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a-kaash-me-outside · 7 months

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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elvirable · 1 year

Text

Ambrosia (Act 1)

[ Astarion x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating: explicit | word count: 2k | status: ongoing themes/tags: vaginal sex, feelings realization, denial of feelings, light smut.. for now, and a whole lotta angst, will add more smut tho in the next chapters, soulmates, fluff, written as a glimpse into his mind during each act ———–

Astarion would never tell you, though - it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

In other words: A delve into Astarion's thoughts, starting with the day he met you. *will update description at some point. ———– A/N: i wrote this as a peek into Astarion's mind throughout Act 1. plan to continue as i progress throughout the game. lmk what you think and if you like this style!

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Grief had a penchant for wearing different masks.

Phantom faces that slithered through shadows, white-hot wrath that clawed at the throat, an endless gnawing that swallowed one whole: all faces of a primordial monster that had existed before time itself.

Astarion knew all this.

He had met them all – intimate with its simplest form, a cold polarizing solitude; a loyal companion for two centuries, teaching him to lick his wounds with malice. Others had taken everything from him, or they were too weak to lift a meaningful finger. It took several lifetimes to finally mend his precious pride back together. Why should he practice mercy when no one had shown him any?

And by some stroke of luck, he was free – at least for now. Opportunity had fallen before his feet; he could chase after power, clutch revenge in his pale fingers, walk amongst the sun. Red eyes clung to the light glimmering across the water and wavering leaves. A desperate urge pulsed up his spine, insisting he memorize each saturated detail before it faded away like the most ethereal dream. The exhilaration rose wildly before plummeting to the pits of his stomach.

Huh, that was odd. It had never dawned on him that grief could also bloom in the slow, golden sunlight.

Languid beams washed against his flesh and through the faint hem of his shirt. Every fiber of his skin ached, dull and shallow, at the sacred warmth that had been a stranger for so long. He felt this haunted and holy gift – the vigor of life from each ray of light running over his fair face. Reunited once again, like long-lost lovers.

It was the sound of boots thudding against dirt that pulled him back into the world, on the ravaged beachfront.

With straight posture, a hollow smile painted itself across his lips. ==

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

No, he didn’t know.

Quiet was this small voice that, for some odd reason, had grasped onto his conscience the night he died. It had sung loud in the beginning, but now it was just a whisper. Everything else had reduced to dust, long-buried beneath the cold earth.

But if he could conjure the ghost of his mother, he couldn’t be bothered to. Astarion envisioned a sharp tsk , a scowl dripping with disgust if she could see the creature he was today: a thrall to his own hedonistic desires, wielding manipulation and seduction as an instrument. A vampire , taking solace amongst the shadows and draining the life around him.

Maybe he was the same, just calloused and rearranged by the fate spun for him.

However, there was no need to exhume the past. It proved futile anyway; he couldn’t even recall the previous hue of his eyes, much less run his hands over his reflection. The only thing worthy of concern was survival. Memories had been shrouded by the same pivotal virtue, the one that carved the habit to become shapeless – to cater to every impulse and whim of those who could serve useful. Those who could protect him, at least for the time being.

And that was exactly what he tried with you, as his breath was inches from your slender neck and your eyes widened in hazy alarm, catching him by surprise.

“Shit.”

You scuttered to your feet in the frantic silence, dozens of excuses fluttering to Astarion’s tongue. The fatigue of bloodthirst hindered his wit, but he raised his palms in reservation.

He had already taken note of your misleading presence – you were small, but heavens , would you put up a fight. Other companions had already turned towards you for guidance the past few days, and you were carved with a beauty that could intimidate. Though, there were cracks underneath that facade – ones with darkness in between.

Peering into these cracks was his only outlet to earn your trust; after all, it was paramount for survival.

“I – I wasn’t going to hurt you,” exasperated breaths pushed from his throat. “I just needed, well.. blood.”

Basked in the dim firelight, your wary gaze studied him for what he really was: a vampire, a slave to sanguine hunger. He caught the stutter in your furrowed brows before they eased. Smug delight settled in his nerves when you, although with apprehension, allowed him to taste you.

Astarion eagerly obliged, immediately losing himself in the euphoria– the sweet vigor of your blood, how silky and rich. A low hum vibrated in his throat, and he barely registered when your palms pushed his broad weight off of you. Lush satisfaction that quenched his blood-thirst still coursed through him like a stimulant, but he still caught the tail-end of your groan.

“I don’t care that you’re a vampire. Just –,” you paused briefly to reel from your daze. “We’re all a team now, so I have to have some trust in you. Just ask next time.”

He felt happy, more alive – not only from the fresh blood still lingering on his tongue, but that you trusted him. Maybe not entirely, but the anchor had already been dropped; one step closer to wrapping you around his finger, even if you weren’t entirely flexible. He could feel it in your gaze, in the little quivers that rolled through you while his fangs sunk into your soft skin.

Once you had returned to sleep and his frenzied nerves quelled, he mulled over your parting words. You weren’t phased’ that he was a vampire, instead placing emphasis on trust. You were full of surprises – especially when the entire world met him with repulse.

Something that had been fossilized inside him tremored, as if it began to thaw. ==

There was a thin chill in the evening air, in the way nature prepares for a new season. And he hated you.

Well, he didn’t hate you – frankly, he couldn’t get enough of you; that was the issue.

You plagued his thoughts like a helpless addiction, better yet like a mirror; one he had repeatedly peered into, struggling to find the right angle and when he did – he was left staring at you.

Those careful eyes – a mocking reminder of everything he could have been. So different, so resilient, so disgustingly kind.

Since the day he laid eyes on you, he was the first to glimpse at your secret hidden in plain sight. Your habit of hiding yourself from everyone you came across, retreating behind stone-bared walls and tailoring a facade just enough to avoid drawing attention. Reserved lips were a mere confirmation you sealed away a vault of grief that you didn’t want – or need – clumsy, temporary hands to pry open.

That discreet resolve particularly made you the sour dagger twisting between his ribs. Grief had been your companion as well, but its mark never trickled from anywhere else – not a warbled voice or frustrated bout. It was only noticeable through a fleeting glint in your eyes. Meanwhile, he had made this medley of rage and anguish his armor. It had fused to skin, and he no longer knew how to scrape it off. Astarion dedicated decades to cursing the Gods. You ignored them.

He knew he should despise you and eagerly await the day he could shatter this mirror you were – but all bitterness dissolved in your presence. You had become his wonderfully terrible affliction; withdrawals could damn near kill him if they were to happen.

Ribbons unraveled from his chest with each conversation, whether it pertained to the graveness of the journey or a simple ‘good morning’ from your lips. Strange yet blissful, he could feel himself surrendering every bitter pang for the peculiar sensation of… comfort .

Once laced with such harshness, his mind eased with familiarity. An interesting chord of harmony, he thought, the two of you. From the start of the journey until now, you shared an enriching balance. He would encourage you to be more outspoken, while you stirred him to be authentic and soft – even if you weren’t aware.

You were stable like bedrock; never once expecting to be selfless or pious, instead only demanded transparency – at least to the extent he was willing to concede. Aside from the occasional brow-raise or retort, judgment never twisted your face. Respect was a new sensation to him, as you gave him yours.

This dynamic, this balance ; it was irresistibly and invariably warm.

The rendezvous sort of just fell into habit.

Every night he would savor the ambrosia from your neck, and one evening tension gave way to carnal desire. Whether it was a simple cathartic release or not, he didn’t care; tender moments bathed in amber firelight or the hush of the night had always left him craving more.

“You’re such a tease .”

You’d whisper those words every so often those sacred nights, and a rakish grin would slide across his face without fail. Lust gripped him, but never once weaved with routine; the way your legs parted to invite him in left Astarion with an insatiable urge to indulge in everything you were willing to give him. He could spend the entire evening with his head between your thighs, cold hands steadying your quivering legs as his tongue lured you to new heights of pleasure – giving you exactly what you needed.

When he was with you – skin pressed together, desperate hums like honey – he began to relish in taking things slow.

He preferred the nights where your bare body writhed beneath him and melted against his, while he eagerly coaxed wispy whines from your lips. No matter how wet and ready you were, his girth always met resistance as he parted your warm, sensitive walls. Your skin buzzed at the sensation of his cock splitting you open, like every time was the first you’ve been touched.

Desire laced every word he whispered into the curve of your neck, each encouraging and soft. His pace was slow, pushing into the depth of your core, buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with each thrust. Low, guttural grunts left his throat as your body’s natural instinct clenched around his throbbing cock.

Despite his centuries of experience, he found himself struggling to restrain from succumbing to the all-consuming euphoria of it all: your lashes wet from your tears, precious gasps warm against his skin, the desirous ache to fuck you the way that pretty face beckoned to be fucked.

The unbridled intimacy – which felt so real and tender was enough to send him over the edge. His veins hummed with yearning as he drank in the vision beneath him; your skin flushed, shaky whines that sung his name as he pushed you to pleasure. And when you wrapped your legs to press him deeper – he surrendered to the white-hot bliss.

Although Astarion would never tell a soul, his most treasured moments were spent after desperate breaths calmed and the entire world stilled.

It was never long before you lulled into sleep, and your weight slacked against his broad chest. He lingered over each detail with softer eyes; the gentle curl of your lashes, a freckle he had missed the last time. Peace graced such beautiful features, ones that were usually still with resolve. There had never been another face quite like yours in the two centuries he had lurked amongst the earth.

Your chest rose and fell slowly before you would eventually fidget, still deep in slumber, to slink an arm over his waist. His gentle hand grasped the one that rested against his chest, careful not to stir you, as he ran his fingers over your silk skin. Such delicate hands, he mused, that had to grapple their way through life.

He pressed a silent kiss against the back of your palm before laying it back on his chest.

In the silence, something washed over him – that rousing feeling that he never knew quite what to make of.

His eyes swept once more to watch the shuffle of your face, buried now against his side. Your hazy sighs warmed his bare skin. Astarion could almost laugh, imagining your face reddening if he ever shared how affectionate you were in your sleep.

Though he would never tell you – it was his little secret, one he hid away just for himself.

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msgexymunson · 2 years

Text

Red Handed

Exhibitionist!Fem!reader x soft!dom!Eddie

Description: the Polaroids had started out as just a joke, until you realised how much it turned you on taking them

A/N: this is from an anon ask, hope you don't mind where I went with it. Blended in a bit of exhibitionism and I was liberal with the 'object' Eddie recognises...

Warnings: lotta smut, hella angst, bitta fluff (nice ending we all need love in our lives) reader uses she/her pronouns (minors DNI I will tell your mothers) F! Masturbation, oral M! Receiving, unprotected sex (use some sense y'all) again I'm english so if any americanisms seem odd soz babe. Comments and reblogs are a writers best friend.

Word count: 4.7k

Masterlist

The school hallway was bustling. Teenagers were scooting through, talking loudly, making their way to first period. Some jocks were laughing in a group by the water fountain. A gaggle of nerds were inching cautiously past, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor. Stood by your locker, you were taking your time gathering your text books. You were waiting, desire and angst flowing and intermingling in a hot mess in your gut.

Finally, a mop of messy brown locks bursts into view. Eddie's gait is chipper, practically bouncing down the hall. Eddie, your best friend. Who is about to see you nearly naked. Not that he has any idea of course.

"Mornin' princess!" Eddie beams, flashing pearly teeth.

"Well aren't you full of the joys of Spring?" Smiling back at him; it was infectious. Eddie was a ray of sunshine for anyone who actually knew him.

"Just feel good today, have a feeling I might be lucky, you know?" He says, fixing his eyes on his locker, turning the combination.

You wait with bated breath as the door springs open and a small square envelope falls out. Eddie bends lightning fast and grabs it off the floor. Flipping it over, he sees a tiny red heart drawn in the corner. Eddie practically punches the air.

"I fuckin' knew it, today's my day!" He says half to himself, ripping the envelope open. Taking out some Polaroids his jaw drops. You watch as a blush creeps from his neck, up his jaw, and flushes his cheeks. You can feel a mirror of that blush, but the heat was travelling between your legs. God, this is such a turn on. If only he knew. He turns and presses his back against the lockers, hand on his forehead, gawping. He moves the pile to the next one, eyes bulging, then to the final photo.

"Holy shit." His hand compulsively strokes the back of his neck, eyes wide.

"Guessing you got another present then? A good one?" Knowing full well the answer. He nods emphatically, eyes not leaving the Polaroid. The reaction was everything you ever wanted. You don't need to ask what the pictures show, you took them.

The first image was you in your red lace bra and panties, perched on the edge of a desk, legs crossed. The next, your legs are wide open. The final picture was similar to the first, but this time you had removed your bra, your free hand teasing one of your nipples. None of them showed your face of course. Couldn't have Eddie knowing his shy, unassuming best friend was actually a filthy exhibitionist after all.

"You just need to ask her out Eddie, surely you must know who this is?" You try to keep a straight face, but it doesn't matter, Eddie's still looking at the picture. Your words shake him a little out of his daydream state.

"Sweetheart, when I find out who this is I'm gonna fuckin' marry her." You laugh loudly at that.

"Hang on, these are- fuck!" He looks at you. Fuckfuckfuck has he spotted something?

"These are taken at school! That's our English class! Jesus Christ, this is the girl of my dreams" he groans, leaning his head back, bashing it against the lockers. The bell rings.

"Come on lover boy, let's get to class." You bound off with Eddie at your heels, grinning to yourself and hugging your books.

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

It had all started as a joke really. Payback. You and the rest of Hellfire, your D & D club, were hanging out, talking shit as per usual. Dustin was gushing about his super hot, super nerdy girlfriend and Eddie was throwing m&ms at him.

"Hey! Just 'cause your jealous! You should go and find a girl instead of giving me shit about mine!" Dustin complains.

"Well, that would be great and all, but I don't even know any girls dingus. Only hang out with you losers." He says, throwing another m&m.

Dustin pointed at you, "y/ns a girl."

Eddie sniggered. "She doesn't count, she's one of us." He playfully punched you on the arm. You pressed your lips together firmly, feeling the tips of your ears go red.

'She doesn't count?' What the fuck. What am I, meatloaf or something? You should have said it out loud, but you just couldn't bring yourself to.

Once the embarrassment had worn off, you were angry. Storming into your room, you had flopped onto your bed, holding your face, biting back hot tears. Eddie was, well, everything. And you didn't count. The words were burning in your head. You'd been nursing this crush on him for a while, and apparently you may as well not exist. Pulling your hands away from your face you glance over at your desk to see your Polaroid camera sitting there. Hmmm. I'll teach him a lesson.

You took your bed sheet and hung it over your wardrobe. Standing in front of it, you whipped off your jeans and t shirt, changing into a tight strappy top, and posed. It was tricky to take a picture on your own and you messed up the first two, but the third was good. You could see your chest, nipples poking at the fabric, braless, and the side of your thigh was on display. Angling the camera to take a photo of your ass, you managed it on the first go. Lacy black panties riding high, showing the shape of your butt, it was actually a flattering image. I'll show you I count Munson.

That was the first time you had snuck Polaroids in his locker. You had watched him from around the corner, seen his puzzlement on finding the envelope with the heart on it. When he opened it his jaw fell open, looking around, trying to see if it was a joke. You felt smug. Walking over you grinned at Eddie.

"Hey Munson what you got there?"

"I-I think, maybe... erm, someone got the wrong locker? There's these, erm, photos. Fuck." He's not forming proper sentences, looking flushed and bewildered.

Suddenly it's hard to breathe. You can feel your pulse deep inside, heat pouring out of you. What the hell. This was about getting him back, but the thought of him seeing you in that state, showing your body to him, was intoxicating. Especially since he didn't know it was you.

You tried to steady your breathing. "Maybe you have a secret admirer?" You said, voice much calmer than you felt.

"Shit you think so?" He stared at you with big wide eyes; the look nearly broke you. You just couldn't reveal that it was a joke, not now. He looked so hopeful.

For a few days, you had thought maybe that was that. You had proven your point after all, even if it was only to yourself. That all fell apart when you brought the camera to The Hideout, and took a picture of Eddie on stage. He looked ethereal, this glowing God of a man, and you just had to. You made your way to the bathroom and stripped down to your underwear, taking a picture of you spread legged on the toilet seat, then another with your bra off, free arm covering your breasts.

It excited you; all of it. The sneaking around, the thrill that you might get caught, exposing yourself to Eddie. It made you feel alive. It made you feel dirty. Getting braver and more confident with each mini shoot, the locations got more and more risky. There was the toilets at school, then the woods just outside where Eddie did his deals. Now, Mrs O'Donnell's classroom. You had gotten to school at 6am for that one, the rush of potentially being caught red handed burning through your veins.

You knew it couldn't last though. Eventually you would need to stop. Eddie can be a bit dim sometimes, but surely he'd work it out, and then you'd have to admit your crush and potentially ruin your friendship. Plus, how self-conscious were you going to feel, knowing Eddie knew exactly what lay under your clothes?

