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i-dont-wanna-be-me-anymore · 1 month

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Friends | Five H. x male!reader | Part 1!

Five Hargreeves x male reader

SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 4 UNDER CUT!!!!!

Summary: Five, after gaining a job at the CIA, has found himself falling in love with his coworker, for whom which he both hates and admires. But after his brother gets kidnapped, Five has to resort to, for the first time in 50 years, trusting someone other than his family to help him. THIS IS KIND OF LONG SO BEAR WITH ME.

Warnings: fluff?, Cursing, mention of gun, frenemies SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 ‼️

A/n: I just really hated the whole relationship between Five and Lila, so I’m erasing it, erasing their 7 years together, and making an ACTUAL uninvolved and un-family love interest for Five. This is also based off of the fact that Steve Blackman said he wanted to give Five a love interest whether it be a guy or a girl. I AM NOW A HEAVY BISEXUAL FIVE BELIEVER.

Part 2

• • • • •

It’s been 5 years since Five and his family reset the universe and brought about this new timeline. 5 years of trying to make his life worth living and actually trying to enjoy the peacefulness of this new life. But he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Something that he needed in order to keep him stable or at least just keep him from losing it. Maybe that something was actually a someone….

He always hated the thought of being completely alone. Ever since the apocalypse, losing his family and people that he loved or cared about was his number one fear. He didn’t want to ever be alone again.

In his new job with the CIA, he’s been able to observe and oversee what things could attempt to hurt those people that he cares about. Helped him have control over his life for once.

The only downside of the job was having to deal with stubborn coworkers and the terrible work hours. However, there was one person in particular that he was thinking of.

Y/n. He was a royal pain in the ass to Five. He was a talkative person. Always wanting to know how Five’s day was, always asking about his cases. And when Five would interact with him, he would sometimes leave mid conversation just to piss him off.

He thrived off making him annoyed, like it was his reason for being there in the first place.

And although Five would never admit it, but Y/n did have some redeemable qualities.

He was intelligent. One of the most intelligent people Five knew, all things considered. In his eyes, he was smart and knowledgable when it came to his job, he took it seriously, but in other cases he would always act rather stupid.

Another thing, that Five again would never admit to others or himself, was that Y/n was undeniably hot. And Five was honestly somewhat attracted to him because of that.

Not attracted to him in the way where he wanted to be with him, no…

Never in the way where he wanted to have a life with him…

Get Past being coworkers and actually learn more about him…

Have longer conversation rather than the short and sweet ones that they already had…

No, not in those ways at all.

When it came to work, Five would always try to find a way to swerve around him, try not to get caught up in whatever stupid conversation he wanted to have with him. But when he did get caught up, there would be times where he would leave an implicit comment and then rush off, ending their conversation.

Despite interacting with him, Five preferred to work alone in the office. Allowed him to know everything that he needed to know without having to ask anyone, or communicate with anyone…unless it was his boss, Lance, whose office he was currently sitting in.

Lance sat in his chair, staring at the “teen” for a bit before speaking.

“How are you handling your job? You enjoying the experience?”

“Yes, sir, I’m very grateful for this job and I intend to do everything I can to be efficient and productive with it.” Five answered, his fingers pinching the skin of his fingers as he watches his every movement, not understanding why he was here in the first place.

“Mm, I like to hear that. You can send him in,” Lance says to his assistant, who quickly nods sending in the man himself, Y/n.

“You summoned me, boss?” He asked, glancing at Five for a quick second as his eyebrows twitch up at the sight of him.

“Yes, I did. Because I have taken it upon myself to assign you two as partners,” he points to both of them.

“What?” “Come again?” The pair say, both now standing as they look at each other.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think Five and I would make good partners-“

“That’s exactly the reason I’m doing it. Look,” Y/n and Five both sit back down.

“I know you two don’t like each other that much, maybe even at all, but I’ve seen you, Five, you don’t talk to anyone else in the office. And Y/n, you talk to everyone in this office-in this building really, and you rarely talk to him. I think with this opportunity, you two can actually get along and succeed in working with each other. And, maybe this will take your mind away from the Keeper case,” he says to Five, who leans back into his seat, a deep sigh emitting from him.

Y/n groans quietly, slumping into his chair. Five rolls his eyes at him, making Lance speak up again.

“I’ll make a deal with you two,” they perk up, “solve one case together and maybe I’ll reconsider allowing you two to work separately again, all right?” Y/n looks at Five, who does the same, and they both nod.

“Good, now leave,” the assistant opens the door for the two, allowing(forcing) them to leave.

Y/n sighs, “do you have any open and easy to solve cases?”

“Oh a shit ton, but I’m not gonna let you get in the way of my job,” Five spits, Y/n now looking at him with an unamused face.

“Well, that’s good, because I won’t let you get in the way of mine, either.” With that, the two walk out of the building, heading in separate directions from each other.

• • • • •

Weeks had gone by since then, and they still had not solved one case together. They attempted to lie and have one of them solve a case and the other also have credit, but that ended up backfiring because they didn’t get their processes of working on it completely in sync with one another. There were details either missing or added in each other their reports. Granted the case was solved, but not for their own benefit.

Y/n was starting to grow annoyed, wanting nothing more than to go back to how things were. Where Five was just a simple guy in the office that he would annoy just for the hell of it, and there wouldn’t be any consequences to their work ethic and values.

Later that night, however, Y/n got a call.

“What? What is it?” He answers, groggy from the fact that he just woke up.

“Hey, I need your help,” the person on the other line says, seeming like he struggled to get that out.

“Wha-Five?” He looks over at the clock on the wall, “why the hell are you calling me at 12 in the morning?”

“Just-I need you to help me, okay? My brother’s been kidnapped and…” he sighs, his siblings listening at him talk to the unknown person.

“It would be nice to have some backup,” Y/n grins, already getting up to get dressed.

“Aw, Five, I never knew you had it in you to actually ask for hel-“

“Are you going to or not?”

“Okay, okay, fine, yes, I’ll help, where do you want me to meet you?”

“I think it’ll just be easier if I-“

“YOU’RE NOT DRIVING WANDA!”

“-If we pick you up. Jesus, Diego,” Y/n pulled the phone away from his ear as he heard someone yell, he assumed it was one of the many siblings Five had told him about.

“Okay, I’ll meet you in..five minutes?”

“Make it three.” The phone goes silent as Y/n grabs his gun and his badge, making sure it was loaded before heading down the stairs to his apartment building.

The family picks him up, in what he learned to be Wanda, and they head to the laundry mat.

There, him and Five go in front of the group as they hold their guns and a flashlight in front of them, checking in every area to make sure that they are safe and not at risk of getting hurt.

When they see Viktor, he’s loosely tied to a chair and not even looking as if he’s in pain.

Five helps his brother as Y/n makes sure his gun is still up, making sure Five’s family and him are safe.

A man then appears from the back, shakily holding a gun as he asks for their help.

Y/n eventually drops his hands and puts away his gone when he realizes that the man was asking for help to find his daughter, Jennifer.

After some explaining, Five tells the man that he’ll get her back to him in at least 24 hours.

“Five, what the hell, why are we helping that guy, what if he’s lying? And what the fuck is the ‘Umbrella Academy’?” Y/n had a million thoughts racing through his head after that conversation.

They weren’t stopped, in fact they grew into ones of more confusion as Five responded to him, and his siblings confusion, by holding up a jar of glowing particles.

They all ended up in an asian restaurant, watching the man entertain them with knife tricks.

“So, what? You guys all used to have powers?” Five nods.

“And now you don’t because your dad, who’s an alien, reset the universe and made this timeline?”

“Look, I know it’s hard to understand, and I would prove it to you if I could, but-“

“Well, you can prove it to him, Five, with this!” Ben holds up the Marigold as Five quickly shuts him down.

They all argue and banter as they all, except Ben, agree to not regain their powers.

Ben then heads to the bathroom and Y/n drinks a shot of whatever liquor they had there.

“Look, maybe this can be the case that we solve together? And then you don’t have to see me working with you again, hm?” Five proposes, making Y/n tilt his head to the side, agreeing with him, for once.

Ben returns and they all have shots, including Y/n who was just about to leave.

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Y/n stands up and starts to leave.

Five looks at him and then back at his siblings.

“I’m gonna walk him out,” he follows Y/n, silently walking as they head outside.

“My apartment’s not too far from here, so you don’t have to drive me. But, I’ll, uh, follow up with you tomorrow I guess,” he chuckles, looking at Five for a second longer than he meant to.

“Yeah, I’ll…see you tomorrow,” they stare at each other, their bodies starting to take control as they go closer to one another with each moment of silence.

They step back once they hear the rest of Five’s siblings come outside.

“Uh-bye,” Five rushes off, hopping in the van as he silently curses at himself.

“What are you doing? You hate him…right?” Five thinks, staring at the back of his head.

He watches as the guy he’s started to hate walks away, unknowingly getting wrapped up in whatever crazy family shenanigans are about to happen.

• • • • •

A/n: I kinda fuck with where this is going, so if you guys liked this, let me know!

#five hargreeves x male reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x male #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x male reader #tua #tua season 4 #tua spoilers #tua s4 #tua x male reader #umbrella academy

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 1 year

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Reunion

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x teen!reader, Tyreese Williams x teen!reader, Carol Peletier x teen!reader, Judith Grimes x teen!reader (all platonic obviously)

Requested by Anonymous: when the prison fell you and Daryl got separated, this is how you meet up, based on this request

Warnings: mention of blood, fighting, mention killing walkers/zombies, killing people, Daryl hug (yes that’s a warning), knives, guns, mention of killing kids, Terminus, hopefully if you read this you’ve seen the episode and knows what it includes, but ya know typical twd stuff.

A/N did I accidentally write this way longer than I intended yes, yes, I did, now don’t get me wrong the moment where Tyreese defends Judith is iconic but for the sake of this fic I changed it up, kinda wanna make another part

For you who wants to know the episode is season 5 episode 1

Anyway I hope you enjoy this <3

Judith giggled happily in your arms as you walked on the edge of the railway. You could’ve once imagined all kinds of trains going up and down the tracks as they blew past the trees, but now you couldn’t actually remember much about trains, you had the idea of them but not much details (and if a train were to come right now that would’ve been a miracle).

Tyreese walked a few steps behind you, with Carol in the front, as she led your group of four forward. She came to a stop when a sign that states “TERMINUS” showed up once more. It was your headed path, the sanctuary called Terminus. You personally didn’t trust it, not after the Governor, but you had to find Daryl and the rest of the group. You knew that if any of them were still alive they would’ve gone to Terminus after finding the railway. Which all of them had probably done. Along with finding Daryl you also had to get Tyreese and Judith to safety. Tyreese wasn’t fit to live on the road at the moment, he refused to kill anything that came your way leaving you and Carol to kill stray walkers, or animals for food. Judith, well, she was a baby and sometimes could be screaming all day, she was mostly quiet but the times she did cry was the times walkers got attracted. A baby was no way near fit to be on the road but here you were all of you somehow still alive (except for Lizzie and Mika Samuels, but there was no loss for you over Lizzie that’s for sure).

“We’re close” Carol stated as she saw the sign. “I’m gonna get you all there, make sure you’re safe, but I’m not gonna stay” She saw your face morph into disappointment as you nodded your head, a sad smile on your face. You’d missed her while she was gone and now she would be leaving again, and you didn’t like it, not one bit and you knew Daryl would be sad over it too which didn’t help the matter.

