#private coach hire

[abtransportqatar]

Luxury Coach Transportation Services in Qatar

Ab Transport Qatar brings you a wide range of luxury coaches' transportation services along with executive, luxury, and prestigious chauffeured cars in Doha, Qatar. Transportation services are available for our business meetings, Doha tours, entertainment and sporting events, and shopping trips. Contact us for more information today at +97440196977.

[thandicoaches]

Exclusive Journeys: Your Guide to Private Coach Hire in Birmingham

In the bustling city of Birmingham, where diverse communities come together and experiences are shared, the need for reliable and personalized transportation solutions has become increasingly paramount. As organizations, businesses, and individuals seek to elevate their journeys, private coach hire has emerged as a premier option, offering unparalleled comfort, convenience, and exclusivity. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the world of private coach hire in Birmingham, equipping you with the knowledge and insights to make informed decisions that cater to your unique transportation needs.

The Benefits of Private Coach Hire

Choosing private coach hire in Birmingham over traditional public transportation or shared charter services can unlock a world of advantages. From enhanced comfort and flexibility to the ability to curate a bespoke travel experience, the benefits of this elevated mode of transportation are truly transformative.

Uncompromised Comfort and Luxury

Private coach hire in Birmingham provides a level of comfort and luxury that is unmatched. Passengers can expect plush seating, ample legroom, and a host of amenities, such as on-board entertainment systems, climate control, and even refreshment services. This elevated travel experience ensures that individuals and groups alike arrive at their destinations feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

Personalized Itineraries and Flexibility

One of the hallmarks of private coach hire is the ability to tailor the journey to your specific needs and preferences. Whether you're planning a corporate event, a school field trip, or a sightseeing excursion, the flexibility offered by private coach hire allows you to craft bespoke itineraries that cater to your schedules, interests, and preferences.

Enhanced Safety and Reliability

Private coach hire companies in Birmingham place a strong emphasis on safety, with experienced, professional drivers and well-maintained vehicles. This assurance of reliability and security can bring peace of mind to organizers and passengers alike, especially when transporting groups or navigating unfamiliar routes.

Exclusive and Customized Branding

For businesses and organizations seeking to create a memorable and cohesive brand experience, private coach hire in Birmingham offers the opportunity to incorporate custom branding elements. From vehicle wraps to on-board signage and multimedia displays, these personalized touches can elevate the journey and reinforce your brand's identity.

Factors to Consider When Choosing Private Coach Hire

As you navigate the world of private coach hire in Birmingham, several key factors should be taken into account to ensure you make the most informed decision.

Fleet Diversity and Vehicle Options

Private coach hire companies in Birmingham often boast a diverse fleet, catering to a wide range of group sizes and preferences. From compact minibuses to luxurious motor coaches, it's important to evaluate the available vehicle options and select the one that best fits your transportation needs.

Driver Expertise and Professionalism

The quality of the driver can significantly impact the overall travel experience. Look for private coach hire providers in Birmingham that employ experienced, licensed, and courteous drivers who can navigate the city's roads with confidence and ensure the safety and comfort of your passengers.

Pricing and Value

While private coach hire may carry a premium price tag compared to public transportation or shared charter services, it's essential to evaluate the value proposition. Consider the level of comfort, amenities, and personalized attention provided, and weigh these against the cost to determine the best fit for your budget and travel requirements.

Reputation and Customer Reviews

Researching the reputation and customer satisfaction of private coach hire providers in Birmingham can offer valuable insights. Seek out reviews, testimonials, and industry accolades to gauge the reliability, customer service, and overall quality of the services offered.

Sustainability and Environmental Considerations

As sustainability becomes an increasingly important factor in transportation decisions, some private coach hire companies in Birmingham may offer eco-friendly options, such as hybrid or electric vehicles. Incorporating these environmentally conscious choices can align with your organization's or individual's values and contribute to a greener future.

Navigating the Booking Process

Seamlessly booking private coach hire in Birmingham can be a streamlined process when you understand the key steps involved.

Initial Consultation and Needs Assessment

Begin by engaging with the private coach hire provider and sharing your transportation requirements, including the number of passengers, the intended duration and destination of the journey, and any special requests or preferences. This collaborative process will help the provider recommend the most suitable options.

Customization and Itinerary Planning

Once the initial needs have been established, the private coach hire company will work with you to fine-tune the details of your journey. This may involve creating a customized itinerary, incorporating specific stops or activities, and ensuring the selected vehicle and driver can accommodate your preferences.

Securing the Booking and Payment

With the details finalized, the private coach hire provider will guide you through the booking process, including securing the reservation and facilitating the payment. Familiarize yourself with the company's cancellation and refund policies to ensure a smooth transaction.

Day-of-Travel Support

On the day of your journey, the private coach hire provider should offer transparent communication and on-the-ground support to ensure a seamless and stress-free experience. This may include real-time updates, the ability to make minor adjustments, and the provision of any necessary assistance during the trip.

Conclusion

Private coach hire in Birmingham has emerged as a premium transportation solution, catering to the diverse needs of individuals, organizations, and businesses. By understanding the benefits, key considerations, and the booking process, you can unlock a world of exclusive journeys that prioritize comfort, flexibility, and personalization.

As you explore the private coach hire landscape in Birmingham, remember to prioritize your specific requirements, research reputable providers, and seek value-added services that align with your goals. Whether you're planning a corporate event, a school field trip, or a sightseeing adventure, private coach hire can transform the way you experience the city and create lasting memories.

As the demand for elevated transportation options continues to grow, the private coach hire industry in Birmingham is poised to evolve and offer even more innovative solutions. By staying informed and embracing this premium mode of travel, you can elevate your journeys and unlock a new level of exclusivity and comfort in the heart of this vibrant city.

[expressbus]

Bus Hire Dublin

Express bus company provides transportation Facility services any type of Rental transport whether it's for corporate events, school outings, leisure trips, or special occasions like weddings or parties. When it comes to transporting larger groups of people, hiring a minibus or a bus can be an incredibly practical and cost-effective solution. Minibus and bus hire services offer a range of vehicles to cater to different group sizes and requirements, providing convenience, comfort, and reliability for various occasions.

Minibus and bus hire Express bus company typically employ experienced drivers who are well-versed in navigating various routes and ensuring passenger safety. These drivers undergo rigorous training and adhere to strict safety standards, providing passengers with peace of mind throughout their journey. Additionally, reputable hire services maintain their vehicles to the highest standards, conducting regular inspections and maintenance checks to ensure reliability and comfort for passengers in ensuring smooth and hassle-free travel experiences.

[wellourgerdes]

The Ritz Hotel London England

The Ritz Hotel London, England Located in Piccadilly, London, England, The Ritz London is a five-star hotel with a Grade II listing. a representation of luxury and high society. The Ritz London, a global icon, is situated with a view of Green Park in London. Elegant rooms, some featuring grand pianos, in an opulent hotel with world-class restaurants and a spa. This magnificent neoclassical…

[princeloww]

DAVID TENNANT ROLES STARTERPACK

(Different roles, where to find them and what they're like!!!) (+ more that I didn't go into included at the end)

*disclaimer: this is sort of UK orientated, 'cos I don't know any American streaming services or where stuff is available in other countries, so PLEASE comment other places you can watch things!!!!