One last time. You had said it before, but this time that was it, and you knew the perfect place.

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

It was 10pm the next day. Sitting in your car you were staking out the school, building up the nerve. The janitor had left some time ago, but you knew a side door that was never locked properly. Taking a deep breath, you grab your backpack, scoot out of your car and hurriedly make your way to the side of the school.

Moving through the hallways, you open up a small door and navigate your way around the drama room, coming to your destination. You grinned to yourself knowing this was going to blow Eddie's mind.

You're standing in front of Eddie's throne. His Hellfire seat, the one no one was allowed to touch, not even if someone else in the party ran a one shot. It was the cardinal rule. This was Eddie's spot.

Stripping off, you get entirely naked, shivering in the chilly air. Clearly the heating is turned off at night. You sit on the throne, arousal flowing through you already at the thought of what you were about to do, toying at your own nipples, getting them camera ready. The first shot you take both your legs are draped over the arm of the throne. The next, you let one leg fall to the floor, legs spread, cunt on full display.

Softly dragging your hand down, you graze your clit, holding your breath in your throat. Another photo. You glide your fingers through your folds, feeling your wetness seeping out, your arousal already pooling around your entrance. Another photo. You slide two fingers in all the way, letting out a stifled whimper, body on fire despite the chilly air. Another photo.

Finally, you reach to the side, to your backpack at your feet and pull out your red dildo. It wasn't very long, but thick, and covered with small ridges to accentuate your pleasure. You took a photo with it in your hand, held against your naked chest, fingers shining with your slick, then teased it through your folds, gathering the collecting slick emanating from your cunt.

You plunge it into your heat and set a deep and unforgiving pace, angling the sex toy so it grazed your g spot. Another photo.

After that the camera becomes a burden; you hastily drop it on the table in front of you and concentrate on chasing your pleasure. A tight feeling gathers in your stomach, limbs warm, pursuing rapture. Your head starts to feel fuzzy, and you feel wrong for doing this here, in this sacred spot, but that just amplifies your arousal.

You think about what Eddie would say if he caught you right now. What would he do? Would he stand in shock? Walk out? Help you chase your release? Or just watch you? The thought of being caught by him pushed you over the precipice. You came over your hand with a broken groan, biting your lip to try and stifle your noises.

Panting, you remove the toy from inside you, gasping for breath. You have a look at the discarded Polaroids. The last one was hot as hell, back arched, tits on display, red toy slightly blurry as it pounded into you. Holy shit. Eddie's going to explode. You giggle, getting your clothes back on and stuff together before sneaking out.

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

The next day you were practically buzzing with excitement, running over to your locker, when you see Eddie's already there. Shit.

"Hey sweetheart, where's the fire?" Eddie smirks at you out the side of his mouth, pushing his locker closed.

"You know me, just eager for a day of learning!" He chuckles at that. "You ok, any presents today?"

"Nope" Eddie says, looking slightly deflated. "Thought I'd try and get here early, see if I could catch them but no dice." He frowns.

"Well, can't be every day. Hey, remember we are hanging out tonight. This is a no frown zone!" You lightly push his arm.

"Oh yeah, yours or mine?"

"Mine. My parents arent home and your room stinks Eddie."

Eddie looks aghast and mimes being stabbed in the chest, flinging himself into the lockers, making an almighty racket.

"Oh, sweetheart, you wound me!"

Some students turn to see the commotion, others keep walking, used to his antics.

"Well it does! Learn to clean your sheets doofus. I'll see you later." You muss his hair and walk off, the envelope full of photos burning in your pocket.

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

After lunch you and Eddie make your way to your lockers, trying to stop the knowing smirk from crawling over your face. Earlier, you had managed to sneak out of biology, feigning 'women's problems' (your teacher waved their hand at you with a turned up nose, he clearly didn't want any details) in order to jam the photos into Eddie's locker and run.

When the envelope slips to the floor with a thwap Eddie looks seriously confused. He's had never had an afternoon delivery before. He quickly rips the envelope open and you watch as he seems to break down in front of your eyes. No sound leaves his lips, eyes wide, hand held to his mouth in shock, wheeling through image after image.

"You ok Eds?" You say softly. He doesn't answer for a bit, then coughs, shoving the photos into his pocket.

"Yeah. Fine. See you later." He faces the wall for a second, out the corner of your eye you see him attempt to arrange the growing bulge in his jeans. He tries to walk off whilst hunched over, taking long strides. You turn to follow him with your eyes, and see him practically jogging to the bathroom.

Jesus Christ is he gonna rub one out? The thought blazed in your brain, thinking about Eddie frantically fucking his fist with your photo in the other hand, sweaty and desperate. Sighing, you tense your thighs, saving that image for another time, and make your way to class.

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

After having takeout for dinner, you were sprawled on the foot of your queen sized bed, flicking through a magazine. Eddie was leaning up against your pillows, getting a baggy out so you two could have an after dinner smoke. Led Zeppelin is softly playing from your tape deck, much to Eddie's annoyance.

"Seriously, this again? Can't we listen to something else?"

"Nu-uh. My bedroom my rules." You say back, as you had a dozen times before.

Eddie grumbles under his breath, but you know there's no spite in it.

You see Eddie fumbling around out the corner of your eye, patting his pockets.

"Lighters on the bedside table." You say without looking.

"Aha, there you are you little sucker" he grabs the lighter and sparks the joint, taking a few hits.

"You want some of this?" He waves the joint, winking at you. You feel a shiver shoot down your spine, wishing he had meant something else besides the smoke.

"Of course I do, why do you think I hang around with you," you wink back, winding him up.

"Well shit you ain't having any now!" He says, holding his hand high in the air.

You huff at him, stretching over, trying to grab it from waving fingers. You lean further into him but he bends right back into the gap in your pillows, hand underneath them. Suddenly his eyes widen, grin threatening to split his face in half.

"You can take it" he says, passing the spliff to you whilst you stare at him confused.

"I've found something better" he says in a sing song voice, and pulls his hand out from its hiding place, holding your dildo in his hand, waving it at you and laughing.

Shit! You'd forgotten you had jammed it there before he came round! You'll never hear the end of this.

Eddie, still chuckling, looks at it, seemingly for the first time. It drops out of his hand as if it had burned him and rolls off the bed, onto the floor. Eddie's staring at you in shock. You felt your stomach drop out from under you, realising a bad situation just got worse. It was the toy you had used in the last batch of photos. It sat on the floor, glaring at you, matt red. It felt like it was burning a whole in your carpet, setting your friendship with Eddie ablaze.

"Sweetheart..."

You look down, and put the joint in the ashtray next to you. Twisting your hands, you play with your rings, unable to meet his stare.

"Look, it was supposed to be a joke, I was just getting you back, you know, after what you said? And I started enjoying it and I-I like you and I didn't mean it to go so far and..."

"Will you look at me?" Eddie's voice trembles slightly.

You scrunch your eyes shut, hot tears spilling out the creases of your eyes, running down your cheeks, leaving salty embarrassed trails in their wake.

"I think I'd rather die than look at you right now. I'm so fuckin' embarrassed and stupid, you might as well just leave, I'm a creep, I'm so, so sorry-"

Firm lips press against yours. You lean back in shock, not expecting the sudden kiss. When you dare to look Eddie is staring straight at you, eyes soft, hand reaching out to your fidgeting digits, trying to calm you down.

"I had to-to do something..." your words dwindling.

"You said I said something, what did I say?" He holds your hands, massaging your fingers softly.

"You.. said I didn't count."

"When?" He exclaims, word tinged in disbelief.

"Dustin said I was a girl, and you said I didn't count. I just wanted to show you, I do count. I dunno, I just wanted you to pay attention to me." You gaze at him, hurt etched into your brow.

"Oh sweetheart" holding his hand to your cheek, he strokes your jaw "I didn't mean it like that, I was just tryin' to take attention away from you is all. What was I supposed to do, ask you out on the spot?" He chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss.

This time you're ready, kissing him back with urgency. His lips are surprisingly soft; the kiss tastes of weed, cigarettes and gum, and maybe the lingering hint of strawberry chapstick that glosses your mouth. You both open your mouths, tongues clashing, fighting for dominance. It's messy, and passionate, and everything you could have hoped for. Both of his hands snake to the back of your head, pushing you towards him to deepen the kiss. Your breathing becomes laboured, hands grasping at his t shirt, balling it in your fists for something to grab onto. You nibble at his bottom lip, eliciting a breathy sigh from him.

Eddie breaks from the kiss and moves his mouth to your neck, mouthing and biting, hands running down your back.

"Well," he whispers into your skin between sucks to your throat, "who knew you were such a deviant." He bites into your shoulder through your t shirt making you cry out.

"I-I'm not a deviant" you struggle out, nails raking into the bare skin of his arms.

"Oh really? At The Hideout? At school? On my throne? You're a naughty girl" he gives you a self satisfied smirk and runs his tongue up the length of your neck, drawing out a loud cry from your throat.

"It felt good" you admit to him, "I liked the feeling, that I might get caught." You're cheeks redden at the confession. You had barely confessed it to yourself.

"Such a filthy girl. Jesus Christ, the things I've thought about." He pulls at the hem of your top; you comply, pulling it over your head, exposing your breasts since you had forgoed a bra.

Eddie's groan at your bare breasts vibrates through the air in the room and straight to your cunt. His eyes look like they are about to pop right out of his head.

"The photos didn't do you justice darling. Holy shit, look at you."

You steal the moment he's taken to stare and worship.

"So, are you gonna marry me now Munson?' You joke, biting your lip and smiling.

"Eventually. First? First I'm gonna..." he takes your nipple between his teeth, biting softly, and you take a shocked breath, "I'm gonna absolutely rail you" he takes your nipple into his mouth fully and sucks hard, squeezing the other so much it borders on pain. You wail his name in response. It releases from his mouth with a wet sound. "I'm gonna fuck you everywhere you took a picture."

You laugh incredulously, then look at his eyes, and see his solemn stare in response. Oh, he was being serious. Your pussy contracted at the thought, squeezing around an imaginary length. "You'd like that wouldn't you, you dirty girl?"

You can only hum in response, tugging at his t shirt. He whips it off, allowing your fingers to explore his unchartered skin, running fingertips over his unseen tattoos. Hands stroking, caressing his flesh. Eddie groans at your touches and reaches to undo his jeans, belt undone, popping the button.

He licks the flat of his tongue across your nipple, making you whimper. "You think you can help me out?" Gesturing to his crotch.

"Mmm yeah" you breathe, fumbling with the fly, pulling it down and pushing him backwards onto the bed. You see his boxers, and reach out to pull them down and release his swollen cock. It pops up, rising from the base of brunette curls, curving slightly at the tip, girthy and dribbling. You kneel between his legs and take the tip into your mouth, moaning around his length. Eddie nearly bucks into your mouth at the feeling, trying so hard not to fuck into your throat.

You take more of his length, nose pressed to his curls, gagging slightly. Eddie makes a high pitched moan. God, the feeling of him at your mercy makes your core hum with need. You run your tongue around his member and lick the sensitive tip, hands slightly squeezing the base.

"Fuck princess I, I can't last if you do that!" He pulls you off and stares in your eyes.

"Where did you take the pictures. I know you must have taken some in here."

You point wordlessly to the white fluffy rug in front of your wardrobe.

"Stand up." You can't find it in you to disobey.

Eddie's strong hands stroke down your sides, making their way to your jeans, undoing them and tugging them down to your ankles along with your underwear. There you stood, completely exposed to him. You could feel yourself dripping almost, slick feathering your thighs.

Eddie licks his lips. "Fuck you are so hot. I wanna taste you. But not now. Get on your hands and knees." He roughly handles you into position and you gasp at how dominant he is being. Every word is shooting to your core, making you throb with need.

You do as you are asked, on your hands and knees, waiting to see what was next.

Rough fingertips graze your heat making you cry out.

"Easy baby, gotta get you ready for me." He slips a finger into your pussy and you squeeze around it desperately, back arching. Slowly, he pumps it in and out, watching you squeal and squirm. The lewd wet noise is echoing through the room along with your moans. He adds another finger and you buck into his hand, fucking yourself onto his digits.

"Shit baby you gonna cum already? Fuck." He pumps his fingers into you faster, curling them into you.

"Eddie yes fuck!" You release suddenly, unexpectedly, squealing his name like a prayer. The molten red hotness of your orgasm peels through your every vein. Panting and sweaty you look back at him.

"Fuck me, you're as pretty as a picture." He chuckles darkly, pulling his boxers down.

"You got a condom baby?"

"No, no please just fuck me, I'm on the pill."

"Jesus Christ you are filthy, gonna fuck this pussy good yeah?"

You push back in response, your soaked lips touching the tip of his cock. He pushes into you, the filthiest moan escaping his lips.

This is what you had been craving. The sneaking around, the thrill of being caught, it was nothing compared to feeling his throbbing dick inside of you, stretching out your cunt so much no other dick could possibly compare. It hurt, but it was breathtaking. A pain you wanted to feel over and over. Eddie gave you a moment to get used to him, hands pressing into the fat of your hips, molding into his palms. Then he did as he said he would, railing into you at an unforgiving pace, pounding you from behind so roughly you were practically screaming. It was animalistic and feral and you fucking loved it. Every thrust was fire, the way he grabbed at you was possessiveness personified. He owned you.

You had never known a boy to be so loud before. His moans and cries were stabbing at you as much as his cock was.

"You like that sweetheart? Gonna fuckin' ruin you." Thrusting, stabbing into you, he grabbed you by your throat, pulling you bodily upwards. You could feel the cold of his rings pressed against you. He squeezed and you let out the longest, loudest moan you'd ever known, crushing his cock with how tight you were inside. Your orgasm came quickly, breaking you down into pieces. You became undone, a broken shell, moans and whines flowing from your lips.

You fell to the floor, hips only staying in place due to his strong hands. He'd released your throat, letting your head flop down, driving into you with even more force.

The overstimulation turned you into a screaming hot mess, but Eddie wasn't done with you yet. Pushing your head down into the rug he continued to force into you hard and fast until his movements began to falter and he released into your cunt. You felt his cum hit your gummy walls and the feeling was just too much, you were so sensitive and sore from the way he had used you. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot against your flushed face. Utterly and completely fucked.

You both stopped, frozen in that ridiculous position, until you felt his fingertips grazing your back tenderly, a harsh contrast from the previous moment you had shared together.

"Was that ok?" Barely a whisper, as if he thought you might blow away in the breeze.

"...yeah" you manage to gasp out, trying to lift yourself, suddenly unable to support the weight of your own head.

"Shit sweetheart sorry." Eddie pulled out from you and you whined at the loss. You'd never felt so empty. But then he was there, lifting your upper half up, getting you to lay back so he could pick you up bodily and lay you out on the bedclothes. Your knees were sore and red and your pussy lips were painful and swollen.

Eddie walked off to your bathroom, returning with a warm cloth. The tenderness honestly surprised you. Never had a boy tried to take care of you after. He swept the cloth between your folds, making you hiss at the contact. Eddie shushed you, cleaning you up. Then he laid facing you, hand brushing your side.

"You ok sweetheart?" He look on his face was practically dripping with concern, his hands roaming over you, trying to soothe and console you.

"Yes baby, fuck that was.. that was something else" you giggle at him, fingers drifting over his torso, feeling at the relaxed muscles.

"So, a nap, then a drive yeah?"

"What??"

"What's the next spot? The Hideout? Don't think I'm finished with you yet, I've got a promise to deliver future Mrs Munson."

You laugh out loud, holding him tightly.

#eddie x you #eddie fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x fem!reader #ms gexy writes #stranger things #stranger things fan fic

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stevielicious · 7 months

Text

𓆩⟡𓆪 His Little Stripper 𓆩⟡𓆪

pairing- Colby Brock x fem!reader

summary- a stripper catches the eyes of a handsome man, has a lotta fun

warnings- a lil angsty, some hardcore smut lol, cute lil ending

word count- 3k or sum? maybe 4k, LMAO

a/n- been a long time since I’ve written, enjoy

o==[]::::::::::::::::>

The whole studio was bouncing, the bass rhythmically played throughout the club. Swimming inside the walls, almost enticing you in. The night was young and had only just begun, it was a start to a long night. Here, I was treated almost like royalty, all the other dancers liked to roll their eyes or make snarky comments because they didn’t like the way I hogged all the attention, I was young and that’s nothing I could help.

You could say I was a good dancer. One of the best.

Brittney. I only had one friend in this place, the rest would only batter their eyelashes to get a hand on your earnings. Not Brittney though. She was a sweet, honest girl that just needed the extra cash and in complete fairness, that’s what we were both here for. We were both the youngest in this place. University costs an arm and a leg, there’s no lie in that. It was a hated industry, but the world is a tough place to make a living.

“Girl! You gotta get out there! it’s thriving with old dudes that have a TON of money!!” She heaved, slumping on a swivel chair next to mine, with a wide-eyed expression painted across her makeup clad features. I glanced at her through the huge mirrors stuck to the smoke stained walls, with a slight smirk finishing up on my cherry red lipgloss, “Oh yeah? Sounds just like every other night.”