As you heard the rustle of leaves behind you in the forest, you all turned around to see two walkers stalk forward in your direction. Tyreese motioned with his hands to take Judith from you. Judith was carefully switched over to Tyreese and both you and Carol went forward to the walkers. Both of you killed them quickly only to notice the herd that was about to come out of the forest. Carol whispered to Tyreese that more were coming, and so all of you went into the opposite side of the railway. You hid in the forest until the walkers got distracted by shots firing not too far away from all of you.

Tyreese looked worriedly at you as he started to talk. “That gunfire it could’ve been from Terminus”

“Someone was attacking them, or they were attacking someone” Carol responded

“Do we want to find out?”

This time you involved yourself in the conversation, as you believed that you did indeed need to find out. “Yeah, we need to find out, If the others are there they might need help”

With that, and Carol's instruction of walking another track that would get you there as well you all started to walk once more, this time in need to find out the truth.

Your next stop had been outside a small worn out cabin, but it wasn’t the cabin that got your attention. What got your solely attention as you hid in the forest with your companions was the man that talked in a walkie-talkie. He was putting up a bunch of fireworks, no doubt to lead the herd of walkers away from Terminus. You could faintly hear him mention a woman with a sword, and you stopped Carol from going forward. As you continued to listen you heard him mention a kid with a hat and that was all you needed to go on. You didn’t think there were that many women with a sword and kid with a hat together nearby at the same time, so it didn’t take much to know that they were talking about Michonne and Carl. Nor did it take long to realize they had done something to your group, thereby also Daryl. Especially when he mentioned bleeding the kid out.

Carol slowly started to creep up behind the man and you followed not far behind. Tyreese more hesitant but still following. She put her gun toward his head, the young man froze and put his hands up still holding the two way radio. “Keep your finger off the button and drop it”

“Listen, ya’ll don’t have to do this. Whatever you want, we got a place where everyone’s welcome”

“Shut up man” it was what all three of you were thinking but Tyreese was the one to say it.

“Okay”

“We’re friends of the chick with the sword and the kid in the hat” Carol pressed the gun against his head forward, making the man lean forward as the gun touched his head.

It didn’t take long for you and Carol to tie him up and drag him (not so carefully) into the cabin leaning him against one of the walls. Throughout the whole ordeal the man continued to tell the three of you that you didn’t have to do this, that you could all come up with a deal, but he had no luck there.

As Carol made herself ready to scout Terminus out to see what was happening Tyreese continued to hold Judith in a protective embrace. You however had been asking the man questions, finding out that ever since the first questions he had been lying. He told you he only had Carl and Michonne, that they had both attacked them out of nowhere, that they were just protecting themselves. But none of you believed him. Not with the things you heard him talk about before you confronted him.

You would of followed Carol to Terminus had it not been for your will to protect Judith and Tyreese. As much as you loved Tyreese he wasn’t in his right mind. So you stayed to help if anything bad were to happen, to walkers coming your way or your prisoner getting free somehow, it didn’t matter you were there to protect your family. You only hoped Carol wouldn’t need any help.

Talking about your prisoner he was even more shatty when Carol left. Apparently a teenager, a baby and a man who he could clearly see wasn’t going to kill him was no threat to him. It was his undoing in the end. He underestimated you both and it showed in the way he talked to you and Tyreese as you sat by Judith, who’d you made a makeshift bed to.

“She got a name?… Hey, she got a name?”

“No” you answered at the same time Tyreese answered “Judith” you glared at Tyreese as he told the stranger her name, you didn’t want to give him any information, you never knew if it would backfire.

“She your daughter or something?”

“She’s a friend”

“Huh, I don’t have any friends… I mean I know people. They’re just assholes I stay alive with. The other one your friend, the woman” the younger man nodded towards the door that was now closed. Tyreese slowly looked away at the comment being conflicted about his answer. So instead you answered.

“Yes”

The man nodded and his voice that had now started to annoy you filled the room once more. “I used to have them… used to watch football on Sundays. Went to church” he let out a small laugh as if the thought of it was unbelievable. “I know, I did, but I can’t picture it anymore… it’s funny how you don’t even notice the time go by, horrible shit just stacks up day after day, you get used to it”

Tyreese turned his attention towards the man and spoke with distaste laced in his voice. “I haven’t gotten used to it”

"Of course you haven’t, you’re the kind of guy who saves babies, it’s kinda like saving an anchor, when you’re stuck on a boat-“ you had by know decided to drown out his voice as he tried to make justiciable to let him go.

Your thoughts got filled with Daryl like they had for the most time since the prison fell. You missed him. He always looked out for you. Ever since you met you were drawn to each other. Daryl used to pretend he hated you, especially when Merle was around he couldn’t have his brother think he was soft. However everyone knew he had always secretly looked out for you ever since he met you he’d felt the need to protect you. It came to the point that whenever you wanted to go on a run to get new supplies or do anything really you’d always ask Daryl. You had never spoken about it to each other but there was a silent agreement between everyone even you and Daryl that you were his kid and he your father. It might not be by blood but it was how it had come to be. Everytime something happened to you if you got hurt or if you were sad they’d always notify Daryl, but most of the time he already knew and would be with you to try and cheer you up in his own moody way. When you’d been out on the road before you found the prison you’d always sleep next to each other making sure the other one was safe. Even in the prison your cells were next to each other. He always looked out for you. He taught you how to hunt, he taught you how to use his crossbow, and to fight people to be able to protect yourself. Like Judith was “little asskicker”, you were the “big asskicker”. You couldn’t help but to miss him and the thought of him being hurt from the people in Terminus made your stomach hurt. You didn’t really want to voice your thoughts but you needed the reassurance and Tyreese was the only one who knew who Daryl was and could give reassurance. So against the warnings your mind gave you, you voiced your concerns.

“Do you think Daryl’s okay?” Your voice came out quieter than you expected as your mind filled with more scenarios in which Daryl had gotten hurt in.

Tyreese turned from Judith to look at you. He tried to give a reassuring look on his face as he answered. “I’m sure he’s fine Y/N”

”So Daryl’s your dad, maybe boyfriend” he continued to gues what Daryl was as you made no indication of actually giving anything away to him. After a while he stopped, he wouldn’t get anywhere with you, but he was still confident that if he talked enough to Tyreese would let him go.

“See, you’re a good guy, saving babies and teenagers.

“You have no idea about the things I’ve done”

“You’re a good guy, that’s why you gonna die today, it’s why the baby is going to die, why the Y/N is going to die” both you and Tyreese stood up taking an intimidating step towards the man, your knife pointed at him. “Or… you can get in that car, get out of here, keep on being lucky.”

“You think you’re gonna kill me?”

The man turned his sole attention to Tyreese as he answered him. “Why haven’t you killed me? How does having me alive help you? Why the hell are you even talking to me? Take the kids, take the car and go, I don’t want to do this today”

“For your information we could always use you to get more information or w e could kill you know, like you said we have-“ you got cut off by an explosion going off. Tyreese rushed to the window to see what was happening and saw the smoke over the forest.

“Is that Terminus?” The man moved forward as if trying to see out through the window but he had no luck in that department as he slouched back towards the wall.

“Yeah, probably”

“Maybe you’re gonna win this, maybe your friend, I mean maybe that woman just got capped, maybe I’m gonna be the one who gets capped when she comes back”

“Nobody’s got to die today”

“Man if you believe that… the it’s definitely gonna be you and the kids, even if the place is burning to the ground”

“Man maybe you can shut up and stop talking before I kill you myself” the man took his eyes of Tyreese to look at you as you had your knife pointed at him an annoyed look on your face. He didn’t believe for a moment that a teenager would be able to kill him, nor win in a fight against him. He had a way to high ego to think that you would be able to do any harm to him, he underestimated both you and Tyreese and when he heard as well as saw Tyreese look out at the walkers coming toward the cabin he moved quickly and soon enough his hands went to hold Judith in a hold that would be easy to break her neck.

He told you both to drop your weapons and you both did so not wanting him to hurt Judith. As he saw the walkers claw at the windows he looked towards Tyreese telling him to go outside. As Tyreese went outside he went over to you and bound your hands together with some spare rope just like you had done to him earlier. He made sure the knot would hold before he went I’ve r towards the wallow-talkie and tried to connect to the woman (apparently named Cynthia) on the other side.

While he did all that you tried to desperately tie up the knot that held the rope around your wrist together. Right as you were able to get rid of the rope around your wrist (thankful Daryl taught you how to do it) the noise from outside stopped. It became deathly quiet and the man looked towards were the last pounding against the walls had been. He took out his knife and was about to kill Judith when you quietly and quickly grabbed the knife that was laying right were you left it beside you on the floor and you ran over to the man. You saw red as you knocked him over, he had threatened to kill Judith and Tyreese. Threatened your sister and one of your closest friends. You knocked him towards the floor and your hand went into the air as you threw it down onto him repeatedly stabbing the knife in your hand into him. even after he was clearly dead.

Tyreese had to carefully walk over to you as he took the knife away from you. He told you that the man couldn’t hurt them anymore nor the walkers, everything would be okay. You appreciated his comfort as you hyperventilated for a few minutes over the fact that you’d just killed a human. You’d killed walkers before but never a human being. In your mind it was justified as he was about to kill all of you anyway, but you still felt like you’d lost something inside of you.

It was a while later when you glanced out of the window and saw Carol as she walked towards the cabin, Rick not that far behind. You broke out in a relieve laugh as a smile spread briefly over you lips, this made Tyreese glance out towards where you were looking. You booth scurried to get everything as you both wanted to leave the cabin not being comfortable to stay inside any longer than you needed to.

As both you and Tyreese stepped out of the barn you glanced at the people led by Carol. Your eyes scanned the crowd looking for one person in particular.

Daryl stared at you in disbelief he couldn’t believe you were actually alive, he’d seen you get shot, and without medical attention he guessed you’d died. He hadn’t wanted to keep hoping in case he would someday find your corpse rotting away (either as a walker or actually dead).

Daryl took in your bloodied state, you’d no doubt had to fight. Dirt and blood covered most of your clothes, and your face had a few cuts covered in dried blood. Your once white shirt was miss colored and your jeans had been ripped in some places, your jacket had blood stains all over it. Daryl could only guess what you’d gone through to end up looking like that (he didn’t even look that bad). He didn’t like all the blood covering you, he didn’t like not knowing what had happened, he didn’t like being away from you, he needed to protect you, he’d lost Beth to a couple of strangers, he wouldn’t lose you too.

When your eyes finally found Daryl, you had a soft smile on your face as you saw him visibly relax at your eye contact. While Rick and Carl ran towards Judith in Tyreese’s arms, Daryl stumbled forward towards you, dropping his crossbow to the ground. You met him halfway and he engelfulled you in a tight hug. You’d never know nor would anyone else but Daryl let a few tears fall in relief as he hugged you tightly knowing you were still alive, actually alive. As he felt you wrap your arms around him he felt you hug him just as tight, the comforting sensation you both brought each other was all you needed to ground each other and know that either of you were dreaming, this was real and both of you were okay.

As Daryl heard you sniffle he realized you were crying and he hugged you even tighter, taking one hand to your head and petting it softly — not knowing fully how to comfort someone, even now, having comforted you all those times before he still was unsure if he did it right. However he did know that you were crying from relief, because he did the same thing. You had your father back and he had his kid back and knowing that, you both knew that everything would be okay in the end. You were yet to be bested by someone when together, even when apart you always won, always found your way to back to each other. You would beat this world together and that was all that you needed to know, and the fact that neither of you were planning on leaving soon.

