke again, her voice clear and unwavering. "Those who decide to stay should declare themselves loyal to Maelor, and in turn, to Prince Aemond as Regent. I would be honoured to serve those loyal to my family, for a great future cannot be forged without your support."

After an awkward, tense moment, the two serving girls who had attended Maera and Aemond the night before were the first to move. They dropped to their knees, casting their gaze downward in a clear sign of allegiance. Their actions seemed to break the spell, and a few guards followed suit, dropping to one knee. Stewards and maids hesitated briefly before kneeling as well, their heads bowed.

One by one, the rest of the crowd followed, their collective movement creating a rustle of fabric and a soft thud of knees hitting the black sand. The entire assembly knelt before Maera and Aemond, their loyalty now pledged to Maelor and the Greens. The tension in the air dissipated slightly, replaced by a solemn recognition of the new order being established.

Even though Dragonstone was won, there was still much work to be done. Ravens were dispatched to alert their allies of this bloodless victory, the messages bearing news of their success and immediate orders. Ser Criston Cole, their steadfast ally, was commanded to come to Dragonstone without delay, while a contingent remained at Harrenhal to secure it for the ongoing war effort.

Aemond cautioned Maera to remain wary of those around her, a caution she found irksome but necessary. The previous attempts on her life had left her deeply distrustful, regardless of others’ past actions or promises for the future. Still, she maintained a demeanor of kindness towards those who served her, understanding that true loyalty was often won through compassion and respect.

This kindness bore fruit, winning the sincere loyalty of many among the staff. The most devoted of them came forward, warning the Princess of traitors hidden within their ranks. Maera thanked them genuinely and informed her husband of the treachery. Aemond took swift and decisive action, leading the discovered traitors to the beach where Vhagar awaited. The mighty dragon burned and feasted upon the flesh of those who would endanger them, a brutal but effective display of power and retribution.

In the past, Maera might have thought such punishment too harsh. But now, with so much lost and the stakes so high, she no longer possessed the mercy she once did. One chance was all she gave, and if her kindness was betrayed, the consequences were ruthless. The dragonfire served as a stark warning to all: loyalty would be rewarded, but treachery would be met with unyielding severity.

Despite their display of unity on the beach, Aemond and Maera's marriage remained firmly on the rocks. Nightmares continued to haunt Maera, the smell of Alys's burnt body filling her subconscious. Her wounds were still healing, and each time she looked at the ugly scars forming, she could not help but think of Aemond's betrayal. The sight of the marred skin on her arm and leg served as a constant reminder of the price she had paid for his choices.

The couple spent most of their days apart. Maera still refused to have him in her bed, suggesting instead that he take the grandest room in the castle, meant for the presiding Lord. Aemond declined, insisting she should have it as she would need more room, especially in her condition. Their interactions were sparse, each exchange tinged with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved pain.

During the early days of their marriage, Aemond's presence had been enough for Maera. Now, she found herself incredibly lonely, the vast halls of Dragonstone echoing with her isolation. But instead of wallowing in despair, she focused on rebuilding her network. She wrote to many of her own allies, including Lord Unwin Peake, her brothers Faran and Luthor, and her sister Sabine. Each letter was crafted with care, reaching out to those who had once stood by her side.

She also wrote to Wynni and Helena, though she did not expect a reply from either. She was unsure if Wynni still harbored hatred for her due to the death of her husband, and she doubted whether Helena was still lucid enough to read her correspondence. Yet, she penned the letters anyway, hoping that her words might somehow reach through the fog of grief and madness.

One night, Aemond summoned Maera to his quarters for supper. The news, delivered by a maid, was met with a huff of frustration from Maera and an eager wriggle from her unborn child. When Aemond was out of her sight, life felt easier. However, she realized she had avoided him long enough.

She did not bother to dress formally, instead opting for her black robe over her nightgown. Her gigantic bump felt much heavier now, the weight of it bearing down on her. Walking had become a tremendous struggle; coupled with her injured leg, Maera now waddled due to the late stage of her pregnancy.

A constant burning sensation in her nether regions only added to her discomfort. The midwives had assured her it was perfectly normal at this stage of pregnancy and a good sign that birth might be near. Knowing it was normal did little to ease the situation.

Maera gathered her unopened letters, scrolls, and quills, deciding to take them with her. She hoped the distraction of her correspondence would help her endure Aemond's company for the evening. With a determined sigh, she made her way slowly to his quarters, every step a reminder of the burden she carried both physically and emotionally.

When Maera entered Aemond’s chambers, she saw him hunched over his desk, his gaze flicking up to her briefly before he set aside his quill. She walked towards him, placing her items down opposite him.

The smell of pastry soon filled her nose, and on a table a few feet away was a small untouched banquet for two. Her nausea was still present, so she filled her plate with bread, turkey, cheese, and grapes before grabbing a bowl of raspberry tart and custard and sitting opposite Aemond.

As she began to nibble on her food, she noticed Aemond had not eaten a thing, nor had he even got up to serve himself. To break the awkward silence, Maera joked, “You should at least eat something if you’re asking me to supper.”

No reply came, his usual sternness painted across his sharp-featured face. Maera attempted to joke again between bites. “I hope you have a good excuse for calling on me this evening,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I actually planned on getting a bath because your child is causing me-”

Aemond cut her off, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your father is dead.”

Maera froze, the spoonful of raspberry tart hovering in the air. Her mind raced with thoughts, but outwardly she remained still, her expression unreadable. Her father, dead? The words echoed in her mind, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions surging within her. She thought of his stern face, the frequent disapproval, and the sharp words that had cut deeper than any blade. Yet she had always sought his approval. But now, none of it mattered. He was gone.

Aemond‘s voice cut through the silence, his words still devoid of emotion. "As is my grandsire." After a moment, he asked, “Are you okay?” His expression remained inscrutable, his body stiff and unyielding, though there was a flicker of concern in his single eye.

Maera gulped, rubbing her pregnancy bump nervously. She felt a complex mix of relief, sadness, and a strange hollowness. She hesitated before answering. "He was not a good father. I feel... strange. I thought I would feel something more."

Aemond hummed in agreement, his gaze distant. "I felt the same when my father died."

Maera sighed deeply, memories of Lord Jasper flooding her mind. She was sure the Master of Laws saw her as a thorn in his side. Where his other daughters had obeyed their father’s orders, Maera defied them cleverly. While her sisters diligently attended to their duties, Maera took up the sword and sparred with her brothers. Where Sabine and Wynni had lovely, pristine reputations, Maera had hers ruined by a rejected suitor, yet her father still blamed her. There were moments of tenderness between her and her father, yes, but those did not erase the moments of cruelty and rejection.

She recalled the rare moments of warmth, the fleeting smiles, the gentle pats on the head, the conversations about her mother. At times, Maera could not help but admire him, for he was clever and strategic, with a brilliant mind and sense of duty. But these were overshadowed by the times he dismissed her, blamed her for scandals, and his obsession with producing so many offspring in order for him to have a hand in all matters of the Seven Kingdoms.

Maera had always been the rebel, the outcast within her own family because she did not comply with her father’s wishes of being a demure, silent and obedient lady. She wondered if he had ever truly understood her, or if he had merely seen her as a rebellious daughter, a source of constant disappointment. She thought of her brothers, her sisters, the family she had left behind, who had no doubt also heard of their father’s passing. She felt a pang of guilt, of sorrow for the connections that had been strained or severed.

Shaking her head, Maera said, "Nothing can be done now. It’s best not to dwell."

The Princess began opening her correspondence and reading them, a welcome distraction from her husband and the news. The room fell silent once more, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of parchment and the soft clinking of cutlery against Maera's plate.

She read through the letters, her green eyes scanning the familiar penmanship of other noblewomen detailing how the war was affecting their households. There were minor updates about troop movements, food shortages, and the general anxiety that had settled over the realm. She read letters from her family at Rain House, filled with well-wishes and mundane news. Nothing stood out, nothing to lighten the heavy mood that had settled over her since the news of her father's death.

Then she came across a small scroll, rolled up tightly and likely delivered by raven. Unfurling it, she noted the rushed and coarse penmanship, with splatters of ink marring the parchment. It was clear whoever had written it had done so in haste and under duress.

Princess

I could not move the Queen. But I got the little King and young Princess out of Kings Landing

Thena

As she read the letter, Maera's stern face softened, her brows raised, and a laugh escaped her lips. A smile spread from ear to ear, a rare sight in these troubled times.

Aemond glanced up, his sharp-featured face framed by long white hair. His single eye narrowed in confusion, a brow arched. "What is it?" he asked, his voice cautious.

With glee, Maera announced, "Jaehaera and Maelor have escaped the Capital! They’re making their way to safety."

Aemond's shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension easing from his posture. He breathed a sigh of relief, his usually stern expression softening for a moment. "Thank the Gods," he muttered, the weight of worry lifting slightly from his features.

For a moment, amidst the dark and uncertain times, a spark of hope flickered between them, bridging the gap that had grown so wide. The Princess said a silent prayer, hoping the Gods would guide their niece and nephew safely to the Stormlands and the Westerlands.

She then looked out of the window to see the dark, starry night sky. "It’s late," she declared, rising from her chair. "I should get back to my chambers." She gathered her letters and scrolls. "I’ll write to Luthor and Sabine to inform them of their impending arrivals."

Aemond also rose from his seat, moving to assist Maera in gathering her belongings. As she reached for her quill, his large hand landed atop hers, enveloping it in warmth. A rush of emotion surged through Maera at the contact, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his stare. His single violet eye held a mixture of longing and sadness, his sharp features softened by the dim candlelight.

For a moment, the room was suspended in silence, the tension between them palpable. Aemond’s grip tightened slightly, as if afraid to let her go. "Stay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maera felt a lump form in her throat. She missed him—his touch, his warmth, the intimacy they once shared. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of leather and dragon fire bringing back memories of better times. She so badly wanted to give in, to let herself be held by him once more. Her heart ached with the memory of their love, now marred by betrayal and pain.

But the scars of their recent past and the weight of an uncertain future loomed large in her mind. She could not forget Aemond’s actions or the consequences they had wrought. With a sigh, she pulled her hand away, bringing the quill with her. The loss of his touch was immediate and profound, leaving a cold emptiness where warmth had briefly flourished.

“I cannot,” she said softly, her voice barely holding steady. She turned away from him, her heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. She felt his gaze on her back, a silent plea for understanding and reconciliation that she could not grant.

Leaving the room hastily, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She longed for the comfort of his embrace, yet the wounds of their past were still too fresh, too raw. As she walked down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, she felt the weight of her unborn child pressing down on her, a reminder of the future she had to protect, a future that demanded strength and resolve. A future that would come to be very soon.

Notes: Dragonstone for the Greens 💚 their marriage is still rocky but improving a tad. I’m so excited to post the next chapter 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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simp4konig · 1 year

Text

"Can I sit here?" König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3060

*Part one?

*Slow burn?

*Strangers to Friends (to Lovers?)

Not decidedany of those yet 😶

Edited on 23/8/2023 for some grammar tweaks.

*!!Fanfic inspired by @theeggrollslord's drawing on Twitter!! I really wanted to use their art as the cover for this fanfic, but due to me not having an Twitter (or X 🤮) account, and not knowing whether the original artist consents to people reposting their art, I held back. 😿 If anyone knows whether they are able to give me permission or are cool with it, please let me know!! ☺️

*Author has played MW1 + 2... but not the newest reimagines. 😭 all I remember from the campaign is that Shepherd shot Ghost in the face,but in NO way did he look as fine as he does now ☠️☠️

*Author does NOT speak German... but can use Google Translate !!😊

As is customary with all foreigners, English is not my first language!. Pls do not bully me if my grammar is bad i will cry 😢

König sat by himself in the cafeteria.

Three sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two eggs alongside a 500ml water bottle were all that consisted of his daily breakfast. Hash browns would be served raw, and the bagels were solid enough to break teeth when bitten into. He didn't even want to consider the sandwiches, as their stale, stinking cheese and slick ham made him gag. A pity that they didn't serve Bratwurst or order authentic — hell, even half-decent — eggs, as the meat in his sausages tasted out of date and the yolks were a dull yellow. The beans weren't even Heinz.

Looking at the cheap slop on his tray made him lose his appetite. At least the water was drinkable, but its taste was peculiar at best.

König sighed.

Every day "eating" the same breakfast, sitting in the same spot, at the same time.

To say that he enjoyed the routine of the barracks would be an overstatement, as he felt oppressed by the monotony: rigorous and thorough briefings pre-missions; intense training three times a day; shooting drills and target practice right after the sun barely opened its eye or into late hours of the evening when it was hard to see. Yet he couldn't complain, and forced himself to appreciate the predictable structure of the barracks.

After all, routine meant safety.

Knowing the details of the misson and the intel required guaranteed a flawless operation. Knowing how exactly to eliminate an opponent in any given situation meant that it made the job even easier. Knowing when to dive for cover to avoid a rain of bullets and the rumbling thunder of machine guns in an active shootout equalled survival.

And knowing that you intimidated everyone on base at least made social interactions easier. All of these extended his life expectancy, yet by how much was anyone's guess.

Being a 6'10 wall of a pure muscle made him the perfect human bulldozer, and paired with his animalistic instincts taking over while on the battlefield, he struck fear in even his own teammates.

Most of the time, König didn't even need to use a gun, as he could snap an enemy's neck faster than they could blink; and, even if they could do that, they wouldn't be able to react fast enough as he manhandled their body like a rag doll and snapped their spine in half over his knee. Quick and easy kills. Other times, frantic stabs in the abdomen, chest or neck finished with a harsh cut of the throat sufficed when sneaking, and allowed him to release any pent of frustration he felt that he wouldn't have been able to relieve through strangulation alone.

Yet, all of the time, seeing König's brutality first-hand made his teammates lose their balance and struggle to collect themselves during the mission, fearing that he would turn to indiscriminately killing anyone that had the misfortune of entering his field of vision. Compared to König's animalistic instincts taking over in an active firefight and causing bloodshed, his allies putting down enemies with a bullet to the head seemed merciful, and even kind.

Unlike friendships, killing people was easy. Keeping good relations with people was difficult enough for König to begin with — with his first hurdle being his social anxiety, and the hurdle of others being getting used to his frightening exterior — and it grew more and more into a challenge as he moved up the ranks, until his position as Colonel made him feared, not respected. People avoided his eyes, and kept conversations to a minimum, bowing their heads in fear, not respect.

After witnessing him maul enemies like a feral animal, König walking down the barracks had people scuttling away like rats in opposite directions, a horde of people dissipating in an instant. Crowded rooms with rowdy laughter suddenly were brought to silence once he made the mistake of entering, with people speaking in hushed whispers or not even speaking at all, opting to escape before their colonel addressed them.

Truth of the matter was, König never wanted to be a colonel. He'd had rather been the one receiving orders than the one making them, as his social anxiety in front of innumerable pairs of expectant eyes put pressure on him in the moment and made it near impossible to let a single word out.

He was not a natural born leader: he knew it, everyone knew it; but he kept his position solely due to his ruthlessness in action and his cold efficiency, as there was no one like him that could come close to imitating his behaviour.

Then, to say that he enjoyed the daily routine of life in the barracks was a stretch to say the least. The thrill of killing on missions and the primal adrenaline that took over his veins and clouded his senses could not be more of a contrast to this boredom and overwhelming isolation on base: of every day sitting in the same damned spot; of every day pretending to eat the same damned food; and, of every damned day being avoided by the other operators to be at a peace he was forced to accept, whether he liked it or not. What a miserable life to live.

The beans on his plate looked menacing, and he had the urge to crush each one individually until they'd stop sneering at him so, as being judged by off-brand beans was running his patience thin. Yet, he wouldn't do that, as everyone else would view him as not only a brute but a mentally unstable lunatic who was now using food scraps as an outlet for his temper; so, he resorted to just picking at the rations instead. His head was in his palm, and his gaze went elsewhere, his pale blue eyes drooping.

So engrossed in absentmindly pushing the beans on his tray with his fork and contemplating what went wrong with him that he did not hear the footsteps walking towards him.

You cleared your throat. "E-excuse me, sir, but can I sit here?"

König looked up, and saw a young recruit hovering over him with a small brown paper bag in their hands. Your face was one he hadn't seen before around here, and you weren't in the standard military uniform, so he assumed that you were perhaps a groundsperson of sorts.

Your ignorance of him was probably the only reason you dared approach him, as any other person would have avoided his table at all costs and gotten whiplash from how quickly they'd turn their head the other way. However, he was glad that he didn't intimidate everyone that encountered him, and was internally thanking you for giving him a chance. Some hope.

Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinising stare, you tugged the collar of your t-shirt and struggle for words.

"S-sorry," you begun, sheepishly looking down at the floor. A rub of the neck and a shuffling of feet. "It's just... all of the other tables are crowded, and I don't know anyone here well. And yours—" You looked at him, shooting him a lopsided grin, "—yours is empty."

"I understand," he stated, before looking back down at the mush on his tray. "Not a problem."

You gulped, feeling like he was dismissing you, and beginning to regret approaching him. "Are you sure, sir? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Look at you, he thought, so thoughtful over his feelings. When was the last time anyone bothered to ask him how he felt, or treated him like a human being?

"Ja. I am sure."

Still standing, unsure as to how to interpret the tone of his statement, you shot him a shy smile and sat down at a reasonable distance from the man, beginning to unpack the contents of your bag.

König kept stealing glances of you from under his eyebrows, trying to be discreet. Although he actually was uncomfortable — not used to company in the slightest, especially with someone so polite and courteous — he was oddly drawn to you.

He was thankful that you were oblivious to his status around these parts, and he wanted to leave a decent first impression on you before you finally overheard the true rumours about him, and paid attention to how quiet the cafeteria had gotten now that you two were sat together.

The thing was, he didn't know where to begin.