“Well, I did see these couple guys around our age, maybe older, they were sooo hot.” Brittney explained, emphasising their good looks, applying makeup to her smudged areas. She seemed skittish, almost like she was eager to get back out there. This time I’d turned to face her, making my blonde hair a bouncy, wavey look. Being expressive with her hands, matter of factly she had said, “I sooo wished they’d came over to me, that brunette guy was soo handsome, so mysterious too. I’ll have to show you when you get your ass out there! I’d give that man a dance for free any day.”

I giggled, never hearing her talk like this made me believe these men were as handsome as she said they were. Maybe I’ll have to see for myself. I began to slip my cherry red heels on, glancing in the mirror, puffing my hair out. I had styled it in to an 80’s blowout type look, just more modernised. “I believe you girl, it’s been a while since we’ve had a looker come here.”

“Man, you look like a whole full course meal looking like that, Y/N. You have more of a chance than me at getting that handsome devil in a booth. Gosh, you’re so sexy!” Brittney huffed, looking at me with a sad but hopeful expression.

I grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her chair. Cupping her face with my hands, I said with confidence, “God is a woman, and you my friend are a fucking goddess! Now let’s get out there and make some fucking money!” She smiled into my hands as I then spun her around, seeing the sparkles on her little outfit shine.

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I stood behind Brittney as she peeped from behind the big, draping, scarlet red curtain that lead out to the runway. A shiny pole awaiting us. Britt had kept an eye on the stage as I was trying to skim the crowd for the one who looks like they had the most cash with them. “Oh! Gabriella’s almost finished her dance, god blue is NOT her colour!”

“Brittney! You have to watch your mouth sometimes, you’ll get in trouble if someone hears you!” I wispered harshly, playfully jabbing her arm. She moved over a little so I could get a better look of the crowd. Taking me by surprise, a pair of striking blue eyes caught my own as I swiftly shut the curtain, almost knocking Britt over, “Holy shit.”

“What? What!” The brunette nudged me out the way as I took a step back, body running cold. I heard her muttering as she closed the curtain as quick as she re-opened it, turning to me. “Oh my God, that’s him!”

“Shut up! I’ve never seen him before, I can’t dance infront of him, he’s too pretty to be here! What’s a guy like him doing here?! God!” I gulped, walking back and forth on myself, finding my nerves getting the better of me of me. God, his dark brown hair and that shiny earring glistening in his ear, the black button up, the shine on his rings and tattooed arms, man. I’m used to dancing for 40+ year old guys, not actual good looking guys my age!

“Are you being serious right now, Y/N? You’re the hottest one here, if Gab’s can flaunt it then you definitely can too!” She exclaimed assertively, stopping me in my tracks, hands on either side of my arms. Pointing her finger in my face.

“Hey sluts, they’re waiting.” A scratchy, unbothered voice had sounded as the clacking of heels sounded down the set of stairs held by the stage. We both rolled our eyes as she swang her hips side to side, sauntering away from us.

“Ugh, whatta bitch.” We muttered in unison, breathing out a laugh. Britt gave me a subtle peck on the cheek, something she always did to calm my nerves before my journey to the pole, “Knock ‘em dead, Y/N”

As she turned my track on, I took a deep breath, pushing my boobs up a little, feeling the deep red lace against my body. Promiscuous sounded, by Nelly & Timbaland. As much as it is a corny song, the boys loved it.

Whipping my hair over my shoulder, I winked at my bestie, and started my walk. The giant curtains opened as I started to strut. The dim lights only lighting up solely on the pole. My confidence returning as my hips swirled to the beat, winking at thirsty men in the crowd. I raised my arms leaning my head back touching my chest.

I made my way over to the center, strutting around the shiny metal pole, caressing it gently. Placing my heels accordingly on the polished platform, stepping on dollar bills everywhere I walked. “Promiscuous girl, you’re teasin’ me. You know what I want and I got what you need.”

I raised my leg on the pole letting my body drape around as my arm held my balance along the pole. As I smoothly came to the bottom of the glistening metal, I spread my legs one infront and one behind, bouncing slightly. Rolling onto my next move, the same pair of blue eyes caught my attention, I couldn’t help but stare for a second, which felt like minutes, as I got behind the pole, he winked at me.

Which took me by surprise as I blushed. I gulped and returned the wink. I blew a kiss at this man, as I slut dropped down the metal shaft, licking up it. Keeping eye contact, his mouth agape. When I grew confidence, I also grew dirty. Giving what these men came to see. “Have all my money!”

One man shouted, another had exclaimed, “I want you to ride my face, please! Be my dirty little girl!” I smiled politely at these men, knowing full well they probably have wives at home, most of them having a ring on their marriage finger. Bastards.

As I danced around the pole, I let my hips do the work, shaking them around in a sexy way. Left to right, innocently dancing. Mouthing the lyrics, shutting my eyes ever so slightly. With my back to the pole now, I had slid down it, mouthing the lyrics, “I’m all alone and it’s you that I want!”

Motioning this handsome blue eyed boy to me with my fingers, in a ‘come here’ type of way. Hoping to entice him, or just playfully tease him. He was leaning against the bar, eyes glued to me. I’ve felt his eyes on me the whole dance. He had this dark smirk on him, looking me up and down with these hungry eyes. Turning his full body towards me now. He mouthed, “Oh yeah?”

In return, I sent an innocent wink his way, with a smile this time. Getting on my feet and swinging around the pole one last time before subtly dropping down, against the cold metal, arching my back as I pushed my hips towards the pole, not letting go. The lights going dark once again as my time came to an end.

I blew the crowd a kiss as I took one last glance toward the bar, the man that had captivated my full attention could not be seen. My heart sank a little as I turned on my heel, forming a strut down the walk as the curtains closed behind me, the money being collected as I had left the stage that I had now earned.

“Eeek! Y/N! You did so good! How am I supposed to follow that performance up?!” Brittney squealed, high fiving me.

“You’ll do even better than me, I’m sure of it!” Giving her praise, she was the one thing that got me through this place, she deserved more confidence. “ I’m gonna take a walk on the floor, gonna get a drink! Go get ‘em tiger!”

As much as I was there for my girl, I desperately wanted to see if this man had stuck around.

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Venturing onto the men-riddled floor, I tried to keep my composure. This was when my nerves got the better of me, you’re looked at as a piece of meat when you’re of the floor. Up on the stage, you feel as though everyone’s below you, literally. You’re on top, nobody can touch you up there.

I found myself at the bar, just asking for a lemonade to pass the time, a kind, older woman had served me. She was one of the nicer workers that resided here, “Would you like a cherry in there too, Y/N?”

“You know me.” I softly said, giving her a thankful smile. Some saw me as the baby here and some saw me as the queen. It was a weird place to be, I just appreciated the kind ones. She gave me a wink and went on her way to make me a the simple concoction.

“Y/N. What a name. Pretty, too.” A deep, husky voice sounded from next to me, as I felt his eyes burn into the side of my head. I turned, slowly looking up at him, his tall, dark frame leaning down on me. I gulped. Those familiar blue eyes keeping ahold of my attention, his warm smile sounding, “Hey, I’m Colby.” He took my hand and kissed it gently.

“Y/N. Hey.” I shyly ushered out in one whole breathe, as I glanced down, my hair falling infront of my face. He was gorgeous, a true beauty. I must be lucky for someone like him to be able to approach me.

“Yeah, I know” He chuckled. I blushed as he heard the lady behind the bar already address that. Don’t screw up now girl! “Is that your real name? I know ladies like to have a disguise around here.”

He observantly mentioned, smirking too. I was at a loss for words, Colby was so captivating, I was lost in his celestial, lapis eyes. His chestnut hair cascading infront of his eyes ever so slightly. “It is, does that disappoint you?”

I decided to be honest, maybe he’d find that attractive in its self. After all, he was honest with me. “What? God no, I think you’re stunning, and your names just the cherry on top!”

Colby ironically exclaimed, as my drink was placed infront of me. The lady looked at both me and him and smiled, raising her eyebrows at me. He glanced at my drink, taking the cherry. Swivelling it in his grip, he glanced at me. I looked up at him with my doe eyes, as he popped it in my mouth, plucking the stem from the cherry itself. “Good girl.”

My heart started to race as he reached his hand out, ushering me closer. As I went to take his hand, a loud roguish man approached me, grabbing me by waist, immediately yelling in my face, “Are you gonna dance for me or what? Huh?”

The alcohol definitely playing its part, I glanced to security, they hadn’t seen the commotion yet and my heart was jumping out of its chest. He towered over me demanding, impatiently waiting for an answer. “Sir, please don’t speak to me like tha-“

“I can speak to you how the FUCK I want, don’t you dare think for a second that your better than me or anyone’s gonna save your pretty little ass, you do what I tell you-“ a huge thud landed as I was swiftly pushed back, the man in front of me collapsing to the ground. Colby had lunged at the drunken man. Angered, he had hit him square in the jaw, a tooth rolling around on the floor. A splash of blood on already red heel.

My breath hitched in my throat, still no security in sight, the music too loud for anyone to really give a shit. Colby had picked this man up by his shift, as though he weighed of nothing, he hissed in his face, “Beat it.”

The man was dropped to his feet and quickly scurried away, as if he saw death itself. I watched as he was out of site, a warm touch against my chin snapped me out of the trance I was in. Startled. “Are you okay, beautiful?”

Gazing into his eyes, hard to look away, I stuttered out, “I-uh, yeah. Thank you.” I placed my hand on his chest trying to gain my breath back, it all happened so fast, a boldness took over me, the sheer sign of strength made so effortlessly was almost overwhelming, “Wanna get out of here?”

I felt his heartbeat pick up every so slightly as he huskily said, “Lead the way, Y/N.”

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Of all places, I lead him to one of the private booths, the expensive, champagne riddled rooms. I shut the curtains to the room, letting staff know that it was occupied. The curved couch was a sparkly red, that had a pole in the middle as well as a love seat. The circular table had three bottles of champagne in a bucket of ice, recently been placed there. Lights had become dim since I’d closed the curtains and there were little sources of light emerging from under both seats. Colby had poured a drink for me and himself, keeping them set down on the table, he approached me with a smirk on his face, “What brings us here then beautiful?”

“I wanted to thank you back there, you were so brave.” Placing my hand on his chest once again, ever so slightly pushing him backwards, towards the curved seat, trailing my hand downwards. Batting my eyelashes at him with my big doe like eyes, I pouted, “So strong.”

His legs hit the textured couch, falling back on, eyes never straying from mine once. I began to crawl on top of him, in a straddle position, feeling himself twitch underneath me, “I-That was nothing back there, a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t have to take that shit.”

He insisted while taking in my body, my looks. Colbys hands began to travel up and down my lacy, deep red piece, taking it all in, breathing a little heavier than before. Muttering, he shifted a little from under me, looking back up at my eyes, “Fuck.”

Smirking slightly, I leant forward, giving him an eyeful of my cleavage, whispering, “I’ll make you feel good, Colby.” His breath began to hitch as I began to kiss up his jaw, his eyes darkened as he lifted my face, gazing into my eyes. His plump lips were begging to meet mine, he took a quick glance at my lips and mumbled hastily, “You’re making me crazy, beautiful.”

And with that he crashed his whiskey stained lips into my cherry tasted ones. Hunger was taking over and I grew to want him so badly. His great hands found their way to my back, travelling down and cupping me, grabbing me ever so slightly but enough for me to moan into his mouth. He seemed to like that. Swiftly, he took my laced bra off with one quick motion, making me gasp.

My hands got the better of me and I started unbuttoning his shirt, almost frustrated that it wasn’t coming undone quick enough. He pulled away, picking me up, his hands under me, straddling his waist now, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The blue eyed boy had laid us down, I was now laying on the love seat, he towered over me, looking me up and down, ready to feast. Colby stood there, with his shirt unbuttoned, his abs glistening from the sweat we had just created. He looked godly in this moment. He quickly took off his jeans, his member almost throbbing to be let out. I gulped as he looked bigger than anything I’d ever seen.

He lowered himself down, and kissed me passionately, still hungry for more. My hands roamed freely, helping him take off his shirt completely. With this motion I quickly flipped us, wanting to be on top of him. I begged, “Let me please you, Colby.”

Impressed at my strength, Colby had stifled a moan as I started to leave hungry kisses down his chest, until I got to his boxer line. I looked up at him through my lashes, as he nodded with approval, removing the clothing. His thick member throbbing. I gulped, taking in his size, he was fucking huge.

“Fuck.” I muttered as I teased him, licking up his shaft, keeping eye contact with him as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look. I wrapped my hand around his member, kissing the tip.

I began to take him in my mouth, bobbing my head up and down and sucking slightly, wanting him to feel euphoric. His sweet moans filled my ears, making me work harder for him. Wanting to make him feel better than ever. “You’re such a good girl, Y/N.”

Seeing his eyes roll back as his shaft touched the back of my throat was enough to make me moan, knowing I was doing a good job. I was a good girl. His good girl. Colby’s hand traveled to the back of my head, grabbing my hair slightly bobbing my head. It felt so good. “You like that baby girl?”

I nodded quickly, not wanting to disappoint, all of a sudden feeling really submissive. As I carried on sucking it for a little longer, Colby pulled my hair back and away from him gently making me look up at him, he muttered, “C’mere baby.”

I did as he asked, waiting for what was to come. Colby got on top of me, his chain dangling infront of my face, his arms looking as muscular as ever as he towered over me, I felt completely under his spell and I was more than ready for what he was about to do to me.

He caressed my breasts, with both hands as I started to breath heavier, trying to keep it together. His eyes flickering towards mine and my bare chest, he muttered sweet nothings as he latched onto them, kissing them. Sucking them. I couldn’t help but moan at the way his tongue moved against my body, “Colby!”

“Shh, baby. You sound so fucking good, but we can’t get in trouble now, can we?” He muttered against my breasts, knowing full well we’d get in big trouble as clients weren’t supposed to be touchy let alone all over each other. He was far from being a client, but I would definitely get kicked out immediately for this behaviour. I groaned out of annoyance, frustrated with pleasure. He began to bite them ever so gently, putting my hand over my mouth to shuffle my moans. Colby had made him way down to my panties, asking for approval, granting him access. He swiftly took them off with ease, “Fuck you’re so perfect.”

“Are you ready baby?” He huskily marvelled, admiring the mess he had made me into, touching himself. His hair stuck to his forehead a little, his muscles glistening all over, his tattoos made his aura dark and mysterious but he seemed like a complete utter dream. In response, all I could manage was a swift nod, with impatient, hungry eyes.

He lined his huge member up with my already wet folds, awaiting the small pain that came with it. He came down closer to me, kissing me roughly and pushing himself into me at the same time, causing me to melt into his mouth, both moaning loudly. My hands traveled up to his hair, getting tangled in his locks. His motions were euphoric and heavenly, making my back arch with every move. Colby moaned roughly into my neck, kissing it and nipping at the skin with his teeth, leaving slight bruises as he trailed.

“Fuck, you feel so good Y/N.” My nails scraped along down his back, marking him as equally as he did me. He couldn’t keep back his moans as they sounded through my body. Unwinding. As is pace quickened, my orgasm started to grow nearer. I couldn’t hold it any longer, he was making me feel pleasure like I’ve never felt it before, “Colby, I’m so close!”

“Fuck baby, don’t come until I tell you too. I know you’re a good girl. My good, good girl.” He quickened his pace and became a little rougher with his thrusts, making me into a moaning mess. He couldn’t bring himself to tell me to be quiet anymore, he loved the way he was making me feel. He moved so he could put my legs over his shoulders, making my climax come quicker, “Colby, please!”

“Oh baby, I’m gonna come too.” He muffled tensely, his thrusts getting sloppier, I looked at him with pleading eyes, muttering and begging, Colby looked at me with pleading eyes, “Come for me beautiful.”

With that, I had unleashed my orgasm, coming undone at his command, moaning his name as I rode out my high. I started toying with my breasts to get him closer to his climax, wanting nothing more but the warm fill, “Colby, please come. Please!”

Not even a moment later he came undone too, filling me up with his come. We were both messes, moaning into each other as he collapsed on top of me, pecking my neck as he collected himself. He rolled over to the next of me, putting his arm underneath his head and one out for me to lay on. We were both panting like sick dogs. I propped myself up on my elbow, my head resting against my palm.

“You know, I’ve never seen you in here before.” I muttered, playing with a strand of my hair. I pondered it, because he was a beautiful man, a young man. A man that didn’t suit these kind of places.

“I thought you’d ask, it’s a good friend of mines birthday and we all thought it would be a good surprise to bring him here.” Colby chuckled, looking into my eyes. He reached out for my hand and placed it on his chest, his heart still erratic. “You are beautiful though, Y/N. I meant what I said.”

“Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.” I giggled, him faking a hurt expression, giving me a pearly white smile, something that made me melt on the spot. His crinkles next to his eyes matching perfectly with his happy looks.

“A pretty girl like you, how’d you end up here?” He looked at me sincerely, wanting to know me a little better. I didn’t think he’d ask, making me feel slightly embarrassed that I have money issues.

“Oh it’s nothing, just- university won’t pay itself, you see.” I said with honesty. glancing down at my hands down, playing with them.

“University? That’s incredible, I can’t imagine how expensive that must be, I guess I can understand.” I looked up at him, he seemed genuine and I melted into his gaze, I gave him a small smile. Appreciating his kind words. Mouthing a ‘thank you’.

“You know,” propping himself up to really look at me this time, grabbing the two glasses of champagne on the table. Handing one to me, “I would really like to take you out, get you away from here eventually.”

“I would really love that.” I blushed, him smirking in return.

“It wouldn’t be classed as inappropriate to maybe cheers to this? A new beginning, potentially?” Him raising a glass.

I giggled, feeling a sense of happiness and fulfilment. Cuddled up with a man you feel like you’ve known forever, chatting, getting to know each other and just sealed a date with, raising a toast to a new beginning. “Cheers.”

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a/n- omg I had no plan for this just a thought, one thing led to another and BOOM. hope you enjoyed lol I never know how to wrap up endings

stay sweet x

#colby brock #colby smut #sam and colby #xplr #colby brock smut

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girlygguk · 1 year

Text

denial ; jjk | part two (18+)

➵ summary; your brother, taehyung, doesn't know how to properly handle yours & jungkook's.. agreement. you go over to his place to fix your relationship with him and eat a lot of chinese food. you end up getting a little more than that from his roommate during your visit.

this is part two to denial - part one and i highly recommend reading it first as u won’t understand most of the storyline!! xx

➵ pairing ; idol!jk x (f)actress!reader

➵ word count ; 7.1k

➵ rating ; 18+ minors dni

➵ content ; a bit of fluff, a bit of angst & a whole lotta smut. jk & reader are dumb sluts that will do anything besides admit their feelings for each other, tae is an amazing lil brother, jk & reader fight, jelly & whipped kook as always, stupid reader (sorry)

➵ warnings ; teasing, swearing, grinding, kissing, fingering, spitting, dom!jk, oral sex (f rec.), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap it UP! xx), aftercare, cream pie, sexy stuff starts quite late so pwp.

a/n ; holy SHIT. i did not expect the love & reactions on part one of this... thank you so so much. as a token of my gratitude, here is a part 2!!!

"Cut! Well done, guys, that's a wrap!" Your director's voice booms through the studio as the crew applauds. You join in, clapping and returning the bows of everybody you see as you make your way off-set. A teary thirty minutes follow as you say your thankyous and goodbyes to your co-stars and staff, promising to stay in touch during the season break.

You're locking your trailer door when suddenly, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Pulling it out of your jacket eagerly, you tap the screen, hoping to see your brother's name at the top of the notification. You can't help the small wave of disappointment that washes over you as you read the text from your co-star Hee-Jin, saying she's almost at your trailer.

It's been a little over two months since the night that you discovered Taehyung knew about you and Jungkook.

71 DAYS EARLIER...

Your hands run over your face, Jungkook's facewash foamy on your fingers as you rub the cleanser harshly into your skin, almost as if the last 10 minutes of your life will rinse down the drain of the shower along with the overpriced skincare product. You didn't want to wash away the Jungkook part, because as you stood in his shower with jelly legs and a shy soreness between your thighs, you knew that no matter how fucked up it was that your younger brother potentially heard everything, you wouldn't take it back.

So Jungkook was forced to sit patiently on his bed while you took over his bathroom. He wanted to go into the lounge and talk to his best mate, and he really wanted a slice of pizza because sex always makes him hungry, but he knew to let you speak to Taehyung first.

Sure, slamming the door of Jungkook's bedroom shut after seeing your brother in the living room acting as normal as could be probably wasn't the best idea. And then ignoring Jungkook's soft tone as he asked if you were alright, shrugging him off you gently before walking into his ensuite and locking the door... Also not one of your best moments.

You and Jungkook were close friends before your relationship developed sexually. He knew what you wanted to eat before you even did. You knew the punchlines to all of his stupid jokes before he got to it, adding a twist to the end and making him double over in laughter, swearing you tell the joke better than he ever could. You were thankful for that bond right now because Jungkook knew from the moment you walked away that you just needed a minute to collect yourself. He watched silently when you disappeared into his bathroom to shower, not even making a cheeky offer to join you, which is very out of character for him.

He listened as the sound of running water came to a halt and looked up as you emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, the towel he had prepared for himself wrapped around your body. He bit back a smile as he remained on the edge of his bed, watching as you crept towards him, your eyes trailing down to the pile of clothes folded next to him. He had one of his hoodies that you always complimented whenever he wore and a pair of sweatpants perched next to him. His eyes followed your train of sight before flicking back up to your face, "for you," he confirmed your suspicions, his eyes tracing every inch of your doleful expression.

Patting the pile of clothes, he pushed off his knees and stood up before walking to meet you in the middle of his room. You shake your head in awe, standing on the tips of your toes when he reaches you before connecting your lips with his. The kiss is soft and slow, much more wholesome than your usual messy kisses. Jungkook breaks away slightly, his hands running over your towel-covered back before resting on your butt and patting it gently.

"Go talk to him, baby," he says softly, lips lifting slightly to press against your forehead. You nod with a heavy sigh as he makes his way into the bathroom, his turn to shower now.

You can't leave your mind as you pull Jungkook's clothes onto your body. Your brother wasn't even fazed when he saw you in Jungkook's room. And you know for a fact you weren't exactly quiet, so he definitely heard something. God, the thought makes your feel nauseated as you grab one of the hair ties you leave on Jungkook's dresser to throw your hair up into a low bun, ignoring your wet hair hitting the back of your neck as you head for his door.

TODAY...

"So what did he say?" Hee-Jin's voice pulled you from your inner thoughts, causing you to let out a dazed hum in response before she continued. "Taehyung, how did he react?"

You look over at the girl on your left as you walk through the parking lot, two bouquets of flowers clutched in your hands as you both reach your car. "He already knew. I can't believe he already knew," your voice was strained as you shook your head in embarrassment. Hee-Jin's lips pulled into her mouth, and her eyes squinted slightly; you knew she was conflicted on whether to laugh or cry with you.

"You're such a bitch. It's not funny." You pouted before your body betrayed you, an airy laugh blowing through your lips and swatting at the girl with occupied arms as best as you could.

She giggled at your attempt, leaning against your car with you, her own flowers resting in her arms as well. "So he's okay with it?"

Your eyes lift from the ground, turning slightly to face her, "I can't tell," you say honestly, "he barely even reacted even when I tried to talk to him. I think he doesn't even want to think about it."

Hee-Jin nodded with a sorry look after seeing your sullen expression. "I mean, how would you react if you found out your sister was getting fucked by your best friend? I wouldn't want to think about it either."

Her brutally honest remark caught you off guard, pulling a low snort out of you before you fished your keys out of your jacket pocket to unlock your car. "Get off my car. I've had enough of you." Hee-Jin pokes her tongue at you before pushing off the side of your vehicle and heading to her own.

"Love you! You know I'm right!" She smiles as she waddles away, ignoring the eye roll you throw her as you shove the bouquets onto your passenger seat.

"Love you," is the last thing you grumble back before jumping into your car and slamming the door.

Your phone vibrates from your jacket pocket as you're halfway through buckling your seatbelt. Pulling it out, you bite your lip and send a quick response before shoving the key into your car's ignition. Then, ignoring the bubbles brewing in the pit of your stomach, you pull out of the parking lot and head for the destination your friend awaits.

Jungkook is hot. It's the boys' day off today, and he just finished up in the gym, his arms throbbing a little more than usual. He went a little harder during this session because he's planning on skipping a couple of upcoming days to chill. It has nothing to do with the fact that he knows you've wrapped up filming for the season and are heading home today. Not at all.

Twisting the cap onto the water bottle he just devoured in seconds, he throws it in the trash can before leaving the kitchen. He's almost at his bedroom before his eyes roll to the back of his head, retreating sluggishly to the garbage can before fishing the bottle back out. A low scoff leaves him as he tosses the bottle into the recycling bin instead, your sarcastic little comment plaguing his inner thoughts. You're not even here, and he's doing what you say. He's fucking whipped, and he knows it.

Reaching his bedroom successfully this time, he grabs a set of clean clothes from his drawers and throws them on his bed for when he's out of the shower. Then, heading towards his ensuite, he catches his phone on top of his dresser and stares at it for a second.

"Hi, Koo." You answer after two rings, and he sits on the foot of his bed when he hears your voice.

"Hi," he replies after a beat, fighting the side of his mouth as it tries to lift when he hears his nickname flow effortlessly from your mouth. "Watcha doin'?"

He hears you shuffle a little.

Closing the magazine you were browsing before you got the call, you smile at Jungkook's voice, your eyes scanning the room to ensure you didn't miss getting called up. "I'm actually at Modify."

His eyebrows furrow, "my tattoo place?"

"Yeah, but I'm not getting a tattoo—just a piercing with a friend. I asked for Riki, just like you said to. He's really nice."

"Yeah, he's the best. Did you chuck it on my account?" He nods, pulling at the thread of his towel absentmindedly.

"No," you chuckle, "but thank you. You're cute for offering."

He feels his eyes roll back again, a habit he picked up from you, "you should. I have some account credit I have to use before it expires," he lies, and you bite back a smile knowing that he's full of shit.

"You're back earlier than I thought." Jungkook changes the subject, and you lean back into the couch's cushion before answering.

"Yeah, I just got back into Seoul like an hour ago. Decided to get it done here rather than Gwacheon so I can go home and rest afterwards."

You're thankful for Jungkook's random call to be honest. His voice calmed down your nerves exponentially; you forgot how jittery you were. "What are you getting pierced?" He asks, pulling you back to reality.

You feel your face getting hotter, and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it for a moment too long because his hum into your phone speaker breaks the extended silence. "Um," your lips are pursed now, wondering if you should be telling him over the phone.

Jungkook's eyebrows raise, and he shuffles back a little more on the edge of his bed before continuing, "Are you getting a piercing down there?"

Your laugh flows through the phone, returning that feeling to his stomach. "No, perv." You sigh through a smile, "My nipples."

You hear him blow out a low breath before he chuckles, "Jesus. Happy birthday to me."

You're quick to roll your eyes and fail to wipe the smile off your face before giggling at his reaction. You see Riki pop his head out the door of his booth before he waves at you, indicating it's your turn to go up. Nodding back at him, you signal that you're just wrapping up your phone call, and he gives you a thumbs-up before ducking away.

"It's my turn. I have to go, Kook." You say into your phone, standing from the couch and fixing the cushions that fell as you stood.

Jungkook nods on the other end of the line before clearing his throat slightly and running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Hey, _____?"

"Yeah?" You respond as you walk towards Riki's room, watching as he finishes up with his previous customer.

"What friend are you with?"

A moment passes as Jungkook's question lingers in the air, stopping you in your tracks. You're standing just before the entrance of Riki's suite, and you glance down at your shoes for a second before sighing. "Kook—"

Jae's confused look causes you to stop talking as he climbs off the studio chair-bed, approaching you. "You okay?"

Jungkook heard Jae's voice through the phone. You know he did because when he abruptly ends the call, muttering something about "I have to go shower," you're pulling your phone back and seeing the disconnected symbol flashback at you from the device's screen.

The chime of your door accepting the access code fills your ears as you push down on the handle with your elbow, a little shove from your hip pushing the door open enough to slide inside. After locking the door, you drop the wilting flowers on the kitchen island and head to the sink to grab some water, hoping to try and cling to the little life they look to have left.

Your phone dings while you're filling up a random dish with water, as you don't actually own a vase. A cringed laugh leaves your lips when you pull the flowers out of the paper encasing and dump them into the sad container of water. "I should've just let you die. This is just sad." You mumble, walking to the chair where you chucked your jacket and phone.

Tae

Miss you. Heard you're home. Dinner tn?

You blink away the tears stinging in your waterline, sending back an of course and snorting when he spams you with a bunch of random excited emojis. You haven't talked much since the night at his a few months ago, and it's been eating away at you ever since. You have always been close with your siblings. Taehyung, especially since you both left home to pursue your careers in similar industries. You were quick to leave his apartment when it was clear he didn't exactly want to talk, and you didn't blame him.

You

just gonna shower then i'll pop over

The shower was quick; you only cut yourself slightly at the bottom of your knee when shaving your legs. That's what you call success. As you pull on your shirt, you're trying not to catch your new piercings on the fabric when your eyes flutter to the bulletin board of Polaroids of you and your friends. Your eyes automatically go to the stupid one smack bang in the middle.

You're both sitting on the floor of your living room in the picture, a big cheesy grin covering Jungkook's face while you lean next to him with your tongue poking out. Jungkook turned to you as soon as you finished taking the photo, poking his tongue at you before letting his impulsive thoughts take over and licking a fat stripe over your cheek. You remember screeching and trying to push him away in a fit of giggles before conceding and allowing him to continue his attack.

Such a dork, you think as you're pulling your jeans over your legs. But, as much as you like to try and convince yourself you're not helplessly infatuated with him, you can't help but hope he's at dinner tonight.

Your brother is warm as he engulfs you in a bear hug when you enter the apartment. Smiling as you break away, you hit his shoulder playfully and laugh as he holds the injured area with a dramatic whine. "I should hit you harder than that for ignoring my texts."

"I'm sorry. I was just in a mood," Taehyung responds with a regretful smile.

"I know. I'm sorry too." You nod understandingly, pulling your jacket off and hanging it over one of the stools near the kitchen bar.

His low chuckle follows you as you both head to the living room. You roll your eyes at the spread of Chinese takeaway covering the large coffee table in front of the TV. "You guys have a huge kitchen and dining area, but I've never seen you actually eat in there."

"Food tastes better in front of the TV." He says simply, jumping onto the couch and patting the spot next to him.

You make your way to the couch and flop next to your brother, the smell of the spread in front of you making you hum in delight. You're both about to tuck in when he curses under his breath, climbing off the sofa with a promise to return with chopsticks. You lean forward and grab a dumpling with your fingers before dipping it in one of the sauces Taehyung laid out. It's almost in your mouth when the door to Jungkook's bedroom creaks slightly, causing you to put the dumpling back down and stare as he enters the lounge. He's dressed in a plain black shirt and sweats, and you drink in his figure shamelessly when he comes into view.

He spots you instantly as he walks further into the room, and you notice his eyes drop slightly to your chest, a short laugh blowing through your lips when you realise he's trying to see the imprint of the nipple piercings you said you were getting done today. "Hi, Koo—"

Your brother's voice cuts you off when he enters the living room again, "Kook! You hungry? There's heaps."

You take a pair of chopsticks when Tae hands you them, returning to your earlier action and grabbing the dumpling but successfully shoving it in your mouth this time. Your gaze lifts back to Jungkook as you chew, watching curiously as he looks at the food, looks at you, and then looks back to your brother. "Nah, bro, not hungry." He replies lowly before turning around and heading back into his room.

"Why did he come out then?" Taehyung snickers, leaning forward and slurping up a mouthful of noodles. You cough out a laugh, grabbing another dumpling and stuffing it into your mouth to avoid having to say anything. You knew why Jungkook was in a grump, and you also knew that he was definitely hungry. He's always hungry. You continue eating and internally decide that you will fix both of those problems before leaving the apartment tonight.

You and Taehyung talked for an hour and a half after you finished your dinner. It started on the topic of work—how your drama was going and how his shows were going. Then it got to the huge fucking Jungkook-shaped elephant in the room. You cried and apologised non-stop, and he kept telling you to cut it out, hugging you into his chest and telling you he wasn't mad. That life happens, and you can't help it." I'm supposed to be your big sister." You remember crying as he chuckled while patting your back like one would a newborn.

"How l-long did you know?" You hiccupped after breaking away from the embrace, reaching for your cup of water on the coffee table.

"Well, a few times, I caught him smiling at his phone and saw your name on the screen as I walked past. Or when he would shamelessly check you out whenever you'd come over. I thought he was just a horny douche," Tae laughed as you rolled your teary eyes, "but one night really caught me off guard. We were watching the first episode of your new drama when it dropped, and when the flashback kissing scene came on, he went dead quiet. Wouldn't talk for the rest of the episode and then went to his room when it finished."

"Jungkook," you say as you knock on his bedroom door, "I made you a plate. Can I come in?"

On the other side, Jungkook is lying on his bed, arm resting against the headboard behind his head, and tongue poking the inside of his cheek when he hears you call him by his actual name instead of a nickname like you usually do. He stays quiet and continues to scroll through a random social media app on his phone; he can't even tell you which one at this point. He's just trying not to give in. Call you in and shower your dumb face in kisses like he wants to. Pull your shirt up and see your newly pierced nipples because it's all he's been thinking about since you told him.