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physalian · 6 months

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What No One Tells You About Writing #5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Shorter list this time, but longer points. I expect this one to be more divisive, but it is what it is, and this is what ‘no one tells you’ about writing, after all. This one’s all about feedback and how to take it, and give it.

1. Not everyone will like your book, no matter how good it is

I’ve said this before, granted, but sometimes you can have very arbitrary reasons for not liking an otherwise great story. For example: I refuse to watch Hamilton. Why? Because everyone I knew and their dog was trying to cram it down my throat when it came out and I still don’t really like musicals, and didn’t appreciate the bombardment of insisting I’ll like it simply because everyone else does. I’m sure it’s great! I’m just not watching it until I want to watch it.

It can be other reasons, too. I won’t read fanfic that’s written in first person, doesn’t matter how good it is. Someone might not watch a TV show because the primary cast is white or not-white. Someone might not watch a movie because an actor they despise is in it, even if the role is fantastic. Someone might not watch or read a story that’s too heavy on the romance, or not enough, or too explicit. I went looking for beta readers and came across one who wouldn’t touch a book where the romance came secondary in a sci-fi or fantasy novel. Kept on scrolling.

Someone can just think your side character is unfunny and doesn’t hear the same music as everyone else. Someone can just not like your writing style with either too much or not enough fluff, or too much personality in the main narrator. Or they have triggers that prevent them from enjoying it the way you intend.

How someone expresses that refusal is not your job to manage. You cannot force someone to like your work and pushing too hard will just make it worse. Some people just won’t like it, end of story.

2. Criticism takes a very long time to take well

Some people are just naturally better at taking constructive criticism, some have a thick skin, some just have a natural confidence that beats back whatever jabs the average reader or professional editor can give. If you’re like me, you might’ve physically struggled at first to actually read the feedback and insisted that your beta readers color-coded the positive from the negative.

It can be a very steep climb up the mountain until you reach a point where you know you’re good enough, and fully appreciate that it is actually “constructive” and anything that isn’t, isn’t worth your time.

The biggest hurdle I had to climb was this: A criticism of my work is not a criticism of me as a person.

Yes, my characters are built with pieces of my personality and worldview and dreams and ideals, but the people giving you feedback should be people who either already know you as a person and are just trying to help, or are people you pay to be unbiased and only focus on what’s on the page.

Some decisions, like a concerning moral of your story, is inadvertently a criticism of your own beliefs—like when I left feedback that anxiety can’t just be loved away and believing so is a flawed philosophy. I did that with intent to help, not because I thought the writer incompetent or that they wrote it in bad faith.

I’m sure it wasn’t a fun experience reading what I had to say, either. It’s not fun when I get told a character I love and lost sleep over getting right isn’t getting the same reception with my betas. But they’re all doing it (or at least they all should be doing it) from a place of just wanting to help, not to insult your writing ability. Even if your writing objectively sucks, you’re still doing a lot more just by putting words on paper than so many people who can’t bring themselves to even try.

As with all mediums subjects to critique, one need not be an author to still give valuable feedback. I’m not a screenwriter, but from an audience’s standpoint, I can tell you what I think works. Non-authors giving you pointers on the writing process? You can probably ignore that. Non-authors giving you pointers on how your character lands? Then, yeah, they might have an opinion worth considering.

3. Parsing out the “constructive” from the criticism isn’t easy

This goes for people giving it as well. Saying things like “this book sucks” is an obviously useless one. Saying “I didn’t like this story because it was confusing and uncompelling” is better. “I think this story was confusing and uncompelling because of X, and I have some suggestions here that I think can make it better.”

Now we’re talking.

Everyone’s writing style is different. Some writers like a lot of fluff and poetic prose to immerse you in the details and the setting, well beyond what you need to understand the scene or the plot. Their goal is to make this world come alive and help you picture the scene exactly the way they see it in their minds.

There’s writers who are very light on the sensory fluff and poetry, trying to give you the impression of what the scene should look and feel like and letting you fill in the missing pieces with your own vision.

Or there’s stories that take a long time to get anywhere, spending many pages on the small otherwise insignificant slice-of-life details as opposed to laser-precision on the plot, and those who trim off all the fat for a fast-paced rollercoaster.

None of these are inherently bad or wrong, but audiences do have their preferences.

The keyword in “constructive criticism” is “construct”. As in, your advice is useless if you can’t explain why you think an element needs work. “It’s just bad” isn’t helpful to anyone.

When trying to decide if feedback has merit, try to look at whatever the critic gives you and explain what they said to yourself in your own words. If you think changing the piece in question will enhance your story or better convey what you’re trying to say, it’s probably solid advice.

Sometimes you just have to throw the whole character out, or the whole scene, whole plot line and side quest. Figuring out what you can salvage just takes time, and practice.

4. Just when you think you’re done, there’s more

There’s a quote out there that may or may not belong to Da Vinci that goes “art is never finished, only abandoned.” Even when you think your book is as good as it can be, you can still sleep on it and second-guess yourself and wonder if something about it could have been done better or differently.

There is such a thing as too much editing.

But it also takes a long time to get there. Only 10-15% of writing is actually penning the story. The rest is editing, agonizing over editing, re-editing, and staring at the same few lines of dialogue that just aren't working to the point that you dream about your characters.

It can get demoralizing fast when you think you’ve fixed a scene, get the stamp of approval from one reader, only for the next one to come back with valid feedback neither of you considered before. So you fix it again. And then there’s another problem you didn’t consider. And then you’re juggling all these scene bits and moments you thought were perfect, only for it to keep collapsing.

It will get there. You will have a manuscript you’re proud of, even if it’s not the one you thought you were going to write. My newest book isn’t what I set out to write, but if I stuck to that original idea, I never would have let it become the work that it is.

5. “[Writing advice] is more like guidelines than actual rules.”

Personally, I think there’s very few universal, blanket pieces of writing advice that fit every book, no exceptions, no conditions, no questions asked. Aside from: Don’t sacrifice a clear story for what you think is cool, but horribly confusing.

For example, I’m American, but I like watching foreign films from time to time. The pacing and story structure of European films can break so many American rules it’s astonishing. Pacing? What pacing? It’s ~fancy~. It wants to hang on a shot of a random wall for fifteen seconds with no music and no point because it’s ~artsy~. Or there is no actual plot, or arc, it’s just following these characters around for 90 minutes while they do a thing. The entire movie is basically filler. Or the ending is deeply unsatisfying because the hoity-toity filmmaker believes in suffering for art or… something.

That doesn’t fly with mainstream American audiences. We live, breathe, and die on the Hero’s Journey and expect a three-act-structure with few novel exceptions.

That does not mean your totally unique or subversive plot structure is wrong. So much writing advice I’ve found is solid advice, sure, but it doesn’t often help me with the story I’m writing. I don’t write romance like the typical romance you’d expect (especially when it comes to monster allegories). There’s some character archetypes I just can’t write and refuse to include–like the sad, abusive, angsty, 8-pack abs love interest, or the comedic relief.

Beyond making sure your audience can actually understand what you’re trying to say, both because you want your message to be received, and you don’t want your readers to quit reading, there is an audience for everything, and exceptions to nearly every rule, even when it comes to writing foundations like grammar and syntax.

You don’t even have to put dialogue in quotes. (Be advised, though, that the more ~unique~ your story is, the more likely you are to only find success in a niche audience).

Lots of writing advice is useful. Lots of it is contradictory. Lots of it is outdated because audience expectations are changing constantly. There is a balance between what you *should* do as said by other writers, and what you think is right for your story, regardless of what anyone else says.

Just don’t make it confusing.

—

I just dropped my cover art and summary for my debut novel. Go check it out and let me know what you think!

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #editing #constructive criticism #what no one tells you about writing

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eponymous-rose · 11 months

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Just wanted to make this little PSA:

I know the US healthcare system is a dumpster fire, but if you do have access to preventative care, please consider adding a full-body skin exam to your schedule!

I naturally have a lot of moles, my uncle had skin cancer, and I've had two major/peeling sunburns in my life (your risk of skin cancer doubles with a history of a single blistering sunburn). Starting two years ago, I've been going in yearly to get everything checked out, and I've already had two suspicious moles removed. A friend of mine went in for the first time a while back (in part because I kept bringing it up) and they found a precancerous mole on the sole of her foot, of all places. One minor surgery and a couple weeks on crutches later, it's no longer an issue.

Another big risk factor is tanning beds - a friend in college was in a sorority that used to all go together fairly regularly, and two of them wound up having to get treated for aggressive melanomas by the time they turned 30 (the friend in question had multiple major surgeries, but is thankfully now cancer-free for over 5 years).

I'm not intending to scare people, but if you have a mole that's been worrying you (see the ABCDEs of moles), even if you don't spend a lot of time outside or burn often, just know that the full-body skin exam is a quick and easy way to get peace of mind. And yes, even those with plenty of melanin are still at risk of skin cancer and should make a habit of wearing sunscreen!

Having a suspicious mole removed is a super-quick procedure (takes about 20 seconds, including numbing), and they'll biopsy the sample and test it to make sure there are no cancer cells. All that's required from you may be going in to get one stitch removed a couple weeks later, or just keeping a bandaid on the area for a week and then moisturizing until it's totally healed to avoid scarring. The biopsy process is much less painful than something like a blood draw.

I was reminded of all this because I went back for my yearly exam a couple days ago (currently waiting on a biopsy of a mole that my dermatologist characterized as barely suspicious, but hey, took it off anyway for peace of mind) and man, it feels good to have someone look at the constellation of little shapes on my back and go "Yup, all normal!" Or even to have someone comb through my hairline to look for moles I can't see easily on my own. I thought going in yearly would ramp up my health anxiety, but it's at an all-time low knowing that anything bad that pops up has a great chance of being in a super early stage.

I also use sunscreen much, much more religiously.

#health tw #medical tw #cancer tw

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blingblong55 · 1 year

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To live without- 141 + Alejandro

Based on a request:

Hii can I make a request for some angst?? Maybe the reader having an argument with the TF 141 + Alejandro, inside the car or anywhere resulting to a break up?? Cause I'm a sucker for angst, thankss 🫶

F!Reader, angst, established!relationship, break-ups, cheating (not all)

A/N: This will be in 5 parts

Part 2, (Soap), Part 3 (Gaz), Part 4 (Alejandro), Part 5 (Ghost)

It has been a stressful few months for him, between his job, you, his own safety and yours, let alone the current argument over her. It's why you and he are now in the car, having this argument.

Price:

He decided that since Laswell invited him to dinner with a few other soldiers and agents, why not take you? Besides you and him haven't gone out much since his last deployment, so this is the perfect opportunity. While having dinner at some restaurant, Price and a woman, much closer to his age than you, stroked conversation. He was telling her stories that not once he had told you and of course, his natural flirty state was in the mix. You were talking with Kate and her wife when you saw how close the woman was getting with your boyfriend. So, as one does, you took his hand and he immediately let go of it, not once making eye contact with you.