Communication was not his strong suit. He mused over potential ways of starting a conversation, yet not only had he never been faced with a situation like this, the language barrier was ever so present. Perhaps if he could speak to you in German he'd be able to formulate his thoughts better, yet at the moment it felt like all his knowledge of English seemingly evaporated in an instant.

"You prepared well your breakfast," he stated plainly, angling for any kind of small talk. He internally cringed at the order of those words and how wrong that sentence sounded in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

An awkward smile. "—W-wow. Thank you, sir!"

König felt his chest tighten, but he didn't know why.

"My first day on base I had the misfortune of being served breakfast," you continued, "so, from then on I decided right then and there "never again". The food—" you laughed weakly, "—sure is something."

"Du hast recht," agreed König. "I mean... You are right. If I had a dog, I never would feed it this— these... scraps."

You could sense König hungrily devouring your food with his eyes. Although he tried to be subtle, he was not good at going unnoticed. Really, stealing glances of this behemonth in front of you, you kind of pitied the man, especially when the next edible meal would be in precisely 5 hours. With his breakfast beaten and bruised into an unrecognisable pulp, it was definitely too late for him to consume.

Mourning your sandwiches, you silently bid them farewell and took a deep breath:

"Well, sir. I would assume that you're hungry." You took out the contents from your bag and slid them in front of him, smiling meekly. "You can have my breakfast."

He looked down at your two sandwiches and his eyes visibly widened under his hood; four thick slices of sourdough bread, a generous slather of butter, cheese, rocket lettuce, and thinly sliced pieces of meat, topped with tomatoes, and most likely seasoned with spring onion and pepper.

They looked so appetising, and he felt his mouth salivate, yet he shook his head vehemently. "Nein! Ich sollte das nicht tun, nicht, wenn du dich so sehr bemüht hast!"

You tilted your head in confusion. König mentally facepalmed.

"I-I mean... you tried very hard, and it isn't right of me. They are yours."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, you need them more than me. Have them."

"Einer wird ausreichen," He shook his head again, and picked up one slowly. "One will be enough."

He reached over to take one and you looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to take a bite and give you his thoughts, yet it hit you. He was wearing his mask. He probably wouldn't eat in front of you.

A cough. "S-sorry. I'll look away while you eat it. Tell me what you think about it."

König practically shoved the entire thing in his mouth the moment your back faced him and and started choking. He saw you turning back to assist, but he raised a weak hand to stop you.

Getting over his coughing fit, he could finally appreciate the freshness and the flavour of the sandwich. It tasted of... nostalgia. Like the sandwiches his Mama would make for him after school to reassure him and to take his mind off the day's events. He felt like a young boy again. When he closed his eyes, for a split-second he imagined he was in the kitchen with his mother chatting energetically, taking his plate and ruffling his hair when he had finished and feeding him another, insisting that he "was a growing boy".

"So köstlich..." he said, and was disappointed to see that the sandwich was gone from his hands, already eaten. "Mein gott, that was perfekt. A sandwich of the Gods."

You turned around and you were beaming so brightly that König swore he would need to shield his eyes from the sight.

"Thank you so much! You don't know how happy that makes me."

You looked at him, your smile unwavering. "Do you know what would make me happier?"

He gave you a blank look. "...No?"

"If you ate the other one," you said, and König's eyes widened comically. "Though, please, be careful. Sandwiches can sure be a choking hazard," you dared tease him, and was actually surprised when he let out a quiet chuckle.

After savouring his second sandwich, the two of you were quiet. Although the tension had evaporated, the silence was deafening, and you felt suffocated by the lack of conversation.

"Uhm... Sir. What is your name?" A hesitant start, your hands folded neatly in your lap. "If it isn't too much of a personal question, of course."

He deliberated for a few moments, before responding with a quiet "König."

"König," you repeated, making sure to pronounce it properly. Your eyes widened in realisation, and you smiled broadly. "That's King, in German, right? That's so funny, because I go by King!"

König froze up like a statue.

"Holy fucking shit, what are the chances?" You rambled, not realising how quiet König had become. "Honestly, what are we doing here? Where are our castles, our riches? Our chariots led by silver horses and our toilets made of 24 carat gold?"

König shrugged stiffly. "Blown up by a grenade, I suppose."

You looked at him, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter. Like, fits of giggles, too many of them and too strong for his unbelievably dry response. Maybe that's why you were laughing so hard.

Either way, König couldn't believe it at first.

It was so... beautiful. Almost angelic in a way, despite you holding yourself up with a palm on the table and unable to contain your pig-like snorts. He could get used to hearing you laugh more often.

And, just like that, he dropped his guard. Slowly, all of his stiffness melted, and he became more of his confident self, this trait only ever coming out when he was actively shooting.

The two of you spent the entire length of breakfast chatting, joking, and telling each other things about each other. Although König insisted that his English wasn't good, you assured him that you understood him just fine — if anything, his confused looks and furrowed eyebrows at idioms you used were adorably endearing, each time earning a sympathetic giggle from you.

At some point — and though he would've been ashamed to admit it — he tuned out the babbling that came out of your mouth as he admired your face, noting all of your features: the colour of your eyes and how they'd crinkle in happiness whenever you smiled; the way your hair flowed and framed your face; taking the time to count all of the freckles on your nose and committing the number to memory.

He'd only catch himself staring when you'd suddenly finish talking. "But what do I know, I'm kind of stupid if you ask me. It's a wonder I passed the tests to qualify for this job in the first place."

You locked eyes with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. "What do you think, König? I bet you know the answer!"

To which he'd quickly clear his throat and respond with, "Ich weiß nicht. I don't know. To be... frank, though that is strange for me to say when I am not "Frank"—"

You struggled to struggle to contain your laughter, and quickly apologized as soon as you stopped shaking, before attempting to explain to this clueless Austrian man why it was used. König didn't feel demeaned by your explanation, though, as he thought that his blunders would be worth it every time if it meant hearing you laugh so sweetly.

To König's dismay, half an hour flew by in minutes, and it was time to part ways as you began your daily duties.

As the two of you stood up, you initially had realised that König was taller than the average man based off how his knees could barely fit under the table.

You sure as fuck did not expect to see this.

He towered over you, casting a shadow down below. You had to strain your neck to make eye contact with him, and a painful cramp was already forming.

"Ha—ha.... you're pretty, uh... big."

That statement had more than one connotation. Gott sei Dank für diese Maske, he thought. Thank God for this mask, otherwise you would have seen the blush from his neck up to his ears after his mind went to a place he hadn't thought it'd go, especially not with a person he had formally met not even an hour ago.

"Oh well, I can finally put those 4-inch combat boots in the bottom of my closet to good use," you laughed, playfully nudging what meant to be his shoulder but your height difference meant that you instead touched his pec. Not that you minded though.

With your arms behind your back, you shyly averted your gaze. "Well... It was nice to meet you, König."

"You too... King."

Furrowing of brows as you tilted your head. "How do you say it in German? "Auf Wiedersehen"?"

"Ja, das ist es."

"Well then, Auf Wiedersehen, big guy. I'll see you around!"

Big guy... In more ways than one...

God. König had to get a grip.

Yet, with the way he was looking at your backside and fantasizing about your next meeting, he already knew that not even Gott could help him.

...

Note: I HATE this fucking fanfiction WITH MY SOUL 🤬🤬. This fucking thing was NEARLY FINISHED and I was in the process of tweaking yet my phone decided to erase half of my progress !!!! 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

My phone 📵 and God 🤬 didn't want this fanfiction getting published yet guess what!!! 🖕🖕🖕🖕Fuck you!!!🖕🖕🖕 Ive gotten it out anyways🗣️ fucking shaved a decade off of my life trying to recovervthe opening part of this fic,,

,,,,literally why did I get punished for writing a very mild and unextreme fanfic 😭😭😭😭 like the first half was just in Königs perspective and Ur telling me that i can't do that?????

I mf get fucking crucified like Jesus on the cross, only this time I sarcificed my sleep and sanity to not be ressurected again,, bitch I would have rather died if I had known tjis would happen ☠️☠️ I could have actually SLEPT?!! 🤬🛌

Never again writing fanfictiosn on my phone, I can't trust this evil technology!! I'm gonna draft them with PEN and PAPER bitch!!!! Typewriter!!!!!!!! Chalk On Pavement™!!!!!!!!!!!! PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FOREHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...

If you read this rant of mine, I hope you have a lovely day/night, beautiful person. <33 (please wash your eyes after reading that,,I needed to release my anger somrjow don't judge me hhhhhhhHHHH—)

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8turning · 6 months

Text

☆⠀⠀XKRS — how they would pine over you !

hyung line x gn ! reader ★ fluff. technically idol au but it doesn't play a huge role ★ headcannon

warnings: mentions of eating. let me know if i missed anything!

n. i wrote this over a year ago now,, just now posting it. are we shocked? 💀 just a small reminder i don't write for 05 liners & younger!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED ! ⸜(ˊ▽ˋ*)

⁰⁰¹ : MINJAE.

minjae tries being slick about it (when he's actually very obvious) and adamantly denies he feels any way for you 💀

he'd "accidentally" order an extra plate of food,,

oh no! guess you'll have to join him! it's so convenient that none of his members are available right now!

it's also so convenient he only ever seems to over-order when you're in the office, too. . .

he'll leave you small motivational notes for you to read - in your bag is his favorite place since he's still a bit too nervous to give them to your upfront.

⁰⁰² : JUNMIN.

junmin pines secretly.

NEVER dares to tell his members - they will rat him out immediately (especially sumin 💀).

you might even think he hates you from the constant side-eyes he gives you, but that's actually him internally panicking and checking if you're looking at him. . . he doesn't hate you!! he could never hate you!!

he's always so nervous all the time around you - even once you two became good friends, he'd still find himself stuttering over his words when he speaks with you.

⁰⁰³ : SUMIN.

sumin likes you and will make sure everyone knows ♡

openly flirts. very giggly and teasing if he makes you shy (but will also get shy easily himself).

he feels no shame in being extra stand off-ish in front of you - whether you're laughing with him or at him, he made you laugh!!

that's a #SuminWin in his book!!

help he's the type to pinch you then quickly look away as if it wasn't him 😭

⁰⁰⁴ : JINSIK.

ham jinsik, who doesn't leave your side :((

from the day he met you he deemed you a "safe person"

always invites you out with him, memorizes your drink orders so he can make quick runs in the morning and gift them to you.

he pays close attention to everything you do and makes sure you know just how much he cares 💔

⁰⁰⁵ : HYUNWOO.

hyunwoo tries to make himself known to you in the office, but in the quietest way possible.

even if you're just standing in the same room as him, he'll be sure to show off his gentlemanly qualities - tidying up after his friends, offering waters to everyone he can, spots others when they're stretching. . .

his kindness wasn't fabricated by any means, but it was definitely amplified because of your presence :3

♡ 8TURNING 2024.

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yourheart-inmyhands · 1 year

Note

HIIIII I LOVE YOUR POSTS SO MUCH IF YOU DIDNT NOTICED I WAS ONE OF YOUR FOLLOWERS WHO LIKE YOUR POSTS THE EARLIEST ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT AND AMAZING DAY I HOPE YOU FEEL HAPPY AND JOYFULL! STAY SAFE :DDDD

Oh and btw i love love LOVED the last post you made :3 wasnt able to like it early since i was at school but can i please req a Zoro reader with a yan Yelan , Beidou , Alhaitham (all hail the ham XD) and Neuvillete (idk how to spell his name😒🙄) ANYWAYS PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME REMEMBER TO EAT REST AND DRINK WATER <<<333

Plus points if reader is in luffys pirate crew , has 3 swords and stronger than Beidou and Yelan 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

YOUR THE BEST POOKS EHEHHEHEHE<<<<333 :D :3

(stan chuu 🥰🥰🥰😱😱😱)

LOVE YOU POOKS 🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍😍

i didn't wanna answer this one cause it's so cute and i wanted to keep it in my inbox foreverrrrr but i really appreciate the compliments ;v; <33 also i won't lie, Zoro is not one of my favorites from One Piece (i like greasy/deranged men) but i love his character, i was also binging some episodes while writing this and also this is pre-timeskip zoro cause that's where i'm at currently and brainrot be real but i hope you enjoy :D <3

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, implied being held against will, mentions of violence, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Yelan would be stressed out, not only do you wield three swords and seem to always get yourself in trouble, but you’re always getting lost. She’s at least glad that you can take care of yourself if the need arises but your obsession with being Teyvat’s Greatest Swordsman is a little out of control. She prefers that you don’t go out without her because she knows you’ll get lost, but if you should otherwise she’ll be sure to send out someone to follow you, keeping her informed of your location and every move.

Yelan smiled to herself as you trained in the backyard. While your bizarre workout routine often had her a bit worried, she admired your dedication to her work. There was a lot about you she loved, but your dedication to your goals was what drew her in, reminding her of herself sometimes. She had to keep you on a tight leash though, your lack of direction often leaving you in places you shouldn’t end up in. She never minded though, it was just another of your adorable quirks, something she found keeping her on her toes. Yelan loved you and all your strange, unique quirks.

Yandere!Beidou would find you very admirable, chasing so strongly after your ambitions as she had. While killing a Leviathan and becoming Teyvat’s Greatest Swordsman are two different life goals, she thinks you're an amazing individual for chasing your dreams so wholeheartedly.

Beidou smiled down at you from the top deck, watching as you polished your blades. While she didn’t understand the need for three swords, she knew you enjoyed it and so she never questioned it. She was grateful you didn’t put up a fight when it came to traveling on the Crux with her, not that you ever seemed to know where they were headed. It just made it easier for her to keep an eye on you, with your habit of wandering off and getting lost just to end up in a fight that she later patches you up from. She loved you and all your quirks but sometimes she wondered how you came to be this way, it wasn’t something you seemed keen to talk about.

Yandere!Alhaitham would find a beloved like this both a blessing and a curse. He loves your passion for swordfighting, often fighting with you for a bit of practice. While you certainly outmatch him with just one sword alone, he uses his intellect to spar with you, learning your moves and putting you into positions where you have to adapt and overcome. He finds the exercise to be an enjoyable break from his work, allowing him to keep his physical skills as sharp as his mental ones. He refuses to let you go anywhere by himself though, worried you’ll get lost and run into trouble, again.

Alhaitham smirked as he blocked another attack from you, having memorized every attack you’ve ever used against him. It was times like this that he enjoyed most with you, a proper challenge between brains and brawn. While your workout routine was intense, his mind was equally as polished, leaving the duels between the two of you relatively intense. On afternoons where you weren’t dueling, it was common to go into town, with Alhaitham usually picking up books or other things at stores while dragging you along with him. Even if he knew you were going to nap the whole time he was gone, he still didn’t trust you to not fight something or get lost while he was gone. So instead he took you to every store with him, keeping a tight watch over you and oftentimes tying a ribbon gently around your wrists that connected to his belt.

Yandere!Neuvillette has no choice but to keep you locked up inside while he’s gone simply because he knows otherwise you’ll get lost and he’ll be seeing you in the courtroom for yet another fight you got into. He doesn’t mind it though, knowing that at home you only do a few things, train, polish your swords, and nap. And while he admires your dream to be Teyvat’s Greatest Swordsman, he thinks you should settle for the strength you currently possess and simply stay here in Fontaine with him.

Unlocking the door and stepping in after a long day in court, Neuvillette isn’t surprised to see you napping in the livingroom. He will admit that the first few times he saw you napping, simply sitting on the floor up against a wall with all three swords nearby, he thought it was strange, insisting that you sleep in the bedroom or at least on the couch. Now though, he understands that it’s simply the way you are, quietly approaching and smirking as your eyes flicker open, looking up at the man. “Your senses are as sharp as ever I see.” Neuvillette offers you a hand, gently pulling you to your feet as you stretch, asking about his day. He enjoys the quiet life he has and he prefers to try and force you to comply than let you roam free, after all he’s doing this for the betterment of society. You’re simply too dangerous.

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daisyofwaterdeep · 5 days

Note

Just gonna start of saying I LOVE your drabbles - especially big fan of what you’ve written about Gortash as of recently :D could I humbly request your thoughts on how Gortash might try to win over a particularly stubborn (gn) tav/durge? Perhaps with some… questionable consent towards his methods 😌

Gortash/Reader (reader is gender neutral with a vagina) Tags: NSFW, dry humping, dubcon, manipulation, fingering TW: sexual assault, noncon, sexual violence, kidnapping, descriptions of violence and gore, object insertion

A/N: kinda went ham on this one...please be mindful of the tags!

'Conquest'

Gortash had handpicked you as his assistant. As soon as he saw you, some nobody helping with the armory in Wyrm's Rock, he gestured to his advisor and demanded to have you brought in for briefing.

At first it was based solely on your looks--having an attractive assistant around to fuck on a whim would be great for stress relief. But as he watches you, he detects a defiant shine in your eyes, a sort of "just try to mess with me" sort of attitude in the way you carry yourself that draws him in.

As he sits you down and informs you of your new post, he gets a better reading on you. You're guarded, surprisingly so, and even as he offers you a pay raise for a far less cumbersome job, you don't look at him with gratitude-- only caution.

Most wouldn't hesitate to blubber out thanks and praises at such an opportunity, but you...you seem to know that there's a catch. That nice things don't just fall into one's lap. He likes that cleverness about you.

As much as Gortash enjoys an easy lay, this is far more fun. Like sexual enrichment-- working for his reward.