"I'm coming in, okay? Cover up!" You warn snarkily and smile in satisfaction when you hear him snort as you push the door open and step inside.

Jungkook's eyes flutter to you as you shut the door with your foot and shuffle over to his bed. His phone locks from inactivity, and he lets it slip from his hand as he watches you sit on the side of his bed, a plate of Chinese held in your hands as you poke his thigh with the chopsticks. "Eat."

He stares at your face for a second when you speak, his gaze lifting to your puffy eyes, making him sit up a little against the headboard. "Have you been crying?"

"Nothing gets past you, Sherlock." You mutter jokingly, leaning forward and placing the plate of food on his lap. "I know you're hungry. Hurry up and eat before I start feeding you."

He takes hold of the chopsticks when you wriggle them into his hand. Then, before you can pull your hand back, he grabs ahold of your palm, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the top of your hand. "Thank you." He mumbles softly, grabbing some of the rice with the chopsticks before shoving it in his mouth.

"What are your plans tomorrow? I've got an interview on Thursday, but I don't have anything on tomorrow and was wondering if—"

"Why don't you go and do something with Jae?" He says after swallowing his mouthful, causing the words to cut off in your throat. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him in shock.

"Really?" You spit with a laugh, watching as he swirls the food around on his plate, his appetite suddenly vanishing.

"Yeah," he replies with a shrug, "we both agreed that we don't have the time to date. But you sure do go out on a lot of dates with him."

"This is about the piercings, right?" You can't help the tone of your voice rising, but you're slowly getting more pissed off by the second.

"The piercings, the concert, the ice cream. I'm sure there's a fuck tonne I don't know about too." He chuckles sorely, leaning over to his bedside table and setting down the barely touched plate of food.

"He's my co-worker. We are the leads in a show together; it's good for viewership for us to be seen together!" You stand from the bed, your voice getting even louder now, and you have to remind yourself to calm down so you don't bother your brother a few doors down.

"For viewership," he nods sarcastically, "getting your nipples pierced with your co-worker is good for viewership?" He can't help but laugh, his throat getting that familiar scratchy feeling as he imagines that fucker being in the room with you while you got them done.

"I've been planning them for a long time. You knew I wanted to get them done."

"Why with him, ___?" Your nickname slipped venomously through his lips, "Why'd you go with him?" Jungkook's tone is low, almost defeated, as he refuses to make eye contact with you.

"He overheard me saying to Hee-Jin that I was going to do it today. He said he was planning on getting his nose pierced and offered to go with me," Jungkook is shaking his head now, his tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek as he tries not to think about it.

"Yeah, alright, _____. I'm tired, so—"

"Don't do that." You spit, cutting him off, and he raises his head to meet your eyes finally.

"Do what?"

"Don't shut me out. I hate it when you do that." You sigh, a hand lifting to run through your hair in frustration. Jungkook is quiet as he watches your chest heave while you calm down from yelling. He can't help his eyes falling to your tits, and you watch his eyebrows crease when he tries to find the imprint of the piercings.

"I didn't do it." You jab, and Jungkook's eyes lift to your face in pure confusion. At that moment, his stare drifts to your left ear and then your right, noticing the second addition to your lobes that he didn't see before. "Some lunatic called me before I got them done. He sounded pretty pissed, so I just got my ears done again." You snark, your eyes rolling back when you notice Jungkook's cheeky fucking smirk reappear on his lips.

You're close enough to the bed for him to gently lean forward and grab your arm. Before you have the chance to shrug him off, he's pulling you towards him, and you don't fight it as you fall onto the bed. Before you know it, he's ushering you onto his lap, his lip caught slightly between his teeth, and you have to stop yourself from leaning forward and kissing him. He's so pretty.

"I like when you do things for me." He mumbles, his thumbs rubbing a soothing pattern on your hips as your shirt rises up slightly with your movement.

A soft hum escapes you as you allow more of your weight to press into him. The fabric of your jeans is rough against his crotch, and you can feel your lower body getting warmer by the second. "I know," you whisper, giving in and moving forward to press your mouth against his.

Jungkook's hands slide from your hips to your lower back when you lean forward, and he cheekily drops them to your ass, grabbing a greedy handful as you deepen the kiss. Your jaw slacks slightly when you feel him squeeze your ass, and he takes the opportunity to delve his tongue through your lips. His tongue brushes with your own, and he swallows the breathy moan that escapes as you allow him deeper into your mouth. Your hips move on their own accord, grinding harder into his lap, and he groans when you press down harshly, the denim of your jeans brushing him roughly through his pants.

"Shit." He moans as he breaks away from your lips. His hands don't leave your ass; if anything, he grips tighter before pressing you harder against him. You can feel him getting stiffer beneath you, making you whine at the feeling of him going from soft to hard between your legs.

"You're not hungry anymore?" You breathe as he flips you over so he's on top of you, his hands hastily working on the buttons of your jeans.

"No, I am." His voice is low as he makes his way down your body, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your belly that reveals as your shirt rides up. Jungkook's lips move to your hipbone as he drags your zipper down, your jeans loose enough the slip off, and he drags them down, chucking them onto his floor without another thought.

He pats the side of your left thigh with his hand, and your knees come up instantly, understanding his wordless demand. "Really hungry," he mumbles, leaning down and attaching his mouth to your pussy through your panties. A whine leaves your lips instantly, hips involuntarily bucking into his face as he licks at your clit through the fabric. Your hands reach down to grab onto him, but you come up a little short. Jungkook notices and shuffles up a bit, letting you tangle your fingers through his hair, a satisfied hum leaving him when you tug at the strands harshly. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your underwear before sliding them down your legs, grunting at the sight of your glistening cunt. "So pretty."

"My pussy is pretty?" You choke through a moan as he lets a line of spit drip from his mouth onto you.

"Really pretty," he confirms before leaning down and burying his mouth into your cunt. Your eyes roll back as his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue peaking through to flick the nub as he sucks.

"F-Fuck," You groan as his right-hand grips your thigh, reassuringly squeezing as if coaxing you through it. Your eyes are squeezed shut; the wet, messy sounds of him devouring you are all you can hear. All you can feel.

Your eyes open as Jungkook pulls away, and you watch through hooded lids as he leans back a little before taking his middle and ring finger into his mouth. He coats them in as much saliva as possible before leaning down and placing a quick, sweet kiss on your clit. You let a giggle slip at the action before a high-pitched moan blows through your lips. He pushes both of his fingers fully into you, not stopping until he hits knuckle. "Holy shiiiiiiiit," you seethe, fingers untangling from his hair to rest at the back of his head.

Once his fingers are buried in you, he returns to your cunt, tongue lapping at your clit with vigour. He pulls the throbbing bud into his mouth, groaning when you push the back of his head further into you. He's nodding into your pussy, telling you to push harder without saying a word. "Kook." You whine, your fingers shakily entangling into his hair again and pulling him into you like he wants. His fingers haven't left you at all, and he curls them up, toying with that rigid spongey part. The tips of his fingers push at it teasingly, and it causes you to clench tightly around him, wanting to keep his hand trapped there forever.

He feels you start to shake, and his mouth moves with you, lips refusing to let go of your clit. "Fuck my tongue," he says as he pulls away slightly for air, "right now. Fuck my face."

"Oh my fucking god," you moan at his words, head falling back into his pillow as he goes back down again. His nose is buried in you now; the sloppy sounds of him slurping on your cunt spread goosebumps over your body. His fingers finally leave your hole before he leans a little lower, shoving his tongue into you. "Babyyyy, shit!" Your words come out as a mixture between a cry and a moan as he pistons his tongue into your hole, his fingers coated in your slick sliding up to circle your clit.

"Fuck. My tongue." You can barely make out his demand as he doesn't relent his torture on your cunt, his words coming out muffled. Finally, you heave out a strangled moan before letting go and grinding your hips into his face. He moans in satisfaction, vibrating straight through your core, and you feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Come on, baby," Jungkook's words come out almost unintelligible again as his tongue continues to fuck into you, pulling a pornographic whine from your lips. "Good girl," he hums. His fingers are swirling against your swollen clit, maintaining a steady but ferocious pace, and it's blurring your vision. You can't stop yourself from bucking up into his face, earning a low groan when his tongue curves just right in your hole, and you push him into you so hard he can't breathe. Your right-hand slips out of his hair, slamming down onto his bed, your first unclenching to pull at his sheets with a trembling hand. His fingers lift off your clit for a second, and it's like you almost don't even notice it because his tongue takes its place, slurping your bud into his mouth. You hear shuffling and look up to see him pull his cock out of his sweats. You can't see it properly because he's kneeling at the edge of the bed, but you've witnessed the action enough to know when it's happening.

Once his cock is free, he stands from his knee, his hand wasting no time before reattaching to your clit. You can't take it anymore, your head turning to bury itself into his pillow to muffle your scream. The smell of his shampoo is embedded into the pillowcase, making your heart beat even faster, which you thought was simply impossible right now. Your toes curl as his thumb massages your clit, your hand lifting to grip the pillowcase tightly in your fist. "Gguk, I'm gonna—"

"I know, baby," he nods, his unoccupied hand reaching down to grasp his shaft in his hand before leaning forward and pushing into you. That's it. You're done for.

"Oh! Oh, my fuck!" You scream as Jungkook shoves every inch of his cock into you, his balls flush against your entrance when he hits the base. He doesn't move. His thumb continues the torture on your clit, and he feels your walls tighten sorely around him as your back arches slightly off the bed. Your ears are ringing; eyes rolled to the back of your head as your chin points to the ceiling.

"That's it, baby. Cream my fucking cockkkkk." He praises as you shake around him, your orgasm hitting you in a sudden wave. You think you're crying; you can't actually tell. Jungkook's eyebrows are furrowed as he stares in awe at your pussy convulse around him, watching your puffed clit pulse as you cum. "Shit," he whispers as he slowly slides his dick out of you for the first time since he entered you.

He doesn't let it fully slip out, instead pulling back until your lips are swallowing just the tip. He almost fucking growls when he sees his cock emerge sticky and wet, listening to you whine when he inches it gently back inside. "Are you trying to fucking kill me?" you groan, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. The side of his mouth pulls upwards as you let your hand slide under his shirt, nails tracing softly against his toned stomach. Your touch doesn't do anything to stop him, though, his gentle thrusts continuing as he watches your face for any sign of serious pain.

"God, you are," your words come out strangled, followed by a few shallow breaths as your pussy lets out a loud squelch every time he sinks back in.

"You can take it, right, baby?" Jungkook's tone is low and sinful. His gaze drops back to where you two are connected, his hips speeding up a little on each thrust. He watches as your eyes squeeze shut again, your hand that's under his shirt balling into a fist as you slam it against his chest. The shaky sensitivity in your pussy is strong, choked breaths slip from your mouth like a second language as you fight the overstimulation. "You always. Take it. So. Well." He's praising you between thrusts, and they're becoming more brutal with each one. Jungkook's head falls back a little as you squeeze around him slightly, listening to the sloppy noise of your cunt mixed with your moans. It's euphoric.

Suddenly, it's like a switch flicked in your brain because the pain turns to absolute pleasure, and your jaw slacks in pure ecstasy. Jungkook notices the transition and kneels on the bed, hooking his arms under the backs of your knees and pulling you down so you're flush against him. Your hand falls from his chest and next to you limply. You don't even have the power to move it as Jungkook slides his cock out of you before slamming it back in harder, then harder, then harder. He doesn't pull out until he's filled you to the brim, waiting to feel his balls hit your ass before pulling back and repeating the motion. You go to moan, though nothing comes out but an airy screech, your throat feeling raw and abused, just like your poor vagina right now.

"Slut," he mumbles sweetly, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. You giggle against his mouth, using all the energy you have left to lift your hands and run them through his dishevelled hair before pulling him down to lay on you.

You feel Jungkook start to shake slightly, his usual giveaway that he's close. Breaking away from the kiss, your legs wrap around his butt and pull him into you as deeply as you can. "Mhm," you moan with a fucked out look on your face, hair sprawled out on his pillow, and he swears it's the prettiest he's ever seen you.

"There?" He grunts, the tip of his cock hitting that rigid spongey bit as he plows into you.

"Mhm!" Your moan sounds distressed and crazed, but you can't even bring yourself to care. Your hands rack through Jungkook's hair, trailing down his back, and your nails dig into his skin as he slams his hips back, mercilessly fucking you into the bed. "There. There. Fucking thereeeeee!" You scream as his cock hits a part inside you that you didn't even know existed.

"Shit," he groans as your walls tighten around him, "I'm gonna fucking cum. Clench again, baby. Please. Please fuckk," He's begging, and your eyes roll to the back of your head at his whiny tone. His face falls to the crook of your neck as you give him what he needs, clenching your walls around him, and you hear him choke out a pained moan before he pushes into you with a final trembled thrust. He spills himself inside of you, painting the walls of your cunt, and you relish in the feeling.

You're so close; the feeling of his cum inside of you only makes you even more aroused. "Keep going," your voice is hurried and hoarse, "Baby, please. Keep going. Keep goinggg. I'm close." You cry, your hand patting against his back in a pleading motion.

Jungkook can't do anything but growl into your neck as he pulls his hips back; the loud noise of his cum stuffed into you, squelching around his cock as he draws back, is fucking sinful. He ignores the burning feeling of sensitivity. He ignores the fact that his cock is softening by the second. Instead, he focuses on your moans of pleasure, pulling his face from your neck to watch your face contort in bliss. You can't take it anymore when his hand falls between you, thumb finding your clit without even fucking looking. "I'm. Gonna. Cum." You're shaking as he pounds into you, his thumb relentless on your clit.

"Yeah?" He leans down, spitting harshly onto your cunt. "Fucking cum then," he taunts, his thumb sliding against your clit furiously.

You can't speak. You can't open your eyes. You can't even breathe. You're surprised a strangled whimper finds its way from your throat, a blinding white flashing as your orgasm hits you. It washes over you like a tidal wave, and your back arches off the bed as you cum. Jungkook curses at the feeling of you pulsating around him and works you through your orgasm with a pained shudder.

As soon as you cower away from his touch, your pussy not able to handle the pressure on your clit any longer, he retracts his hand and heaves out a shaky breath. His hand pulls at the neckline of his shirt, slipping it off him and exposing his gorgeous abs. You can't even enjoy the sight properly, slumped against his pillow, harsh breaths blowing from your lips as you try to grasp back on reality. Jungkook lays the shirt under your butt, a low groan escaping him when he slips out of you, his cum drooling out of you and pooling onto his shirt. You look at him through squinted eyes as he stares at his seed dripping out of your hole, admiring it like a priceless piece of art. You watch as he bites his lip before tilting his head towards you with a cheeky smile.

Your eyes widen at his silent question, mouth opening in shock as you lift a shaky leg to swat at him with your foot. "If you try putting your dick anywhere near me right now, I'll fucking castrate you," you threaten as he chuckles at your reaction, letting his shirt capture the excess leakage before hobbling off to the bathroom to get a cloth.

You've managed to calm your breathing while listening to the bathroom tap squeak as Jungkook runs a washcloth under the water. He returns a few moments later, leaning down to press a quick kiss against your belly before he cleans you up. He's pulled his sweatpants back up now, but he's still shirtless, and you admire the way the muscles in his back tense as he goes to throw the dirty laundry in his hamper. He also grabs the plate of food that he abandoned on his bedside table before jogging it out to the kitchen. A comfortable silence washes over you both as he returns, and you just enjoy staring at his figure as he makes his way back to bed. Jungkook hands you back your panties before sitting on the side of the bed. He watches you tiredly sit up to wriggle them on before sliding back down and slamming your head onto the pillow.

"You're staying the night?" He asks in shock. You're always so quick to leave his place after sex; he does the same when it's at your place.

"We've had sleepovers before," you mumble into his pillow, snuggling deeper into his blanket.

He hums, slipping into the bed himself, and your warm arm moves under the blanket to drape over his chest. "Not after sex."

"Do you want me to go?" You reply quietly after a beat, your finger tracing light patterns on his upper chest.

Jungkook looks down at your hand, then your face. Your eyes meet his, and he just shakes his head, making you give him a soft smile in return. Your eyes flutter shut as he shuffles closer to you before he grabs your leg and drapes it over his waist. Jungkook follows suit, eyes closing as his breathing evens out. He's almost asleep, feeling your warm skin pressed against him, acting as the best sleeping pill money could buy. That is, until your voice breaks the silence.

"You would look so good with a lip ring."

His heavy eyelids peel open as he glances down at you. Your matted hair frames your face; eyes still shut. Your cheek is pressed against his chest; he could feel your lips move against him as you spoke.

"You're so random," Jungkook mumbles with a chuckle before closing his eyes again. He feels your lips pucker slightly, pressing a feathery, light kiss against his nipple as you let sleep take over you. The feeling is soothing, and all he can think about as the darkness engulfs him is getting a fucking lip ring.