- Takin' Over the Asylum (CAMPBELL BAIN)

Follows a DJ and a group of patients trying to keep a radio station going in a mental hospital. David plays one of the main characters, Campbell Bain, a mostly upbeat and energetic young boy with lots of enthusiasm and spirit. Some angst!

☆ YOUTUBE (free)

- Blackpool (PETER CARLISLE)

A body is found in an arcade run by Ripley Holden, and him and his entire family are pulled into the murder investigation surrounding it. DI Peter Carlisle is working on the case, and highly suspicious of Ripley. He's a pretty major character and has a romantic plot - as well as a few funny musical numbers. Includes sex scenes.

☆ UKTV PLAY (free in UK), AMAZON PRIME VIDEO

- Casanova (GIACOMO CASANOVA)

The (mostly sexual) adventures of Giacomo Casanova, a charming and fraudulent man who falls in love very quickly and very dramatically with a lot of people, all while essentially bullshitting through life and jumping on every opportunity to make money. Includes sex scenes but also angst, such as illness, injuries, some violence, and general suffering.

☆ MYFLIXERX.TO (free), AMAZON

- Recovery (ALAN HAMILTON)

A man and his family coping with the recovery and rehabilitation process after he (Alan, David Tennant) suffers from brain damage. Angsty. Lots of crying, suicide references, head injury stuff.

☆ YOUTUBE (free)

- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (BARTY CROUCH JR)

I recommend pirating this one so you're not supporting JK Rowling. DT plays Barty Crouch JR, an antagonist and the son of Barty Crouch. He's kind of a minor character, as he's not actually in a lot of scenes.

☆ Probably on most pirating sites (my go to is MYFLIXERX.TO)

- Learners (CHRISTOPHER ??)

Lighthearted movie about a woman trying to pass her driving test. David plays Chris, her driving instructor. He's a bit of a dork, very sweet and kind. Has a love plot, briefly fights a guy. No major angst.

☆ YOUTUBE (free)

- Hamlet (HAMLET)

Hamlet. Prince of Denmark wants vengeance after his father's death. I haven't actually watched this one yet but I assume it's got the same amount of angst and drama as Hamlet typically does.

☆ AMAZON PRIME VIDEO

- Single Father (DAVE TYLER)

After a fatal car accident, Dave Tyler (DT) is left to parent four children on his own. Still struggling through grief, Dave falls in love again and attempts to hide it. Has LOTS of crying, lots of kissing, sex scenes, DT being miserable and sobbing, etc.

☆ MYFLIXERX.TO (free)

- Rex Is Not Your Lawyer (REX ALEXANDER)

Unaired pilot. Only 40 minutes. Show wasn't picked up, but it is very good. Rex is a successful and skilled lawyer who is forced to stop practising when he starts having panic attacks every time he speaks in court. He decides instead to coach people who want to represent themselves. Lots of DT in very tight suits. American accent. Not MAJOR angst but he does has daddy issues and a panic disorder, so.

☆ YOUTUBE (free)

- Fright Night (PETER VINCENT)

A kid discovers that his neighbour is a vampire, and he seeks out a famous vampire slayer to help him. Peter Vincent (DT) does not live up to his name, and turns out to actually be sort of pathetic. No major angst, not a lot of clothes, no romance, but lots of eyeliner. He's very bisexual. Violence, vampire horror, creepy neighbour.

☆ DISNEY+, AMAZON PRIME

- The Decoy Bride (JAMES ARBER)

Celebrity Lara Tyler tries to get married to her author fiancé James Arber, but the paparazzi interrupts the wedding. Desperate to keep it private, she takes James to the island that he based his book on. Somehow, the paparazzi still find them, and they hire a decoy bride to pretend to be Lara. Romance, kissing, light hearted, minimal angst. David in a funny outfit. Fake dating trope?

☆ AMAZON PRIME

- Nativity 2: Danger in the Manger (Donald and Roderick Peterson)

Sequel to Nativity, but you don't need to watch the first one. Primary school teacher Donald Peterson (DT) is forced to take his class to Wales to participate in A Song For Christmas, a festive singing competition. Here he is put against his twin brother, who is a successful composer and with whom he has a strained relationship. Light angst - lots of daddy issues, but generally sweet.

☆ AMAZON, I think its on NOW TV???

- The Escape Artist (WILL BURTON)

A defence lawyer, Will Burton, gets a murderer off free, and very quickly grows to regret it, when his client comes after his family next. Lots of murder. Like three murders I think. Hot lawyer DT.

☆ AMAZON (I can't believe I forgot this one)

- What We Did On Our Holiday (DOUG MCLEOD)

A family go to Scotland for their grandfather's 70th birthday. Doug (DT) and his wife (Rosamund Pike) are getting a divorce, but are hiding it from the rest of the family. Movie is mostly focused on the kids and their grandad, but David has a few moments, and he's generally present throughout. Funny, slightly shocking at times, family film. No major angst. Character death.

☆ AMAZON PRIME

- Richard II (RICHARD II)

Shakespeare's Richard II. David plays the titular character, the extravagant, heartless and cold King of England, Richard II. We see his fall from grace as he is stripped of everything he owns and knows. Quite angsty. Long hair, androgynous David. Queer kiss scene (although they are cousins, soo...)

☆ you can find a link in a REDDIT comment if you search for it, AMAZON PRIME

- Broadchurch (ALEC HARDY)

An eleven-year-old boy is murdered in a small town, sending shock-waves through the community. Story follows both the family and communities response to the crime, as well as the investigation done by DI Alec Hardy (DT) and DS Ellie Miller (Olivia Coleman). Lots of angst from Alec. He is sick and hiding it. Injury, dizziness, panic attacks, that sort of thing - as well as a heart attack. He has a lot of trauma and daddy issues. Season three touches on topics of rape (warning).

- Mad To Be Normal (RD LIANG)

Biopic about RD Liang, a Scottish psychiatrist. Sex, misogyny, mental health topics, some self-harm (done by another character)

☆ AMAZON (sensing a pattern)

- Good Omens (CROWLEY)

An angel (Michael Sheen) and a demon work together to stop the end of the world. Queer romance (canon), some angst. Drama, comedy, LGBTQ+. David plays Crowley, the demon (who "sauntered vaguely downwards" rather than fell from heaven)

☆ AMAZON PRIME

- Staged (DAVID TENNANT)

A COVID lockdown comedy about David Tennant and Michael Sheen talking via Zoom during the lockdown. Actually quite sad at times? Mostly silly, though. Features Georgia Tennant and Anna Lundberg.

☆ BBC Iplayer (UK) (or VPN)

- Around The World in 80 Days (PHILEAS FOGG)

Phileas Fogg, a quiet and reserved man, decides to travel around the world in 80 days, after he receives an anonymous postcard calling him a coward. Cute found family, drama, angst (ex-lover stuff, internalised cowardice, illness, near death experience), some violence. There's a scene where Phileas gets flogged (whipped, essentially) quite violently, and it's somewhat graphic. Touches on themes of racism. Phileas is 100% neurodivergent.

☆ BBC Iplayer (UK) (or VPN)

- Inside Man (HARRY WATLING)

DT plays a vicar, Harry, who is involved in a murder after trying to protect his son - who was accused of having CP. Suicide themes, murder, self-harm - explores the idea that any person can murder, if they're pushed the right way. Includes topics to do with CP and pedophilia.