It's going to be a challenge and a delight to fuck you.

~~~

Gortash lets you settle into your job before making a move. Nearly a month passes before he decides it's time to test the waters.

You approach him as he's reading over a letter at his desk.

"I'll be heading home soon. Is there anything you need before I go?"

He hums to himself, pretending to think as he sets the paper to the side and leans back in his chair. "Hmm, no, nothing comes to mind." He stops, gives a short laugh, then adds, "Well, a blowjob wouldn't be remiss."

The look you give him is adorable. Pretty lips parted, eyes wide, and an almost immediate pinkening of your cheeks. Gortash wishes he could get your expression painted so he could enjoy it at his leisure.

"I--" Your lips move soundlessly for a moment before finding your voice. "I c-could see if Sharess' Caress makes house visits."

Gortash waves his hand in the air and laughs again. "That was a tasteless joke, my apologies." He gets up from his chair, stretching his back out with a small grunt, "However, I do appreciate the lengths you would go to for my sake."

You incline your head politely, cheeks still rosy. "Of course."

"But I will say, if you ever decide to treat me to a bit of...stress relief, I'd rather it be sourced from within the fortress." He holds his hands out in a grand gesture, "I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

You shuffle on your feet, "Makes sense...I'll keep it in mind."

"Wonderful." He mirrors you with a polite head nod of his own. "Now, don't let me keep you. Go enjoy the rest of your day."

As soon as you leave, Gortash's shoulders slump and he holds onto the back of his chair. Damn. Part of him was really hoping that would work. It would have been too easy of a victory, sure, but also.... a blowjob really does sound quite nice right now.

~~~

"Are you finished with these?" you gesture at the stack of books perched on the edge of Gortash's desk.

He looks up for only a moment to cofirm before going back to his work, "Yes, you can put those away."

He move his arm out of the way as you pick up the massive stack and begin carefully navigating to the bookshelf across the room.

The quiet shuffle of you putting them away and the scratch of his quill on parchment fills the room for a time, but when you let out a soft noise, he can't help but divert his attention.

There you are, on the tips of your toes, pressed against the shelf, trying to slide a book into it's high home but failing by a whole inch.

Gortash is out of his chair and slinking up behind you before he can think better of it. And when he does have a chance to think, he's already looming behind you, close enough to smell the shampoo in your hair. He decides that this is a good idea, actually. He had dipped his toe into the waters last time and nothing came of it, so maybe it's time to really jump in. He tells himself that it's merely seizing an opportunity for his overall plan--his overly eager and half hard cock has nothing to do with it.

You squeak as he presses up against you, outstretched arm beginning to come down, but Gortash is quick to grab your hand and brings the book back up. He slides it into place easily, then lets the tips of his gauntlet graze down the length of your arm before moving his mouth near your ear.

"It looked as if you needed some help."

The near whisper of his voice ghosting along your skin gives you a shiver, one that Gortash can feel run through your entire body.

"L...Lord Gortash?"

Your voice matches the same quiet of his own--it's nervous, yes, but still private, confidential. You aren't necessarily trying to stop him from what he's doing.

And if you aren't going to stop him, then he sure as all the hells is going to continue.

He lets out a soft, satisfied breath against your cheek as he presses his hips more firmly against your ass, knowing full well that you can feel the stiffness of his cock. You let out a small gasp but otherwise stay still, so Gortash indulges further, his hands dropping to your hips and he sets into a slow, deliberate grind.

He wonders what's going through that pretty head of yours right now. Are you scared you'll lose your job if you stop him? Are you surprised that he wants you? Have you been waiting for him to make a move like this? Are you disgusted, infuriated, turned on? The thoughts crowd his mind as the deliciously inadequate friction has his cock throbbing, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck in something nearing a kiss.

If he takes it further, what will you do? Will you push your ass back into him, begging to be taken? Or will you finally find your voice and demand for him to stop?

Gortash brings his hands forward, fingers already finding the cool metal of your belt buckle, enraptured by the flutter of the tendon in your neck, cock jerking and sticky as precum oozes and smears in his pants--

A knock comes at the door.

In an instant Gortash is two paces away from you, falling easily back into his airy persona just as the door opens and a worker comes in. He shoots a look at you, still standing where he left you but pretending to straighten the books with stiff, jittering movements. He silently applauds your efforts as the worker approaches with a small bow.

"My lord, your guests have arrived."

Damnit. He had completely forgotten about his afternoon meeting. Part of him-- a very hard, throbbing part-- considers postponing, if only for 15 minutes.

But of course he can't do that.

With his blood still running hot, Gortash follows the worker out of his study and into the hall, mentally cursing the inopportune timing all the while.

~~~~

He needs to rethink his strategy.

A night of cooling off and masturbating has allowed him to think more clearly. The stunt he had pulled was fun, sure, but it's not what he wanted.

A few glasses of wine and some brainstorming through the night finally led him to what he does want-- for you to fall for him. For you to be grateful for his touch. He wants you to feel downright terrible for just how bad you want him. No, no want. Need. And he's concocted the perfect scenario for such a thing. It'll take a bit of elbow grease and careful planning, but that's where he really excels.

The first step of his plan starts as soon as you come in for your daily duties. He's usually already nose-deep in work when you arrive, but today he's standing by with a smile, waiting for you.

"Ah, perfect timing." He raises a finger and dabs it at you, putting on a charming smile. "We need to talk before you go about your duties."

You don't look particularly thrilled with the idea, but your face says that you expected as much. It's time for him to put on his show.

His smile falls with his voice, "I apologize for what happened yesterday. It was entirely inappropriate." He lets a soft edge of weariness creep into his words as he holds out his hands, "I'm tired. Overworked. And I admit that I've grown used to relying on you in stressful times such as these." He waves his hand and furrows his brow, "But that's no excuse to do such a thing to you." And now, a sorrowful expression paired with a gold-gilded hand over his heart. "If you would like to resign from your post, I'll ensure you are handsomely compensated. But if you stay, I can promise you, such a thing will never transpire again."

A rousing performance, he must say. Even if your face didn't betray your forgiveness-- which it does-- he knows he has you in the bag.

You shuffle on your feet, hands clasped in front of you, "I appreciate the apology."

Gortash sighs with a soft, relieved smile, eyes still trained on you as you work out your next sentence.

"I'd...like to stay."

"Thank you." He feels a predatory gleam threaten to sneak into his expression as he bows his head. "I truly don't know what I'd do without you."

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And now, onto the fun part.

~~~~

"Everything went according to the plan, I presume?"

"Oh yesss," The banite grins wide, his yellowed teeth as much of an affront as his breath. "Got 'em in there for ye, all nice and ready. Put up a bit uvva fight, all squawkin' and squallin' at first, but the pretty lil' thing's calmed down some." He jerks his thumb to the metal door behind him. "Been on guard duty while the other two 'ave their fun."

Gortash is grateful for the falling night that hides the darkness that crosses his own face, though his voice stays just as cordial.

"Oh? What sort of fun?"

"Just tossin' em about, really." The banite looks around the empty dock before shuffling forward, a wicked glitter in his beady eyes, "Arnie found some nice rocks-- pebbles really," The man snickers, "We've been stuffin' em up in the pretty thing. Seein' how many can fit." He puts his hands up before adding, "Ah, but no sex stuff, like ye said. Made sure all three of us kept our britches on."

"I see."

Gotash steps forward and with one swift jab of his hand upward, slices the man's carotid artery with the tip of his gauntlet. The banite sputters and clutches at his neck, hot gushes of blood spurting from between his grimy fingers as his eyes go wide and his mouth gapes wordlessly. Gortash had planned to dispose of the men when their role was through out of necessity, but now it's out of anger.

"Perhaps you'll learn to follow directions in your next life."

Gortash grabs the man by the collar--the other side, so as not to filthy his clothes with the pig's blood, and yanks him to the edge of the dock. The man's floundering and uneven footing does the rest of the work for him. A large splash in the dark of the water, a bit more struggling, then nothing but the sound of the sea.

As pissed as he is...this could work. It could work damn well, in fact. His mind is already churning, reevaluating the situation and turning this error to his advantage.

With a new plan in mind, Gortash takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

Two lanterns illuminate the warehouse, only supressing the darkness in a single corner. And there you are, only visible as a pair of bare legs on the stone floor, two men on their knees and obscuring the rest of you.

Gortash has always taken pride in the control he has over his emotions. But in this moment, he lets that control go completely.

A swift end is made of the men with a few brutal jabs of his claws. They try to stumble to their feet and grab at their weapons, but the blood pouring from their gurgling throats is too heavy of a flow, and all too soon, they collapse to the floor, dead.

With that out of the way, he finally gets a look at you. Even if he's beyond annoyed at the hunks of waste he's just disposed of, he does have to applaud them for their work. You look stunning-- Completely bare, hands tied behind your back, legs splayed open, face tear-streaked and eyes terrified. He's grateful for the terrible lighting, because his cock stiffens immediately at the sight of you.

"What happened?" Gortash falls to his knees by your side, "Are you okay?"

"Th-they," Your voice is virtually a croak, thrown out from your crying and yelling. He watches as you swallow roughly before trying to continue, "They a-ambushed me. As s-soon as I opened the door, they--"

Your words waver as despair threatens to take you once again, so Gortash leans down, snaking an arm under your back.

"It's alright darling. I'm here now." He shakes his head, "Gods, what was I thinking, sending you here alone...?"

He helps you sit up, noting the way you jolt and whimper, your legs unable to close. He hasn't dared to venture his eyes down just yet, but it seems they did a number on you.

Another slice from his gauntlet releases the rough rope that binds your hands and you bring them forward slowly, shoulder sockets seemingly tender from being forced behind you for so long. As you rub at your chafed wrists, Gortash unfastens his cumberbund and quickly shucks off his coat, draping it across you.

"Th-thank you," you sniffle, clutching the coat to your chest.

"Of course." Gortash places a gentle hand on your back, "Let's get you out of here. Are you able to walk?"

You had been slowly regaining your composure, but your face crumples at his words, fresh tears cascading down your cheeks.

"Th-they put...inside...m--"

Your sentence ends on a soft wail as you bury your face in his jacket.

"Hush now, it's alright." Gortash slides an arm under your knees and carefully picks you up, loving how you so easily wrap your arms around his neck, even as your body stiffens in discomfort. As he adjusts your weight in his hold, you gasp and he hears the distinct soft patter of a single pebble hitting the stone between his feet.

There's a large crate nearby that he gingerly perches you on the edge of. He makes sure you've got a good hold of his jacket before grabbing one of the lanterns and setting it nearby.

"I'll fetch a doctor--"

"No," You cut him off, eyes going wide as they flit over to the dark masses of the men, "P-please, don't leave me."

"Then I won't." He gently places his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him. "I won't leave, if that's what you want. But that means I'll have to care for you here."

He can see it written all over your face. The fear, the shame, the humiliation-- but also the relief. The trust. The men that had tormented you are dead and cooling in the shadows of the warehouse, and your savior is standing in front of you, eyes earnest and full of concern. He sees the way you want to tell him not to look, but also the desire to be cared for.

Gortash drives it home with a gentle smile and his soft, confident words. "You needn't worry anymore. I'm here now."

And just like that, you're his. Your bottom lip quivers but you nod shakily, raising the coat up to your mouth and spreading your legs, your knees coming out from either side of the dark fabric.

"Good," He says, voice hushed and calm even as he kneels down in front of you, his blood thundering in his veins. "As wide as you can."

With bated breath from the both of you, Gortash grabs the end of his coat and pulls it up, gently placing the length of it in your lap.

Mud is matted in your pubic hair and smeared on your inner thighs, but even still, he can smell the distinct musk of you. And with your legs wide as they are, your labia is spread, showing the soft pink folds of your vagina, also streaked with grime. His cock engorges fully as he gently grabs your thighs and pushes them open just a bit further and sees, with a rush of twisted excitement, the smooth grey surface of a pebble bulging from your entrance.

"We need to get them out." Gortash says, surprised by just how even his voice is as he slides off the fingers of his gauntlets and places them on the floor next to him. "It may hurt, but I need you to bear with me. Alright?"

Your head is like an old rusted machine, the first nod is like a lurch, then the next two come easier with use.

"Good." Gortash places one hand on your thigh to steady you and brings the other forward. "Try to stay calm."

Even though you seem desperate to obey, as soon as a finger brushes against the softness of your inner folds, your muscles flex and the pebble at your entrance sinks in deeper.

"Relax, Gortash nearly coos the word, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into your thigh, " Relax for me, darling."

The tension in your muscles eases with small jerky jumps in between, and Gortash waits for you to let out a long, shuddering breath before trying again.

You tighten involuntarily as his fingers brush against you again, but this time, he doesn't pull back. His finger slides in next to the pebble, the juxtaposition of your soft hole and the hard rock making his head swim and his cock ache. He hooks his finger before pulling it out and the pebble, a little bigger than a grape, pops out of you and skitters onto the floor. Your pretty little hole flutters and contracts as you gasp and another pebble is immediately clogging your entrance, this one seemingly bigger.

"You poor thing," Gortash has to push the stone back into you to get his finger to fit, and he can feel it clack and scrape against the other rocks still stuffed inside you, "I know it probably hurts, but you're doing wonderful..."

He pushes the rock subtly up as he speaks, delighted at the way you whimper and bury your face into his coat as your thighs close around him. The soft meat of your entrance clenches around his finger and he softly tuts, using his free hand to spread your legs once again.

"Relax, darling, it's alright."

"S...sorry..." Your voice is muffled through his coat, but he can still hear your strain and embarassment.

"You don't have to apologize," He assures you, curving his finger around the stone, "This one might hurt, okay? So try to not to tighten if you can."

He hears you suck in a deep breath before shuddering your muscles loose. With that, he begins pulling the rock forward. It's nearly hypnotizing, seeing your tiny hole stretch tight as the slimy surface of the stone pushes up to it, against it, resisting the pressure of his finger.

"Try pushing for me," He says, breathless, "Try to relax and push."

"Ah--" The muscles in your thighs clench and you let out a strained gasp that breaks into a hurt whimper as your hole stretches more, more--

With the widest part of the stone past, the rest slides out all at once, the plum-sized rock clattering to the floor as your hole gapes open from it's size. Two more pebbles, much smaller, fall from you and join the others at his knees.

"There we go, that's it darling, shh, shh, it's alright--" He softly comforts you as you gasp and cry out soft little noises of relief.

He rests both hands on your thighs, watching as your entrance contracts with jittery clenches, a thick gush of natural juices streaked with dirt and blood leaking from your abused hole. Gods, he's half tempted to shove his cock in you-- to share that pain of heavy stones pressing against his most tender parts.

But he can't, of course. So instead, he fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes at your folds. You seem to appreciate the break, sighing and relaxing as you lower the coat from your face. Good, because he'll get to see your expression for what comes next.

"We'll need to get you cleaned properly, but this will have to do for now."

He meets your eyes as he speaks, bringing his hand up and dragging the cloth slowly and deliberately over your clit.

Your eyes flutter and your mouth falls open as your thighs close around him involuntarily. It lasts for all but a moment, though, because the coat comes back up to hide your face. What a teasing little thing you are.

"Poor dear," he glides two fingers back into your entrance, feeling the grit of the dirt as he goes in deeper and you tighten. His other hand rests in his lap, as casually as he can, to subtly rub at his erection. "It'll all be over soon, so hold on for a little longer."

And it really does seem to almost be over-- the palm of his hand meets with your mound as he goes in as far as he can, fingers slipping around the last two stones. A shame, really. But he can work with this.

"They're in deep," He frowns, raising up on his knees for a better angle. "This may be difficult, darling. Just hang in there."

You peek at him from behind the jacket and nod nervously.

Gortash has to work to keep his own face straight as he slides a third finger into you, bottoming out easily with his palm pressed firmly over your clit. He pins the two stones against the roof of your cunt and lets them move and slip from his hold. He spreads his fingers inside of your to retrieve them, exploring the wet, swallowing heat of you to his pleasure. You gasp as his palm grinds against your clit, legs pressing into his sides once again.

"Almost," He breathes out, cock jerking madly against his thigh as he pushes in deeper, "It's alright, just a little more..."

Your breathing is picking up and, soft, distressed whimpers leave you with every minstration. His hand is coated in slick, it's positivley soaked as he pulls his fingers out halfway with a stone, only to 'lose' it and have to push them back in.

He knows that he's getting less subtle in his excitement, but you seem too far gone to understand that, or perhaps you don't care. Either way, the sounds you're making are becoming sweeter, more raw, and your legs are trembling as they squeeze around him. He wants to rip the jacket away from you, to see the way your chest is heaving, to get a look at the pleasure-pained face you must be making right now...but even if he's being more indulgent than he should, that would definitely blow his cover.

"Wait," You stumble out on a shaky breath, your body jerking forward and your eyes wide, "W-wait, please--!"

Your words break off in a sharp cry as your back arches and your pussy locks around his fingers, juices gushing around his intrusion and running down his forearm. Gortash lets out a small noise of his own, hopefully hidden in the throes of your orgasm, and uses the cover of your clenched eyes to fondle his leaking cock. He finds his own release a mere second later, the hot spurts of his cum soaking into his pants.

It's torturously perfect, having to keep his face as straight as possible as he's wracked with pleasure, forced to supress his shivers and shakes, even as you slowly loosen into your own.

"Gods, I'm..." Your face disappears behind his jacket again as your voice wavers, "I'm so sorry..."

"Shh, it's alright." He says in a near whisper, hoping it negates the post-climax gruffness in his voice, "It's not your fault, dear."

He easily traps the two remaing stones and gingerly extracts them, though it still makes you jerk and gasp. He notes with flared nostrils that your cunt has gotten swollen and puffy from your orgasm--looking perfectly inviting for some soft licking and sucking, though he wouldn't dare. The slick running from you seems to be clear now, the natural processes of your body clearing your passageway. You still may end up with an infection, but this will certainly help ease things.

He folds his handkerchief and dabs at your folds politely, cleaning you up as best as he can before finally standing up, his head light and his heart still pounding just as fiercely.

"Let's see if you can walk now."

He holds out a hand to you and you take it, your other arm pinning the jacket to yourself modestly. You're unsteady on your feet, but you only have to endure for a few moments as he helps you put his coat on. As soon as you're decent enough, Gortash leans you against him, a protective arm around your shoulders.