Kate and her wife saw this and knew it would not end well if the woman was not taken elsewhere. After dinner, you were the first one to leave the establishment. All others inside were either saying their goodbyes or getting acquainted. "yeah, this is my-" he turns to introduce you to some agent only to find your seat empty. Immediately he left too, only to find you in the car, probably telling your friend what was going on. He gets in, " alright, so will you tell me what the hell that was about?" he asks you. You look at him, for a while now he has been distant, so of course you had even more motives to suspect him. "You let go of my hand," your voice soft yet hinting at some hurt his past action left behind.

That was it, the final straw that threw him over the edge, "you fucking walked away from dinner because I didn't hold your hand any longer?!"

"Yes, do you even care how that even looks? I hold your hand all the time at dinners and this was the first time you let go of it because of that woman!"

"Don't you dare bring her into this." by this point some of the wine he had drunk was making its way into his system. "Why not, hm? why did you let go of my hand, John!" your eyes teary, trying to blink them away. "You really think this is all about you? That I intend to hurt you by some little thing like letting go of your hand?!" Your argument is being heard by some people. He knows better, that at dinners or in public when you hold his hand it's because you are trying to calm yourself down, your social anxiety gets the best of you and his hold brings comfort. "...she's just a friend.." he murmurs. And just when you were going to say something, he gets a text, "Will you come over after you drop her off?" he knows damn well you saw it and now he is prepared for the storm. "you are cheating on me?" oh the way your voice cracked and how tears spilt from your eyes. "...sorry," was all he could say. "you let go of my hand because you and this fucking whore have a thing!" back to yelling. "R/n, you are just a fucking pain in the ass! So of course I am cheating on you!" the instant regret once those words left his mouth.

The look on your face as he said them, never to forget the last time he saw that face of yours. And now you are far from him, he alone in his empty house, never to be called home again. Never to be greeted by you and your happy personality, truth be told, he still looks for you in every place he goes.

A/N: Hi, so since I don't want to make this post too long I separated it into parts, who do you want for part 2?

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yetanothergreyjedi · 2 years

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Ghosts of Our Pasts

DP x DC crossover

Danny Fenton and Damian Wayne sibling AU

Parts 1 & 2. Part 4 Part 5

Part 3: Before

"You are not my brothers!" Their newest brother shouted. They were used to this by now. Once Damian had stopped actively trying to kill them for dominance or whatever, they'd taken to domesticating him like feral kitten. He was a lot more hiss than he was claw. And as long as they didn't push too far, he just got more comfortable with them. Except, of course, when they referred to him as family.

"Yes we are," Someone quipped back, and Damian's face grew stormy.

"You. Are. Not." Damian snarled. "I had a brother. You will not replace him!" They all froze with the revelation, and Damian took that time to throw down his Robin gear and storm out of the room.

He'd had a brother. The league had tucked away, not one, but two?!? And they had killed one, or gotten them killed or— it was no use to speculate, they didn't know what happened.

"I'll talk to him," Dick volunteered, before he started to spiral. No one responded, probably because they'd started a spiral of their own.

___

Damian wasn’t hiding. Well, from a civilian's perspective, he might be. He felt like hiding, but this was not an appropriate situation to hide from. Thus, he stayed in a place someone with League of Assassin training, and his b— his father’s other children would find completely obvious.

It was Grayson who found and silently sat down next to him. He didn't ask, and that was better because Damian didn't have to say anything, but it was worse because he needed to say something, and now he couldn’t hide behind a resistance to interrogation.

"He would've loved it here." Damian admitted.

Grayson leaned ever so slightly into him. "What was he like?"

___

Danyal laughed as he ran down the hall, enjoying the moment while he could before the inevitable he'll to pay. He'd been seen, but hadn't been caught, so his self imposed mission was successful.

It was a harmless prank, but an action suitably beneath an heir to the Demon. It should be enough. Damian wouldn't fail, but he feared he would; now, even if he drastically missed his mark he'd still have a reason for grandfather to keep him around.

If Dany had known he was setting the mark his brothers would be held to, he would've held back. He did now. He sprinted on the razors edge of acceptable performance and excellence. Hopefully, it would last long enough to put his plan into motion.

___

Damian told him about the older brother who loved the stars, played secret games, got into odd kinds of trouble, and was the best at everything. Dick got a sense of how young Damian must've been when he'd died. There was also something missing in the stories, but Dick didn't push. This was a rare bit of vulnerability, and he wasn’t going to risk it.

They missed patrol that night, and later shared those stories with the rest of their siblings. They morned the brother they'd never meet, and eventually Damian called them brothers too.

But one phrase from that night still haunted Dick;

"He would've gotten us here years ago... if it weren't for me..."

Dick never did ask, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the details.

___

Danyal layed there for an eternity. If he moved too soon, he'd risk Damian turning around, if he waited too long, he'd bleed out. Would Damian turn around? Would he apologize and help him up? Would he come back to finish him off? Had his brother intended a slow kill to make him suffer, or to let him escape? Maybe Damian hadn't accounted for the light armor beneath his clothes?

He waited a half an eternity longer, then forced himself to his feet. He managed a few steps before pain and dizziness toppled him again. Up. Step. Step. Down. Up. Step. Down. Crawling managed more distance, but left a more obvious trail. It wouldn’t get him out of here. He would die here. Unless...

___

Jazz wanted to be mad at the boy who was now her brother. Her parents had barely left the lab since he'd offered a glowing green vial in exchange for a home.

It was his fault they'd forgotten about her, but only this time. Last time is was the old woman convinced her husband was still in the house. The time before that it had been a beeping box that went off whenever it was pointed to close to an electrical line. It would only be proof until it wasn’t, and then she'd have her parents back until someone brought the next new toy. It was his fault this time. He stood in the living room in his borrowed clothes like furniture was a foreign concept. She sighed, grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water. It was hard to be mad at someone who'd shown up looking like they'd escaped a serial killer.

He didn't startle as she approached and she realized he'd been watching her. Well, no backing out now.

"Here," She held it out to him, "you have dried blood behind your ear."

"Oh," He ducked his head and started scrubbing. She waited for him to finish and showed him where to put the dirty laundry. She had a little brother now, and their parents had forgotten them both again.

💕

In this AU, Jazz is 13 when Danny arrives. She already thinks that psychology is interesting, but she only starts diving deep into it after Danny shows up.

If you guys have any comments or questions, I'd love to hear them. This was a one part thing until you asked questions and started thinking about the answers.

Tag list:

@spectralstardustandphantomnights @avelnfear @idfk-man10 @blackroserelina @candeartist422 @mur-ururu @luer-mirin @insufferablecrab @skulld3mort-1fan @alonedustspeck @voidbornposts @meira-3919 @marshmelloe @aethernorwood @mimilikey @undead-essence

Dears, I love you, but you really need to change your profile pic to anything that isn't the default because I thought you were bots. I legitimately almost blocked you on reflex because I'm getting so many right now.

@the-winds-of-kushala and @spectralstardustandphantomnights thank you both for your lovely title suggestions

💕

#danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #stabbed au pt 3 #Danny Fenton #Batman #damian wayne #grey writes

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cressidagrey · 3 months

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Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours- Chapter 2: Gwyneth Bedara, Valkyrie

Summary:

5 Times Cassian thought that Azriel had feelings for somebody and then 1 time he finally met the girl his brother was in love with.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

Cassian thought he was going crazy.

Ever since he had talked to Azriel about Mor…there seemed to be a minute shift in his behaviour. It had taken a while until Cassian could put his finger on it though.

Azriel seemed much more…content. Quicker to smile, quicksilver things that disappeared quickly. Even his shadows seemed happier. Calmer.

No longer nearly strangling him, like they had done after Elain and Lucien got engaged and then married… Then, Cassian had often caught a peek at how the shadows clung to Azriel’s bare skin like they were part of him. Like they didn’t dare to leave him alone in fear of…something.

Cassian had never allowed himself to think about what that could be. But now…now they were back to swirling behind him, sometimes darting out to investigate something and Azriel seemed…calmer.

Calmer and intense .

Cassian was waiting for something to happen, something to tell him who it was that Azriel had given the flowers to. He clearly had bought them with an intended recipient and Cassian just knew that it wasn’t him.

The flowers had been too beautiful for a joke. Azriel had given them to somebody he liked.

And Cassian was going to find out who it was.

And then he did. They were at another training session at the House of Wind, when Azriel’s voice reached his ears, talking to Gwyn, one of the Valkyries, One of Nesta’s best friends.

“Is the teapot working?” Azriel asked, his voice sounding hesitant and pleased and Cassian couldn’t help but watch that whole interaction because for cauldron’s sake what were they talking about?

Gwyn smiled at Azriel, twirling a strand of hair around a finger. It was…

Huh.

Now he was curious.

“Oh yes, it’s great!” Gwyn responded, her smile blinding. “Though you really didn’t need to do that…” That was all Cassian needed to hear.

Gwyneth Bedara.

Azriel had found himself a pretty, red-haired priestess to love, hadn’t he? A priestess and a warrior. Somehow that seemingly fitted him just perfectly.

And if Azriel had bought Gwyn a teapot of all things…maybe all the other gifts had just been used to wash away any evidence of him doting on her? Maybe Azriel was courting her?

Maybe he was keeping it quiet for some reason, both of them unsure and not wanting to share with their family yet. That would make sense.

Oh, he was so happy for Az!

Nearly giddy with excitement he went to meet his brother in the training ring.

He kept his mouth shut, not without difficulty, though that was because Azriel was trying to put him on his ass that day, Even managing to burn out one of his siphons.

Replacing them usually sucked because they were worked into the leather that held them into place. If one needed to replace them…well, then the only way to do that was to open up a seam at the edge, carefully work out the old one, slide a new one in place and sew it back up. Not exactly user-friendly. Better than them flying all over the place though.

Trying to get them to stick any other way hadn’t really been a futile attempt.

And then Azriel’s siphons burned out, and instead of opening up the whole thing, Azriel used a screwdriver, removed the old and slid a new one in place, tightening it back down. It didn’t even take a minute.

“How?” Cassian demanded suddenly, staring at him like he had grown a second head. “What did you do with them?” Cassian asked him. “Why is that so much easier for you?”

“I am trying something out,” Azriel said, holding out the old siphon so that Cassian could see the mechanism on the backside of it.

“How?” Cassian asked him again, unable to keep the wonder out of his voice. This…This was genius. “I want this.” No more spending 20 minutes each time trying to fit them into place? Sign him up. What did he need to do?

“I am just testing it out,” Azriel warned him. Cassian just glared at him. Cassian was so bad at leather work, the stitches on his own leather always uneven that he didn’t even care what he needed to do to get his hands on that kind of mechanism. “Give me a few weeks to figure out if there is anything that needs to be changed,” Azriel finally said with a sigh.

“Fine,” Cassian agreed long sufferingly. “But then you are going to share that because I have no patience for leatherwork. By the way, that would have made a much better gift than the bunch of stupid flowers,” he said pointedly.

A much better gift.

In revenge, Cassian used that evening’s family dinner, which Azriel finally attended for once, to get on his brother’s nerves about his crush on a certain red-headed priestess.

“Az, did you really buy Gwyn a tea set?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. A tea set. Who knew that that was going to be the thing that Azriel bought a long-suffering female? It wasn’t what Cassian would have gone for. But then, it was Azriel and Gwyn and not Cassian and Nesta. So really…

Azriel just stared at him, hazel eyes wide.

“No,” he responded. Too quickly.

“I literally heard you ask her about it today ,” Cassian pointed out, more amused about that lie than anything.