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macfrog · 4 months

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birds of a feather | joel & ellie

y'all listen to the new billie eilish album? there's a song that reminded me of a couple of someones.

pairing: joel miller & ellie williams summary: joel surprises ellie on her sixteenth birthday. warnings: nada. just me loving hard on this pair. word count: 1.5k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍

Oh, my god, it is a dinosaur.

She didn’t actually believe it would be. I mean, it was her first guess – but where the fuck is he going to find a dinosaur way the hell out here? She was kidding.

Wasn’t a convertible, wasn’t a puppy, wasn’t even a lotta kittens. A litter. Whatever. It wasn’t a new pair of sneakers, nor a comic book collection. She’d almost run out of ideas, when she spotted the tail through the bushes.

Is that–? Is he seeing this, too?

It’s, like, three times the size of her. No, wait – five times the size of her. Ten? She’s gotta ask Joel.

Two thick, stocky legs planted firm into the earth. Draped in ivy and spattered with moss – the thing actually looks prehistoric. Head lifted to the canopy; teeth bared in a silent roar. His little arms – alright, they’re actually kinda fuckin’ cute – frozen, reaching for something.

It’s right fucking there. Right in front of her. A motherfucking dinosaur.

Her hands fly to her head.

“Joel!” Ellie cries, and she can hardly feel her legs with giddiness.

Joel lingers a few steps behind her. He kicks a heel through the mucky grass, just watching. Smiling like an idiot, letting the ripples from the kid’s glee wash over him. It’s like the zoo all over again, or that time he found a Savage Starlight poster while out on patrol.

Ellie’s laughter is ticklish, vibrating through his veins. She pumps her fists and sizes up the monster. She says holy shit, Joel three times before she takes a step closer.

The sun trickles through the leaves, haloing over the Rex. It’s warm, but not too warm – and the swim on the way helped cool them down. It’s a bit of a hike to get here. He’s just glad it’s a nice day.

He was, truthfully, a little nervous about it. About bringing her here. He’s never had a sixteen-year-old to plan shit for. What if she didn’t like it? Hell, what if she thought it was fucking lame?

But Ellie wades waist-deep into the moat instantly. She pulls herself through the murky water straight to the plaque, and whips out her journal.

And Joel knows he’s fucking nailed it.

“King of the tyrant lizards,” she announces, making sure she gets the spelling right. Her tongue pokes from the corner of her mouth as she sketches.

Joel wanders over to her side, hand combing through the tangles of leaves drooping from the dinosaur’s belly. He swats fluttering flies away from his face.

The water sloshes around her feet as she rounds the tail. It’s slippery with slime. She crawls over threads and vines, soles scuffing up the spine.

“What are you doin’?” he asks, a chuckle patching over cracks of sudden fear.

“I’m climbing a dinosaur!” Ellie yells. She hesitates on the snout – though only for half a second, because fuck it, how many times am I going to jump off a motherfuckin’ dinosaur? – and then she’s plummeting.

Joel’s stomach flips. He staggers into the water, breath clamped in his throat until she resurfaces again.

She’s still wearing that dumb as shit smirk. It probably didn’t flinch, the entire fall. “Did you see that?” she gasps.

Jesus. Yeah, he saw it. He pulls a hand down his face.

It’s been a year, little less than. They’re used to it by now – the slow turn of life in Jackson. Breaking bread in the dinner hall, calling the woodland creatures by whichever ridiculous names Ellie christens them with.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, their heartrates settled. Their fists loosened. They relaxed into the quiet, found respite in the negative space.

Tommy joked for the first little while that Joel had a shadow he couldn’t shake. She’s five-three, red hair, and she carries a switchblade everywhere she goes. Following him close enough that she felt more like a phantom at his heels.

Joel never minded, and he still doesn’t. He’s long forgotten the feeling of being alone – as quickly as he acquired it, it seems. These days, he waits at his kitchen table for the kick of the backdoor, the slump of a still half-asleep teenager opposite him.

He wonders how he ever got by so long without it.

He leads Ellie into the museum.

Everything looks exactly how he left it. A jungle of a building; shattered glass and overgrown grass, a muggy smell lingering in every dim corner. The stuff he deliberately left for her to stumble upon when she got here: a Giants of the Past brochure, the stupid hat he knew she’d force him to wear.

A marshland wasteland, and she still sees the magic in every square inch.

She throws fact after fact at him. Fruit flies and moon landings, gunpowder and Yuri Gagarin. She knows a shit ton, if the stacks of books on her desk are anything to go by. And when Joel tells her how smart she is, Ellie smiles smugly to herself and thinks up ten more facts, just for him.

He thinks of her books and their awkwardly long titles, the faded pictures on all the covers. Astronauts and nebulas and faraway suns. He offers the one thing he remembers from school back at her: My very educated mother just served us nice pizzas.

She’s never even heard of it.

But she’s impressed, and she repeats it to herself as she explores some more. Turning back at every new artifact she finds, beckoning Joel over with a flapping hand.

He wanders after her, thinking up questions he’s sure he already knows the answers to – just so she can tell him again. Just to see her face light, to hear her ramble as she explains.

And nine times out of ten, she corrects him, anyway.

The space shuttle is spotlit under a dome roof, more ivy spilling over the top. A little heap of machinery, succumbed to the nature around it. They crank the door open together, and a springtime heat floods from the cockpit.

Joel stops Ellie from climbing in. “You’re goin’ into space,” he says, leaning on the warm metal. “You’re gonna need a helmet.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, right. What was I thinking?”

They’re too big for her – all three helmets. They’re clunky and clumsy, the visors a little grubby and distorted. But she pulls one over her head and jogs back to Joel, hoisting herself into the shuttle.

It’s cramped inside; stifling even with the door wide open. Joel feels his back twinge as he settles into the seats. But he doesn’t mind, and neither does Ellie.

She flicks button after button, her elbow knocking against his. Explosion sounds rumbling from her lips. Her breath clouds the inside of her helmet.

He could lie here all day beside her. In this quiet corner of the world, where time stands still. Guarded by the Tyrannosaurus Rex out front. Just him and his kid, listening to her mimic engine noises and pretend to lift them both into space.

But he’s hellbent on timing it perfectly. So just as she sounds the roar of a seamless takeoff, he slips the tape from his chest pocket.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Ellie blinks at the cassette. “What is this?”

“This…” Joel says, pinching it in two fingers, “…is a thing that took a mighty effort to find.”

His handwriting is carved into the label. It’s the first gift – real gift, birthday gift – she’s ever been given. Thought out and made up, addressed to her and placed in her hands for keeps. All hers.

She clicks it into her player and hooks her headphones in, thumping her helmet back over her head. She jams a thumb into the play button, and –

He did remember to rewind the tape, right? It’ll play from the start, won’t it?

Joel’s heart begins to thud. He shifts uncomfortably.

Shit, what if it spoils the surprise? What if she hits play, and the first thing she hears is –

Ellie’s head lifts. Her eyes are wide. She grins, and so does he.

He fucking nailed it.

She closes her eyes, the staticky babble of mission control in her ear. His voice tickles, pulling a wide grin across her face. 10, 9, 8, 7…

The shuttle shudders as it shoots into space. She’s holding her breath, holding until he announces liftoff on Apollo 11. The naked sun stretches over her visor, red under her closed eyelids. It disappears somewhere in the distance.

Ellie lands slowly, carefully, back in Wyoming. She blinks her eyes open.

Joel’s still right beside her, hands clasped on his chest. He waits for her to turn, waits to check her expression. He asks it softly, earnestly.

“I do okay?”

Her cheeks ache with smiling. She clutches the tape player tighter, replies through a giggle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

There might be nothing outside of this shuttle. Perhaps there was nothing to begin with. They might’ve shot straight past the earth’s atmosphere, might actually be among the stars. And it might not even matter, if they are.

Everything is right here. The sun and the moon – the entire universe between them.

Joel breathes a relieved laugh. His chest loosens, his heart settles back into place behind his ribcage.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

#in my genfic era #bye again #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller #ellie williams #joel x ellie #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #joel miller fic #ellie williams fic

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discokicks · 8 months

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THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic.

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry.

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing.

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least.

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it.

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices.

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it.

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple.

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you.

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated.

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing.

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips.

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen.

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this.

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach.

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return.

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders.

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question.

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.”

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you.

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it.

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it.

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too.

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it.

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither.

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does.

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings.

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs.

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now.

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position.

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box.

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss.

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more.

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

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

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

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constellationguy · 6 months

Text

That Radio Show

Summary: In the absence of the radio demon listeners of hell find a new broadcast to enjoy.

Chapters one and two

Chapter three: Let’s Chat

Once again a slow sultry sound of piano filled the streets of Pentagram City.

“Good afternoon, my dear listeners. It is 2:30pm and it is time to talk about today’s sponsor. I know we don’t normally have sponsors on a Wednesday but a darling girl reached out to me and I just couldn’t turn her down.” You said, starting the sponsor section of your broadcast. Not many brands reached out to you and you choose even less to actually advertise. Many just want a popular and influential demon to advertise their nonsense, but when a young girl asked you to advertise her new business you couldn’t turn down her charismatic charm.

“Last week I got a letter from a sweet girl who said she was a regular listener and asked me graciously to put a segment about her upcoming business. You know me, I couldn’t turn down a put charming listener of mine.” This letter praised your radio show, how it always had such a calming atmosphere and most callers were also kind people. She praised your kind and calming influence, and flattery gets you everywhere in show biz so, why not share her dream.

“Today’s sponsor is the Happy Hotel. It is a hotel marketed to sinners looking to better themselves in hopes of redemption. Now, I’m not sure if she wanted me to put in my two cents or not, but I will anyway.” You said almost nervous of how your audience would react.

“Now, I know the word redemption is an odd word especially in hell, and this idea is quite honestly outlandish, but, I believe that nothing is black and white. No one is only good or only bad, there is always redeeming qualities in a person, it’s just the people that surround us with that brings out good or bad things in us. Perhaps if good people gather in hopes of becoming better and put in the effort, maybe something can come of this. But I don’t know, I have only been here down here for about six years, there is still so much to see and experience down here.” You paused trying to gather your words.

“Anywho, the Happy Hotel is owned by Princess Morningstar and she is offering free rooms and support to the people willing to give this place a try, so if this strikes a chord with you I encourage you to reach out. Well, that’s the only sponsor we have today, let’s move on to song requests.” You tried to move the topic quickly to calm your nerves.

“Uhm, I got a dm froooom, who was it now. Ah! I got a dm from a darling named Velvet, and she requested “Lotta True Crime” by Penelope Scott so here’s “Lotta True Crime” coming up next.” You were quick to mute yourself ready to be done with that segment the moment it started. It’s not usually normal for you to get sentimental about something on air but of course sappy shit just had to slip, sure the Princess’s idea kinda struck a chord with you but the incoming opinion of our audience terrified you. After most sponsors your hellstagram filled with the extremely strong opinions of your listeners. You were terrified to see the comments flooding your page later that evening. However you spent the rest of your breaks monitoring your comment section and the rest of the day went relatively smooth, your listeners seemed to gloss over that segment and continued to argue in the comments of your latest pull on hellstagram about what genere of music you should cover this week. This did lessen the knot in your stomach a bit, but you know that the day isn’t over and things can still conspire. And conspire they did, but not in your life.

——————————————————————

On the other side of the pentagram a curious demon you’ve never met was listening to your broadcast. The segment on the Happy Hotel seemed to spark something in him, so after work he bolted out of the studio and picked up a cab to take him to the hotel. He could only knock once before the door flew open.

“HOLY SHIT-“ said the demon.

“Oh hello!! Are you are for the hotel?” A charismatic blond girl said jumping up and down.

“Uh, calm your tits toots.” The demon said while holding up a set of his arms to shush the girl in front of him.

“Ya, I hear you are supplying rooms for free and I need a place away from my boss,” he said in a hushed voice rapping his upper set of arms around his rib cage.

“Oh!!!!! Of course! Come in come in! Can’t believe we have our first guest. OOOO VAGGIE, WE HAVE A GUEST.” She squealed to the gray demon that sat on the hotel’s couch.

“Oh?- Oh shit- “ said Vaggie who started to get up off the couch and walk towards the blond.

“Charlie, that’s Angel Dust, the porn star”, Vaggie said trying to make a point that obviously flew over the blonds head.

“So?” Charlie asked, clearly not getting Vaggie’s point.

“Soooooo, Angel how did you hear about the hotel,” she said turning to the spider demon.

“Well, I was in Velvet’s office and she is obsessed with it that one radio show, it’s always running, no clue what it’s called. But, I managed to catch your add and figured I should stop by to see if I can get a room.” Angel said cautiously.

“Of course! We are open for all kinds of guests!” Charlie said excitedly.

“Wait wait wait, are you sure this is what you want, to have a porn star indorse the hotel?” Vaggie said while grabbing Charlie’s shoulders to turn and face her.

“Well of course Vaggie, he is in need and what kind of people would we be if we turned him down? This place is about good and redemption and this is the first step on the path of good! Isn’t that exciting?!” Charlie said enthusiastically.

“Well- fine,” Vaggie said harshly while letting out a sigh.

“If he is gonna stay we are gonna lay out some ground rules. One, you can’t bring your work to the hotel. Two, you need to be civil, three you can’t be spreading this stuff out, we don’t want this place getting damaged by people trying to find you or your reputation.” Vaggie said turning his attention to Angel while starting him down.

“Ouch toots, you really expect so little of me, of course I can do that much! I accept your terms sugar,” Angel said leaning down to shake the angry woman’s hand.

“Well it’s settled!” Charlie said jumping into the conversation.

“I’ll lead you to your room and over the next few days you can move in. Oh this is so exciting!” Charlie said jumping up and down again. Even though the night was still young everyone retired to their rooms with new hope for the hotel sparking in the air. Little did they know the excitement is far from over.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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roosterscockpit · 2 years

Text

His Little Girl | Bradley Bradshaw x reader P. 2

Click here to see the master list

First, I want to start off by saying thank you so much everyone for your support! It warms my heart and means the world to me that you are all enjoying the story so far. These past couple of days have been filled with so much love from all of you. I can't thank you enough. I hope you all enjoy this next part. I love you all 🥺🥰

P.s. I have pinned the post where you'll be able to find all of the parts as they get posted! I hope that will help navigate the story!

A/n: This is still another introduction. The juiciness is right around the corner bestiesss 😉

word count: 2k

Warnings: cursing, just a whole lotta love in this part

Please don't take my work, I will find you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present.

Y/n: “Leia! Come and eat lunch now!” You called over to your daughter as she was playing Mario Kart with Bri.

Leia: “Okay wait! I just wanna kick auntie’s butt on rainbow road!” She said while slapping Bri’s controller.

Y/n: “okay but this is the last one then you have to come and eat.” You smiled as you placed her favorite snack on the table.

Leia: “HOLY SHIT!” She stood up really getting into the game.

Y/n: “LEIA! Language!” You shook your head. “She most definitely has her father’s mouth.” You thought to yourself.

Leia: “Sorry!” She slapped Bri’s controller one more time and it fell on the floor. “YES! I WIN!”

Bri: “Well that’s not fair!” She threw her body back onto the couch in disbelief. “That’s cheating Lei.”

Leia stuck her tongue out at Bri and then laughed in her face. They were always so competitive when it came to playing video games together.

Y/n: “Okay children, calm down. Leia, come and eat now.”

Leia ran over and her eyes widened. Her big toothless smile, from her losing her two front top teeth, when she saw her favorite snack. “You made me toasted PB&J!” It was her favorite. She always wanted to have it for snack time but you always encouraged your daughter to try something new. But today you let her have her favorite because it was her big day.

She sunk right into it. “Mmmm.” She said with a big smile. “Thank you, momma!”

You gave her a kiss on her head and a pat. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Bri sat at the counter and looked around, “Wow, no lunch for me, y/n?” She shook her head, “My babysitting service isn’t free you know!”

You rolled your eyes at her and went into the pantry. You looked around and found some gronola bars. You grabbed one and came back to throw it across the counter to her. “Bon Appétit.”

Her jaw dropped, “A little harsh, sheesh.” She sassily ripped open the packaging and bit the hell out of it. You laughed at her. “There is some left overs from dinner last night. Help yourself to them.”

You walked around the corner and gave her a hug, “Thank you for watching her.” You squished her and kissed her quickly on the cheek.

“Finally, I get some respect around here.” She patted your arm that was wrapped around her. “Anytime girl.” She smiled at you. “Now go!”

You looked at your watch and saw the time. “Well, I’ve got to head into work. I will see you tonight for your dinner party! I love you, baby! Happy birthday.” You said smiling at your daughter and giving her a big hug squishing her and giving her another kiss.

Leia: “Okay! That’s enough mom! I love you too.” She said annoyingly.

You laughed and gave her another kiss.