"Come, darling. Let's get out of here."

As he leads you out of the warehouse, he has to fight a devious smile as you tiredly rest your head against his arm.

#daisy dabbles #nsft #enver gortash #enver gortash x reader #i had two ideas regarding gortash that i decided to roll into one fic lol #also again like #if you're sensitive to heavy topics please skip this oneeeeee

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misserabella · 2 years

Text

stray. pt.4

joel miller! x fem! reader

< previous chapter next chapter >

summary; after saving Joel and Ellie from the brink of death, you get caught with having to live with two more strays.., and you don't do strays.

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡either ways, i hope y'all like it. <3

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

warnings; eventual +18 content! MINORS DONT INTERACT IN THE CHAPTERS WHERE IT IS IMPLIED IN THE WARNINGS and smut, mentions of death, possible deaths, blood, fighting, angst, fluff..

warnings for chapter 4; as always reader being a bad bitch, guns, blood, fighting, clickers, wounds, weapons, threats, torture, murder, deaths, s3xual @ssault (no r@pe) , mentions of r@pe, tension, arguing, cursing, anxiety, angst angst angst, loss, mourning, ptsd…

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

“You’re not going.”

“But why?!” Ellie whines, shaking her hands. Exasperated.

“ ‘Cause you’d get me killed, brat.” you were packing on Larry’s house. You had a mission on the nearest city, a dirty job, but a good job. “Have you forgotten that you’re the most wanted kid in the entire world right now?” you ask her and she closes her mouth on a thin line. “Right.”

You roll your eyes, getting your water bottles and food to put them inside.

“It’s too dangerous even for you, y/n.” Larry says, sighing, tired. You two had been arguing about it for hours now.

“Larry. I’ve already tell you. If I get that motor for Maria she has promised to send us weekly food and resources. That could really help us out here, even more after this season…” you repeat, over and over again. He knows it’s a good deal. A deal you cannot pass on.

“But those men…” he tries, he really tries, but you are stubborn.

“Those men are nothing. I can take them.” you respond, and he doesn’t seem happy.

“No. Joel is going with you.” you look at him with a horrified look in your face. “Will you go with her. Joel?”

“No.”

“Sure.”

You look at him and he simply shrugs.

“FEDRA will be there.” you point out.

“I can use a cap.” you scoff.

“As if a cap would help you.”

“Believe me, they probably won’t even notice me. They’re mostly looking for Ellie, not me.” you sigh and Larry smiles, content. You hate him.

“If you die I’m leaving you behind.” you warn him and he nods.

“I hoped you would.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“Here.” Larry gives him a knife already sharpened and ready to cut. “You have a gun, am I right?” Joel nods and pats his back. “Okay. This mission needs to be quick. You get in there at night. Put them down slowly, no struggling and no shooting unless is necessary. We don’t want them to notice you’re there. You get the motor and you run, I’ll have Blair waiting for you with a car ready to get you back home, alright?”

“I still find it unfair. So he can go and I can’t?” Ellie whines and you give her a look that makes her cross her arms and huff, sitting back on Larry’s dinning table and taking a bite of his ham sandwich.

“Okay. I’m ready.” you say, hiding the last of your daggers on your ankles and wrists.

Joel takes his back and you two leave the house after having said your goodbyes. You had promised Lizzy to come back soon, in the mean time, she’ll have Ellie, since she’ll be staying with Larry.

You don’t talk to him, you hate it when people mess with your plans or things. You worked better off alone.

He followed you out of town and through the gates, the beep of the alarm on your backs letting you know it was newly locked.

Joel got on your left, and just tagged along. “We need to go up north a little bit and go right on the woods. Then we’ll get to the city. The most dangerous zone is a couple of km from here. There have been spotted various clickers.”

“Is there a way to avoid them?” he inquired.

“Sadly no. The safest way is right now completely occupied by a rebellion against FEDRA. They are really aggressive and don’t like outsiders.” you said.

“Tell me about it…” he muttered, remembering the first time Ellie and him were attacked while trying to get though one of those cities by car. “Well, it just means we’ll have to be more careful.”

“Just keep your eyes open and don’t stand on my way.”

He cocked his gun in a swift move.

“Copy that.”

“You got it?” you whispered, his arms extended and eyes focused on a stray infected on your way. You had walked around 2km and reached the dangerous and restricted zone. In a blink the infected was down. Shot straight to the head.

“I got it.”

Joel and you hadn’t talked much, only when necessary. It was normal. This silence in between the two of you. He didn’t know how to talk to you. You didn’t know either. Did you even want to?

He was a good fighter, not like you had suspected of their almost death the first time you had met him. He had a great stance, great aim. Maybe the fear of Ellie getting hurt had gotten the best of him. But that had been a mistake that could have cost him everything. Although you could understand.

“Let’s go.” he said, going to take a step forward, but before he could, you were dragging him backwards and in a quick movement pressing him against the wall. The building was cold and dark, creaks could be heard every now and then, and the paper of the walls was falling apart. Some bits stuck to his jacket. “What-“

You pressed a hand to his mouth, your eyes never meeting his but the door next to the both of you. Joel’s eyes did the same, and his chest got stuck in a new breath when he finally heard it. You were tightly pressed against him, trying to not be seen. The big heavy steps came closer, the sound of rotten flesh shifting with every thud. The bloater came into your point of view and you gritted your teeth.

Motherfuckers. You hated them. Every and each one of them. More than any type of infected. It had been a long time since you had seen one. A year to be exact. You knew it wasn’t the same bloater that had tore apart Laura. It couldn’t be. But you felt your blood rush, boil, the need to destroy him just like he had destroyed your most important person in the world.

But with that rage came too the fear. The panic. Your body froze, and your limbs shook. The images of that ominous day coming to your mind like flowing acid water that left you with a knot on your throat.

Joel placed a hand over yours when he felt them tense against his chest. You looked at him due to the recent touch, his eyes stare into yours. Soft brown and caramel touch. ‘Breathe’, you could read on them. ‘I’ll kill them. All of them.’ he could read on yours, your mind strong against your body, who seemed to be about to fall apart.

That silence again. A full out loud conversation made just with stares.

‘It’s not worth it.’ he shook his head, pointing out the obvious danger. Where a bloater goes a million clickers could appear.

You let go of his mouth when you could no longer hear it. It had gotten lost in the building once again, away from you. His hand was still on yours, his heartbeat bellow your palm. He was alive. He was here. You were not alone. This was not the past. Laura was dead. Joel was alive.

You got away from him as if he was burning and you were gasoline, about to combust.

He was alive. You were not alone.

That made your blood run cold, freeze in your veins and make you ache. Bitter and sweet, like lemonade on a fresh cut.

“Let’s go.” you said, and he looked at you, when you were about to walk away taking you from your hand and making you stop.

“Let’s go through the fire scape.” he pointed at the windows, where you could see the steps and stairs.

“It could fall apart. The erosion could have bitten it apart.” you said, and he pursed his lips, thinking.

“Could be. But if we continue we’ll meet the bloater again.” he argued and you rolled your eyes.

“Then we’ll kill it.” you said, and he gave you an stern look.

“It’s a suicide. We’re only two and with mere guns. We won’t be able to take it down.” you fight against his grip, as if you could prove a point, make him believe you were strong enough to take it alone. “y/n.” he said your name, and your body froze. “You’re still hurt. We can’t take the risk.” he said, and for once, you listened, ‘cause you muscles lost their tension and your skin softened under his touch. “Let’s try the fire scape.” you looked at him for what it seemed to be hours.

Follow me. Trust me. I’m here.

Your throat was aching to say fight more, stubborn as always. But you knew he was speaking the truth, and you had to take it even if it hurt your heart. Even if you couldn’t get your vengeance today.

“Fine. But if you fall it’s all your fault.” you said and he scoffed, letting you go as he walked towards the window that led to the fire scape and opened it. “You go first. I don’t have to die too for your stupidity.” you pointed out, crossing your arms over your chest.

“As you wish.” he shrugged and stepped outside, the fire scape not making even a sound. It was perfectly stable. “Told you so.” he smiled, cockily. You rolled your eyes.

“Shut up and move.” you said as you crossed the window to the other side and followed him.

The night quickly fell on your shoulders, and the city welcomed you with the remains of its busting energy. There were only a few people left on the streets, probably late workers getting ready to get home after an exhausting day.

You gave him a nod towards a hidden alley and he followed you with now his gun on hand. You managed to slowly open the door to the building where the motor was supposed to be stored, using a clip that has been seating on your hair. Joel was impressed, but again, this was a really hard world, and you learned things to adapt to it.

You slowly creaked open the door, gun looking right, then left. Clear.

Joel closed it behind his back when you waved your hand, stepping in. You cocked your head towards the right and started walking. The hallways were dark, dusty and old with multiple doors that you passed by as quickly and as carefully as you could, checking then one by one.

It was not long before you found the motor, after five minutes of searching room by room. It was in what it seemed to be an storage/meeting room, a really big one, with tables and a couple of sofas on the left. There were guns and bookcases and…

Next thing you knew, there was an arm around your neck. You choked, fighting the person that had attacked you. You heard Joel grunting at your back.

“Got him!” a male voice said, and you groaned as they dragged you further into the room, a girl snatched your gun away from you with a kick.

“Not as pretty as the one I’ve got.” the male at your back laughed, and your wrists were grabbed with his free and big hand, fingers digging on your skin and bruising it up. Your tries to kick him again were in vain, because in just a matter of seconds you were on the floor, his body pressing against you and making it hard to breath. The arm that surrounded your neck had retracted, his hand pushing your face against the floor. “Such a pretty little thing…” he smiled, and your heart jumped, a moan of pain leaving your lips when he tugged on your hair, bringing your face closer to him.

Joel was at your right, in the same position as you, fighting the buffer man on top of him.

“Don’t touch her!” he said, but he got kicked on the face by a blonde hair, breaking up his lip with her combat boot. Joel hissed and she laughed.

“You really thought it could be that easy? Get in here and walk right out?” she scoffed, taking a step closer to you and kneeling just the slightest to catch your face in between his fingers, fiercely digging her nails on your skin. “Who do you work for?” she asked, and you simply spat on her face, making her close her eyes and fall silent for a couple of seconds before she smirked, looking at you with malice in her eyes.

“Bob.” he simply said, and you had to watch as the man on top of Joel took his head and bashed it against the floor, making a breech open on his forehead.

“No!” you screamed, but you got silenced with a punch so strong that made your ears ring.

“Hey! Don’t touch her face! I want her all pretty for me later.” the man pinning you to the floor said, and the girl stood up, a golf stick now shinning brightly in between her hands.

“You bitch…” you said, and she smiled.

“Better watch what you say… Wouldn’t want your boyfriend here to pay for it, right?” she teased, and swung at his ribs, making his face contort in pain and a groan leave his lips. “Who. do. you. work. for?” she asks, Joel this time, and he doesn’t answer. “Fine.” she swung again, but this time he hit his head, blood pouring on his skin.

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!!!!” you screamed at the guy pinning you down, fighting him off as she got Joel’s ribs, making him scream in pain. “Fuck!!!!!”

“I love the tough ones. Always the ones that cry the hardest on bed.” he said, and once again banged your head against the floor. “Should I make it quick?” he said, and Joel glared at him. “Maybe I could even do it right here, in front of your little friend. I bet he would love that, huh?” he said with a smirk, and you felt your skin crawl when his tongue met your neck, sucking there ‘till you hissed.

“I’ll fucking kill-“

Your eyes widened when Joel was cut off by another swing to the head.

You screamed when he slumped against the floor, blood dripping onto the floor from the wound on his forehead, which got bigger. “You’re gonna fucking die!” your gaze was strong, your words directed to the girl that now walked towards you with an amused smirk on her face. “Fucking bitch, I’m gonna-“

But you moaned in pain when she kicked you on your side, three times, making you curl on yourself and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“What did you say? You ‘want me to kill him’?” she mocked you, cocking her head, stepping back towards Joel.

“Finish him off, already, Jade. We’ve got things to do.” the brunette girl that had kicked your gun away and now stood guarding the door said, making the blonde roll her eyes.

“You’re always so fucking boring, Ray. You never let me have fun.” she pouted.

“Joel, wake up.” you said, fighting to get away, trying to make him come back to you and live. “ WAKE THE FUCK UP!” you screamed, your breathing ragged.

Your blood was rushing through your veins, burning you from the inside out. Your whole body trembled and shook.

“Yeah. That’s right. Watch the little rat die. I promise you will be right behind, pretty girl.” the boy on your back said, whispering and kissing your ear. You felt the urge to vomit. “But we’ll have a little bit of fun before though, what do you think, hm?” your eyes landed on the gun scattered just a couple inches away from you. “I promise I’ll be good to you…” he said, one of his hands now leaving your head and pulling aside the neck of your shirt to reveal more skin, his hips grinding against your ass.

Big fucking mistake.

“I won’t.” you spat and with a quick movement for your leg you rolled on yourself, hit his legs that straddled you. He lose balance, falling at your right. With a quick swift of your hand you had your dagger in hand the one that had been hiding on the ankles of your pant and that now you dug on the neck of the asshole that had been touching you just mere seconds ago.

He let out a scream that soon turned into a gurgling mess of blood and gasps that couldn’t fill his lungs.

“Axel!” Ray was quick to react, gun and hand and finger pulling the trigger to shoot at you, but you dodged it by rolling on the floor.

Her body was the next one to hit the floor, your dagger perfectly placed in between her two eyebrows. She was lying in a pool of her own blood by the time you got to your gun, but you groaned when one of the last two standing shoot at it and pushed it away from your reach.

You stood up as quickly as you could dodging multiple of missed bullets. You went straight to the guy, that had been pinning Joel to the floor and that now stood on his feet, your legs aching at the effort.

“Finish that rat off!” he screamed at his blonde friend as he recharged his gun. He groaned and struggled with you as you fought for his gun once once you’ve taken a hold on it —a little trick you had learned years ago— twisting it to dodge a new bullet. He almost had it, though you were quicker than him and, once your eyes had found it lying in the floor not far away from you, you took ahold on a bat with nails that you supposed they had used to beat the shit out of others like you. It was the divine intervention that you needed.

At this point blood was decorating your skin in little freckles. A painting of death and revenge in the hands of the wrong artist. You were still thirsty for it, you were on the hunt for more. You couldn’t see, only red and the ghost of his bodies. Rage was taking ahold on you. Mind was turning blank.

Your veins screamed for death.

The nails dug on the side of his face as you swung, his eyes rolling back as his jaw falling slack. You could see some of them sticking through his cheek and onto his mouth.

You were sure to have hit the brain once he had fallen on his knees as you pulled from it, brain matter decorating your shoes. You took his gun, and with a quick twist of your body, you shot the last girl standing —which was the one who had been beating Joel with a golf stick— on the stomach before she could give him the final blow.

“Fucking bitch!” she groaned in pain, hands falling to the bleeding hole on his body.

You shot her again, this time to both his legs, making her fall, the golf stick clinking onto the floor. You were going to shoot again, somewhere that would hurt but not kill her yet, but the gun had ran out of bullets. You clicked your tongue and threw it aside, making a dent on the wall at your right.

You almost felt the need to laugh when you saw her crawling her way to the emergency door in the room, away from you and Joel’s semi-unconscious body, who slowly came back to his senses.

Your steps were the only sound filling the room as you approached her, her heavy breathing and pants adding to the melody of an incoming death.

You were gonna bash her fucking skull in.

When you got to her, you kicked her hard on the stomach, winning new stains on your dusty jeans. Maybe you’d leave them. Maybe you’d grow fond of them. Let’s see how many more you’d get after you were done with her.

You were breathing hard, your chest heaving with every puff of air you could get, though no oxygen seemed to be enough for your body, for your dizzy and gone mind.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

The scream that she left when you kicked her once again could made anyone shiver, but not you.

I’ll kill them. All of them.

She was finally on her back, bleeding out on your feet. And if you were someone else, you would have felt mercy. But you were just you.

So you rose the bat and swung, blood splattering all over your face and clothes when you did it again, and again, and again…

Your arms hurt, your lungs burned, your body shook…

She was already dead. But it was not enough.

No. Not this time. This time I’ll be strong enough. This time I won’t be left alone. This time he won’t die. Joel won’t die. Not him. Not again. Not like Laura did. He won’t…

And suddenly you could breath, strong arms surrounding you from the back and stopping you with force. You fought back his grip, his hushing, his soft voice promising that you were okay. That he was okay.

He could see it in your eyes. That fear. The same fear that he had fought for decades. The same demons.

He had seen them take a hold on you while you fought, he had seen you lost yourself on the blood.

“It’s okay.” he muttered, and you hands let go of the bat, your eyes fixed on the corpse in front of you, completely unrecognizable, your crimson hands, your messy clothes… “y/n.” he called out your name and your eyes swelled with tears that you fought to not let show… Your palms burned due to the friction of the wood, blisters rising up on the skin.

His eyes found yours when he turned you around and away from the bodies that you had left behind, trying to get you to focus on him.

He too had been through this. Through this rage, through this mourning and need for blood.

“I’m here.” he said, and just in case, repeated his words, slower, softer. “I’m here.” you slowly let him bring you into his arms, your cheek pressed against his heart, where you made sure that it was true. He was here. He was okay. He was alive. You were not alone.

And Joel made as if he had not noticed the way your hands had clutched and fisted his shirt, tugging him closer.

The look that Blair has given you when you had taken the motor back to the car was…, well it was an understatement.

She tried to make your eyes meet hers, gaze digging holes on your body. But you were too gone to say something. Too deep inside your head to be able to speak. You were staring at the nothingness, at the blood on your hands.