“A teapot? Really? Of all the things you could buy a female, that’s what you are going with?” Mor asked, laughing. “You are 540 years old, Az.”

Cassian could literally see how Azriel pulled back into himself at these words. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked him after all. Maybe it was none of his business. Maybe…

“Gwyn helped me pull some books as research for a friend of mine. My friend gave her the tea set as a thank-you gift. I was just the one who delivered it,” Azriel finally answered.

“You have friends that aren’t us? I am proud of you,” Cassian said.

The near-imperceptible flinch from Az was enough to make him feel like a piece of shit. He shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair. Everybody would be lucky to have a friend like Azriel.

“What kind of research?” he asked quickly, hoping to soothe any ruffled feathers.

“Armour.” Azriel nearly bit out that word, clearly upset with him and Cassian couldn’t even fault him for that.

“Armour?” Mor asked curiously.

Oh, Armour! “Was your friend the one that fixed the Siphon problem?” he asked quickly. Maybe Azriel and Gwyn had gotten together while researching stuff. That would make sense!

Azriel just inclined his head.

“The Siphon problem?” Rhys asked at that moment. “What kind of problem?” And there came Rhysie, as always ready to make every problem his own.

“You know how annoying it is that they are worked into the leather? Azriel had it fixed that they clipped onto it instead. Makes it way easier to change them out when needed,” Cassian explained with a wave of his hands. If it actually worked, he was going to buy that friend of Az whatever amount of alcoholic beverages he wanted. As long as Cassian never needed to pick up a needle and thread again.

“Quite inventive,” Amren piped up.

“Yes, but Az is being stingy and not sharing,” Cassian said with a long-suffering sigh.

“I am not being stingy,” Azriel said, rolling his eyes. eyes. “I just want to test it first. Do you want your Siphon to fall off during a fight? Probably not.” Since when was Azriel being reasonable?

“That would be impractical,” Cassian needed to agree, even when he didn’t want to. “But I still expect you to share the spoils. When you have done all your experiments .”

Azriel went back to being quiet, pushing around the food on his plate.

Ugh, fine. Time to bring out the big guns.

Hey, Rhys! RHYSIE ! Cassian sing songed in his mind, pretty much doing the equivalent of screaming into Rhys’ ear to get his brother’s attention.

Yes , Cassian? Rhys gave back long-sufferingly.

I think Azriel is seeing Gwyn! I wanna know if I am right, he told Rhys quickly.

And, pray, tell, what exactly do you want me to do?

Your mind-talking thing. Can you mention Gwyn to him and then we’ll see how he reacts to it? Maybe Rhys was going to have more luck than Cassian himself. Somehow he doubted it though. Still. Worth a try. Please, Rhysie, he wheedled. I just want Az to be happy.

He could feel his brother’s amusement at his words, though he knew that Rhys would agree. Gwyn, you said? Rhys said, thoughtfully. I could see that. She has been having a crush on him for a long time.

See, Cassian was clearly on the right track!

He bought her a teapot, Cassian said with some amusement.

Clearly, he must want to marry her. If he already bought a teapot, Rhys responded sagely, pulling back from his mind and Cassian trained his eyes on their other brother.

Azriel’s face stayed carefully blank, but Cassian could still…see something on his face.

It wasn’t what he had thought he would see though. Maybe a dusting of red over his ears. Maybe a shy smile. Not the near anger that overcame Azriel’s face. The near anger and something like bitterness. Azriel’s hands tightened around his cutlery so tightly that for a moment Cassian wondered if he was going to stab Rhys with it.

He didn’t.

Cassian caught the moment Rhys pulled out of Azriel’s mind because the High Lord nearly shuddered with something.

I don’t think so, Cassian, Rhys said, his voice quiet.

Are you sure?

If there is something, he wants us to leave it alone. He nearly threw me out of his mind, Rhys said pointedly.

Huh. Maybe he just feels protective.

Or maybe Rhys was wrong about Gwyn having a crush on him. Though he didn’t believe that.

Maybe…

Instead, Cassian went to the one person that needed to listen to him wax dramatically about Azriel’s love life, because he was mated to her. No Take-Backs! She was stuck with him.

Nesta seemed less than amused about it though.

“Cassian, leave it alone,” she told him harshly and he pouted.

“I just want them to be happy! And I think they could really fit together, Gwyn and Az…” That’s how far he came.

“Oh for Cauldron’s sake, Cassian,” she snapped. “Gwyn asked Azriel out and he brushed her off weeks ago!” Wait, what?

“And she’s still hung up about it, so don’t you dare hound her!” Nesta continued. “She was so proud for finally taking all her courage to ask him and then he turned her down. Granted, apparently, he was lovely about it, but it still broke her heart,” Nesta sighed.

“What? Really?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes,” Nesta said with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, why didn’t you say something?” he complained. “I had Rhys pester Az for nothing.”

“Because it’s none of our business?” his mate asked him drily.

It was.

“I just want Azriel to be happy,” Cassian said softly, sitting down at the edge of their bed to kick off his shoes.

Nesta seemed to soften at his words, nearly imperceptible, sitting down next to him, carefully laying out the folds of her dress across her lap.

“He is, Cassian,” she told him, calmly.

“You don’t know that,” he disagreed. “I don’t know it either, because it’s not like the idiot actually talks about the things that bother him. Sometimes I think he feels like every painful moment in his life was clearly designed to be totally justified and punish him for something that he thinks he has done.”

“Gwyn said that Az said that he was spoken for,” Nesta cut him off. “That’s what he used to turn her down. He said he was spoken for. That it was new. But he seemed really happy about it.”

Oh.

Of course, it could be that Azriel had outright lied because he simply wasn’t interested in Gwyneth for whatever reason, but Cassian didn’t think so. Maybe it was something different…maybe it was…

“So he has a secret lover.” A smile bloomed on Cassian’s face at that. “I am going to find out who it is.”

“Please don’t,” Nesta muttered.

#Azriel Fanfiction #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #my writing #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours #A Court of Gold and Shadows

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k-tarotz · 11 months

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Personal Reading Options

these readings are unrelated to any kind of celebrity or entertainment source. they are made with the purpose of helping people at an affordable price.

Lady Dior (new)

Your story as a royalty | 18.50£

- what would you be (like)

- what would you be known for

- how would you go down in history

- what would make you unique

- the aura that surrounds your energy

Silver Dragon (new)

You as a mythical being | 15£

- how would your life be like

- the power you hold

- how would people react to you, think of you, view you

- moodboard

Disc; you can either let us find out which mythical creature you'd most likely be or you can tell us your own choice for yourself and we will still do all sections as mentioned!

Jeanne D'arc (new)

What would it be like to live in the past? | 15.50£

- describing your life in the year of your choice

- things you could have achieved

- why you feel called to that time period

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 1 year

Text

Something There (Chapter 5)

8.0k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, some angsty talk about retirement, adults getting drunk, drunken spiciness🌶️🌶️🌶️

Author's Note: My fingers kept typing without me so this came out a bit longer than I intended. Also, I don't tend to write spice or smut, so hopefully this isn't too awful 🫣

And major thanks to @agentstarkid for the Broncos joke! 🩷🩷🩷

Series Masterlist

Keeley Jones was persistent, I had to give her that. When she’d originally asked about helping me find a dress for the charity gala, I gave a little “Yeah, sure”, figuring she was just being polite. Instead, she hounded me until I set aside the Wednesday afternoon before the event so she could turn me into her personal Barbie doll. Lucas pouted when I asked him to take over training, complaining that he wanted to be there for my “Cinderella moment”, but he agreed once I promised to let him pick me up for the event so he could be the first to see the finished product.

As though she expected me to bail, Keeley marched out to the pitch at our appointed meeting time, promising to send Lucas lots of pictures as she pulled me off the field; my players, knowing where I was going, whistled and hollered boisterously, calling for me to “find something pretty!”

“Back to work!” I barked, unable to hide the grin on my face, pleased that they were comfortable enough to tease me.

We walked briskly through the building, with Keeley listing off all the stores she wanted to take me to, asking me about what colors I liked, and stalking through my Instagram to see what kinds of dresses I’d worn in the past. I was so immersed in looking over her shoulder and pointing out what I liked about certain outfits, I didn’t notice someone in my path until I’d crashed into them.

“Fuck, sorry,” I yelped, looking up.

Roy Kent raised those thick eyebrows at me as I took a step back. “Cutting training early?” There was an edge of teasing in his voice, an almost friendly tone.

“We’re going dress shopping,” Keeley announced, a Cheshire-cat grin on her face. “This one needs something for the gala.” She poked Roy in the chest coyly. “You’ll be there, right, Roy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Like I have a fucking choice,” he mumbled. He returned his gaze to me. “Your players ready to be auctioned off like pieces of meat?”

I shook my head. “Oh, we’re not doing that.”

“I’m sorry?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“I told Rebecca that selling dates with women felt kind of gross.” I wrinkled my nose. “So, we’re sponsoring a silent auction instead. Season tickets, signed jerseys, that sort of thing. Some of the gals pitched in for things like trips and wine tastings. I even got some of your guys to sign things to auction off.” I couldn’t help but grin. “My personal favorite item is a ball signed by the 1991 U.S. women’s team. Had to call in a few favors for that one.”

To my surprise, Roy chuckled. “Does that include Brandi Chastain?”

I scoffed in surprise. It was the second time now that he’d shown off that he remembered my poster. “Why yes, it does.”

Keeley was watching us with far too much interest. “We should get going,” she hummed, tearing my attention away from Roy. She quirked an eyebrow at the gruff manager. “Roy,” she started slowly, her voice playful. “What do you think Bucky’d look sexy in?”

We both choked on her question. I gave her a wide-eyed stare. What the fuck, Keeley?

Roy, just as red-faced as I knew I was, seemed to be looking everywhere but my face. “What? Fuck, I dunno. Why the fuck would I know?”

“Just thought you’d have an opinion,” Keeley purred. “We’ll see you later.” She linked her arm through mine and tugged me onwards.

Unable to help myself, I glanced back at Roy, who was staring after us, mouth slightly open. When he saw me looking at him, he shook his head violently, as if trying to rid himself of whatever thoughts ran through his mind.

I wondered if he could see how deeply I was blushing.

“The fuck was that?” I hissed to Keeley as we made our way to the parking lot, where Keeley’s sleek little convertible was waiting for us.

She shrugged casually. “What? Just wanted a man’s opinion.”

I snorted as I climbed into Keeley’s car. “We don’t need a man’s opinion.”

“Babe,” Keeley said in a patient voice. “Number one, wanting a man to think you look good doesn’t make you a bad feminist, alright? Number two-” Her eyes lit up as she pulled out of the parking lot. “-don’t you think Roy’s mad fit?”

My face warmed. “What, do you think he is?” I wasn’t sure why the thought made something in my stomach twist.

“Oh of course. Roy’s gorgeous,” she giggled. “We used to date, actually.” She eyed me carefully, as if gauging my reaction to that piece of information; I did my best to keep a neutral face. “But we’re much better as friends, trust me. He’s actually one of my best friends now.”

“Oh.” Why couldn’t I say anything else?

Keeley continued. “He’s a great guy. Like, I could write a glowing letter of recommendation to any potential partner.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Anything you want to know?”

“Why would I want to know anything about Roy Kent as a boyfriend?” I scoffed, maybe a bit too much protest in my voice.

Keeley’s voice was suspiciously sweet. “Oh, no reason.”