You were out the door on your way to the Hard Deck. You didn’t really have to work, you just wanted to make sure everything was ready for Leia’s birthday. It had to be perfect. Ever since you had found out you were pregnant, you kept it a secret from everyone. The only ones that ever knew you were pregnant were Bri and her boyfriend, Billy. They were Leia’s god parents.

A couple of weeks ago, you finally opened up to others. First you called Penny and then Mav. Mav was so happy for you, he was so excited about meeting her. He let you know he was going to be coming to San Diego for work in a month’s time when you had told him. He wasn’t sure when he would be there, but when he got into town he would let you know immediately.

Penny couldn’t have been more excited. You could practically hear her jumping up and down when you told her you have a daughter. You mentioned to her that Leia’s birthday was coming up at the end of the month. She wanted more than anything to have a private party for her at the Hard Deck.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Hard Deck with some party decorations. The parking lot was empty so you parked right up front by the front doors. You texted Penny to let her know you were there with the party decorations. She texted to let you know she was on the way out to let you in.

She came to the doors and opened them with open arms and gave you a big hug. When you got there Penny already started to get everything ready. She was so happy to see you. She was showing you how she decorated the back deck by the beach. The big balloons, signs, decorations she put up for your daughter. It was so thoughtful of her. You gave her a big hug. She didn’t have to do any of this. She literally bought stuff and decorated for you.

“You didn’t have to do this! Oh my gosh Penny!” You looked at her and covered your mouth. “I brought stuff as well!” You were about to cry.

“Oh, Y/n! I had to! I wanted to help make your little girl’s day special.” She put her arm over your shoulder.

You looked at her and hugged her, “I will pay you back! This is way too much!”

She pulled back from your hug, “Noooooo! No need! please!” You shook your head, you knew you were going to pay her back. “Im paying you, I'm leaving it in the tip jar when you’re not looking.” You laughed.

Penny: “Oh my gosh, you’re crazy! I’m hiding it tonight.” She looked at you in awe. Then changed the subject, “I can’t believe you have a little girl, y/n! She has to be perfect like you!” She said smiling at you and rubbing your arm.

Y/n: “She is perfect, she’s everything I could have wished for.” You smiled at the thought of your little toothless girl.

Penny looked out to the ocean. “So does she look like you, or her dad?”

Did I mention… even though, you told them about you having a kid you didn’t disclose who her dad was… “God, she looks so much like her dad. Mannerisms and all. Just like him.” You sighed. “I think the only thing she has from me is she’s so smart.” You started laughing.

Penny patted you on the back and laughed with you. “I'm sure of that.”

You looked around. “So where is Mav? Is he going to come?”

Penny looked at you and half smiled. “I haven’t seen Pete in forever, y/n.”

You hugged her and let out a sigh. “Im sorry.”

Penny hugged you back and rubbed your back. “Like father, like son.” She chuckled.

You pulled back and smiled at her.

She patted your back again and led you back into the bar. “Let’s get this place ready for your little girl!”

You went to your car and started to bring in the decorations you had bought. There is no such thing as too many decorations. The two of you continued to decorate and rearrange the back deck. It was perfect and was finished just in time. The last thing you both had to do was bring the heaters to the back in case it were to get chillier through out the night. Although it was the middle of summer so you doubted it would be. Right as you two started to bring the heaters back you could hear Penny in disbelief.

Penny: “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You turned and your jaw hit the floor, eyes wide. There was absolutely no way timing was this good. You felt a wave of happiness wash over you. You did a small jog into the bar with a big smile on your face.

Penny: “Pete.”

Mav was sitting at the bar shocked to see her. “Penny?”

You came in to help with some of the tension. “Hey Mav!”

His eyes lit up. “Y/n! Oh my gosh! Its so good to see you both!”

Penny: “What on earth are you doing back here?”

Mav: “Well..” He stopped.

You could sense the tension radiating in the room. You interrupted. “Hey Mav, do you think you could help me drag some heaters to the back deck?”

Penny looked at you and mouthed “Thank you.” She went back to getting everything ready for the nightly rush. Anything to get her away from Mav for a couple of minutes while her mind was processing why he was sitting at her bar.

You smiled back and winked at her. You turned away and started to head for the back deck.

Mav: “Yea of course! I’ll catch up with you in a bit Penny.” He said as he pointed to the back deck and smiled at her. She was cleaning a glass and shaking her head at him with her eyes narrowed at him.

Mav caught up with you and helped you bring the big outside heaters to the back deck where your daughter’s party was all set up.

Mav: “Oh wow! Is this for Leia?” He said while looking around at all the star wars decorations. “Leia… Like star wars.” He chuckled.

Y/n: “She really wanted to dress up as Princess Leia for this birthday party.” You shook your head and smiled.

Mav: “Revenge of the Sixth.” He laughed. “That’s very clever.” He looked at you and wrapped and arm around your shoulder.

Y/n: “I’m glad you’re here! So that means you can come by, right? Meet Leia?” You smiled.

Mav: “Oh I wouldn’t miss that for the world, y/n! I came with the right timing.” He smiled at you. “I need to go get her a gift, so I will be back later on.” He gave you a kiss on your head. Before he went, he turned to you, “But do I have to dress up?”

You laughed, “Party starts at 6! Come as you are Captain. I’ll see you then!” You gave him a wave and he waved back.

You went back into the bar and sat at a stool.

Penny: “So is he going to come back?” She said smiling and cleaning a couple of bottles off the counter.

Y/n: “Yes he is, so be nice.” You gave her a devilish look and laughed. “But I should probably head home and get ready for tonight. Thank you so much again!” You said as you rested your arms onto the bar and then rested your chin on your arm.

Penny came around the bar and gave you a big hug. “I’d do anything for you girls, y/n! I’ll see you tonight!”

You went to close the back doors before you left so the public crowd wouldn’t go to the back deck where your daughter’s party was set up. Once you finished you waved bye to a now busy Penny. You walked out of the Hard Deck, got into your Jeep and pulled out of the parking lot to head home to get ready for Leia’s birthday dinner/party. You were so excited you got to celebrate your favorite human’s birthday this year with more people that felt like family to you. That and Leia will meet more people who would also become family to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See you in the next part, besties! ❤️ Tag list is closed 😞 but thank you for everything! I'm grateful for each and everyone of you. rom the bottom of my heart, thank you soooo much !

Tag List:

@lonelywitchv2

@shakespear-picaso-lovechild

@emma8895eb

@beebslebobs

@creativitybeware

@peachiicherries

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@b-uckyreadss

@winterrebel04

@rosiahills22

@treblemakeronbase

@multiple-fandoms-girl

@inky-sun

@carsgeek24

@caitsymichelle13

@justanothermagicalsara

@shouldershimmycity

@itsmytimetoodream

@javden

@bregarc

@misticbullet

@castle-bookworms-world

@asteria33

@shanimallina87

@bayisdying

@smells-like-perfect-senses

@teenwolf01

@milestomaverick

@minstens

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dogydayz · 2 years

Text

I think one of my favorite parts of the "autistic Shadow" headcanon is the fact that he's designed to be the Ultimate Lifeform. I don't mean this in an annoying, "autism is a superpower" dumb way (even if I do find my own autism to actually be quite helpful at times, the whole concept of calling it that is stupid and used to hurt people like us), I mean it in a "Shadow was genetically engineered to be an Ultimate Lifeform, he's designed to survive and be able to do things no one else can, yet he still struggles with something that could be classified as a disability in his daily life." I dont know if im wording it properly, but there's something about how he's still viewed as that Ultimate Lifeform despite dealing with something that many people would immediately label as a trait that makes someone "inherently" less capable of survival. I know that many folks struggle with autism in way more severe ways than I may (though much of me saying this is kinda me repressing and refusing to acknowledge that it IS still a disability for me, but still, i recognize others DO deal with more severe aspects than I do), however I really just dislike how autistic characters get labeled as inherently "unable" to live "right". He's a character whose whole thing is that he makes his own path for himself, he fights even if the world hates him, he doesn't back down and even when it looks like he is, he's just playing it smart. Even if he does have these struggles, he IS able to find a life for himself, he isn't held down by expectations or what people tell him he is. In fact, that's ANOTHER whole part of him as a character, that he breaks free from what others say he should be. Even if he were confirmed to be autistic, he wouldn't be "the autistic character". He'd still be himself, he'd be Shadow, they'd be confirming that he has certain struggles, but he'd still be /himself/.

His story wouldn't change, he wouldn't be bound by the chains of what people think an autistic character in media should look like, he wouldn't be "the character who's autistic" (as if they aren't all already autistic, but that's a whole different topic lol), he'd just be Shadow, and Shadow would just happen to be autistic.

Again, I may be wording this wrong and if i am PLEASE forgive me, I'm trying so hard to put my thoughts into words,,,

I think this is coming a bit from a place of me seeing Prime Sonic and thinking to myself "holy fucking shit he's got ADHD but it's not shown as all of him". Of course they havent truly confirmed Sonic to be ADHD but like, i think they probably did do it purposefully here, but maybe that's just me? I just see him do stuff and think "wow yeah, I've done that before! And I do it because i have ADHD! and he has some of my struggles!! But his friends still love him even if they're annoyed by him at times, and he still isn't a bad person even if he did fuck up! Any they handle it with nuance that real people experience in life!!"

And that's how I'd see autistic Shadow being handled. He already has a lotta the traits, but they don't confirm it being based on things like sensory overload or whatever, despite the fact that they really could. And even if they did, he'd be handled just as if it were another trait. It wouldn't be some defining attribute to him, him being autistic wouldn't be some selling point, there wouldn't be any "look! There's now an autistic character in this media!!".

But back to the main point.... Basically, him being autistic doesn't make him any less of the Ultimate Lifeform, and I think that's about the most extreme way to get across the point of "being autistic doesn't make you any less of a person or any less important". He was GENETICALLY ENGINEERED. Yet he still is autistic and it was decided "yep we succeeded in creating the Ultimate Lifeform!", so much so that the military wanted to use him as a WEAPON. Nothing about his potential disability made him any less of a success, or any less of a protector to Maria, or any less of a wonderful creation to Gerald, or any less of anything else to anyone he knows.

Something about that is just... a really nice idea to me. Maybe not for everyone, but to me that's inspiring as fuck, and reassuring to, to think about...

#sonic #sth #sonic headcanons #sorta #shadow the hedgehog #character rant #autism posting #autism rant #actually autistic #long post #text post #autistic shadow

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palestporn · 11 months

Text

Gamzee: Blow up your ancestor's whole motherfucking spot

Finding your way back out of whatever the fuck he's doing (your ghost your ancestor the grand fucking highblood, every time you think this day can't get any more motherfucking wild--) feels like stumbling your way through choking smoke. Feels like when you woke up from getting your pan rung earlier, except this time when you find your way back, instead of a fight happening over your head, everybody's all staring at you while they bitch each other out.

"KK, shut the fuck up," says Sollux, and clicks his claws in front of you couple times, and watches you twitch. "I think he's hearing us again. Hey, good evening, moonshine. What the fuck--"

"What did you see?" says the emperor, real intense, and you stare at him and feel your hand try to twitch--to touch his cheek or tear his neck open you have no fucking idea. You don't think your ghost does either. Fuck. "Focus! Look at me. What did he show you?"

A whole lotta shit, is what. Fire, death and blood. A mutant who looked only just Karkat's age--arguing long nights with him through the bars on a dark cell. A hand reaching through the bars to your cheek and how all of everything flipped to spin around that second where he touched you.

"Motherfucker's pale for you," you blurt out.

Sollux and Karkat turn at the same time and stare at the emperor, and then at you, and then at the emperor, like they fucking practiced it. Your ghost does a noise that doesn't amount to words. The emperor does much the motherfucking same.

"I beg your fucking pardon," he says.

IN WHAT MOTHERFUCKING WAY, howls your ancestor, what part of FATAL AND WEAKLING FAILURE and UNDYING MOTHERFUCKING AFTERDEATH OF SHAME did you FAIL TO COMPREHEND?!

"And he's fucking salty about it," you say, fool mouth running without you, on a laugh of disbelieving. "Oh, fuck. You just touched him the one time and he's fucking gone about it, he just, ha, hhaha, he hates it so motherfucking much."

The emperor, it transpires and turns out, goes red a whole lot the same way like his descendant does. "Fucking, really?!" he says, only half at you--to the dark, to the shade he can't see. "It's been hundreds of sweeps! You tried to execute me!"

I regret NOTHING, mutant, says your ghost in boiling furious snarl, and his hating regret sings through your horns. I linger only to see your long-delayed death and drag your soul to the messiahs' cull-pits by motherfucking hand.

"What, you're. You're just, hanging out waiting for him?" you say, and Karkat's face does some kinda SOMETHING. "Like so you can go on together? Motherfucker, damn."

"Thirsty," says Sollux, and it pushes a laugh out your mouth like a punch in the gut, especially how it makes Karkat's face do a whole different kind of something. "Ehehe--"

"This isn't funny, Mituna," says the emperor, sharp over your ancestor's howl of scouring rage and cursing on your soul.

"No, it's fucking not!" says Karkat. "Is that why you put him in the conciliatrium?! He's not the same person as his ancestor, you absolute throbbing boil on the waste chute of the empire, that's not how descendants work and I should fucking know!"

"Karkat, shut the fuck up," says the emperor. He's pinching the bridge of his scarred-up, broken-ass nose.

To REVENGE himself on my memory, says your ancestor, to my MOCKERY AND DEBASEMENT, turning a hatched subjugglator of my holy bloodline to some purring, pampered--

"Hey, if you didn't like learning pile stuff you coulda just left, motherfucker," you say, stung a little. "Not like either of us ever had to do the motherfucking job, being as how I guess you fucked up my shot at getting any action a billion fuckin' sweeps ago!"

Sollux fucking cackles about that. The emperor says "You didn't have a 'shot'! Neither of you have anything even resembling a shot, okay?! Kurloz, you dense piece of shit--"

"Don't fucking talk to him like that," says Karkat, at the same time you go "Who the fuck is Kurloz?" and then both of you stop and look confusion at the other.

Never did I give him my hatchname and never ALLOWED him to use it, your ancestor's growling, sulky now, all sorts of shit you can't get a vibe on rolling around your thinkpan, while the emperor makes lecture and scold at the air where he isn't. Speaking at me like he knows me, bossy little MOTHERFUCKER. Claiming some power to speak down at the King of Colors, the culler of a thousand worlds--

"I'm Gamzee," you say, by way of explanation, and Karkat stares at you and then says, "I'm. Karkat?" like he's not really actually all that sure right this second. Sneaks a frond out and rests it on your knee, while his ancestor's yelling at the dark and his buddy's laughing his ass off, and then whips it back again red in the ears.

...You want to touch him back. Not just to kneel there sweet and let him get up in your business, but butt rudenasty up in his. So that's. New.

"Hey, uh," you say, and shoot your motherfucking shot.

Gamzee: Get up in the Second Coming's business.

==> Courtly ==> Polite ==> Bold ==> Downright Presumptuous

[START OVER]

#CYOA: Imperial Favor #T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-TENSION BREAKERRRRRRR lmao #I have to do a pretty lengthy drive real quick lol vote amongst yourselves

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amyispxnk · 11 months

Text

Chickenshit

Day 2 of my Halloweeny drabbles with Joel!

26/10: horror movie

Joel Miller x gn!reader

Word count: 895

Warnings: language, pet names (sweetheart, darlin')

Do not copy this work in any way, pls and ty

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Beep, beep, beep.

You opened the microwave door and took the bag of popcorn out, cursing quietly when the hot air grazed your hands.

You walked back into the living room to see Joel flicking through the TV channels to find a movie to watch. After setting the bowl on the small table in front of the couch, you sat beside him, tucking your feet beneath you and looking at him.

"So, what're we watching then?"

He turned back to face you before nodding his head towards the screen.

"Scream."

You raised your eyebrows at him with an unimpressed look on your face.

"Scream? We've all seen that like.. 20 times already. It's not even a horror film, just a whole lotta blood and death. Are you too chickenshit to watch anything that's actually scary? Hm, Joel? Too scared..?" You mocked in a playful tone. He glared at you, or tried to - he found it really hard to be truly annoyed at you - before handing you the remote.

"Fine, you pick somethin' scary. I bet ya 10 dollars you won't be able to sleep without me tonight you'll be so afraid."

"Challenge accepted." You replied, confident you'd be 10 dollars richer by the end of the night as you turned on The Ring.

-------

An hour later, you were petrified. You didn't want to look at the screen, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from it either, trying to catch the next jumpscare before it got you, failing miserably each time.

"Holy- Shit! Why are there so many jumpscares in this fuckin' film?!" You complained after what seemed like the ninth one in the past 20 minutes.

He just shrugged, smugness radiating from him as he watched you slowly get more and more freaked out, throwing more popcorn into his mouth. You reached for some more and pouted slightly when you realised he had finished the entire bowl.

"Joel.. did you seriously finish all the popcorn."