☆ NETFLIX, AMAZON

- Litvinenko (LITVINENKO)

Biopic about Alexander Litvinenko. A group of detectives investigate the poisoning of Litvinenko. David is bald in this show. (Scary)

☆ ITVX (UK) (or VPN)

- Doctor who (10TH AND 14TH DOCTORS)

Do I need to explain Doctor Who???? David Tennant plays the tenth and fourteenth regenerations of The Doctor, a Time Lord from outerspace. He travels around in the TARDIS with human companions.

☆ BBC Iplayer (UK)

I think I'm gonna leave it there, but there are a LOT that I have not touched on. This post is a very accurate and long list of everything on DT's filmography, so i recommend you check that out.

Other things I didn't mention (off the top of my head):

There She Goes, Bad Samaritan, Einstein and Eddington, Rab. C Nesbitt, Bright Young Things, LA Without a Map, Much Ado About Nothing, Duck Patrol, True Love, Gracepoint, Camping (US), Nan's Christmas Carol, Mary Queen of Scots, (You, Me and Him), Secret Smile, Deadwater Fell, Jessica Jones, Dramarama, Spies of Warsaw, AND A LOT MORE. (+ voice acting roles, and also his narrating work on Spy In The Wild (2017)

[abtransportqatar]

Best and Reliable Business Class Chauffeur Driven Car Service in Qatar

You are searching for a luxury car ride in Qatar. However, you have no idea how to book and where to find the best transportation company for a relaxing ride. Our company is providing the best ride to all our clients.

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[expressbusie]

Tips for Choosing the School Tour Bus Hire in Dublin

When planning a school tour or field trip in Dublin, one of the essential considerations is choosing the right school bus hire service in Dublin. The safety and comfort of the student should always be the top priority. To help you make an informed decision, we have compiled a list of tips for choosing the best school bus service.

Safety

Safety should be the foremost concern when selecting a school bus service. Ensure that company has a valid license and all necessary certifications.

Regulationandinspection: Verify the company adheres to all regulations regarding school bus hire. Look for evidence of regular safety inspection by the relevant authorities.

DriverQualifications: Don’t settle for anything less than experienced and qualified drivers. Ensure they possess valid PCV (Passenger Carrying Vehicle) licenses and have undergone training specifically for handling school groups.

InsuranceCoverage: Make sure the company offers comprehensive insurance that meets the standards set by regulatory bodies.

Comfort

BusAmenities: A comfortable journey enhances the entire experience. Look for buses with features like well-maintained, comfortable seating, air conditioning, and functional seat belts.

Extratouches: Consider amenities that can make the trip even more enjoyable. Features like Wi-Fi, onboard entertainment systems, or even reclining seats in larger coaches can be a big hit with students on longer journeys.

Planning and Communication

Matchingcapacity: Choosing the right size bus is important. We offer a variety of vehicles to suit your group size, ensuring everyone has enough space.

Sharingtheitinerary: Provide the bus hire company with a detailed itinerary in advance. This should include pick-up and drop-off locations, scheduled stops, and specific timing requirements.

Clearcommunication: Maintain open communication with the bus company throughout the planning process. Ask questions, voice any concerns, and ensure a smooth and stress-free experience.

Selecting the right school bus hire service in Dublin is important for a successful and enjoyable school trip. By following these tips, you can make an informed decision and provide a safe and comfortable transportation experience for your students. For reliable school bus hire service in Dublin, consider Express Bus, a reputable and trusted provider in the area.

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

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pick me up at seven - roy kent x reader

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k (they won't all be this long i don't think!!)

warnings: language of course, and this is a little steamy but with no actual smut. my favourite genre HA

request: I can’t find any good Roy fics until your recent one and I’m dying for more 😭 Anyway you could write something else for him? Maybe they’re at a bar and he gets pissed when he sees Jamie flirting w her? (Not a pre established relationship) - @kashee-h

a/n: your wish is my demand!! i'm so happy you enjoyed the first roy fic of what i hope are many to come. this one totally got away from me, i loved writing it so so much, thanks for a request that I really got to make my own! <3

---

Roy is the one who’s invited you here. Roy is the one who trekked over to your office at the end of the working day and told you that everyone was going out that evening. Roy is the one who suggested you come, even when you seemed reluctant to join in on what appeared to be an evening for just the players and the coaches. Roy is the one who convinced you that it would be fun, that he’d make sure of it.

All of this is making it very hard for Roy to accept that you are currently sat in a corner booth with someone else. The fact that the person you seemed to be having such an in depth conversation with was Jamie fucking Tartt was the icing on a very shit cake.

He knew he could be having a better night than just sitting on a barstool trying not to watch the two of you, especially when Ted and Beard arrived to get the next round and he didn’t even acknowledge them. They’d hired out a private room, so it was filled with people he generally tolerated the company, some he’d even go as far as to say that he liked. None of that was registering, however. 

Jamie leans in when you can’t hear something he’s said and he watches you nod solemnly, duck your head to stare at the floor as if flustered, and he wants to walk right out that door and never come back. Maybe he could get a job at Chelsea, or something.

“Now, what’s wrong, Jeremy Strong?” Ted asks, and Roy has to bite back a ‘fuck off’ so hard he wonders if his lip is bleeding, “You look just about ready to start wreckin’ the place.”

Out of the corner of Roy’s eye, he sees Beard lean in to whisper in Ted’s ear and points over at you. Ted looks surprised. Roy does not want to deal with this.

“You’re telling’ me our very own Mr Kent has his eyes on our very own Miss Y/L/N? Well, that’s just great! She’s sweet as anythin’, good for you, Roy.”

“She’s sweet on Jamie fucking Tartt, more like,” he says, even though he knows he’s being so fucking unfair. He hates it about himself. He knows how hard he’s worked on these feelings, on frustration and anger and jealousy, knows that a few years ago he’d be getting ready to fight Jamie down an alley further through tonight. Now he’s done that work, however, he can recognise the overriding feeling that he’s actually just hurt and that’s so much worse. It’s much easier to be jealous than upset.

“Does this call for an impromptu meeting of the Diamond Dogs?” Ted asks brightly and Roy is only able to stop him after his second howl. Higgins has looked over briefly but Beard signals him to stay where he is.

“Fuck no,” Roy blurts out, then reconsiders. Maybe he could at least talk to Ted, “I just- I was going to tell her. Tonight.”

“Tell her what?” Ted’s doing that thing where he bats his eyelashes like he’s in some sort of rom-com. Beard’s got his head resting in his hand, looking similarly up at Roy. They’re insufferable. 

“That I fucking like her, okay? Take those fucking looks off your faces.”

Ted and Beard scramble to look normal but come up short. Ted’s got the awful kind of shit-eating grin on his face that he gets when he sees Sam and Jamie hugging or watches Isaac doing his handshakes with everyone before a game.

“So, you’ve been spending time together? Or are you telling her out of the blue?” Beard pipes up.

Roy thinks that over. You’ve been spending a lot of time together actually. More than anyone at the club would probably even believe. He slips away to your office to eat lunch under the guise of needing a break from the American Circus downstairs. You text him when you’ve brought in ice cream because you know he’ll never say no to ice cream. You’ve met Phoebe. That one was by accident in the park, but you stuck around for four fucking hours and nobody made you.