You didn’t recall the way back to the town, nor how you had ended up on the back along with Joel, who silently looked at you and made sure you were okay. You had always been silent, but this time it was different. You were as still as a corpse, your eyes lost and hands trembling every now and then. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what was the right thing to do, the right thing to bring you back to the present, ‘cause it was obvious you were caught in between it and the so painful past that you always avoided.

The doors made a beep that let the car in as they opened and closed shut behind it, securing you inside. You were back home. You were safe. But were you? Was the person on your left safe for you?

Joel’s face was a mess. Busted lip, a cut on his right cheek that had already stopped bleeding, swelling eye, bleeding forehead… He had cuts all over his arm, the same arms in which you had been in between just a mere hours ago. The same arms that had made sure to stop you from falling apart.

“What the hell happened?!!” Larry was quick to approach the two of you in the middle of the night, being drawn by the noise of the car, flashlight on hand. Ellie was right behind, fully awake. It seems that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all, not when you and Joel weren’t around, when she wasn’t ‘safe’.

Ellie froze when she looked at you, Larry with eyes shot open. You were bathed in blood, new deaths weighing your body.

You didn’t look at them.

Joel explained, explained that you and him had been caught with your guards down, that the mission had went wrong before you had fixed it. Before you had killed all that people…

Larry took your face between his hands and you looked at him. His eyes were concerned, his hands inspecting for new wounds, for danger. You were okay. It wasn’t your blood. Then, he hugged you. He hugged you so hard you almost couldn’t breath. You were like a ghost in between his arms. Lifeless, lost. You mind had too much to think about, your mouth too little to say.

Ellie didn’t move. She couldn’t. Didn’t know how to react, how to move or talk. She could breath when Larry had promised that you were okay, that everything was okay. But her hands were shaking, and a pang of pain crossed your chest in fear that it was because of you. Was she scared? Had you finally become the same monster that had killed your family…, your friends?

The apartment was too cold. So cold you were freezing under your sticky clothes. Larry had made sure the three of you were back inside, secured, still shaken up by the thought that he could have almost lost you, lost a daughter.

That was when you started to move. Your feet unable to stop.

You didn’t know where you were going until your hands were on the handle to Laura’s door, didn’t even realized you had finally opened it after a year of solitude —or ignoring it was even there— too fearful to try and step inside.

Ellie, Larry and Joel were looking at you. Frozen in place, unable to move or speak as you closed the door at your back and buried yourself on your best friend for the longest time after her death.

It smell so much like her it made your eyes water. Her paintings and sketches all over the walls. Polaroids decorating the empty spaces, photos pf the two of you when everything was perfect —as perfect as it could be in a world like this—. Books left unfinished where left at the feet of her bed, her night table still had her favorite one left open on her favorite page. Alice in wonderland.

Your heart plummeted with your body on her bed, on her unmade bed that felt like giving her a hug, like having her close. That smelled like the stupid citrus stupid shampoo he used for her curly hair…

Your hands tugged on one of her pillows, your body curling around it trying to find her. Trying to find her warmth, her own beating heart. But you only could feel your own, your own shattering one.

You were staining the sheets with blood. Destroying that already broken place that you had been to scared to walk into. But you couldn’t care less. ‘Cause maybe that’s what would make you finally clean them up and put them inside her wardrobe, which peeked open at your right. Maybe…, this new blood could make you move on, even if it hurt.

You closed your eyes, ignoring the stickiness of your body, the weight of your drenched clothes, and cried. Cried in the silence that she had left behind, cried in the fear that had caved in you today after years of fearless guts.

For the first time in a year you had been scared. Scared of this world. Scared of a new death. Scared of your heart breaking again.

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joel miller’s masterlist

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mamirhodessxox · 7 months

Text

Hey There Delilah

Cody Rhodes x Fem OC! Reader

(Delilah Jones)

Storyline: Delilah was born and raised by the beach in L.A and grew up in a home where her parents expected her to go to Harvard & become a well known woman who marry’s a man who is a lawyer after high school. But that’s not what she wanted, She always wanted to own a boutique/flower shop & she did, once her parents discovered she wouldn’t attend college they left her to fend for herself but allowed her little sister Kinsley to visit or sleep over whenever, Her little sister always had an eye for WWE but Delilah never understood why but little did either of them know one of Delilah’s customers would become well acquainted. (Creds to @alyyaanna for helping me w the storyline)

Contents: Toxic parents, Angst, Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Based in May 2023, Alcohol, Violence.

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Delilah was a very simple girl, throughout her Highschool years before her parents forced her to leave she saved up enough money to own a boutique & Flower shop right under her little apartment right by the beach, She always loved the ocean & it was a dream come true when she noticed she would see it throughout the shop & apartments windows every day.

Since the day her dream came true her Little Sister Kinsley would ride her bike to the shop everyday after school to either hang out or sleepover, Kinsley was an interesting girl, she was 10 pushing 11 & was into 80’s summer music & most of all WWE. Delilah never understood the hype with WWE since it just seemed like a violent thing to watch but at the same time she would find the trash talking aspect interesting.

Delilah on the other hand was a book worm, no matter what she had a book shoved in her face, she loved sewing & making clothes & even had a green thumb, her parents always think that was dumb but they soon came to realization once she moved out she was still alive & well.

It was around 2:30 PM, Delilah just finished planting a few little flower seeds already excited to see them flourish, She knew Kinsley would be on her way soon so she quickly went upstairs and entered her apartment and made her little sister a sandwich before hustling back down & setting it next to the cash register while scampering towards the boutique side humming & just like that Kinsley walked through the door groaning with exhaustion “Hey ley! I made you a ham sandwich, it’s on the counter, how was school?” She smiled amusingly as her sister shrugged sluggishly and bit into her lunch.

“It was so BORING, the only thing I like about this dumb private school is my friends & that’s IT!” Delilah laughed while sewing up a new top “Nobody said school was gonna be fun, why don’t you sit there work on your homework & by 3:30 i’ll close down the shop & we can walk around the pier sound good?” Her sister held s thumbs up & immediately got to work.

An hour passed by & Kinsley just finished her math homework while Delilah stood outside sweeping and flipping the Open sign to “Closed.” Just as she was about to go back inside she heard someone continuously shout out “WAIT” and soon ran towards the door crouching a hit trying to catch his breath while Delilah seems concerned “Oh my god?! Are you okay should I call 91-“ he shook his head standing up and taking a deep breath “flower, need, Please, Any flower.” She furrowed her brows until he grabbed a random pre wrapped bouquet “Please just left me buy these” he smile nervously.

She smiled back & opened the door letting him in to pay & her little sister snorted water out from her nose before running off upstairs while she started ringing him up, He hated awkward silence “That your daughter?” Delilah snickered shaking her head “God no, That’s my little sister.” He hummed shoving 4 20 dollar bills in her tip jar before she announced the price “5 dollars & 20 cents!” He happily obliged and gave her the amount needed “You grow these yourself?” She smiled proudly while nodding her head “Oh! Yes! I make a lot of my own stuff here! I grow flowers, Succulents, I make cute clothes an- I’m talking to much sorry! I got excited!” She smiled as she took a small gasp as she ran out of breath while he let out a light chuckle, he could tell she wasn’t aware at all of who he was which was very humbling and also relieving, she just seemed like a sweet doll who could talk about her proud little flowers all day.

“Well, thank you for going out of your way to let me buy this really quick, I’lll get out of your hair & let you close down. I’ll be sure to visit more often.” He flashes a smile & soon walks out just as her sister returns “Do you not know who that was??!” Lilah turned around and shook her head “No..? Who was that?” she questioned while grabbing her little tote bag & wallet while her sister started going “That was the nightmare guy from WWE! You should know this!” Lilah laughed and held her little sisters hand before walking out of the store to walk around the pier.

It was super crowded out but that was to be expected. Summer break was a week away from starting, the two shared a bowl of mac and cheese from a food truck sitting somewhere “Do you think mom & dad will ever let you come back?” Kinsley asked while Lilah sighed shrugging “I dunno, our relationship is very complicated ley, I don’t want my experience with mom and dad to personally affect yours but if they’re being out of line I’ll go out of my way to keep you with me. You just need to say the word, kay?” Her little sister smiled and nodded her head.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

The next day Ley was still at school while Delilah sat in the shop with the AC on with her hair up in a bun due to the heat while she read a Book behind the register and heard the door open along with the bell ontop ring. So she put her bookmark in between the pages & set it down while noticing the guy from yesterday made another visit “Oh hi!” She chirped out smiling “Hey, Wanted to stop by and see the shop when it’s actually open.” He chuckled and walked around before pointing at the sweaters and tops “You made these?” She nodded “all sewn by me.” She smiled while he hummed and pointed at one of her dresses hanging “That’s really good, when did you start making clothes?” She shrugged at his question

“I was by myself in Highschool and decided to put that free time to my advantage everyday after school. Saved up for a sewing kit and machine.” She smiled while he looked around and noticed her little sister walked in and noticed her face drop “She okay?” He asked in a concerned tone while Delilah smiled in amusement “Yeah she’s just-“ “Holy shit your Cody Rhodes.” Lilah looked over at her sister “Kinsley! Language.” She furrowed her brows while her little sister apologized when Lilas started talking “She really likes WWE” Cody chuckled shoving his hands in her pockets “Yeah? What about you?” Lilah smiled “I’ve never watched it before, wasn’t my kind of thing y’know?” He hummed in understanding & looked around “I’ve gotta ask, i saw little cross in the corner, are you a church girl?” She laughed while her little sister went into the back to get herself lunch “To a certain degree, I go to church mainly for my little sister but I’m still saving myself.” He nodded “Well that’s good sweetheart, y’know I think I might just visit here everyday, Is it alright if I get your number?” Lilah turned her head as Kinsley screamed from the back before trading numbers with him.

“She’ll be alright.”

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xtripleiiix’s masterlist

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discokicks · 1 year

Text

FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

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

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

summary: back in 2012, you and roy meet for the first time. in 2023, you sign a one-year contract with richmond and have to work with roy for the first time. both go about as well as you’d expect.

word count & rating: 9.6k, R (roy kent says fuck and does fuck!)

chapter warnings: swearing, light sexual innuendos and light references to sex, mentions of alcohol and partying (the olympians get DOWN in olympic village) minor allusions to what happened to reader at west ham, major football talk, roy kent is rich, original character intros and plot (author really likes a plot, woo boy), angst, and of course, fluff.

author’s note: ok wow, thank you for all the love on the first chapter! wildly unexpected but much appreciated. this one’s got a bit more to it— jumping timelines, original characters, lotta soccer/football talk, reader and roy don’t know how to act (in more ways than one). also did crazy research into the 2012 olympics for this, so no one tell me my timeline’s off or i’ll cry. also also, is roy's sister named molly or is that just evidence that i've read too many fics? whatever it is, her name's molly! thank you again for the love and i hope you all enjoy! love you all tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You meet Roy Kent for the first time at midnight, in a rookie’s dorm room in the Olympic Village.

It’s a seemingly unlikely place for a football phenom like him to be. You’d expected all of those guys to choose to be elsewhere, exploiting their home-country advantage to hang out in their posh flats. But there they were, carrying out their team bonding efforts to prepare for their game tomorrow.

Knowing what you know about Roy now, it’s fitting for him to have been there. But in this moment, you’re shocked to see the likes of him in Olympic Village.

It’s a place that’s convinced you that your college career was only good for preparing you for it. And you’re not even talking about the sports aspect of it. You’re talking about the shit-show, chaos-menu of athletes from around the world, acting as though it’s the first week of freshman year.

Despite the fact that alcohol, drugs, and any other traditional party favors are completely off-limits on-premises, it doesn’t seem to deter your fellow Olympians from running the dorms like it’s a frat party. You’re half-convinced you’re going to get a classic ‘who do you know here’ from the trust-fund-looking Australian swimmer you pass getting into your building, but he just sends a heartbreaking smile at you and your teammate as you walk in.

Your team’s fresh off the bus from Glasgow, having just beat France at Hampden Park. It was a hell of a way to open, despite the Opening Ceremony not taking place for another two days. As a younger player who’d proven herself in last year’s World Cup, you were the starting striker in your first Olympic game ever, scoring the second goal of the match and assisting the fourth. The adrenaline of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet.

It’s clear that your teammate’s feeling the same way. Melanie Rivera, your left winger and for all intents and purposes, best friend, is straight-up vibrating. You’d met during World Cup training, where you two had instantly clicked and she’d taken you under her wing to show you the ropes and what it meant to play at this level. Despite this being her second Olympics, the feeling of a win never goes away. Or at least, that’s what she tells you.

The two of you are practically bouncing off the walls as you arrive on your floor, giggling to yourselves about different things that had happened during the game. Your fluent-in-French full-back telling off a French forward when she got too close to your goalie. The mid-game mishap where some French girl’s cleat went flying. The ‘bullshit’ yellow card Mel had received right before the half (Mel knew it was a fair call, she’d totally pushed that girl).

“She was asking for it, though,” Mel insists, collapsing onto your bed as you enter your shared room. “Pulling on my shirt the whole game. I have two rules. Two. Don’t—”

You roll your eyes, having heard these rules a million times. “—touch my goalie, and don’t—”

“—touch my fucking kit,” she finishes, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. Her eyes shut with a huff. “They’re pretty simple. Don’t know why people can’t follow them.”

“Yeah, it’s a travesty,” you reply dryly. Your lip curls into a grimace as you look at her. “You wanna know what my rules are?”

One of Mel’s eyes opens with a knowing smile. “Don’t be sweaty on your bed?”

“Oh, so we do remember,” you say, falsely cheery. The faux smile falls from your face. “Get off. Or at least shower. I want to go to bed and I don’t want to like, smell you.”

Mel rolls off your bed with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she relents. “But you can’t go to bed.”

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

“Because the British men’s team is hanging out upstairs,” she states as if the answer’s obvious.

“Right. Of course,” you reply. “So, we’re crashing their team bonding?”

“No,” she says, pointing at you. “Their women’s team crashed. And then Jack texted me to tell us to come up.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Is Paige there?”

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So, you’re forcing me to stay awake so I can wingman you?”

Mel flops on your bed once more. “Please,” she cries. “Dude, I like her so fucking much. We’ve been texting since the Cup and I don’t know, this year I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Why can’t Jack wingman you? He’s clearly down to set you two up,” you say, sounding a bit whiny. “Also, why are they hanging out here? I thought they’d rent a place or stay at their own houses.”

“They make the rookies stay in the Village their first years. It's for the experience, or whatever,” she answers. That’s brushed to the side quickly. “Also, Jack is a fucking awful wingman. The only type of scoring he’s good at is on the field.” She looks at you expectantly. “And I can’t go up there alone. I’ll look like a loser.”

You gape at her. “You are twenty-seven years old.”

“And I’ll look like a twenty-seven-year-old friendless loser!” When she sees the expression you’re wearing, she tilts on her side. “Say yes or I’ll roll around in your bed.”

You cover your face with your hands, an exhausted laugh echoing into your palms. This clearly is a losing battle, and you decide you’re going to be a good friend tonight. “Fine,” you groan, hearing your bed squeak as she launches herself off of it with a cheer. “An hour. That’s it. And then I’m going to bed and never talking to you again.”

“I can live with that,” she yells, bounding for the shower in your room. “I’ll text Jack that we’ll be up in thirty!”

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

You can hear Mel’s grin when she says, “I love you, too!”

Thirty minutes later, you’re freshly showered and up three floors, standing outside of the rookie’s dorm room. You can hear just how loud it is from outside and you suddenly really feel like you’re back in college again.

It takes Mel a solid three minutes to work up the courage to knock on the door, something that you’re sure would have taken longer if you hadn’t reached out and done it yourself. She scowls at you, but the door opens before she can cuss you out.

Jack Wilson, Tottingham sweeper and three-time Olympian, answers the door with a wide smile. You’d met him a handful of times due to his friendship with Mel and he was just as lovely as everyone had said. There was a charming sort of awkwardness about him despite his status as a professional footballer, but it made him all the more endearing to you.

“Glad you finally decided to show,” he said to you two, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, eyes already scanning the small dorm living room for Paige. “What’s up with the team bonding in the dorms?”

You’re also looking around the room, sending smiles to the handful of girls you recognize. “Game tomorrow. Coach wanted us to do dinner as a team, so we ate in that big hall. And we--” he says, pointing to two guys on the couch, “--wanted to see the Village this year. So here we are.”

Your eyes follow his finger to the men, one of which isn’t familiar. The other, you immediately identify as Roy Kent. And his eyes are on you.

He’s easily recognizable, curly hair a bit more tame and managed than the iconic, half-assed mullet he’d had when he first signed with Chelsea. That ever-present scowl only lifts a little when he sees that you and Mel have arrived, but you honestly can’t see much change in his expression due to his drawn brows.

While you’d relied on Mel for the majority of your connections to this new world of football, she’d never really seemed to hang out with the likes of Roy. From what you’d gathered, despite his rather high status, he was a bit of a recluse. Yes, he went out constantly, and yes (if the tabloids were right), he’d certainly dated around, nobody really seemed to know much about him.

When he’d come up in a team game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ with famous footballers, Mel had told the group that he was a guy of few words, and of the words he did say, ‘fuck’ seemed to be his favorite. Your friend and teammate Katie O’Connor was ready with a terrible impression of him when she answered with ‘fuck,’ especially after Mel also confirmed that the Gina Gershon news was true.

You try to ignore this as you go over to introduce yourself to them, despite the fact it’s currently setting up camp in your brain. “Nice to meet you guys,” you say to Roy and the other boy on the couch. Jack takes a spot next to you on the floor as you take an empty chair next to the couch. Paige waves at you from her spot when you sit.

Roy nods at you in acknowledgment. “Good showing out there.”

Jack points at you. “Bloody insane goal you had,” he says. “I think I’d break my back if I tried to do a scorpion kick like that. It was fucking class.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for Tottenham, they keep you on the other side,” you say, then quietly add, “Not that it would make a difference.”