"'s not like you were eatin' any. Too scared shittin' your pants-"

"Go fill it up now." You cut him off as you handed him the bowl, eyes falling back to the TV, transfixed by the events playing out on-screen once again. He was about to tease you some more but decided against it, going to the kitchen and looking through the cabinets for the popcorn bag.

That was the last one.

"Sweetheart, 'm gonna go to the store real quick. Don't got any popcorn left." He called out from the hallway.

"Yeah, okay. Don't take forever." You responded as you heard the door close.

--------

15 minutes later, Joel still wasn't back and you heard something. A floorboard creaking. Probably nothing, the house is old anyways. The tap running. You needed to get it fixed, you'd tell Joel later. A crack, then a thud.

"Probably just a tree or something. Yeah. 's nothing." You quietly assured yourself, pulling the blanket tighter around your body, glancing around a bit before looking back to the screen. It was a quiet scene, nothing much was going on. Nothing much until-

The lights flickered in your house, again and again until they turned off completely.

"What the fuck.." You muttered under your breath, squinting your eyes to look through the darkness- the only source of light being the TV. When you looked back at it, the girl was fucking crawling through the TV and you nearly pissed your pants, jumping up and scrambling for the remote to immediately turn the film off.

Your shaky hands reached for your phone, pressing the button to call Joel, about to shout at him to hurry the fuck up because why was it taking so long for him to get some damn popcorn?!

Creeeeeeeaaaak.

You whipped your head around to the direction the noise came from before a pair of hands grasped your shoulders tightly.

You almost actually did piss your pants before the light turned on and you saw Joel's face staring back at you, shit-eating grin very evident on it. Grin which immediately disappeared when you accidentally smacked him across the face.

"Get the fuck off- Joel?" You stared at him, panting from the adrenaline coursing through your veins and watched as he broke out into laughter, doubling over at the sight of you gripping the remote and holding it in preparation to use it like a weapon, quivering with your eyes blown wide in fear.

"What. The fuck. Was that?!" You demanded, not amused like he was.

"That-" he began after a good thirty seconds of howling with laughter. "That was me being the king at scaring you, darlin'."

You threw the remote back onto the couch, before turning back to him.

"So that was all you? You- did you even get the popcorn?"

"I did not get the popcorn, but I don't think we'll be needin' any, considerin' you turned the film off."

You looked back to the TV screen, and yes you had turned it off, but you didn't want him to have the satisfaction. You were gonna finish the damn film, you weren't chickenshit.

"We don't need popcorn, but we're still finishing the film."

--------

He had to stay over that night because of how scared you were, jumping at every little noise that came from inside and outside your house.

Safe to say he didn't pull a stunt like that again.

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Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it <3 Comments, reblogs and hearts are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞

#joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the last of us #halloween #amyispxnk fics

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xbadgerbearx · 5 months

Text

chapter 2: taxi

word count: 2.8k

Sonata in Darkness: [1] ... [3]

“Anni? Baby!?”

Selina marched through the apartment and quickly left you to search the rooms. The entire apartment was destroyed: furniture was flipped over, glass littered the floor, and the cats swarmed you as you entered. Unbelievable. Your friend’s muffled voice was calling out for her lover and growing ever more desperate. Staring ahead in mute shock, you pet the nearest cat numbly as Batman shuffled through some papers.

“Jesus, what’re they gonna do to her? She didn’t do nothin’.” Selina sighed as she took her place beside you. “Shit, they took my phone…”

“-the killer posted the following message on social media. We should warn you, the video is very disturbing.” Focusing your attention to the TV that was left on, it cut to a self recorded video with heavy breathing.

“Hello, people of Gotham,” the video started. “This is the Riddler speaking. On Halloween night, I killed your mayor because he was not who he pretended to be.” Batman was transfixed. “But I am not done… heeeree is another-” The camera flipped around to reveal a bound, naked man with a rat-cage contraption imprisoning his head. “-who will soon be losing face. I will kill again, and again, and again… until our Day of Judgment, when the truth of our city will FINALLY be unmasked.” The Riddler gleefully said goodbye as the news reporters started talking again. “Commissioner Savage served a distinguished 30 year career-“

“Holy shit, I seen that guy too,” Selina shakily said.

“Yeah,” you noted, “At the club.”

“The Iceberg Lounge?”

“44 Below,” you corrected Batman.

“What’s that?”

Selina rolled her eyes. “The club within the club—the real club… It’s a mob hangout.”

“Is that where you work?” Batman inquired.

She paused for a brief moment. “No, I just work the bar upstairs so I see ‘em come in, but she,” gesturing to you, “works below.”

The man glanced at you before prodding Selina. “Who?”

“Everybody. Lotta guys who shouldn’t be there, I can tell you that. Your basic, upstanding citizen types.”

“You’re going to help me on this,” he demanded, glancing back and forth between the two of you. “For your friend.” You and Selina shared a look.

“You got a lot of cats,” commented the man after your lack of replies.

“I have a thing about strays,” your feline roommate confessed.

Batman turned to leave, “You’re not safe here,” he concluded, giving you one last look before stepping out of the broken door.

Selina called after him, “We can take care of ourselves.”

“Can we?” you whispered.

“Of course. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“-with two public figures now dead in just the last two nights, and only days before the election, police and city officials are left searching for a killer, and hoping to find him before he kills again…”

————————————————————————————————

“Ow—I don’t know about these things.”

“I need to see in there, this hunting ground,” Batman mumbled to Selina, too engrossed in setting up his equipment in an abandoned diner. Putting in the contacts he had given wasn’t much of a challenge, nor too painful. Squeezing your eyes tight, you made sure that they slid comfortably into position.

Selina looked bothered as she picked lint at her trench coat. You both were wearing your typical club uniforms, although you had on a full length faux mink coat over yours. “Why am I starting to feel like a fish on a hook? I’m just looking for Annika-“

“That’s why you’re staying upstairs,” Batman interrupted, only sparing a glance in her direction, “and she’s going down.” He pointed at you but didn’t take his eyes off his surveillance equipment.

“It’ll be just like a normal night, Cat,” you reassured. “Can’t be too different from what we already do. You remember the plan?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off. “I stay upstairs and look out for trouble while you go downstairs and scurry around like a rat. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome here will, uh, do whatever it is he’s gonna do.”

Done setting up his tech, Batman turned around with his attention directed to Selina. “Look at me,” he ordered. She faced him and he inspected the lenses very closely, checking for any imperfections. He nodded his head slightly. “Looks good.” He took a step in your direction, “Now you. Look at me.” Facing him, you looked into his eyes, trying to find anything. His hand cupped your jaw as he scanned them, although judging by the length of time it took compared to Selina’s, something had to have been wrong.

“Everything okay?” you wondered.

He tilted your head side to side before answering, “Perfect.” He took a few more seconds before finally looking away and reached into his pocket. Earpieces. You and Selina each took one and made your way to the building.

“He better find Annika,” Selina growled.

“I’m sure we’ll find her,” you replied. “We just have to get through this tonight.”

She sighed, “ Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Making your way into the club, you both strutted in silence until Selina broke it in the dressing room. “Rat?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe, please,” she muttered, taking a hold of your hand and squeezing it. “I can’t lose both of you.”

“Oh, Selin—of course I’ll try. Stay safe too,” you soothed before taking a turn to the 44 Below entrance, leaving Selina.

The bouncer, Kenzie, smiled at you, “Long time no see, baby, how’sit goin’?”

“That’s one of the guys I got into it with the other night.”

Hearing Batman’s voice in your ear made you jump a little, you forgot he was there.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Looks like I broke his nose.”

You played it off with a short laugh, “It’s alright, I was just spacing out. I’m here for my shift.”

“Kenzie, Williams. He’s an off duty cop.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he smiled politely. “Have a good night tonight. Drain those men of their tips, am I right?” Sharing a laugh, he let you into the elevator that takes you underground. The doors shut.

“Friend of yours?”

“No. He works here most nights so I see him often.”

“Hm.”

The doors opened up to reveal the party; it had a relaxing vibe with the techno music and dim lights. Unfortunately, you had to pass by a valley of men who sized you up like meat.

“Don’t look away,” Batman ordered when your gaze lowered. “I need time to make I.D.s—“

“Great,” you huffed. Lifting your head, you walked slowly and smoothly while trying to analyze all their faces.

“These guys have a little trouble with eye contact, don’t they?” You noted the irritation in his voice.

“What? You don’t like men lookin’ at you like candy?” He said nothing back. You strolled around the area a bit, not picking much up, before heading to a more secluded part. It was lined with booth tables and small lamps.

Pausing to lean on a wall for a break, a man nearby called out, “Excuse me?” Following the sound led you to a tall, average man with glasses that sat at a booth. You’ve only seen him a couple times before–a quiet type–but you strolled on over. “I was, uh, wondering where the bathrooms were?” He played with his hands nervously; he looked as if this was his first time talking to a girl before. It was a little cute.

“Parker, Patrick. A nobody. Leave him”

Ignoring the man in your ear, you smiled sweetly. It was literally your job, after all. “Of course, sugar, it’s down that hallway, second door on the left.”

He bashfully looked away, “Do you mind showing me? I went that way earlier but couldn’t find it.”

You gave it a quick thought. I mean, he didn’t look like a drop head—why not? “Sure thing,” you volunteered. He rose from his seat and waited to follow you patiently. Hooking arms with him, you led him away. His face went a deep red.

The man pulled out $10 and tried handing it to you, but you gave him a weird look. “Oh, am I not supposed to tip you?”

“For showing you the bathroom?”

“Er, yeah?”

You laughed, genuinely. Poor baby must not get out much. “No, hon, you don’t need to do that. Keep your money.”

The man’s smile faltered before his awkward demeanor came back. Playing with his hands, he asked, “Would you mind keeping me company for a while? I don’t really know anyone.”

You entertained the idea before Batman intervened, “He’s wasting your time. Leave him now.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll make sure to look for you throughout the night, though,” you apologized. He was already starting to grow on you.

His face went a bit pink before responding, “O-oh, that’s alright. I’ll keep an eye out as well. Have a goodnight.” He slipped behind the door and into the bathroom before you could say anything else. Sighing, you made your way back towards the booths and perused the aisle, continuing to I.D. people. A man, mid-drop, looked at you starstruck so you quickly avoided eye contact.

“Wait. Who was that—?”

“I got plenty a good look—“

“—Look back—“

“If I do that, It’s not gonna—

“I need to see his face—“

Sighing with an eye roll, you stop in your tracks and peered over your shoulder. The man took it as an invitation to stumble over.

“That’s the D.A.… Gil Colson.”

“God, happy? He’s comin’ over.”

“Talk to him.”

“Hey, how you doin’? I’m Gil,” Colson said with a dopey grin.

Throwing on a plastic smile, you fawned, “Oh my— aren’t you the D.A.?”

“Yeah—!”

“—wow! I’ve seen you on TV!”

“Is that right? I’ve seen you work here a couple times when I come in. It’s nice to see a familiar face ‘cause people are a little on edge.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I live on the edge.”

“That so? I like that,” he chuckled. “Do you want to come over?”

“Sure,” you purred. He led you to a group sitting at the table and offered a seat.

“This is Travis, Ritchie, Glen,” he started.

“That’s half the D.A.'s office.”

“And you know Carla here, right? That’s Cheri—don’t mind her, she’s taking a break.” She had drops in her hand. “We’re just here to drown our sorrow,” he concluded before offering you some drugs.

“Oh, no thank you—but don’t mind me, sweetie, you go ahead and enjoy.”

“Thanks. I got a lot on my shoulders with that psycho running around.”

“He’s wasted.”

“No shit,” you blurted out in response.

Gil Colson looked at you for a second before chuckling, “I like this girl.” He thought you were responding to him. You giggled. “I mean, this Riddler, he’s—he’s going after the most powerful people in the city. He knows so much—“

“He doesn’t know shit, man,” his buddy hissed.

“What’re you talking about? Yeah he does! What about that rat—“

“Hey, hey, Gil, come on. Think you maybe had a little too much. Slow down,” a different buddy chimed in.

“The rat. Ask him about the rat.”

Looking through your lashes, you placed a hand on his thigh and caressed it with your thumb. “Hey, you got a vermin problem? What’s goin’ on, honey,” you said, voice sultry.

He dragged a hand down his face before taking a deep breath, “I mean, there was a rat. We had an informant—we had big time information on Salvatore Maroni. That’s how we got him out of the drops business.”

“He’s talking about the Maroni case.”

“But if this guy knows, it’s gonna come out. And when it does, this whole city is gonna come apart.”

“Okay, I don’t want to hear this,” a girl said beside Gil. “This is the kind of pillow talk that got that Russian girl disappeared.”

“Hey, what do you know about that,” you demanded, your demeanor changing instantly.

“Keep him talking.”

“Does anybody want a drink,” the girl asked as she stood to leave. You stood too, about to follow her, when—

“Stay put. I’m informing Selina right now.”

You seated yourself and smiled politely back at Gil. He took another drop; you started to feel uncomfortable. Just as you thought it wouldn’t end, a nerd in shining glasses appeared.

“It’s you again,” he exclaimed. He seemed less jumpy and a little more relaxed—confident, even. ‘Maybe he had a drink to calm his nerves?’

“Hi! Did you need somethin’, hon?”

“Uh, yeah, can you help me with something over here for a second?” He led you away from the D.A. and back to his original table. You both took a seat.

“What’d you need?”

“Oh, nothing,” he confessed. He went a bit pink again before continuing, “I was keeping an eye out and saw how uncomfortable he was making you.”

You gushed; how sweet was that? “Aww, honey, I appreciate that,” you thanked. “Been a while since someone decent showed up around here.”

Batman returned in your ear, “What happened? Where’s the D.A.?” He sounded frustrated, but something told you it had more to do with Selina than you leaving Gil.

“Men these days don’t know how to treat a lady right anymore,” the man in glasses sighed. He extended his arm in greeting, “I’m Eddie.” You accepted his hand. “I can’t wait ‘til this city finally undergoes real change.”

“Oh, you talkin’ about Bella Reál?”

“Even bigger than that. I’m waiting for some real, powerful, and lasting change—something that’ll really open the water gate. All the powerful people in Gotham just lie and deceit people. Aren’t you tired of that?”

“You’re wasting time with this clown. Go ahead and leave.”

“No.”

“No? You like corruption?”

“What?” You realized that you had responded to Batman instead of Eddie. “No—I mean—Yes, the amount of criminals out here are crazy. There’s almost more in office than there is on the street,” you scoffed with a grin.

Eddie mirrored your grin, “Exactly! Man, is it refreshing to find someone so like-minded. Say, what did you say your name was?”

You didn’t give him your name earlier, and you were about to when—

“Times up. Leave or I’ll come get you myself.”

Huffing, you smiled back at Eddie. “I’m sorry, sugar, I’m gonna have to call it a night. My feet are killing me.”

“Oh, did you need help walking back to your-“

“No thank you! I got it. You enjoy the rest of your evening,” you excused yourself with a wink as you left the table. Halfway to the exit you see Oz and Falcone.

“Hiya, baby.”

“Hey, Oz.”

“Hey…” Falcone crooned. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, gorgeous. How’ve ya been?” He reached out and caressed your chin with his thumb.

“I’ve-I’ve been okay… I was just, um, I was just finishing my shift.”

Falcone smirked, “Well… don’t be a stranger.” You left for the bathrooms after he walked away.

“You know Carmine Falcone?”

“I work at the mob spot, of course I know him.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a relationship with him.” He sounded angry.

“I don’t have a relationship with him. Never did. What’s your problem?”

“Well, that’s not what it looked like.”

“You don’t believe me? You really gonna be an asshole about this?” Your reflection stared back at a very pissed off self.

“Are you going to tell me the truth? You seeing another one of these mobsters? Some loser nobody?”

“Okay, I’ve had enough,” you hissed. “I’m risking my neck down here—I’ve done everything you’ve said, and now you're turning on me?” You pulled out the contact case and reached for your eyes. “What’s it matter to you if I’m seeing some ‘loser’ anyway?”

“Wait—what are you—?

“I’ve had enough of your bullshi—“ Batman’s camera immediately cut out as you took out the contact lenses. Taking a long, deep breath, you calmed yourself and pocketed the contact case. He could hear you mumbling curses, up until you remember you had the bud in your ear and took it out. Surprisingly, by the time you left the club you found Selina waiting and leaning against a wall.

“He piss you off too?”

“You could say that,” you mumbled. Linking arms with her, you set off to find a taxi. Before you could, the door behind you slammed open. It was the D.A.

“Hey! Lost you in there.”

“Yeah, I gotta go.”

“Oh. You—you need a ride? I’m right there,” Colson pointed to his car just off to the side.

“No, thank you, we’re good,” Selina barged. “Taxi!”

“Will I see you ‘round?” You glanced at him before rushing into the taxi cab that pulled over. The driver set off, leaving him in the dust.

Inside his car, however, was a very angry man in glasses. “You just don’t know how to treat a lady right, do you?”

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#reader #reader insert #the batman 2022 #batman x reader #dano riddler #battinson #sonata in darkness

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