Still, he wonders whether it would be completely shocking to you or whether you’ve been waiting for him to make a proper move. You’re incredibly difficult to read alongside being so stupidly pretty that sometimes he wants to swear less around you. He doesn’t manage it, of course, but he thinks it.

“Yes, we’ve spent time together. No, I don’t know what that means. Probably doesn’t mean shit to her, not that it would be her fault if she doesn't.”

Ted and Beard tilt their heads simultaneously at him and he wishes he could bash their heads together for a moment.

“But it means somethin’ to you, hey coach? I don’t think Miss Y/N sittin’ with Jamie should stop you from tellin' her how you feel about ‘er, hey coach?”

Roy’s lost track of which coach Ted is even talking to, but Beard chimes in.

“Surely her spending time with Jamie should be all the more incentive to tell her. Find out how she feels. Get that crushing disappointment out of the way now. It’s only downhill from here.”

Roy raises a brow at him as Ted gives him a look. Beard sighs, then picks up his drink and seems to disappear. Ted leans into Roy.

“Him and Jane are on a break again, I’m sorry. Look I’m goin’ to have to go find him but he was right, until he wasn’t. Go get ‘er, Ross Gellar!”

And with that, Ted’s gone too, weaving his way through crowds of people until he’s lost to them. When Roy glances back in your direction, Jamie’s got Colin and Isaac beside him instead and you’re nowhere to be found. He sighs and stands from his barstool, making his way to the exit. Maybe he’d think about what Ted and Beard had said tomorrow: for now, he just wanted to go home.

Except for the fact that when he finally managed to push his way outside to breathe in some fresh air, he found you. Leaning against the wall of the club, with definite tears in your eyes, even under the dim street lamp light. He was going to murder Jamie Tartt, slowly, with rope and paint and suffering involved.

But he knew to take a slightly softer approach with you. If at all possible.

“Hey,” he says quietly, trying not to startle you. You're quick to look up at him, startled anyway, and he grits his teeth as he asks, “Are you alright?”

He doesn’t make any comment about what the fuck Jamie had done to you. Doesn’t think it would be received all that well. Again, he’s biting the inside of his lip harder than ever.

“Yes! Oh god, yes, sorry,” you’re blinking furiously. He admires your resolve when the nearly teary face is quickly replaced by that bright smile that makes him weaker in the knees than he already is, “Fuck, sorry. I’m all good. I’m not sure this is my scene, I was just going to call a taxi.”

There’s an opening. He’ll be damned if he’s not taking it, even though confessing anything is the furthest idea from his mind - he’s much more focused on making sure you’re okay and nobody’s done anything to hurt you. If they have, he's already resigned to a short stint in jail if necessary.

“Do you want to walk?”

“Uh, I mean not really. It’s quite late, so…”

“With me, I mean,” he quickly clarified, wanting to bash his head against the brick wall, “I could walk you home, if you wanted. Or not. That’s fine too.”

“Oh, right,” you’re looking down at your feet as you contemplate it, “That would be nice, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he insists, falling into step beside you as you begin to walk. He wants to give you his jacket and maybe his shirt too with the way you’re shivering, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s a fucking coward, but he will get to the bottom of what’s the matter if its the last thing he does, “You gonna tell me what’s wrong now?”

You huff out a frustrated sigh, at him, at yourself, he isn’t sure.

“I made a fucking fool of myself tonight,” you say eventually, and he can’t even imagine you doing that, “I thought…god, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Everything just feels worse when its…1:30 in the morning, don’t you think?”

You’d lifted his hand to check his watch before you said the time. Again, he wanted to hold on, but he let you drop his hand and it just went limp.

“It fucking does, yeah. Don’t think you could make a fucking fool of yourself if you tried though. Not around us lot.”

Your family, he heard Ted’s voice in his head. He was not fucking saying that. To his surprise, you let out a loud bark of a laugh at his words and he was staring at the side of your face as you spoke out into the dark air.

“I thought you were coming to pick me up tonight, you know?” you began, and his heart drops to his shoes. You’re upset about him?

“What?”

“Something you said earlier, when you asked me to come. You asked where I lived, then told me it would be a twenty minute walk to get there. Then you said ‘see you at seven’.”

He could have stopped walking. He had said that, but he was just trying to help you plan out your timings for the evening - you’d mentioned to him once that you were known for having some time blindness when you were getting ready for things. Of course he should have realised how fucking stupid that was, how much that sounded like he would come and walk with you.

He would have fucking loved to walk with you.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, far too loudly for the quiet night that surrounded you. You carried on undeterred, shaking your head. He could see your frustration was at yourself now, and he hated himself even more than he had earlier.

“My fault for assuming, I know. But that’s why I was so late. And when I arrived, trying talk myself into not feeling like a twat, you were already over with Dani and Isaac and Bumbercatch, clearly never intending to come pick me up. Which, why would you, of course. I just…felt shit. Jamie tried to help, bless him, but I just wanted to go home, honestly.”

Roy is the biggest idiot on the planet. He wants to go back into the club and hug Jamie for looking after you, then ask him to punch him in the face. Roy could punch something, anything right now, but he just grits his teeth.

“I’m-” he grunts when his voice comes out all strangled, “I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N. I’m the fucking twat. I was asking where you lived and that to help you with that fucking time blindness thing you told me about. Should’ve known how it sounded though. Fucking idiot.”

He directed the last comment at himself, kicking a stone he’d found on the pavement. He kept his eyes firmly trained on his shoes as the two of you continued walking, now at a significantly slower pace. Your eyes were burning a hole in the side of his face.

There was a silence that stretched on as you stared at him, until-

“Fucking hell,” you groaned, “That’s so fucking sweet. You’re the worst.”

He doesn’t know if he can remember being called sweet before. Phoebe was often excessively complimentary of him in a way that made him uncomfortable, but sweet had never come up. He didn’t feel sweet.

“I am the worst,” he grunted, spiralling, “Making you feel so shit. Ruining your fucking night. I was the one who convinced you in the first place and now you’ve had a shit fucking time and I’m the worst.”

He’s a little out of breath and loud again by the end of his rant. The two of you have stopped walking. You kick the toe of your heel against his shoe, placating.

“No, you’re the worst ‘cause you keep giving me all this hope. I fucking hate hope, no matter what Ted says,” you chuckle to yourself, and he’s not sure what you’re saying but he’s peering into your now smiling expression as he tries to work it out, “Look, do you like me or not? You’re a good guy Roy and either way, I’m grateful that you’re walking me home. I just think if I ask, maybe I can just feel like a twat for the night and get it over with by tomorrow.”

“Do I…like you?”

He sounds thick. He feels thick. Feels like his mouth is full of honey that his tongue is having to wade through to even speak to you. It’s stuck to the bottom of his mouth, heavy.

“Yeah. As in, do you just enjoy eating lunch with me or do you ever look at me and just want to kiss me? Cause I do that all the fucking time, Roy, but I can’t be arsed to dance around it anymore.”

You look really tired as you stare up at him, but he feels more energised than ever. You’ve both just established that he’s the absolute worst, and yet here he is, with everything he could’ve wanted right in front of him. You, looking fucking gorgeous and looking at him like that? Even getting a job at Chelsea wouldn’t help him against you - he was gone.

There’s a smirk on his face that he can’t bite back as he takes your face in both his hands and revels in the gasp he can pull from you. He should have known you’d be the first to say something. You weren’t the coward he was.