You see Roy’s lips twitch up from the corner of your eye, and you bite back a laugh as Jack physically deflates before you. Mel’s heard your comment and runs over to sit on the arm of your chair, which is conveniently close to Paige. “Ooh, is it shit on Tottenham time? Because I haven’t seen your ass in months, so I got a whole list, man.”

As the two of them begin to argue in the way they do, you sit at watch them with a smile. They’d had this type of relationship since you’d met them back at the Cup, when Jack had flown into Germany to see your final games. Despite the loss, those were a wild couple of weeks.

The moment your brain starts to recount them, you can feel a pair of eyes on you. It snaps you out of your haze completely. Especially when you realize that it’s Roy Kent who’s staring at you once more.

You blink at him, slightly confused by the attention. “Hi?”

He nods at you again. He seems to take a moment to evaluate you, and then, “You overthink.”

“W-What?” you ask. The word comes out clunky and confused.

Roy motions to the TV that’s on across the room, one that’s showing highlights from your game. “Out there,” he says. “You overthink.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You, feeling unbelievably out of sorts and unsure of what brought this on, Roy, secure and casual, like he just stated the weather.

Before you can question him, he nods at you for a final time, then stands up. “I’m going home,” he tells the group. “You lot better be fucking ready for the game tomorrow.”

Roy’s out of the room before anyone can say a proper goodbye to him, but no one bats an eye. No questions follow.

Except you, of course. You’ve got a fucking million.

You overthink on the field? Where the fuck had he gotten that from? How had he seen it? While there were some times, yeah, you got a bit in your head, you’d never considered yourself an overthinker. And even if you were, the overthinking produced results, right? You liked to think you were just three steps ahead of everyone else out there. Not an overthinker.

But what made him say that? What had he seen? Was it your hesitation outside the box in the first fifteen that resulted in you losing the ball? Was it the switch you’d made to get to the goal when your right winger had it on the side? Was there a look on your face when you’d taken that free kick in the second half? You were pretty in your head then, but hey, it led to Mel scoring.

Overthinking. Pfft. He didn’t know what he was talking about.

But then again, what the fuck was he talking about?

The thought of this unknown bomb dropped on you without any sort of answers quickly and completely took over your mind. Criticism about your playing had never bothered you (you were a twenty-five-year-old female soccer player, and you’d had more horrendous coaches than you could count), but this? This was something that literally made you itch. And you weren’t going to be able to scratch it until you knew what the hell he meant.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself practically chasing Roy out of the room, whipping your head around to figure out which way he’d gone. Lucky for you, the dorm’s slow lifts were on your side.

Roy stood by the elevator, checking something on his phone as he waited. He clearly doesn’t hear you coming because he nearly drops it when you ask, “What do you mean I overthink?”

“What the fuck?” And now he’s staring at you like you’re the crazy one.

“I should be asking you that!” you say, then motion back to the direction of the dorm. “You tell me I overthink, stare at me with no follow-up, then leave? Who does that?” You’re way too animated for past midnight, but you don’t care. “Because even if I was an overthinker, which I’m not, that sort of stuff is probably the worst thing you can do. Not leaving on a note like that is like, rule number one.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“Yeah, well, there are,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. When he continues to just stare at you, you make a face that you hope will cue him to go on. “So, go ahead. Please explain yourself.”

“Explain the overthinking thing?” he asks. “I thought it was pretty fucking simple.”

You roll your eyes. “No, what made you say that? Was it a play I had? Was it something I did? What did you see? I’m just curious as to—”

“You came up the field toward the end of the game,” he says, effectively cutting you off. “And you made a pass to Rivera that led to another pass, then a goal.”

You nod at him, not seeing his point at all. “Yeah? So? It was a great goal by Katie.”

Roy’s expression turns slightly frustrated, as if he’s annoyed that you don’t immediately catch on. “It was a great goal. But the fucking second you saw Rivera next to you, you started thinking ahead,” he tells you. “So far ahead that you didn’t notice how slow and fucking awful your mark was and that you could have had a better goal if you’d stopped thinking.”

There are approximately fifteen seconds of dead air between you two as you attempt to take in what he just said to you. “So, let me get this straight,” you begin. “You’re saying I’m bad because I think too much about teamwork?”

For a moment, you think Roy’s going to slam his head into the elevator door. Instead, he just turns to the buttons and presses them once more. “Fuck’s sake, could these be any fucking slower?”

You’re too far gone at this point to even be offended. “Uh, it doesn’t matter. You started this. You’re not going anywhere until we finish it. Why does me not being a selfish dick make me bad?”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You’re not. Clearly,” he responds. You note a bit of the classic ‘Roy Kent’ anger laced within his words and it makes you snap your mouth shut. “I’m just saying. You’re at your best when you’re not so fucking nice and when you don’t fucking think.”

Unconsciously, your arms cross over your chest. “I’ve got twenty-two years of playing time and about ten coaches that would disagree with that.”

Once more, you see the corner of his mouth slide upward as he glances at you. “If that’s the case, then your coaches were all idiots. They weren’t smart enough to let you loose.”

An unexpected warmth rises to your cheeks. But instead of acknowledging it, you ask, “What, like you’d be a better one?” Before he can respond to that, you’re talking again. “And even if all of that were true, I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

“Not… think ahead,” you say. “Or not think at all. That being three steps ahead thing is kind of, well, my thing.” You offer a shrug. “The generous, teamwork thing too. I like that. It’s what makes me good.”

Roy continues to look at you, but says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet as he just… stares, almost as if he can see through you. Like he’s privy to something you’re not, or he’s had some sort of revelation about you. You’re not sure anyone’s ever looked at your this hard. It’s a bit unnerving and you have to fight to not avert your eyes.

Before you can begin to further overthink that (god fucking damn it), he’s holding his phone out to you. You stare down at it blankly.

“You’re showing me your phone,” you state, but it’s almost a question.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Put in your fucking number,” he says.

Your lips purse as you hesitate, but you find yourself reaching out for it. “Is this how you typically do it?” you ask, typing your name into his contacts. “You neg a girl for five minutes straight and then ask her for her number?”

Roy rolls his eyes again, but there’s humor amongst the annoyance this time. “I’m going to text you a time and an address,” he tells you. You hand him his phone back. “Be there on Friday after the Opening Ceremony.”

The elevator had finally arrived in the middle of his sentence and you eye him wearily as he steps in. “Just… show up to this address?” you ask. “Do I get context? Like, what to expect? What am I dressing for?”

“Overthinking,” he reminds you as he presses the button for the lobby. “Just fucking be there.”

Before you can object further or tell him that you were not in fact overthinking, you were just a woman in a foreign city concerned for your safety, he leans forward to stop the doors from closing. He’s got one hand up and has a small smirk on his face.

“And just so we’re crystal fucking clear,” he says. “If I were trying to chat you up, you’d fucking know it.”

Your eyes immediately fix into a glare and the doors close before you can say anything in response. “Asshole,” you mutter to yourself, but you’re already flipping your phone over to see if he’s texted you.

(You won’t know this until much, much later, but Roy Kent let out a loud and regretful ‘fuck!’ as soon as he was five floors down, absolutely cringing at the idea that he used a line like that on someone like you. It plagued him for three years straight.)

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

On a day when Roy not only had the strangest interaction of his life with Jamie Tartt in the Boot Room, but he also found out that Trent fucking Crimm would be lingering around all season, he was sure that he was done with surprises at Nelson Road.

That quickly proved to be false, as he soon found that Ted was rounding the team up in the media room for some sort of meeting.

Roy saw Beard as he was leaving the Coaches’ Office and sent a questioning look his way. “Did I miss film on the agenda?”

Beard shook his head. “Nope. Impromptu. We just heard back.”

“Heard back?” Roy asked, watching Beard go to leave the room. “The fuck are you on about?”

Beard smiled at him in the doorway. “We got her,” he said and left with a skip in his step that Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

They’d gotten her? Got who?

Then it hit Roy. Oh. You. They’d gotten you.

You’d said yes. You were joining Richmond. He’d helped convince you. Despite everything, despite all that had happened and everything you two had done, you’d said yes. You were willing to work with him. You were now going to be back in his life for worse or for better. And not just back in his life, but a fucking constant in it.

Then that hit Roy. The reality of it all fucking bodyslams him and it makes his heart race. After eight years of cold-turkey no-contact, he was going to be seeing you every day. After everything he’d done. After everything you had done.

Roy realized then that he didn’t exactly consider this feeling. That he was so blindsided by Rebecca’s request and by seeing you that he didn’t even think about this. It had been hard enough to work up the nerve to confront and speak to you once. Would it feel like that all season? Had you considered this?

But then, he remembered you and how you think about every fucking angle of every situation. You definitely had thought about this. And if you were willing to push the discomfort, the awkwardness, the whatever in order to have this job, he supposed he had to be too.

Roy swore under his breath, turning away from his desk to get his head back on straight. The team was waiting for him. He could mope about this in the comfort of his own home later.

He arrived in the room just as the rest of the team was getting in. The boys were buzzing. Between the news of a potential Zava acquisition and the Trent Crimm book development, as well as whatever this was, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. Roy didn’t blame them. It was a lot for one day.

(It’d been a lot for him too. With everyone now knowing about his break-up with Keeley, to fucking Trent Crimm, to you, he was surprised he hadn’t gone outside to scream yet. But he presumed that was coming.)

“Alright fellas, listen up,” Ted said from the front of the room, holding his hand up to get everyone’s attention. The team quieted down after a moment. “I know there’s been a lot of talk going around this week. And I know y’all are excited. But I’ve got some more news.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” Dani said, sending a wave of agreement through the group. “It’s hurting my head.”

Ted chuckled. “I know. Mine too. And we’re the ones who have to manage all this,” he said, motioning to Beard and Roy who stood against the wall. “But this is good news.”

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

“So, how many of you are familiar with the Women’s World Cup that happened back in 2015?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

A murmur went through the team. “America won?” Colin offered. “Crazy final game that was.”

Isaac pointed at Roy. “You did some shit for Sky Sports for this Cup, right?”

As the boys began to recall this, Jaan Mas said, “Why they gave you another pundit job after that completely blows my mind.”

“Yes, Roy did do some TV work over here,” Ted answered after the laughter died down. “And yes, America won. But does anyone remember what this Cup started to be called?”

It seemed as though no one had an answer. That is, until Beard cleared his throat said, “The Summer of Fourteen, baby!”

Ted snapped at his best friend. “That’s exactly right, Coach. And despite it being the 2015 Cup, they called it that because of this woman right here.”

Ted had brought up what is perhaps the most iconic photo of you to date. It’s one of the first things to come up if you were to Google yourself, a picture that’s haunted you for the last eight years. It’s from the 2015 quarter-final. You’re mid-penalty kick against China, scowl on your face as your foot collides with the ball, blood dripping down your face from the broken nose you’d received moments before.

(It’s certainly not the most elegant or flattering picture of you that exists, especially when your fellow teammates’ search results yielded photos of them at the ESPYs, but you still think you’ve never looked like more of a badass.)

Ted said your name smoothly as he pointed to you on the screen, annunciating all syllables. “Wildly prolific USA Women's athlete despite her rather short time in the league. And while she was always good, y’know, starting striker since she began and all that—” He chuckled, turning to look at his other coaches, who had knowing smiles on their faces. “—I don’t know. There was something in the water in 2015. Because she just became…”

Ted trailed off, looking for the word. This time, Roy found it before Beard. “A nightmare,” he said, with a suppressed yet fond sort of smile. “She was a fucking nightmare out there.”

“In a good way, of course,” Ted cleared up, earning a nod from Roy. “But, yeah. A nightmare. Wonderful teammate and fantastic playmaker, but man…” Ted trailed off with a low whistle. “We were all glad she played for our neck of the woods.”

Jamie’s hand went up. “Didn’t she just get like, hired and fired by West Ham?”

“Wonderful segue there, Jamie,” Ted said. “Because yes, that is true. She was with West Ham for a couple months. First female coach in the league. Pretty impressive stuff, and it was a pretty big deal. And then something went wrong, and they let her go.” The team made a noise of acknowledgment, all of them having seen it in the news. “And I don’t know what happened, and we probably won’t know what happened, but we knew she was too good to leave the league. Lucky for us, we need a new coach. And she needs a new job.”

There was a wide smile on his face when Sam asked, “So she will be joining Richmond?”

“That she is, Sam,” Ted replied, earning yet another eruption of chatter amongst the group. “She’ll be joining us on Monday. And while I know you fellas will do everything you can to make her feel welcome and will show her the same level of respect that you show us up here—” Ted pointed to his coaches once more, glancing down at the computer in front of him. “—I’m going to show you why she deserves it more than us.”

A YouTube video of your highlights appeared on the big screen, going full-screen as the quick ad ended. Ted stepped back from the computer, sitting down on the stool behind him to watch along with the rest.

Your famous 2012-France-Scorpion-Kick goal just so happens to be the first thing up and Roy’s heart nearly stops. It’d been years since he’d seen this clip and he was immediately transported back to the night you two met. A ghost of a smile unconsciously made its way up his face as he watched your body contort to flip around, and the ball soar into the net. It was a goal of pure and utter instinct. You hadn’t thought about it. You just ran in there like a maniac and knew what to do. That one gets an immediate reaction from the team.

The next one is a play you’d set up in the Quarter-Final New Zealand game, with a bunch of quick passing in the box to confuse and rattle the defense. Melanie Rivera had sent you a world-class assist for an even better goal, one that earns you the title of ‘Fox in the Box’ from the past commentator on screen. The next, an impressive goal scored after an injury you’d had in the Semi-Finals against Canada. Then, and perhaps most famously, your assist to Katie O’Connor from midfield to win the Gold.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the World Cup yet.

The World Cup footage made up the other three-fourths of the video. It was a completely different side of you, one that had thrown caution to the wind, one that had a huge fucking chip on her shoulder, one that was just… insane. In all the best ways and meanings.

Roy’s shock of the day, though, comes after a highlight of you completely blowing past three Colombian defenders. You’d broken the fourth’s ankles with your footwork in the box for a quick goal. Footwork of yours that had been massively improved, Roy noted. And he would know, he’s the one who did it.

Arlo White’s voice filled up the room. “And yet another breakaway goal from USA’s Mean Fourteen!” The clip said. “It’s just remarkable to watch her work this year, don’t you think, Roy?”

Roy felt all eyes on him when he heard his own voice on the speakers. “I don’t know what USA would do without her,” 2015 Roy Kent said. “I’d hate to have her against me.”

It was strange for Roy to hear his own voice mock him like that. And as the team began to cheer for him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. They didn’t even know.

The highlight reel continued for another couple of minutes, and it seemed with each play, the boys became more excited about the prospect of being coached by someone like you. Beard and Ted were evidently just as ecstatic about the development, and Roy knew he had to get on board. Warp his feelings and nerves and whatever else into something resembling his team’s attitude.

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

The lights came up as soon as the video ended, snapping Roy back to reality. Ted smiled at the team. “Alright, fellas. Now, let’s get to work on the welcome party.”

The boys hooped and hollered, each of them getting up to join in whatever Ted had planned. Beard looked over at Roy as the rest filed out.

“You think we’re ready for her?” he asked.

Roy hated the weird fucking sixth sense Beard had when it came to… well, everything. He made Roy feel like he was completely transparent. “We’re ready for her,” he replied.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Beard or himself.

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

You sign a one-year coaching contract with AFC Richmond that Monday in Rebecca Walton’s office.

The news broke that you’d been picked up by Richmond on Friday, something that had completely come alive in the press world. Your face was plastered over all of the papers yet again, newscasters seemed to mention your name every time you turned on your TV, and social media was set on fire. Everyone had something to say about this move and the majority of it wasn’t too positive.

You tried to keep your nose out of it, knowing just how much you did not need to see people talking about you like that. The majority of the negativity was from West Ham fans, wishing Richmond ‘luck’ with the likes of you, others wishing you good riddance.

If they knew how happy you were to be out of there, you’re not so sure they’d be as excited to let you go.

Though signings on every level in this league were typically more public affairs, ones with major press conferences and coverage, you’d requested this to be quieter. Just a few statements from the people who mattered and a pen and paper. You’d been in the media a bit too much for your liking over these past couple of months, and if you could get some exclusivity, you’d take it.

Rebecca, thankfully, was more than happy to comply. You’d been in contact with her practically non-stop since you’d called her, and she’d been nothing but lovely to you. Each interaction with her made you feel better about this job, despite the cloud of anxiety that still hung over you.

You’re sitting in a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk when a message from Mel comes through. i always liked richmond better than west ham anyway, she says. paige and i bought shirts and will be at every game.

A photo comes through shortly after of her three-year-old toddler, decked out in a Jamie Tartt jersey. oliver’s already got his!

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, fingers tapping against your screen with a quick response. adorable. give him and paige a hug for me. and i’ll be freaking out so bad at every game that i’m gonna need you there anyway, so i’m holding you to that.

you’ll be incredible. knock ‘em dead, kid.

Rebecca re-enters her office before you can respond with a thank you. She’s got Coach Ted Lasso in tow, who could not be grinning brighter at you. The second you see him, you think about everything Nate had told you during your short time at West Ham, and something within you just can’t believe it. The energy of Richmond had been different as soon as you walked through the door. The good kind of different. And their manager appeared to not be an exception.

Ted greets you immediately with an outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says after your introduction. “I gotta tell you, we’re all mighty excited that you’re here.”

“I think I might be more excited,” you reply, and it’s an honest answer. Or at least, you’d been able to shift your nerves about the job into excitement. You’d only anxiety-thrown up once today. You figured that was an accomplishment. “Seriously. Thank you both again for the opportunity.”

“We’re just grateful you said yes,” Rebecca says. You can tell she means it. “The team’s been buzzing all week.”