“Hi, Coach Kent!” A few voices called as Roy strolled onto the pitch.

Roy gave a curt nod to the passing Whippets. They were nice women, very friendly, great athletes, got along well with his Greyhounds. But they giggled at him. Well, a couple of them did. Mostly Samara Scott and Kira Malone. Sometimes a few others. He wasn’t sure why, or even when it started, but when they crossed paths with him there were raised eyebrows and knowing smirks and whispers and giggles. It couldn’t be an “isn’t he cute?” thing; these ladies had no problem telling the Greyhounds to their faces when they thought the guys looked good, offering compliments the lads were more than happy to reciprocate.

No, it was as if the Whippets knew something. Or at least, they thought they did. Roy just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was.

“Oi, Lucas.”

The assistant coach stopped mid-step to turn to Roy. “What’s up, Coach?”

Roy shuffled his feet as he watched the Whippets disappear into the building. “What’s up with your team?”

Lucas tilted his head. “How d’you mean?”

“They…” Roy felt stupid saying it out loud. “They always fucking giggle when they see me.” His face was warm with embarrassment.

“Oh.” Lucas laughed, adding to Roy’s frustration and curiosity. “No, you don’t want to know.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. I have an entire team snickering like children every time they see me. Fuck’s going on?”

Lucas gave a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I mean, it’s only a couple of them giggling,” he pointed out. “And, I mean, I dunno, not to stereotype, but you know how women can be. Mysterious and shit.”

“Lucas.” Roy’s voice was stern; it was obvious the man knew more than he was letting on.

“It’s because they can’t giggle at their own manager.” Coach Beard’s voice made Roy nearly leap out of his skin; when had he become so fucking jumpy? Beard went on. “So, they’re giggling at you instead.”

Roy’s frown deepened as the Greyhounds straggled onto the training pitch. “Right, but why? What the fuck is so damn funny?”

To everyone’s surprise, Nate spoke up. “Well, you know, some of the players… they think you and-and Coach Buck…”

“What about me and Coach Buck?” Roy felt himself beginning to fume, suspecting what direction this was headed in.

“The two of you want to shag,” Jamie chirped as he strolled by.

Roy reached out and grabbed the back of Jamie’s shirt, choking the striker a little as he yanked him backwards. “What the fuck did you just say?” Everyone except Beard looked nervous now.

Jamie cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt. “You and Coach Buck,” he blurted out. “Everyone thinks you fancy each other.”

“We. Don’t. Fucking. Fancy. Each. Other.” Roy growled out each word slowly, emphatically. “Can’t fucking stand each other, you all know that. So, knock this shit off. And tell the Whippets the same thing, alright?” He raised his voice. “Laps until you puke. GO! WHISTLE!”

Lucas cleared his throat as the Greyhounds began running. “Um, Coach Kent, can I go now?” He jerked his head towards the building. “Kind of got my own team to work with.”

He regretted speaking up when Roy whirled around on him. “She hates me, right?” Roy’s voice was low; he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to be right.

“Uhh…” Lucas squirmed. “I mean, she probably wouldn’t be sobbing uncontrollably at your funeral, but she probably won’t be the direct the cause of your death either.”

Roy wasn’t quite sure what to do with that answer. “Right.” He blinked at Lucas, who offered up what he hoped was an innocent smile. “D’you think we should shag?”

“Gotta take me to dinner first, Coach.” Lucas nudged him and winked. He chuckled at Roy’s amused expression before turning to walk away. “See ya later.”

Roy shook his head. He wasn’t quite sure what the fuck everyone was on about, but he knew it was going to be all he could think about during training.

As we wandered through department stores, I realized that Keeley was very much in her element. Between her modeling and PR experiences, helping a friend find a flattering dress felt like something Keeley could do in her sleep. In the time it took me to find one dress I thought might look good on me, she had already grabbed about a dozen.

In our third store, Keeley declared she knew I’d find a dress here. I wasn’t so sure, but her confidence dared me to defy her. So, I hung up the dresses she had chosen in my fitting room and peeled off my sportwear in favor of sequins and lace and satin.

She demanded to see each dress, taking photos to send to Lucas, whose quick responses had me grumbling, “Who’s running my fucking practice?”

It was starting to get frustrating. I was attractive as hell; I knew I had what Keeley called a “bangin’ bod”, thanks to years of working out. And it wasn’t as if I’d never dressed up. I’d been to awards banquets and charity events, even the fucking White House. I liked dressing up and feeling pretty. But for some reason, this stupid gala had me scrutinizing every single dress I tried on.

“Here, babe, I’ve got one I think you’re going to love.” Keeley threw another dress over the door.

Wondering if I would ever find anything I genuinely liked, I tugged it on and took a tentative look in the mirror. Fuck.

“Keels, you should add personal shopper to your resumé,” I hollered, unable to contain my grin. I turned this way and that, amazed by the view. Black. Strapless. Plunging neckline. Tight. And a gorgeous thigh-high slit that perfectly straddled the line between tasteful and indecent.

When I stepped out of the fitting room, Keeley’s jaw practically hit the floor. “Oh, I am brilliant!” she squealed. “Give us a twirl, I’m gonna send Lucas a video.”

Feeling almost princess-like, I did as Keeley asked, blowing Lucas a kiss at the end. When Keeley showed me the video, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips.

“Wonder what Roy would think of this video,” she hummed, eyebrows raised.

My smile faded. “Why the fuck would you show Kent that video?”

She shrugged, her slender fingers tracing the exterior of her phone teasingly. “I won’t. I want him to get the full effect when he sees you walk through the doors on Saturday.” Her face softened. “He thinks you’re pretty,” she added.

“Does fucking not.” Could she hear my breath hitch?

“Well, I think he does,” she backtracked. “Pretty sure he has a crush on someone, and I’m pretty sure it’s you.” She grinned. “Could hardly keep his eyes off of you at your first match. Can’t really blame him, you looked gorgeous, all sexy and badass.” She gave me the onceover. “And when he sees you in this, well…” She winked at me. “Game over, coaches.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “If I tell you to fuck off, can we still grab dinner after this?”

“Oh absolutely, my treat,” she assured me, steering me back into the fitting room so I could change out of the dress. “But I’m definitely not fucking off about this.”

Roy frowned at the mirror. He hated the gala. Well, he liked the open bar and free food. He almost enjoyed the spectacle of watching his friends get auctioned off now that he was safe from the meat market. And he didn’t mind opening up his wallet to help underprivileged children. But fuck, he hated dressing up. The red carpet. The dancing. The well-to-do pricks who felt like he owed them his time just because they inherited their money or made it in the stock market or some other posh shit while he earned his by kicking around a football.

And now he hated the way he criticized his reflection and the way his mind wandered to her. What would she be wearing? Keeley had taken her shopping, so something stunning, no doubt. Not that she needed a dress to look gorgeous. His heart hammered in his chest just seeing her in her running shorts and sports bra after work. Maybe he’d actually have that heart attack Keeley had mentioned when he saw her at the gala.

And what would she think when she saw him? Roy thought he was still a good-looking guy. Sure, maybe a little gray here and there, and he hadn’t had defined a six pack in years, but he was still attractive. Women still liked him. And with his black suit and hair almost managed and beard freshly trimmed, he thought he looked pretty fucking good.

But why the fuck did he care if she thought so? What the fuck, Roy?

He spent the whole ride over to the venue trying to turn his focus to other things. Work. The auction. Yoga. Phoebe’s most recent school play. His upcoming dentist appointment. That phone call from Ted that he needed to return. That phone call from his mother that he would not return because she’d just ask him if he was seeing anyone lately.

But his stupid, stupid brain just kept wondering what she would be wearing and what she would think when she saw him.

As soon as the car stopped, Roy handed some cash to the driver and hopped out. Just like every year, there were the fucking paparazzi, lined up to take pictures and shout asinine questions at people who just wanted to get inside and grab a free drink.

He stood at the edge of the red carpet, watching Rebecca pose for photos, so much more poised and confident than she’d been her first time hosting the gala on her own. Roy felt a surge of pride as he observed his friend; he’d seen her grow so much over the past few years, and she’d helped him to grow as well. He hated the idea that he’d been disappointing her lately with his behavior. He promised himself he’d do better. Do things the Richmond way.

“Lookin’ good, Coach.” Jamie clapped a hand on Roy’s shoulder; behind him stood Dani, whose arm was wrapped around a dolled-up Whippet, and Colin, who held hands with Michael.

“Fellas,” Roy greeted with a curt nod. He warily eyed the red carpet, knowing he couldn’t avoid it for long, before his eyes wandered in the direction everyone was arriving from.

“Bucky’s not here yet,” the Whippet- Esme?- pipped up when she noticed his lingering stare towards the line of cars. “She texted me that she’s running a bit late.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at her. “Not sure why I need to know that,” he mumbled. Not wanting an answer to that, he turned around for his annual speedwalk down the red carpet, calling out various combinations of “fuck” and “no” and “you” to the reporters.

He was finally inside, safe from the reporters, but not safe from the knowing looks of his friends and colleagues. Against his better judgement, he approached Keeley at the bar, who greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t you look lovely,” she murmured, giving Roy the once-over and straightening his tie. When he rolled his eyes and grumbled nonsense under his breath, she shook her head. “No, really, Roy. You look quite handsome.”

“Thanks,” he managed. He quickly gave a drink order to the bartender, then leaned against the bar, watching as people wandered in, everyone dressed to the nines. He had just turned to grab his drink when he saw Keeley perk up.

“Lucas! Bucky! Over here!” She waved towards the entrance.

Roy bit back an annoyed groan, then turned around and bit back a definitely-not-annoyed groan.

Fuck.

Arm in arm with Lucas, the Whippet’s manager strolled towards the bar. And, probably to no one’s surprise, she was fucking gorgeous. Hair down and wavy and framing her face angelically, looking better than any model Roy’d ever dated, lips red and so fucking kissable, she was wearing the hell out of a black dress that- for a brief moment- Roy thought would look damn good on his bedroom floor.

What the fuck?

Roy turned his attention to chugging his drink as fast as he could, hoping the answer to what was wrong with him was at the bottom of the glass. He found no answers there, but at least he was able to stop himself from ogling the beautiful manager as she approached.

“Babes, I told you that dress would be perfect!” he heard Keeley gush as she hugged the American. “And you, Lucas, very dapper.” She elbowed Roy, urging him to face the Whippets’ coaches. “Don’t they look great Roy?”

He finally had to force himself to look at her. She gazed up at him expectantly, her red, red lips slightly parted, eyes a little wider than he was used to seeing. Roy ignored the annoying feeling that they were being watched by more than just Keeley and Lucas.

“Coach Kent,” she greeted shortly. Her eyes searched his, as if she were asking him to take the lead and set the tone for their interaction.

“You… look… nice,” he managed, wondering if she could see his eyes straining to avoid trailing down her figure, the way he often let them wander during their silent evening runs on the treadmills.

She nodded. “You too,” she replied, fingers fidgeting on her clutch. “I, um, like your suit.”

Roy unconsciously licked his lips. “Thanks. I like your…” Fuck, he just noticed the slit. “Dress,” he finally blurted.

Her shy smile was almost enough to make Roy squirm. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat and patted Lucas’s arm. “Let’s go check out the silent auction before we sit down.” Her eyes returned to Roy. “See you guys later.”