“Let’s not fuck about then, yeah?”

Low and breathy. You respond with a nod so eager that he’s practically grinning when he pulls you in. It’s quickly replaced by a hunger he’s been keeping at bay, allowing his hands to slide into your hair as he deepens the kiss almost as soon as it’s started. He can feel your hands clutching at the lapels on his jacket, but he’s more excited when you throw your arms around his neck instead, tugging on the hair at the base of his head.

He growls and you actually whimper. It’s like he’s been set on fucking fire. Like he’s been struck by lightning.

When he pulls away for air, you stay close, peppering kisses along the scruff of his jaw, up the side of his face and back down again. He holds you to him tightly around your waist and feels wanted. He’s wanted you for so long, but to be wanted in return, so openly, it’s both hot and meaningful. He’s not sure anyone’s ever told him they liked him before. Most models he’d dated were pretty sold on the idea that he had to make all the moves.

Still, when you begin trailing kisses down his neck and there’s a hand on the top button of his shirt, he has enough sense about him to stop you. Even if he really doesn’t want to.

“I don’t know what street this is,” he breathes out, low voice little more than a rumble, “But maybe we don't give your neighbours a fucking show.”

You look thoroughly kissed when you look back at him, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough. He leans in to kiss you once more to punctuate his sentence, watching as you duck your head, all shy, even though your arms are still around him. He knows now that when you ducked your head with Jamie, you were embarrassed. This is you properly flustered and it’s one of his favourite looks on you.

“Good call, yeah. Okay. I’m- I’m just around this corner, I think.”

“You think?”

“Shut up, you,” you whack him lightly on the shoulder, as the two of you resume walking, “Think you can make it all the way there?”

“I’d carry you if my knee wasn’t fucked,” he admits, watching you with a lopsided smile, “Really fucking like you, by the way. If that wasn’t proof. Thought you should hear me fucking say it.”

You close your eyes in a little half laugh - giddy, he thinks. 

“Well, I did wonder. We’ve spent a lot of time together the last few weeks for someone who doesn’t like spending time with people.”

“Your first clue,” he agrees, taking your hand with pride now as the two of you keep walking, turning the corner towards your house. The pace is a lot quicker than it was before. He hopes he knows why, “I’ll be less of a fucking idiot now. Promise.”

“Eh, don’t worry,” you shrug, letting go of his hand only to thread your arm through his and take hold of his hand again, even tighter, “Nothing sexier than fucking idiots. I like my men with no thoughts behind their eyes.”

He properly laughs at that, head tilted back, feeling your head against his arm as you laugh with him. You slow down, gesturing left. Your house. The two of you walk down the drive until you’re at the door, face to face again and Roy is having a small internal battle.

“Look, I know you said no show for the neighbours,” you begin, almost nervously, “But does that mean a…private show is totally off the table too?”

He watches you picking at your nails. Can’t help it. He pulls you in for another breathless kiss, just to watch you come alive again, confident and fucking into him, however much of a miracle it seems. You pull away this time, clearly keen for an answer, but he groans.

“Tryin’ to be a fucking gentleman, here. Why don’t we do dinner tomorrow? Proper date. And I’ll fucking pick you up.”

You giggle. Still, there’s a glint in your eyes, as you sigh melodramatically.

“That does sound nice. Only thing is, there could be an intruder in here, you know? So, and I’ll only ask once more and then I promise I’ll let you go if you say no, but maybe you should walk me to my bedroom? To make sure I’m safe, you know? And then you can pay for my breakfast in the morning like a good old fashioned gentleman, if you want.”

You’re looking up at him, all hopeful again. His resolve is dwindling. You spin your keys around one finger and its a simple gesture, but it’s the final straw.

“I’m paying for your fucking lunch too,” he growls, diving into you once again. He’s beside himself when he hears you mutter a faint ‘thank fuck’ as you fumble to unlock the door and all but drag him inside.

---

if you've read this far, i fucking love you, you beautiful sunflower <3 requests open for this angry man and his favourite jamie tartt if you're interested!!

[ohsalome]

In the aftermath of Prigozhin’s media empire collapse, former employees spoke out about the dark tactics employed, including hiring individuals to portray “victims of Ukrainian Armed Forces” in staged reports that underpinned Russia’s fake pretext for the full-scale invasion of Ukraine — its Big Lie about alleged “genocide in Donbas.”

Following the unsuccessful mutiny of the Wagner Private Military Company, its financier Evgeny Prigozhin had closed down his media empire, including the infamous troll factory. This included Prigozhin’s media holding “Patriot” and such media outlets as RIA FAN, Politics Today, Economics Today, Nevskiye Novosti, and Narodniye Novosti.

Employees of the Prigozhin media were long unable to disclose the state of affairs in the editorial offices, as they were all forced to sign non-disclosure agreements. However, now, they speak. Russian media website Bumaga interviewed several former employees of “Patriot,” who revealed unknown details about its operation and propaganda tactics.

Notably, one RIA FAN journalist who worked with military coverage from Donbas told that the source files of the interview often contained off-screen instructions for the heroes of the reports, who were hired people coached by an off-camera operator who offered advice on how to say their pre-memorized lines more realistically (and with more propaganda effect):

“Most of the people who were portrayed in such stories as ‘victims’ of the Armed Forces of Ukraine were stand-ins, hired individuals. These characters repeated pre-memorized lines to themselves, trying to ‘squeeze out a tear.’ They were also instructed off-camera by the operator to speak ‘slower’ or to ‘repeat this moment again’,” told the former employee of RIA FAN.

This admission is crucial, as it offers more proof of how Russia fabricated its 9-year-long propaganda narrative about the Ukrainian “Nazis” deliberately attacking the “people of Donbas.”

Other famous debunked examples of this narrative included a story that state TV channel Pervyi Kanal ran on 12 July 2014, showing an “interview” with a woman who claimed to have witnessed the crucifixion of a three-year child by Ukrainian nationalists. However, bloggers and journalists from Ukraine and Russia could quickly prove that the woman was an actor and the story was a hoax.

Another well-known debunked “Donbas genocide” propaganda case happened in April 2015. The Russian TV channel NTV claimed that a ten-year-old girl had been killed by Ukrainian government forces in eastern Ukraine, echoing the disinformation story about the crucified boy from the year before. A BBC reporter working on the ground in the conflict managed to prove that also this story was a hoax. (For more examples of Russian propaganda that demonizes Ukrainians, check out our article A guide to Russian propaganda. Part 1: Propaganda prepares Russia for war).

Since Russia first invaded Ukraine in 2014 and occupied part of eastern Ukraine’s Donbas, Russian propaganda has meticulously demonized Ukraine and the Ukrainian Army. One of the grand narratives of its propaganda claimed that the Ukrainian forces attempting to liberate their lands from the Russian invaders were actually “punishing” the Ukrainians in occupied Donbas for their alleged “choice” to be with Russia, which is how Russia called its fake “referenda” that led to the creation of two puppet republics, the Luhansk and Donetsk “People’s Republics.” The revelation from Prigozhin’s media empire’s employees reveals how this narrative was forged, one fake report played by actors after the other.

The final result was the creation of Russia’s Big Lie, the alleged “Donbas genocide,” which Putin used to launch an invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022.