The nerves return at the mention of the team, but you mentally scream at yourself to get over it. “Well, I’m just excited to get started.”

“Speaking of getting started, we should probably head downstairs,” Ted says to Rebecca. “I wanna show our new coach around a bit before practice gets going.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Rebecca responds. “I’ve got a couple more things for you to sign before you leave today, so just make sure to stop by. If you have any questions, my door’s always open, or you can ask Leslie, who you met earlier, who’s always wandering around somewhere.” Her smile gets warmer as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “And we really are pleased to have you joining us.”

You wonder for a moment how a woman like her could have ever been married to an asshole like Rupert, but you suppose that’s a story for another day. “Thank you,” you say again, a bit of that anxiety washing away. “I’m happy to be here.”

Ted leads you out of the office, his tour starting from the minute you exit. He offers a bit of insight into himself and his time at Richmond, his past two years working with Rebecca, then launches into what he knows about the history of the place (and you don’t have the heart to tell him that Rebecca had already done that when you’d arrived).

The facility is gorgeous, but it feels a bit more lived-in and welcoming than what you remember about West Ham. Everything there was so manicured and monochromatic and sterile. Nothing about it felt like a place you’d want to work.

Richmond is the opposite. It’s bright and colorful and you can hear people laughing as soon as you step down into the lower level. While your nervousness about the team still lingers, you can feel it easing. You’ll see how long that lasts.

You’re stepping into the Coaches’ Office before you even realize it, mind too occupied with taking in your new surroundings and trying to keep up with Ted’s story. You resent the overwhelming amount of relief you feel when you realize there are only two men in the office, and neither of them are Roy.

One is sitting with his feet crossed up on his desk and a book in his face. The other is writing on a notepad at a separate desk. You’re surprised by the speed at which both of them jump up to greet you as you and Ted enter.

“Alright, Coach, this is Coach Beard,” Ted says, and you meet Beard’s hand for a shake. “He’s one of the guys you’ll be working with this season.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beard says, nodding your way.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes are drawn to the book he placed down on his desk and you allow yourself to grin. “I love Merlin Sheldrake.” When his brows shoot up in surprise, you shrug. “I’ve got a lot of time in the off-season.”

Beard’s eyes light up. “We’ll get along just fine.”

Your grin grows and you hear Ted’s voice from behind you. “Is that that mushroom book?” he asks. “I don’t think Beard’s ever found someone who reads that stuff too. I guess we’ve now got two Fun-guys in the group.”

You glance over at Beard. “Now it's a Fung-us.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ted’s hand come up to his mouth as he looks over at his best friend. For whatever reason, it’s clear that the two of them are trying to contain their excitement. Before you can question it, Ted places a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here, Ace.”

The nickname catches you off guard. It’s something that you haven’t heard since your playing days, something that the commentators and pundits loved to call you. It was always a compliment when they said it, but something about the way that your new manager says it makes it sound more like a title than a name. Like that’s what you are.

It immediately makes you feel welcome and you can feel yourself warm into their excitement.

The other man in the room, who’s been watching this interaction in amusement, steps forward to hold out his hand to you as well. “Trent Crimm.”

Now, it’s your turn to raise your brows. “You’re the writer who keeps calling me?”

A smile that could also be a cringe appears on his face. “Guilty,” he answers. “Just trying to cover all the bases for the book.”

“I get it,” you tell him. “If you still want a quote, I’d be happy to give you one. But I can’t guarantee it’s going to be clean.”

Trent chuckles. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

There’s a moment where you almost question what he means by that, but you brush it off. Especially now that Ted’s started talking again. “Roy's running a little late, but I’ve heard y’all already know each other, so we’re not technically missing an introduction.”

That makes you pause. You’d figured that when Roy had appeared on your doorstep he’d told at least Rebecca about your past, and that the probability he’d told the staff was high too. But exactly how much had he told them? Did they know the basics or did they know everything?

You then realize it’s Roy you’re talking about. There was no way in hell he’d told them anything more than what Ted said. That you knew each other. Maybe that things hadn’t ended smoothly. But that was it.

That, at least, gives you a bit more confidence. Ted turns to you and leads you back into the small, adjoining room you’d walked through, pointing at an almost empty desk. “That’s yours,” he tells you. “Feel free to dress it up with whatever you want, and get yourself unpacked. We’re starting practice in about fifteen minutes and Coach Beard and I gotta set some things up, but I’d like to introduce you to the fellas before you start shadowing. That all sound good?”

You grip the strap of your backpack and nod at him with a smile. “Works for me, Coach.”

Ted grins, patting you on the arm. “Glad to hear it.”

And with that, he returns to his desk, making sure to leave the door open as he leaves.

You plop your backpack on your desk and begin to empty out your things. You grab your laptop first and place it on your desk, followed by a couple of knick-knacks and photos you brought along, ones that never felt at home at your desk at West Ham. There’s a rational piece of you that knows you should stop comparing the two places, but the pettier, more aggressive side of you tells it to fuck off.

(You like to listen to that one when you can these days.)

You’re holding a photo of a baby Oliver dressed in a Women’s USA onesie when you hear someone else walk into the room. You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

Roy Kent is standing in the doorway, staring at you like he completely forgot your signing day was today.

Of course, Roy hadn’t. He’d been pacing around his flat all morning because of it. It was actually why he was late to work. But he hadn’t expected to see you as soon as he walked in. In his office. Now, your office too, he supposed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, much like you did when you saw each other again for the first time last week. However, it appears that you’re both acutely aware of the three sets of eyes that are on you two from the other room.

Like you’re snapping into a scene in a play, Roy’s expression rids itself of all surprise. “Coach,” he says stiffly, nodding at you.

Coach. You suddenly remember your previous conversation. It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues.

Well, if he won’t let there be any issues, you’re sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of causing any.

So, instead, you return his nod. “Coach,” you greet him. As he puts his things on the desk opposite yours, your heart falls into your stomach, “A-Are we…”

“Sharing an office?” he finishes for you. You nod weakly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you say, then awkwardly add, “Fun.”

“I’m over the fucking moon,” he deadpans.

You bite your tongue, trying not to retort too quickly to a comment like that. You look away from him and to the keys in his hand and you prepare for the small talk you’re about to force yourself to engage in. “Tough ride in?”

It seems to take him a moment to process the question. The awkwardness of it all lingers. “Something like that,” he answers. However, his gaze is stuck on the picture in your hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Your brows furrow and you glance down. So much for small talk. “This?” You hold up the photo. “Oh, this is, uh, Oliver. Mel and Paige’s son.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says in a way that’s almost inquisitive, though the relief in his voice is palpable. You try to ignore that. “I didn’t know they had a kid.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. “You clearly don’t follow Mel on anything,” you reply, then pause. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t do social media.”

“It’s a waste of fucking time,” he says, reaching out to look at the photo. When you hand it to him, he mutters, “I think Rivera would have me blocked if I did, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” you say honestly. You take the picture back from him and place it on your desk. Your next question comes out casual, and you can’t help but be proud of how nicely this is all flowing. “Speaking of kids, how’s Phoebe doing? And how’s Molly?”

You’re not expecting the hint of shock on Roy’s face when you turn back to him. It’s as if he can’t believe you’ve remembered his sister’s name, or his niece that you met when she was no more than six months old. You want to slap him upside the head for looking at you like that because, of course, you fucking remember that, but a knock on the door from the other room interrupts your conversation.

Trent’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, notepad in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and he appears to be avoiding eye contact with Roy. “But if you were serious about talking, would you be free to do it tomorrow?”

You offer him a warm smile, hoping that’ll contrast Roy’s crossed arms and hard stare directed at him. “Sure thing.”

“No,” Roy immediately says. “You’re not fucking talking to him.”

Confusion takes over. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because no one’s fucking talking to him,” is Roy’s answer, firm, with no room for argument. His eyes never leave Trent. “And don’t try to fucking weasel your way into this team through someone who doesn’t fucking know any better, Crimm. You’re fucking better than that.”

You’re gaping at Roy as Trent nods at you kindly and retreats into the locker room. When you look back into the office to see if you can get some clarity from one of your other new colleagues, you notice that they’re both missing. Ted did say they had to set some things up.

You suppose that just gives you the ability to talk freely to Roy now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, whipping back to Roy who’s already facing his desk. “Has he not been given the O-K to write a book about this team?”

Roy grunts. “He has. But it doesn’t mean we’re fucking talking to him.”

“Well, doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose of him writing a book?”

“You’re catching on.”

You lean back against your desk, folding your arms to take on Roy’s previous stance. “Oh, I see,” you say in understanding. “This is a Kent Rule.”

He doesn’t have to be facing you for you to know he rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s totally a Kent Rule.” You stare at his back as he shifts his shoulders in discomfort. “You hate him, so you’re forcing the team to hate him. Enemy mine is enemy yours? That’s Kent Rule number three, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It’s a team rule,” he states. “I’m just enforcing it.”

“Right,” you agree, though your voice says differently. “Each person here hates him so much that they allowed him to write a book here.”

Roy shakes his head with a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, I forgot how fucking irritating you were.”

“I’m not being irritating. You’re being evasive.” You only get another grunt in response. Fed up, your frustration at his lack of an explanation starts to seep into your tone. “So, what? I’m just supposed to ice that nice guy out because you say so?”

When Roy finally looks at you, he’s scowling. “He’s not fucking nice,” he says. “And you don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me,” you argue.

“My word’s not good enough?”

You glare at him. “Your word hasn’t been good enough in eight fucking years.”

Roy shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Definitely not telling you now.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, scanning the room and the hall to make sure no one’s watching the two of you. You put a hand up before he can retaliate with anything. “Look, if this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay? And we can’t argue here. Not here.” You motion to the office around you. “I can’t work with that shit. Alright?”

For a moment, it’s like you can look into Roy’s mind. You watch him appear to recount last week’s talk, just as you did minutes ago. Professional. Civil. No issues.

“Fine,” he finally sighs, knowing you’re right.

“Fine,” you reply. You take a breath. “So, if he sucks and you don’t want me to talk to him, you need to tell me why. You can’t just order me around like I’m one of the guys, especially not in front of people. I’m your equal here, Roy. Whether you like it or not.”

Roy shakes his head. “You’ve always been my equal,” he says, though it’s a bit softer. “You fucking know that.”

His words leave a lump in your throat that you’re not anticipating. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

His head tilts back, eyes falling shut. His shoulders tense up. Heavy sigh. Dear God, he really doesn’t want to tell you, huh?

And then it hits you. Oh, fuck does it hit you. He doesn’t want to tell you.

And you get why.

Roy’s talking as soon as you open your mouth to apologize for pushing him. “The others don’t know either. I’ll tell you when I tell them,” he offers. “That’s the fucking best you’re getting from me.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, so you offer a nod. “Fine,” you say softly.

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

The conversation feels finished, but there’s still one more thing you want to say. “And can we agree right here that we’re not going to argue in front of anyone? Just like you said?” you ask. “Like, if you want to pick a fight, just like, pull me into the Boot Room or something. This shit can’t affect the way we do our jobs.”

Humor slants Roy’s expression. “Boot Room fights?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. Not in front of the team.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says with a nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

From the outside of the office, you can hear the team start to file into the locker room from their gym facility, laughing just the same as when you heard them earlier. The alone sound makes you tense up. Roy narrows his eyes at you.

“Speaking of,” he says cautiously. “I think it might be time for your introduction. Hope you like primary school-level art done by grown fucking men.”

That takes you out of your headspace immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

I can send a car for you so you know you’re not being murdered.

You’d read the three messages you’d received two days ago from Roy Kent about a million times. While you’d replied to him that his sending a car felt very mafia boss and definitely doesn’t eliminate the murder possibility, you’d still gathered up the courage to dress up in your nicest sweats, escape from the Village after the Opening Ceremony festivities, and meet his driver on the outskirts.

(Of course, you said yes to the driver. Roy Kent was fucking loaded and if he were going to be strange and summon you places, you were going to take his free transportation.)

You’d confirmed your whereabouts and situation approximately thirty-five thousand times to Mel, who had nothing but questions for you.

“Roy Kent. Like Chelsea’s finest, here, there, every fucking where Roy Kent?” That’s the one.

“Is sending a car for you to go to where?” I don’t know, it looks like a soccer field.

“To do what?” Battle Pokemon. I don’t fucking know, Mel. I think he wants to train me.

“Train you or train you?” Why are you saying it like that?

“Because this has to be a weird hook-up thing that famous footballers do, right?” He made it very clear he had no interest. Also, pause. What about me says I’d fuck on a pitch?

“He could bring an air mattress.” Oh my God, I’m leaving.

But as you arrived to this completely empty field, with nobody but your overly friendly driver, Roger to back you up, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. This was weird, wasn’t it? You were meeting up with this guy you barely knew at an abandoned location just because he told you that you were an overthinker? Your mother would be absolutely horrified if she knew. You’d broken just about every Stranger Danger rule she’d set.

However, the second that you stepped out of the car to see Roy illuminated by the field lights, standing with his hood up and a bag of footballs thrown over his shoulder, you knew this was legit. And the anxiety washed away. But a few of the nerves stayed.

“Glad you showed,” he greets, turning to walk to the field as you fell into step with him.

You look over at him expectantly. “So, you are coaching me.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he says. “I just want to get you out of your head.”

You nod in faux agreement. “Right. Because that’s not coaching.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s called being a nice fucking person.”

“Right,” you say again. “Because Roy Kent is known best for his kindness.”

He turns to you. Something sparks in you when you notice that he appears to be humored by all of this. “You should be thanking me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” you apologize, sending him a wide smile as you two make it to the field. “Thank you, Coach.” Roy rolls his eyes again and you chuckle softly. “I’ll thank you when I know for a fact you’re not gonna murder me.”

He watches as you plop yourself down on the pitch to stretch a bit. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought a fucking witness.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Roger could be your Ryan Gosling.”

Roy actually laughs at that one. It’s a sound that you’d never expected to hear, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it again. “I wouldn’t trust him to do that kind of driving. Chatty prick can barely get around London.”

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

“He’s fucking incredible. Been with him since my Sunderland days. Still a chatty prick.”

You can’t help but smile at the fondness that’s crept into his voice, but you say nothing about it. You bring your knee to your chest in a stretch and look up at him. “So, what’s the plan here, Coach?”

“Not your coach.”

“Right, sorry. What’s the plan here, Zodiac?”

Roy shakes his head, fighting to keep his lips even. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you ask. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll train with you until your team's out,” he says. “Whenever our match schedules align, we can figure out a time to do shit until you need to go home.”

Your smile turns cocky. “And if we win?”

He practically snorts. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if we do?”

“Then we’ll train until then,” he replies. “And I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You’re not sure what that entails, but anything you want from Roy fucking Kent? It’s an offer that may be too good to pass up. But still, one question lingers. “In exchange for what?”

“What?” he asks.

You stand, lifting one of your feet from the ground so that you can pull it up behind you in another stretch. “A deal works two ways. Exchanging goods or services and all that,” you tell him. “What’s in it for you?”

Roy shrugs. “I need to train too,” he answers. It's a bit simple, a bit evasive. “That’s what’s in it for me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you say, “you can’t be serious. You want to train with me just to train?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you respond, slowly realizing he’s serious. “I guess I just kind of assumed when I heard ‘deal’ that you’d want something in return.”

“Well, that’s all I fucking want,” he tells you. “If I think of anything else you can do for me, I’ll let you know.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh escapes you. “I’ll be anxiously anticipating your demands.”

He’s turned to his bag of footballs and crouches to grab one, glancing up at you as he rises. “So?” he asks. “Do we have a fucking deal, or what?”

Your foot goes down as you look at him, evaluating him and his offer. You shift your gaze to the field, to the big lights around you, then to the night sky that tells you it’s almost the next day.

You have a game in Glasgow again tomorrow against Colombia. You’re out past curfew and know your team would both kill you and congratulate you if they knew where you were. You have to be on a bus in less than eight hours.

But here’s Roy Kent, standing with you on an abandoned pitch in London, offering to train with you. And what kind of idiot passes that up?

“Deal,” you agree, taking the ball from his hand. “Now, where do we start?”

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #aatwe #aces #the one who can't walk up stairs

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trashbag-baby666 · 6 months

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A day at the theme park/water park with the boys!!! Inspired and brought to you by a conversation me, Ky, and Kat had! Likes and reblogs highly appreciated!!!

MOTA Masterlist!

•They all packed into Bubbles van and Gales car to take the couple hour trip.

•When they got there they stood in the parking lot so Gale made sure they had a plan and everyone applied sunscreen. Make sure John applies sunscreen.

•Croz eats his lunch he packed since he has hella food allergies.

•Bubbles eats his too because that’s how in love with Croz he is.

•He has to chase the deranged toddler John Egan around the van to put on sunscreen.

•Hambone is complaining that it’s hot (he’s in cargo pants and a baggy shirt)

•Brady looks fly as hell in these sunglasses because he has the best sunglasses!

•Blakely and Dougie are wearing matching floral button downs and khaki shorts… they’re also standing against the van basically groping each other.

•Curt and Ken are looking all cute applying sunscreen to each other and Curt is blushing getting to rub the sunscreen into Ken’s waist bc he’s wearing a cropped tank top.

•Rosie and Sandra are pointing at all the roller coasters they’re going to ride.

•Blakely and Dougie are those couples at amusement parks…

•They’re making out, groping each other, hanging on each other.

•They break off from the group and run around together all day trying to take funny pictures on all the rides.

•John is getting buckled into the ride and he starts questioning his decision.

• “I think I might get off.”

• “Okay, do you want me to wave someone over?”

• “No! No! It’s okay! It’s fine!”

• “John you don’t have to ride the coaster if you don’t want to?”

• “It’s okay, I swear!”

•John screams loud and high pitched the entire time…he’s also scared out of his mind.

•The pictures are peak comedy.

•Blakely and Dougie are kissing.