In spite of himself, Roy watched her walk away, letting himself appreciate the way her dress hugged her figure as she walked. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten Keeley was leering at him.

“Oi, Kent,” she teased, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Pick your damn jaw off the floor.”

He brought his hand to his chin, realizing his mouth was indeed agape.

Fuck.

Fuck Roy Kent for looking so fucking good, I thought as Lucas and I perused the silent auction. It didn’t take a psychic to know he’d be in all black, but I hadn’t expected my knees to actually go weak at the sight of the man. I tried to tell myself it was because I was nervous that he’d start an argument about the silent auction or something, but deep down I knew it was because the stupid, feral part of my brain wanted to tug Roy by his black tie and take him straight to my apartment.

“See anything you like?” Lucas hummed, shooting me a not-so-sly wink when he caught me glancing over mt shoulder.

I gave a casual little shrug. “The 1991 ball is pretty awesome,” I murmured coolly. “Might put down a bid.”

Lucas elbowed me sharply. “You sure you wouldn’t rather bid on R-”

“Luke,” I warned in my most dangerously low voice, giving his tie a tug. “I will grab one of those butter knives and cut your tongue out if you finish that sentence.”

“So violent,” he tsked. “The two of you really are a match made him heaven.”

Before I could make another threat, Rebecca hurried over and wrapped me in a hug. “You came!”

“Of course,” I laughed, squeezing her back before letting go. “It’s in my contract.”

She winked at me. “You’re damn right it is.” She gave Lucas a quick kiss on the cheek. “You two look great. Americans clean up very well, apparently.” Her gaze lingered over the silent auction tables. “Excellent job with this, by the way. I took a quick peek, there’s already some big bids being put down.” She laid a hand on my arm, giving me a squeeze. “I’m very proud of you.”

And I knew she didn’t just mean the auction.

“Now then, you two are at table nine.” She gestured towards the tables, where people were beginning to settle for dinner. “You, me, Keeley, and all the coaches.”

“All the coaches,” I echoed, forcing a tight smile. “Of course.”

When we approached the table, I tried to make a beeline for the open seat next to Coach Beard, but Lucas immediately engaged Beard in conversation and stole the seat. That left just the spot on Lucas’s other side- next to Roy.

It was like everyone at Nelson Road had conspired to force Roy Kent and me into close proximity.

He gave me a curt nod as I sat beside him. “You decide who I have to dance with yet?”

Oh. Right. My team had won the charity game; I got to pick someone for Roy to dance with during the gala. I hadn’t even given it a single thought, assuming he wouldn’t bring it up and hold himself to our bet.

“Still thinking on it,” I answered. “Any requests?”

He gestured towards a nearby table, where an older woman was blowing kisses to a perturbed Jamie. “Not that old bird,” he hissed. “Won me in the auction one year. Had to go on a date with her, and it was the worst night of my fucking life.”

I couldn’t help myself. “You shag her?”

To my amazement, a smile appeared on his face. “Look at you, speaking our English. Maybe there is hope for you Yanks after all.”

I ignored the butterflies that appeared in my stomach. “But if I pick her,” I clarified slowly, “you will dance with her?”

His glare was playful. “Now, why would you go and ruin all our progress? We almost tolerate each other now. If we were any friendlier, Rebecca’d give us a fucking raise.”

Dinner was surprisingly painless and unsurprisingly delicious. I found myself actually enjoying chatting with Roy Kent. He pointed out the rich people at other tables and told Lucas and me horror stories about some of the auction dates he’d gone on.

“Oi, Coach Buck.” Jamie Tartt knelt down next to me, wearing a very stylish suit and a serious expression.

“Hi Jamie,” I greeted. “You look nice.”

He nodded. “I know.” He glanced up at Roy, who was rolling his eyes, before turning back to me. “Wanted to ask… How well d’you know your players?”

“Um, pretty well, I guess.” I frowned. “Why?”

His pretty face turned shy. “I was wondering about Kira. Is she… a Denver Broncos fan?”

My frown deepened. I knew Kira better than most of the Whippets; she’d played for me for one season before coming to England and playing for Arsenal for a couple of years. I wracked my brain for this random piece of trivia that was apparently very important, according to the look on Jamie’s face. “Well,” I started slowly. “She grew up near Pittsburgh, so she probably likes the Steelers. Don’t quote me on that, though.”

Jamie cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed. “The fuck does that mean?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “He’s not asking about football,” he muttered. “He wants to know if she likes men.”

“Oh.” I turned to Jamie. “Yeah, Kira’s into men.”

The beaming smile on Jamie’s face was infectious. “Mint. Thanks, Coaches.” He planted a sweet kiss on my cheek, then turned to Roy, eyebrow quirked teasingly.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Roy growled.

With a “Right, right,” Jamie practically skipped back table six, where he scooted his chair a smidge closer to Kira Malone’s; the pleasure on her face was visible even from where we sat.

“What the hell was with the Denver Broncos crap?” I asked Roy.

He shrugged. “Lasso shit,” he mumbled. “You’re better off not knowing, trust me.”

Surprisingly, I did trust him. “Alright, I know who you’re dancing with.”

Roy grimaced. “It’s the pervy old woman, innit?”

“Nope.” I pointed to table six. “Jamie Tartt.”

His laughter brought a deep blush to my cheeks. “You’re fucking vile.”

This had to be Roy’s favorite thing about being a coach. Sure, it was a gift to get to still be close to the game he loved so much. And yeah, helping players grow and become their best selves was fulfilling and shit.

But fuck, he loved getting to watch the auction and not be one of the prizes.

He whooped and hollered along with everyone else as each Greyhound took the stage, enjoying the alternating horror and delight on their faces when they saw the people who’d won them. There was something very sweet about witnessing Colin’s surprised expression when Michael won him, and he couldn’t resist adding to the particularly flirtatious hollers when Kira Malone placed an unsuccessful bid on Jamie Tartt.

Once Rebecca declared the auction a success and reminded everyone about the silent auction that would be continuing throughout the evening, people began moving to the dance floor. Good on his promise, and without prompting, Roy grabbed Jamie Tartt by the back of his shirt and dragged him away from Kira Malone, determined to get this over with.

Even above the music, Roy could hear a familiar laugh as he swayed to a fast song with Jamie, who, after his initial confusion, danced with genuine enthusiasm. Even Roy couldn’t resist cracking a smile when his former teammate asked Roy to give him a twirl- which, to everyone’s surprise, Roy obliged.

Once the song ended, the two men shook hands warmly, and Roy sent Jamie on his way to go ask Kira Malone for a dance.

Roy found Coach Bucky at the bar, sipping a drink. “Satisfied?” he asked.

“Extremely.” He tried not to focus too much on the way her lips looked wrapped around the little black straw.

“Good.” He stood next to her, leaning against the bar. “Can’t believe your team got out of the live auction. Such a double standard.” He hoped she could hear the teasing in his voice.

Her chuckle told him she did. “Well, when my girls make as much money as your boys, then we can talk about double standards.”

Roy shrugged. “That’s fair.” The two of them stood there, side-by-side, watching their players mingle and drink and dance. Roy wondered if she was also remembering that night at the club, the night that set the tone for all of their interactions. He felt kind of stupid when he remembered it; he should have been polite and asked her to dance. Things could be so different.

“Babes, come dance with us!” Before Roy could get the courage to do it himself, Keeley had come over and grabbed the American by the hand.

She turned and placed her empty glass in Roy’s hand. “That better be full when I get back,” she called over her shoulder as Keeley dragged her off.

She was coming back.

Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, but Roy found himself unable to keep his eyes off of her. The way she smiled, the way her hips moved, the way she looked in that dress. He let his mind wander to places he’d been avoiding since that first day in the changing room. Wondering what it’d be like to kiss those red lips, to have her arms wrapped around him, to see her in his bed. He liked those thoughts, despite what he’d spent months telling himself. He really liked them.

Not sure what to do with those thoughts, Roy distracted himself by pulling Beard over and chatting about nothing in particular, not really caring that his assistant coach could see his wandering eyes.

As the night wore on, she did eventually return, a few times actually, and Roy had a fresh drink ready for her each time. She’d stand by him and sip her drink, they’d talk about mundane things like the songs that played or the Greyhounds and Whippets that danced together, and they’d both wonder if the other could feel the tension between them that grew with each round of drinks they shared.

Late into the night, Keeley approached the managers, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Hey, you two,” she greeted carefully. “I’ve got a killer idea.”

Roy eyed her warily. “What?”

“Rebecca and I thought it’d be cute if our two managers shared a dance. Nice little photo op.” When she saw their faces sour, her voice turned stern. “Especially since they completely and totally owe me one.”

Right. They’d ruined her photoshoot.

“Fucking fine,” Roy muttered, as if the idea didn’t make his heartrate quicken. He downed his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, almost hard enough to break it. He held out his hand to the manager, whose sudden doe-eyes made his mouth go dry. “Let’s go.”

To his surprise, she didn’t protest or make a snarky comment. Not even a playful one. Instead, she took his hand and followed him to the dance floor; he wondered if her fingers also tingled the moment their hands touched.

Roy wasn’t sure if the fact that it was a slow song made things better or worse. But he did kind of like the way her hands rested at the nape of his neck, and he didn’t entirely hate the way her lower back felt under his hesitant grip. And he didn’t mind too much when she took his left hand in her right, holding them close to his hammering heart.

Three minutes. It was three minutes of her body pressed close to his, of letting himself stare at her and not caring that she or anyone else could see, three minutes of wondering what was going through her mind and hoping it was the same kinds of things he was thinking.

And those three minutes ended entirely too soon.

“What time is it?” she murmured absently. Seemingly without hesitation, she grabbed his wrist and held it up so she could see his watch.

“Scared your carriage’ll turn back into a pumpkin?” he teased, his mind begging her to stay so Keeley could force them to continue dancing.

She shrugged, eyebrows raised. “Dunno. Was kind of thinking of calling it a night.” After the longest three seconds of Roy’s life, she added, “What about you?”

He nodded. “I mean, the guys call me grandad for a reason,” he joked. “It’s way past my bedtime.” He gulped. “Should we share a taxi?”

The ride to Roy’s house was surprisingly short. He probably didn’t even need to take a cab and most likely could have walked home. But part of me- probably the drunk part- felt glad he did.

When the car pulled up to his house, he gripped the door, then hesitated. His eyes bore into mine as he said the last thing I ever thought Roy Kent would say to me: “Want to come in for a drink?”

I was pretty sure I surprised both of us when I offered up a small “Yeah.”

He paid the driver, helped me out of the car, and laid his hand on my back as we walked up to his front door. It dawned on me that, aside from our silent after-work runs in the weight room, this was the first time we’d ever been alone together.

Not a big deal, I told myself. Just two colleagues sharing a drink. Late at night. Looking really fucking attractive.

A few months ago, I would have expected his house to have a bunch of upside-down crosses and a few coffins and skulls lying about. Instead, I found his house to be almost… cozy? There were photos of his sister and niece, a couple of plants, even a record player in one corner with vinyls stacked next to it.

Maybe he really deserved the “grandad” nickname.

I settled myself on the couch, placing my clutch on the coffee table that held far too many books to be tidy, but not enough to look cluttered. Roy disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen and immediately popped his head back in.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he said softly, an embarrassed grin on his lips. “I invited you for a drink, but all I’ve got is a fridge full of beer, half a bottle of tequila, and a brand-new bottle of scotch. Apparently, I am a shit host.”