Bumaga’s material revealed other fascinating details about the operations of Prigozhin’s media empire.

Former “Patriot” employees revealed the security checks and the workplace atmosphere to Bumaga anonymously. According to a former employee, each media was allocated a floor, and smaller editorials sat together.

“They did not check me on a polygraph, but I heard stories from newcomers. They were taken to a room where security service specialists worked with them and asked questions,” said the source.

These questions, asked during a “lie detector” test, intended to weed out any drug addicts or Russian opposition sympathizers, especially fans of Alexei Navalny, another source told Bumaga.

Moreover, the media empire had extensive surveillance measures in place. An anonymous source disclosed that they “followed electronic passes, cameras, and all records from computer screens were broadcast to the security service.” When Patriot was just opened, a special department existed in the holding that was engaged in custom materials about the opposition.

Two former employees of the Patriot holding, in a conversation with Bumaga, claimed that everyone at the “troll factory” knew that the goal of Evgeny Prigozhin’s media was to create informational noise to “clog the agenda.”

“Information noise was generated along with the implementation of Prigozhin’s interests. While some [journalists] distracted people with the problems of other countries, with these reports from Africa and so on, with our local celebrities and reviews of dumb movies, others, on the front lines, were brainwashing people with materials from the ‘Special Operation Zone‘,” a former journalist of RIA FAN told, referring to Russia’s codename for its invasion of Ukraine, where Prigozhin’s Wagner PMC played a key role.

Now, the former employees of Prigozhin’s once-famed “troll factory,” who sowed disinformation in Russia and abroad, are left without a job. Luckily for them, prominent Russian media managers are stepping in to give them decent work in top Russian outlets:

“Dmitry Sherikh, the head of the St. Petersburg branch of the Russian Union of Journalists, has volunteered to help the employees of the ‘Troll Factory’ find jobs: ‘The Russian Union of Journalists will, whenever possible, appeal to the heads of other media outlets to help find employment for our dismissed colleagues, as well as provide other information support.’ The chief editor of ‘Moskovsky Komsomolets in Petersburg,’ Timofey Shabarshin, who is also the former head of ‘Nevsky News’ (up until 2021), also agreed to welcome the colleagues. Vladimir Yagudaev [an SMM manager from Prigozhin’s media empire who talked with Bumaga – Ed.] does not know if the Union of Journalists helped his former colleagues, but he notes: ‘Certain chief editors have begun to hire the most interesting employees into St. Petersburg publications. However, this is a limited contingent.'”

Located near St. Petersburg, Prigozhin’s troll factory, also known as Internet Research Agency (IRA), was one of the more-studied elements of the Russian propaganda machine. To achieve its goals, the troll factory employed fake accounts registered on major social networks, online media sites, and video hosting services. It expanded threefold in 2018. The troll factory’s employees were given messages they should push in social media and online debates in what a US indictment called “activities as a strategic communications campaign with an emphasis on target group awareness.”

[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Home and Haven (Ch 1/6)

[Yes I love them and I am drawing them a cover lol]

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale SFW

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Welcome to my first venture into fan fiction!

A gigantic shoutout to @senualothbrok for guiding my newbie writing every step, for being my beta and English coach, and for being so enthusiastic about Gale AND Ta'V in general. Without you, I wouldn't have the courage to post the story.

For whoever ventured here, please enjoy :)

AO3 Link: Here

-------------

It still feels wrong to venture outside without the Nyrulna, your faithful trident.

Logically, you understand it’s a horrible weapon choice for the crowded streets of Waterdeep, its thunder damage a guarantee of passerby casualty. You are not expecting battles anyway — Compared to your last two months of tadpoled adventures and the previous ten years of your mercenary life, this is a significant change of pace. The violence rate here is obscenely low.

Ha. Astarion would have giggled at that, followed by a disapproving-but-amused headshake from your gentlemanly wizard. Gale Dekarios, your human, your man. Even counting your pillow, he is still the softest, finest thing you have ever laid hands on in your nomadic life. What a strange twist of fate, that a scheme of the Dead Three has led you to this treasure you'd never encounter otherwise. Perhaps a “thank you” is in order.

A lady always says thank you. Ma’s voice rings in your ears, a distant memory. You snort, not to her but to yourself. She had never lost faith in your ability to be civilized, even when you believed otherwise.

Now, it is Gale who has given you the courage to try out polite society again. The last time you set foot in a city, not including the cultist-infiltrated war-torn Baldur's Gate, was for an escort mission at Elturel. You and a few others were hired to travel with a half-elf noblewoman, her frail yet elegant frame reminiscent of the fawn you hunted a day before. In daylight, you rode next to her, vigilant for any potential danger. At night, you postponed your rest to hunt so that her private chef could prepare her precious meal, while you feasted on cheap rum and dry meat. You had no protest over such an arrangement, being right at home living simply in the wild. It was only when she deliberately changed her wagon into what you could only describe as a "show-off cart" to enter the city, that you felt a pang of distaste. Despite her so-called concern for safety, she wanted a crowd anyway, and a crowd was what she got. Unsurprisingly, when the crew marched past the city gate, the people of Elturel gathered to stare at her in awe and at you in fear. As you walked alongside the heavily decorated four-wheeled cart at a painfully slow pace, you silently thought, "That could be me sitting in there. I am half-human too, you know?"

But that’s where you stop. Focus. You have two missions today, the first being to bring a surprise lunch to your fiancé at Blackstaff Academy. You have roasted a pig leg as best as you could with his magical hob, picked out the freshest berries of the season, and scouted a rich full-red you know Gale will enjoy.

Wait. Is drinking allowed at school? You wouldn’t know, as your education came from your parents and the road. In any case, he can store it in his big, nice teacher’s room he gleefully described in detail when he first got his position a week ago. You had been celebrating at the Yawning Portal that night, and your drunken wizard had lovingly leaned on your arm, so overjoyed that, despite being in public, he cheekily rubbed his beard against you like a spoilt kitten. You just couldn’t resist giving his soft hair a good pat.

“T-This is surreal,” he sighed, with a lazy gaze under half-lidded eyes. “Please, my love, join me someday. I have so many stories to share —it is my second home after all!”.

You liked the place already. If that is where he belongs, then you must go there as well.

In the end, you decide to give up the Nyrulna and pick a simple axe, just for safety measures. It should be a perfect choice: small enough to hide under your cloak and cheap enough not to make a fuss, even if it got confiscated by an academy guard. Tracing its metal notches reminds you of Karlach, a fellow barbarian soldier. You miss that woman.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, adjust your dreadlocks, and take a deep breath. Time to face polite society.

---

"STOP."

You hold up your hands as two steel sentinels halt you at the gate of the renowned Blackstaff Academy. It is a gesture you have practiced many times, wary and expectant. Behind them, the arcane tower looms over you. The voice of the guards sounds too hollow and unified, a single echo shared between the duo. Remotely controlled guards then, you think, impressed.

“STATE YOUR PURPOSE.”

“I am here to see Gale Dekarios, Professor of the Illusion School.” You practiced this also, more times than you’d ever admit.

“School of Illusion,” the voice corrects you. Now it sounds like a sentient being, not like that weird projection of Lorroakan’s at Sorcerous Sundries. The masculine voice has a pinched, haughty tone and an air of tired condescension. You are immediately reminded of wizards and their pride in education; how a long time ago, when you had miraculously succeeded in channeling the Weave for the first time and shared your joy with Gale — “I didn’t know channeling the Weave was so easy” — he wasted not a second to remind you that, in fact, it is not. Somehow, that awkward moment has now turned into a soothing memory.