•Ham: 🖕🏻😐 Brady: 😁 (Curt and Ken are the same LOL)

•John: 😱🫨 Gale: ✌🏻🙂

•Sandra: 🖕🏻😁 Rosie: 👋👋 jazz hands

•Croz doesn’t do roller coasters so him and Bubbles went to go ride water slides. Bubbles is loving getting to stare at the way Croz’s swim shirt clings to his back. Croz still has a lean/muscular back from dance and it’s insane.

•okay hear me out: John can’t swim, he just looks like he can’t swim okay?

•Gale tells him to just stand up in the water because he’s 6’2.

•Curt and Ken are making fun of John and his tube in the wave pool.

•Gale is getting his tan on and reading his book wave pool side.

•He’s also trying to get John to reapply sunscreen but he’s refusing.

• “I don’t need it Buck!”

• “I don’t wanna hear you complain when your shoulders hurt tomorrow!”

• guess who’s red and peeling tomorrow?

•If you guessed John, you’re right.

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danieyells · 2 months

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Hmm... I have been thinking... If you are a female or have female body, Ed probably won't mind doing the deed with you when you're having your period? Letting him touch you and ease the period cramp with his fingers, his tongue, and even with his dick if both of you won't mind the mess? (Nah actually the moment he caught a whiff of blood coming from you and telltale signs of your body enduring the monthly cycle he won't hesitate to sidle up to your body and convince you he can help ease the cramp and such if you let him? Cue one thirsty yet very happy vampire having his way with you as you writhe underneath him from whatever wicked things he does to you in-between your legs lol)

... I may or may not have unleashed something from inside myself that I didn't know I have after I type this idea but for some reason I don't have any regrets lol (and also thanks to one of your recent posts my thirst towards this infuriatingly lazy yet handsome vampire has increased tenfold I will need to drown myself in holy water to prevent myself from thinking nasty things about him during work 🙈)

(You can think nasty things wherever you want, as long as they don't leave your head or disrupt what you're doing! Don't let work kill your vibe anon!! Most of my text posts happen while I'm at work myself--just don't blurt anything weird out or get too horny lol.)

Oh yeah he would go ham on someone during their period like. He smells it coming for one. You haven't even started, but he knows it's coming. And he's lived a long life, he doesn't need tiktok to tell him how he can help. And you can help him, too--and Rui might appreciate the effort too you know!!!

Less pain and more pleasure for you and he gets the absolute honor of you sitting on his face for several days straight being the one to relieve you. It feels good for him too and, of course, he gets fed if you let him. . .everybody wins! Please sit on his face.

But yeah he is 400 years old, you're not the first partner he's ever had, he has 0 squeamishness regarding menstruation let alone blood. He'll give it to you however you want it, especially if it'll make you feel better. And if you let him go down on you he'll be even happier and have even more energy to. . .assist you. And he promises not to bite your cooch.

Rui comes into his room after the fact and didn't realize you were there but Ed, slob as he is, did not clean his face at all after he finished and his face is just. Smeared with blood. Dried blood, but blood. And he's just watching some youtube video like he doesn't look like Taiga after he ate the Like Dove.

"Ed, what did you do!?"

"Whatever do you mean, Rui?"

"What do I--there's blood all over your face!! We gave Darkwick our word that we wouldn't hurt anybody!"

"Oh, I didn't hurt anybody. In fact, I think I've done quite the opposite."

"If you didn't hurt anybody then where did the blood come from!?"

And you just kinda sit up or roll over or something to draw attention to yourself and at first Rui is horrified because it's you that Ed bit and that's going to go so bad on so many levels. And then he realizes how the room smells and it clicks.

And he's still mad because Ed that's disgusting go wash your face dude. Clean them up too come on you're old enough to know better than to not wash after sex.

#danie yells at tokyo debunker #danie yells with anons #danie yells answers #nsftish #edward hart

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nicoline1998enilocin · 1 year

Text

Two dogs and a piano

PAIRING | CHRIS EVANS x FEMALE!READER

WORD COUNT | 3.2K

SUMMARY | You go for a run through Boston with your husky Willow, and you run into the one and only Chris Evans. When he invites you over for a playdate for the dogs, you find out the two of you have more in common than you could have imagined.

WARNING(S) | None.

A/N | Please think of adopting a pet from a shelter, instead of buying one in a pet store! The animals in there deserve the world, and you can give 'em that by taking them out of their shelters, and into your home 🖤

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Chris Evans Masterlist

Today started just like every other day, woken up by your Siberian husky, named Willow. She was already 7 years old by now, but she had the energy of 5 huskies combined, which you absolutely loved about her. ''Good morning Willow!'' you say when she jumps onto your bed looking for some snuggles and belly scratches, which honestly was your favorite way to wake up every morning. You had given up on dating a few years back, but when you started feeling lonely you decided to adopt a dog. Not just for the love they would give you, but also to get some more exercise in, and that worked out well. She always needs long walks or runs before she's tired, and you enjoy exploring the city with her.

''Shall we go for a run this morning?'' you asked her and her ears perked up, granting you a little howl as a response. She always enjoyed running with you, keeping the same pace as you. You never taught her to do it, but she was just considerate like that. Sure, she could be a brat of the highest degree if she wanted to, but on your walks and runs she would be an absolute delight. Often times people come up to the two of you to see if they can pet her and since she is a little bit of an attention seeker, she never minds and always accepts pets and cuddles from people. ''Okay, let's get up big girl. Let's have some breakfast first and then I'll take you for a run,'' you say with a smile when you get up, picking up an oversized shirt from the floor.

Despite the fact that you lived alone, you were always a little afraid someone might barge in and you didn't appreciate that. Even though you have your very own guard dog now - oh, who are we kidding, she would help a burglar out by bringing stuff outside for them - you still didn't feel comfortable walking around in just your underwear. Willow ran ahead of you into the kitchen, already looking forward to breakfast today. You prefer feeding her raw food, and you already prepared a big batch of it last week to last you throughout the next few weeks, so all you have to do is get it out of the fridge and prepare it for her. ''Are you ready, Willow?'' you looked at her and put her slow feeder bowl in front of her, while she patiently waits for your command. ''Enjoy!'' you say and he happily starts eating while you start preparing your own breakfast and a smoothie for when you come back from your run.

You turn on some music to get your morning started and get some strawberries as well as all the other things you'll need for your smoothie out of the fridge. You put it in the blender and let that run for a little bit before getting some slices of bread, eggs, and ham and cheese ready. You were really craving toast with eggs, ham, and cheese for a while so you decided to give into it this time, it would be a perfect start before your run anyways. You always took a few snacks and some water with you on your run, but going on an empty stomach wasn't an option. When the smoothie is done you put it in your usual smoothie cup and place it in the fridge for when you come back, and then you sit down at your kitchen island to enjoy your breakfast. By the time you're done, Willow was patiently laying by the door until you were ready to go. All you needed to do was change, grab some stuff, and get her leash.

It appeared to be a lovely day outside, so you opted for a pair of neon green running shorts, a black sports bra, and a matching neon green loose top over that. You put on a pair of black running shoes and your hair in a ponytail. Next up you put some stuff in the small backpack you always take with you while running, and the leash you can put around your waist when running with Willow. ''Are you ready to go, baby? Are you ready to for a run today?'' you ask and she immediately jumps up, excited to go for a run with you. You grab your headphones and pair them with your phone, you pull up your running playlist and walk out the door. ''Good morning, Mrs. Jones!'' you say when you see your elderly neighbor in the hallway. ''Good morning Y/N, good morning Willow!'' she says and she comes over to give Willow some love. ''Have a good run today, Y/N,'' she says before you enter the elevator.

You have been running for about an hour so far, and Willow is starting to get a little tired, just like you, so you decide to stop in a dog park so she can go ahead and get some extra energy out whilst you gather yourself a bit on a bench. ''I'm sorry, is this seat taken?'' you hear a deep voice next to you saying, and you shake your head, saying, ''No, not at all! Please join me,'' with a big smile and a cheery voice. ''Thank you,'' he says and he sits down with a bit of a sigh. ''I've never seen you around here, are you new?'' he asked, and you explain that you live in a different part of Boston, but you just enjoy exploring the city when you're running with your dog. ''See the white and grey husky over there? She's mine, her name's Willow,'' you say and your eyes sparkle when you say it, she's your pride and joy. ''She's beautiful! It appears she's playing with my dog, his name's Dodger,'' he mentions.

''Oh, I am such an idiot, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Chris, Chris Evans,'' and you can't help but smile at the fact that you've met the one and only Chris Evans. You have seen a few of the movies he's in, but you didn't let that phase you in the slightest. ''It's nice to meet you, Chris, I'm Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N,'' you extend your hand and he happily accepts it. ''Do you mind if I eat my apple real quick? I'm gonna need the sugars for my way back,'' you ask and he doesn't mind. He just starts talking about Dodger and how he rescued him, which warms your heart. ''I adopted Willow 3 years ago from a shelter actually! I think it is really important to also adopt older dogs, they usually get looked over in shelters and that breaks my heart...'' you say, Chris agreed with you.

You keep talking about other stuff that has both your interests too, and after about an hour you really have to go, so you excuse yourself and call Willow back over to you. You whistle on your fingers to get her attention and she stops dead in her tracks to turn around and come back to you. ''Oh wow, she's a great listener!'' Chris laughed and couldn't help but admire the way you handle Willow, with such care and love, it felt like his heart might explode. ''Do you and Willow want to come over for a playdate soon? I think the two of them would love that,'' he asked with a bit of a shy tone in his voice. ''Sounds good! Let me give you my number so we can see when we have the time, okay?'' you said and Chris gave you his phone so you could put your number in it. ''It was lovely meeting you Chris,'' you said before turning your music on again and waving one last time before continuing your run with Willow.

You ran for another hour and a half before you were finally back home, looking forward to a hot shower right about now. You give Willow a treat for being such a good girl, and you grab your smoothie out of the fridge, the cold soothing you from the inside out. When you finished it, you put your cup in the dishwasher and went to the bathroom, undressing in your bedroom and getting ready to wash away all the sweat you worked up during your run. You start singing along with the music you're playing and just when you're putting conditioner in your hair, you hear your phone go off. You look around your shower curtain just to see it was Chris who texted you.

Chris: Hi Y/N, it's Chris. It was really lovely to meet you earlier this morning. Seeing you and Willow really brightened up my day today. I was wondering if you'd still like to come by for that playdate?

Why would he think you wouldn't want to come over for that playdate anymore? You had a great time this morning meeting him, so you start thinking of things to text back while you wash the conditioner out of your hair. When you're dried off, you go looking for some comfy clothing to wear, since today you're working from home. You settle for a pair of black shorts and a simple white tank top, nothing too fancy but perfect for working outside on your balcony in this weather. You decide to let your hair loose today and wear your glasses, not being bothered to put in contact lenses. When you're settled outside with your laptop, your iced coffee, and Willow laying comfortably by your feet, you text Chris back.

Y/N: Hey, it was really nice to meet you too, I'm glad I could help to brighten your day! 🥰 And of course, we would love to come by for a playdate, I'll be off next week on Thursday. Would that work for you?

You don't have to wait long for your answer.

Chris: Thursday works for me too. Can't wait to see both of you again then.

Y/N: Same! Do you want me to bring something?

Chris: No, just yourself and Willow is plenty. 😉

You laugh at his response and put your phone away for now, you still need to get some work done after all. By the time 6 PM rolls around you've finished your work, and you start getting pretty hungry at this point. ''Are you hungry, too, Willow?'' you ask and she gets up to follow you to the kitchen, ready for her dinner too. Since you went on a long run today, you give her a little more food than usual, but she's happy to eat all of it without a problem. You warm up yesterday's leftovers from when you had your best friend over for Chinese food and wine. You sit down in your comfy chair again and put on a reality tv-show on your laptop to watch during dinner, and you watch 2 episodes before getting up to clean up the kitchen. When all that is done you make yourself a cup of tea and decide to text Chris, to see if he's perhaps available to video chat or something. He was, and the two of you talked for close to three hours before hanging up and going to sleep.

~ Day of the play date ~

Willow decided to sleep in a little for a change, and you didn't mind it at all. You set your alarm for 9:30 AM, you didn't have to go to Chris' until 1 PM anyway. This way you had plenty of time to get ready, walk Willow, and clean the apartment. You picked out your outfit yesterday because you were too excited and found the perfect one. It was another beautiful and sunny day, so you went for a long yellow polka dot sundress, your gladiator sandals, and your black purse to finish the look. Your hair was put in two Dutch braids and was hanging loose behind your back. All you needed now was your sunglasses and Willow, before getting the bottle of white wine you got as a thank you, despite Chris telling you that you didn't need to bring anything besides yourself and Willow. You never liked to show up empty-handed.

''Shall we go to Chris' house, Willow?'' you ask her excitedly and she jumps up, bolting to the door so you can put on her leash. ''Easy there soldier, we're not gone yet!'' you laugh and you get her leash, when she's clipped in you grab your keys, phone, purse, and the wine and you walk out the door. When you're in the parking garage you're walking towards your car and Willow is so excited she almost pulls you over. ''Willow, easy!'' you say and she listens, so you don't fall on the ground. You get to your car and open the backdoor of your trusty Jeep, it has gotten you from A to B for close to ten years now, and you still love driving it every time you get a chance. Willow jumps in the back and settles on the blankets, so you walk to the driver's side of your car and get in. You plug in your phone so you can use it for both music and navigation, guiding you to Chris' house without a problem.

After a short 20-minute drive you turn into his driveway, and Willow is excited to see you have arrived. ''We're here, baby girl,'' you say before getting out of the car and seeing Chris standing in his open front door. ''Hi Y/N, hi Willow!'' he says and Dodger comes running outside, wanting to see who's coming to visit them. Willow jumps out of the car and immediately runs to Dodger and they start playing right away. ''It's like they never left,'' you tell Chris with a chuckle and he couldn't agree more. ''Wow, you look beautiful today, Y/N!'' Chris said when you walked closer and you twirled a few times for him, letting him enjoy everything he can get his eyes on. ''Thank you, I honestly feel like the sun itself,'' you say and you laugh so hard you snort a little bit, making your cheeks turn bright red.

Chris couldn't help but enjoy every second of it, he thought you were the best thing that has happened to him in a long time, and he only met you a week ago. ''Willow, you coming girl? There's a whole backyard you can play in!'' you tell her and she comes your way, Chris leading the way to his backyard. Willow and Dodger continue their play session there, and you almost forgot to give Chris the wine you brought. ''Oh, I brought you something as a thank you, I'll just need to grab it from my car real quick,'' you say and you grab the bottle. ''Here you go, I hope you like it,'' you say with a little blush on your cheeks because you ran the short distance to your car and back. ''It's my favorite actually!'' he said, ''Mine too,'' you laughed and you can't believe how much you have in common. ''I'll just chill this for now, so we can enjoy it over dinner. Can I get you something else to drink?''

About 15 minutes later you're both enjoying the sun in his backyard, watching the dogs run after each other and tiring each other out. ''So, what do you do for work?'' Chris asked, and you start explaining how you're a criminologist, so you analyze the behavioral patterns of criminals through sociology, psychology, economy, anthropology, and statistics, amongst other things. ''Been doing that for about 7 years now, and honestly, I love my job. Every day is different and it keeps me on my toes. Luckily I can also do this job from home, so I work 3 days in the office and 2 days at home, but today I had a day off. I was originally planning to go visit my friend, but she had to cancel, which is why I was able to come by today!'' you explain, and Chris is a really great listener, asking lots of questions you wouldn't expect.

When 7 PM rolls around, both you and Chris completely forgot about the time and realized you almost forgot about dinner. ''Did you want to order in, or did you want to cook something?'' you ask, and Chris was really in the mood to cook tagliatelle bolognese. ''Sounds perfect, shall I help?'' you ask and he happily accepts. Everything went fine until Chris accidentally let the pan of pasta sauce slip out of his hands, and it went all over the kitchen, and over him as well, covering him almost from head to toe. You just came back from the bathroom when you saw what happened and couldn't help but laugh, even though you felt bad for seeing him like this. ''Oh god, Chris, what happened?!'' you ask between the laughter and start cleaning up the kitchen a little. ''It slipped out of my hands. I'm gonna take a shower to get this sauce off of me, I'll be right back,'' he says before walking up the stairs towards his bathroom.

You start cleaning the rest of the kitchen, but you didn't want to waste the pasta that was already cooked, so you were happy to find some pesto and pine nuts, turning it into a pasta pesto instead of the bolognese it was supposed to be. The pasta was currently in the fridge, and you walked into Chris' living room when you suddenly noticed his piano. You didn't see it when you walked in, but you were excited to see it, you always loved playing the piano. You sat down on the stool in front of it and started playing one of your favorite songs, Easy On Me by Adele. You softly sang along and didn't hear Chris coming back from his shower. He heard the piano and his heart skipped a beat, realizing you were playing it and he stood there listening to you playing and singing along. ''I didn't know you could play the piano,'' he said in a soft, deep voice when he walked down the stairs.

''Oh yeah, I learned to play it ever since I was little, my parents had one growing up, and I enjoyed many hours playing it. I'm sorry, I should have asked you if I could play it first. I didn't mean to overstep-'' but before you could finish your sentence, Chris sat down next to you on the stool and started playing something too. When you recognized the song you started playing along on your side, and the two of you bonded deeply at that moment, never wanting it to end. ''You can play the piano all you want,'' Chris said with a smile and got up to walk back to the kitchen, only to find it was all cleaned up. ''Did you-'' ''Yeah!'' you answered before he could finish his sentence and with quick steps he walked back to you, grabbing your face in his hands before placing a soft kiss on your lips, your hands slowly snaking their way around his waist to pull him even closer. ''Thank you for running into my life,'' he said and he kissed you again, wanting this moment to last forever and ever.

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