“Scotch sounds good,” I assured him, for some reason unwilling to give him any excuse to send me home.

His smile told me he wasn’t going to. “Scotch then.” He nodded towards the record player. “You could put something on if you want,” he offered before disappearing again.

Feeling amused and curious, I went over and began perusing his record collection. It was a mix of old and new albums, all kinds of genres, some pretty surprising. I was looking at the back of one when Roy returned, holding two glasses.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Sam Cooke?”

He nodded as he sat down. “My grandad was a fan,” he explained. “That one was his, actually.”

With a small hum, I put the record on, the music immediately reminding me of my own grandparents. “Were you and your grandfather close?” I asked as I joined him on the couch, taking the glass he offered me.

“Very.” He took a sip of his drink. “You were close to yours, right? You mentioned him in your first press conference. Gave you your nickname.”

He remembered. “He was my best friend,” I murmured, leaning back into the couch. “Loved soccer and wanted me to love it too.” I let my finger trace the rim of my glass. “Saw me go to the Olympics. Didn’t see me become a coach.”

Roy studied me carefully as I took a drink. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

He hesitated, as if trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Why the fuck are you retired? You don’t have my excuse of being old as shit. Fucking Rapinoe’s barely retiring, and I know for a fact she’s older than you.”

A dry chuckle escaped my lips, amused at his less than gentle phrasing. “I love soccer more than breathing. What d��you think would keep me from playing until I die?”

“You got hurt.” Not a question.

“I got hurt,” I confirmed. “Took a really bad tackle in an international friendly. Fucked my ankle.” I stuck out my chin, refusing to look pitiful in front of anyone, let alone Roy Kent. “They told me that with surgery and rehab and a lot of work I could play again, but I would never be the same. Eventually playing would destroy me, and I’d make it worse and fall into that ugly cycle of injury and rehab and becoming more and more useless on the field. And I refused to keep playing and keep getting hurt and becoming an easy target for commentators. So, I retired and became a coach. Stayed useful. Did it on my terms.”

Roy let out a sharp breath. “Fuck. Well, you’re less stubborn than me, I guess. I fell into that fucking cycle and kept playing and let myself become a fucking joke because I was too fucking proud to retire with dignity.”

I shook my head. “I was just a different kind of stubborn. Refused to play if I wasn’t at my best. Gave up the one thing I ever truly loved because I couldn’t do it my way.”

“We’re just a couple of stubborn pricks then,” Roy declared, lifting his drink.

I tapped my glass to his with a clink. “I don’t think anyone at Richmond would fight us on that.”

“Even if they did, we’d argue with them.”

“Definitely.”

We sat in silence, staring at our drinks, clearly not sure how to speak to one another for this long without shouting.

He finally opened his mouth. “D’you ever miss it?” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

I nodded solemnly. “More than anything. You?”

“More than I miss being able to walk up the stairs without having to take a break,” he joked, clearly trying to avoid the heavy direction we were heading in. Noticing our now empty glasses, he silently picked them up and carried them to the kitchen. “Oi,” he called. “I have a fucking awful question for you. Whatever we say doesn’t leave this house, alright?”

“Can’t have anyone figure out we’re capable of getting along,” I teased. “We couldn’t get away with our screaming matches anymore.”

His smirk was wide when he returned. “Exactly.” He handed over my drink and resumed his seat, his serious expression returning. “D’you… ever hate your players? Because they get to keep playing and you… don’t?”

Fuck. I’d never heard anyone voice the bitterness I silently felt so perfectly before. “It’s awful,” I admitted. “Because I adore them. And I’m so fucking proud of them. But sometimes I feel so envious, y’know?” I blinked, refusing to cry in front of Roy Kent. “It’s like time keeps moving and I’m just frozen. It’s so damn hard to go from the top of the world, being the fucking champion of the world, to sitting on the sideline, watching other people live your dream. Faking smiles when all you want to do is fade into oblivion.”

“But you just can’t fucking stay away from the game,” Roy murmured, reading my mind. “It’s like a first love. You can never quite get over it.” He sighed heavily. “So, we linger, we stick around, and we figure out some way to be useful, even if it kills us.”

“And when it does kill us,” I added, “they’ll just keep dribbling around us.”

His dark laugh eased the pain this conversation held. “Oi, I promise to move you out of the way. Give you some fucking dignity. Promise you’ll do the same for me?”

I smirked at him, determined to help him lighten things up. “Dunno if you’ll be able to move my body. I hear your knees are shit.”

“Fuck you,” he replied, the expression on his face telling me that, for once, he didn’t really mean it. “Alright, another question.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Do you miss, I dunno, being the hot young thing?”

Doing my best Roy Kent impression, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fuck you,” I repeated. “I’m younger than you, Kent. And I have it on good authority that I’m still pretty hot.” My expression naturally softened when I saw the laughter in his eyes. “But I know what you mean. Everyone wants the cute young athlete, no one wants the exhausted manager. A lot less options when you’re not the shiny new thing anymore.”

“Well,” he started slowly, “you are the shiny new thing at Richmond.”

I gave a little hum. “Not with the other Whippets around,” I pointed out. “I noticed Jamie Tartt and Dani Rojas started poking around my office a lot less once my girls arrived.”

Roy studied me carefully for a moment. “Do you… want their attention?”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Fuck no,” I laughed. “I might still be young, but I’m old enough to not want to date guys like that. Not that I don’t think they’re sweet,” I quickly added. “That’s just… not what I’m looking for anymore.”

The silence returned. Something in the way he looked at me had me blurting out the first thing that popped into my head.

“Keeley mentioned that, um, the two of you used to date?”

After a moment of shock, he nodded. “Oh. Yeah. For a bit.” He took a long drink. “That’s all completely over. We’re good friends now, but neither of us want to go down that road again.” He paused before continuing. “Not that it was a bad relationship. It was great, actually. We just grew apart. And we’re honestly much better as friends.”

“Oh.” Just like when Keeley talked about it, I couldn’t figure out what to say. Or why I was so interested.

“And we’ve both moved on,” he continued, as if he was trying to convince me. “She’s had a couple of relationships since, and I…” He looked at me carefully, watching me take a drink of my scotch. “I’ve moved on,” he repeated.

I crossed my legs, not sure if it was me or the alcohol that purposely did so in a way that took full advantage of the slit in my dress. “Well, that’s nice. That you two remained friends, I mean.”

“Yeah.” His eyes were on my exposed leg. “Friends.”

“I would say we’re on our way to almost being friends, wouldn’t you?”

He grunted in response. “Maybe.” He turned his body to face me, something heated in his eyes. “D’you need some more scotch?”

I smiled at him and mirrored his posture, reveling in the closeness it provided. “Not sure I should keep you up any longer. Bedtime, remember?”

“I don’t really have a bedtime,” he admitted with a laugh. “Just wanted to get the fuck out of there.” He paused, letting his hand drop down onto the back of the couch so his fingers ghosted over my bare shoulder. “Getting a little sick of everyone watching us all the time.”

My heart skipped a beat at his touch. “I take it you’ve been getting some teasing?”

“They don’t fucking stop, do they?” He finished his drink and put down his glass with a thud. “All this ‘shag it out of your system’ shit. It’s fucking sexual harassment.”

“That’s what I told Lucas!” I set down my glass, ignoring the last couple of sips left in it. “Even Keeley was going on and on about how you were going to love this dress on me.”

His lips curved upwards. “I do love that dress on you.”

My words got caught in my throat. Hell, I didn’t even know what those words were going to be. All I knew was that Roy Kent was staring at my lips and his fingers were grazing my shoulder and that he was still wearing his jacket and that I suddenly wanted to see it on the floor.

His eyes reflecting the same uncertainty and heat that I felt, Roy leaned forward and captured my lips in a forceful kiss. The hand on my shoulder moved to the back of my neck as his other hand gripped my thigh where the dress split open to reveal most of my leg, as if the dress was conspiring along with everyone else at Nelson Road. My own hands tugged at his suit jacket, shoving it off his shoulders and tossing it aside, before returning to his shoulders to pull him closer to me.

There was a surprising gentleness to the way he pushed me back until I was horizontal on the couch, Roy propping himself up to keep his full weight off of me. My hands moved to his face, amused to find that his beard was much softer than I’d expected it to be. Somewhere in my mind- the part still capable of coherent thought- I scolded myself for expecting anything about how his beard would feel.

As his tongue skimmed against mine, the record came to a halt; neither of us seemed to care, instead choosing to fill the living room with the sounds of our heavy breathing and soft moans. Kissing Roy Kent was delicious- he tasted like scotch and smelled like expensive, spicy cologne and felt like everything I never knew I needed.

His mouth moved away from mine to find every bit of bare skin and planting rough, wet kisses on every inch he could reach, giving me butterflies in more places than just my tummy. When he finally decided to take advantage of the neckline of my dress and bring his lips there, I mumbled, “Will you argue with me if I ask you where your bedroom is?”

He looked up, grinning like a devil, eyes darker and more intense than their usual soft brown. “Only if you slow me down.”

He managed to get us both to our feet without breaking the embrace, albeit with a bit of a stumble. He kept his mouth on mine as he tugged me through the house and down the hall, where I relieved him of his tie and began fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, while his hands roamed the back of my dress, searching for the zipper.

As we crashed through his bedroom door, he managed to rasp against my lips, “Are you too drunk for this?”

Feeling just short of desperation as I squeezed him impossibly closer, I shook my head. “Just drunk enough. You?”

“Just drunk enough.”

That was all either of us needed to hear. His shirt was suddenly unbuttoned, and my dress was on the floor. We had enough sense to carelessly remove our shoes and kick them to some corner of the room before tumbling onto his bed. When his shirt was tossed aside, I gave an involuntary gulp. This wasn’t a new sight; I watched Roy run without a shirt regularly. But tonight? Tonight, I got to reach out and let my fingers run through that dark curly hair, giving a little tug that had Roy hissing against my neck and grinding his hips into mine.

“Take your pants off, Kent,” I groaned before smashing my mouth into his again.

“I think you can call me Roy now,” he mumbled, for once doing as he was told.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, desperate for more, more, more of him. His skin was blazing hot against mine as his hands explored here, there, everywhere. I marveled at how good it felt to have this man pressed so close to me, amazed that we’d lasted this long without falling into bed together.

His mind must’ve been in the same place, because he mumbled, “Wish I’d known this is what you meant all those times you told me to get fucked.”

“Fuck you, Roy,” I whispered jokingly as my hand slowly travelled lower, towards the place I knew would be the hottest to the touch.

“Thought that was the plan,” he replied, hips bucking slightly when I began toying with the waistband of his boxers.

I buried my giggles against his lips. In the back of my head, behind my usual contempt for this man and his snark, behind my ever-growing need for him, some little voice whispered, He’s funny. Roy Kent is FUNNY.

There wasn’t much time for me to focus on that, however, as Roy’s hand found my own underwear, giving a playful little tug. “This alright?” he breathed, as if we weren’t both on fire with wanting each other.

“Just do me one favor,” I murmured, bumping my nose to his, an impossibly chaste gesture compared to what we were about to do.

“Fucking anything,” he groaned. The- was I really seeing this?- affection in his eyes told me he truly meant it.

I pressed a heated kiss to his lips, where I mumbled, “Don’t fucking call me Bucky.”

He laughed, and, for the first time, he whispered my name.

And he whispered it in my ear for the rest of the night.

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