“Hm-Right.” You cough to hide a snort. “I am his wife. I would like to bring him lunch. May I pass the gate?” As an afterthought, you add, “Please?” Your Ma would be proud.

“LIAR. Piss off before I chase you out.”

Of all the responses you expected, this is not one of them. You are growling before you know it. “I suggest you KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.” The words rush harshly out of your fanged mouth.

…uh.

In an instance the two sentinels spring into a battle stance. Worse still, you can feel onlookers start to gather, and your skin itches under their gazes. You force an exhale.

“…What makes you think I am lying?” You try as calmly as you can manage, holding onto the mental image of your smiling wizard, just beyond reach. Volo’s book better gets published sooner so that everyone will know who you are. Better yet, you will make sure he highlights the word ‘wife’.

“Professor Dekarios is not married.” The sentinels, with the smuggest voice you have ever heard in your life, drop their final blow.

And that is when you remember. Yes, you are still technically his fiancée, even though the man himself has often forgotten that, already showering you with affection far deeper than a ring could ever capture.

Perhaps someone more eloquent would continue to argue, ask Gale to come out, and demand proper treatment for a lady. But right now you only feel overwhelmingly exposed, with too many prying eyes and wiggling tongues for you to maintain your civil façade any longer. So you retreat, trying to ignore the unsubtle snickers. The sentinels were not as clever as they thought they were anyway. What kind of guards reveal personal details to a potential enemy like that? Amateur.

---

What would Gale do to remedy the day? He would strategize.

You decide to call upon Tara to deliver the meal, and if the sentinels deny her entry they will know true horror. Her outrage upon hearing your encounter was enough to cheer you up. After all, your goal is to get your love fed, and the means—who is doing the delivery — are less important than the ends.

With that dealt with, you now need to focus on your second mission—to pass a job interview. You have decided that settling down in polite society means less fighting, but there is no way you’d just stay at home and rely on Gale’s income, even though he wouldn’t mind. The man is more than willing to provide for you, but you wouldn’t want to lounge around in the tower, hanging off his coattails. Truth be told, this is for your own good too—you truly wish to be a part of Waterdeep by playing an active role in it, not just as a tag-along of Gale’s.

Of the ten positions you applied for in the past month, you only got one reply: a counter clerk at the Aurora's Realms Shops next to the Market. Gale had frowned when he heard about the demanding dusk-till-dawn working hours, but you assured him you’d only take shifts six days out of a tenday. He had tried to argue further, but upon seeing your determination, swallowed his questions. You both know that if you had applied to be a city guard, a dock laborer, or even a weaponry store assistant, you’d get better offers. But you have decided that you want a change. More sitting, less fighting. To be polite. Chit-chat with people. To smile without malice.

So, on leaving Blackstaff, you arrive at the shopfront five minutes before your interview. You scan the two queues before you: one inside the shop and one outside. A queue for a counter clerk job at this paid rate? You lament, Waterdeep and its gods forsaken job market.

You push open the glass door, and upon seeing you enter, a human woman with a clipboard swiftly calls, “Oh. The interview for security guards is outside.”

“I am here for the counter clerk one.” Several candidates from the queue indoor turn to you curiously. To be fair, all of them are tinier than you; you’d have no problem reaching the top shelf, or lifting one, if you ever needed to.

“Ah. Right.” The lady is polite enough to look embarrassed. “And your name?” She shows you her clipboard as you tower over her, and as you scan through the long list she adds helpfully, “Or you can just tell—” “I know how to read.” You stop her mid-sentence, your harsh tone making her wince, and you wince too. Gods, you need to get better at this. Apologetically, you soften your voice, “This is me,” pointing to your name on the list.

“Ta’V Riversong?” She is surprised. Does she recognize the Hero of Baldur’s Gate? She does not start praising your great deeds, so you assume no, you aren’t that lucky. It must be the other reason then.

 “Yes,” you explain. “Riversong is my Ma—mother’s surname, she’s a human.”

This is one thing you share with Gale: taking your mother’s family name. Your father, however, did not abandon the family like Gale’s father did. Instead, your father understood—theirs was a runaway marriage, and your mother had sacrificed a lot to settle down with a barbarian deep in the woods, away from civil society. Her name was her last connection to her noble past, and your father could never deny her that. Idly, you wonder if this woman has heard of your mother’s family. Growing up, you never cared enough to learn about this illusion of a heritage.

“I see,” she says meekly. “Sorry…It’s just that from your application, I didn’t expect you to be a half-orc.”

---

And that is why you end up shit-faced in a random tavern. You don’t even bother to look at the tavern sign as you stumble in, determined to leave behind the interview, the Academy, and polite society as soon as possible. You order whisky first, then firewine, because you can’t afford to waste money, given that you definitely won’t get the job. You understand. They want someone less intimidating. Of fucking course.

You are almost delighted when you feel hostility flushing towards you.

The hair at the back of your neck stands. At the corner of your eye you spot the flash of a cunning dagger, which you recognize as a Murderous Cut. Ah, local Bhaal cultists then. You may have had a bad day, but at least you can make theirs worse. You down your drink in one go, and without further ado, send the mug right into a cloaked figure’s face.

In an instant the whole tavern breaks into chaos. As the others reveal their weapons, you realize something: You have missed this. The axe you wield breaks through wind and skulls. Frenzied roars explode from the depth of your lungs, your charge unstoppable and inevitable. This is the part of yourself you used to be most proud of, the warrior that you were trained to be, born from ashes and forged in flames.

FIGHT ME! You father shouted, signaling the start of the match.

Two figures charge at you. You ground your stance before taking a full-body swing, slashing open both poor souls at once. With a kick you send one of them towards the side, knocking over a clamour of plates and glasses.

SIDE! He took advantage of your open stance.

A blade cut scratches your cheek, but you promptly ignore its stink of poison. You grab the man and throw him right at a ranger in the corner, knocking both of them out. Perhaps you are enjoying this too much, but when you look at the screaming Waterdhavians, your grin is wide and true. You will not be tamed.

CHARGE!

As you knock down your last enemy you feel free, freedom that you haven’t tasted for months since you arrived in this godsdamned city. You rise, wobbling, and you see your father grinning proudly. On the day you had beaten him down finally, he had pronounced you a worthy adult. You were sixteen, ready to hit the road. You laugh maniacally, in joy and sorrow and everything else you can’t name. You know Gale could name them. Yes. Gale. The smartest, sweetest person you’ve ever known.

And then you collapse.

---

You were inside his purple tent. Late at night, he illuminated it with floating orbs, reclining between your legs as he read his tomes. He was so focused, and you couldn’t help but distract him with a kiss on top of his head as you gently traced circles on his stomach.

He chuckled, low and warm, then leaned back against you.

“This is one mystery I’ll never solve,” he began, closing his tome. “Why oh why would such a wonderful, ferocious, tenacious warrior ever set her sights on someone as brittle as me?”

“I could ask the same in reverse, but I ran out of adjectives,” you muttered sleepily and he laughed, setting his hands on top of yours as his thumb stroked your calloused skin.

You knew he was unsatisfied, so you tried your best, despite the pulling weight on your eyelids, to set his ever-churning mind to rest.

“You smell good,” you managed, and he laughed even louder.

But you needed him to understand. You pushed out one last word.

“Home.”

He went quiet as you fell asleep.

---

You hear…

“Ta—”

Something. Familiar. Wings.

“Ta’V—”

It’s the smell that gets you.

“TA’V!”

“WHAT? I’m awake, I’m awake. Don’t fret!” You jerk up, snapping out of your coma. It is Gale who holds your face urgently, his brows tightly knitted, knees rough on the hard ground. Next to him, Tara flutters her wings, startled by your sudden movement.

You are elated to see them, and you want to tell them so. But something in his glistening eyes makes you pause.

“Don’t fret?” His voice is an octave higher than usual. “You were lying on the ground alone, bleeding, unconscious, surrounded by godsdamned cultists, AND YOU TELL ME TO NOT FRET?”

Dead cultists, you want to counter, but your overflowing relief finally spills over.

“I love you,” you say instead, and Tara twists her tail in amusement.

Gale stares at you for a long time. Finally, with a deep breath, he relents.

“And I you. Let’s go home, shall we?”

---

While you have never been well-versed in sentimental things, you do understand that this situation calls for a hug. So you gather him into a squeezing embrace as soon as the two of you stumble out of the portal. Tara, in the meantime, settles herself on the kitchen counter, waiting for the drama to unfold.

To cheer him up, you decide to start with something happy. “So…did you enjoy the meal Tara brought you?”

You feel him tense, so you hug him harder. A moment later, he nods against your chest.

“It was wonderful,” he mutters. “I savored every bite, sang the chef’s praises to anyone who’d listen.” He pauses. “I learnt from Tara what happened at the gate.”

“Oh, well. Perhaps I shouldn’t have dropped by without a head’s up.”

He pushes himself away from your chest and stares sternly into your eyes. “That is not the point. I swear, the first thing I’ll do next time I return to the Academy is to teach that young man Endorick a very serious lesson on manners. That was pure disrespect, not only to you but to everything the Blackstaff stands for. In fact, the only reason I was delayed was because of the next bit of shocking news Tara relayed to me.” His gaze turns sorrowful. “My love, would you please tell me what happened?”

You grunt. Talking has never been your strong suit, but it is Gale’s preferred mode of communication, so you push through it. You tell him about the failed interview, the resulting drinking, and the fight. You try to describe your feelings along the way, knowing that it will comfort him to know more about you. At the end of your narrative, he falls silent.

Then he announces abruptly, “Let’s pack.”

“What? Why?”

Gently, he presses his hand against your cheek. His voice is firm and tender when he says, “It was never my intention to cause you such pain, or to mold you into something different than what you are now.” He grimaces. “In fact, I can scarcely believe I truly deserve to have someone as wonderful as you by my side as a friend and a wife. So we can go, far away from here, travel again, meet your parents perhaps! Anywhere that makes you happy, I will follow.”

“But what of your teaching?” You counter, and you are almost appalled when he shrugs. “I have barely started. I’m sure the esteemed, resourceful Blackstaff Academy can manage without—"

“NO!” You stumble, hands gesturing frantically. “This is your dream! Your second home, you said!”

“And you are my first,” he declares without hesitation. “I know my choice.”

Your head hangs. You feel dejected. He doesn’t get it.

There are too many thoughts swirling in your head, words starting to slump and melt and break. You can’t explain yourself, and you can’t keep up with this conversation anymore. Unlike Gale, you must see and touch to manipulate. As you fall silent, you can sense Gale’s increasing concern.

Finally, you proclaim, “I will show you tomorrow.”

---

This is why, when the morning comes, your fiancé will find himself awake before you — a rare occurrence — and reading a great puzzle in the form of a simple note, carefully pried from your fist as you doze. It reads, in handwriting he finds as endearingly boorish as its owner:

“I want to work at Blackstaff Academy too.”

TBC

---

Thank YOU for reading this story. Tell me what you think! It would make my day :)

Other things that I do

[bruce-wayne-simp]

Based off of this ask for @gabessquishytum

Wanting, Kneading

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Dreamling (human au)

Characters: Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless, Orpheus (mentioned)

Tagging: @valeriianz, @chaosheadspace, and @tj-dragonblade ❤️❤️

-> Ao3 Link <-

Dream thought hiring a private chef was a good idea. And it was. At first.

He had just gotten full custody of Orpheus and, after a few weeks of disastrous attempts at making dinner– which resulted in burnt food, dishes in the sink, and, ordering out– he had finally decided on a chef named Robert Gadling, or Hob, as he had enthusiastically insisted Dream call him upon their first meeting.

Dream had realized he was screwed when Hob's warm, brown eyes lit up the minute he saw Orpheus. Taking the four year old's tiny hand in his own to shake, and hanging on to every word that came out of his mouth, few that they were.

The fact that he was handsome, too, didn't help Dream's plight in the slightest.

Which is how he has currently found himself standing over the kitchen island with Hob, Orpheus at preschool, brownies cooling on the counter, learning how to knead bread dough.

"It's really quite simple actually." Hob starts as he clears the island. "A lot of people use stand mixers for it. Which is nice if you're in a rush, but I mean, people have been doing it this way for thousands of years, you know? Why change it up now? Besides, I like using my hands."

Hob directs Dream to stand across from him and starts explaining how to work the dough, but Dream is distracted. The other man's sleeves are pushed up, exposing his hairy, thick forearms. His muscles flex and move deliciously under the skin as he kneads the dough, his instructing voice weirdly soothing.

Dream startles as Hob plops the dough ball down in front of Dream. "Your turn."

Dream covers his hands in flour and tries desperately to scrounge up some recollection of what Hob had been doing, and clumsily tries to replicate it. Hob, for his part, is very patient with him, coaching him through it.

Dream huffs after his third failed attempt. "I can't do it."

"Nonsense. Of course you can." Hob smiles and steps around the table toward him.

Dream's breath hitches and he tenses, but forces himself to relax as Hob moves to stand behind him.

The other man gets close. Warm, strong hands grasp his, moving them in order to properly knead the dough.

"Don't be so gentle. You can be rough with it, it will be fine." Hob's breath is hot on his ear, sending chills down his spine, arousal starting to simmer in his belly.

Hob keeps moving their hands, pressing them together, his fingers interlocked with Dream's. He can feel Hob's calluses, rough on the back of his own hand.

Hob presses in even closer– oh fuck– nearly forcing Dream's body into the counter, Hob's chest meeting his back. He can feel the warmth of him through his shirt. His eyes flutter.

On the next downward motion, Dream pushes himself back and feels Hob's prick grind against his ass. He's hard. He hears a stuttering breath against his ear. Hob grinds back against him a bit.

"Dream." He breathes.

"Hob." It comes out as a whine.

"Fuck. Hold on." He lets go of one of Dream's hands to grab the kneaded dough off the counter and slam it back into the bowl with a metallic clang. "It needs to rest."

In one swift motion, Hob turns him around and slots their lips together, crowding him up against the counter. Dream feels dizzy as Hob's tongue enters his mouth. He moans, flour-covered hands moving up into Hob's hair, leaving streaks of white.

"Fuck, Dream." Hob gasps.

Dream grinds his hips against Hob's, making him groan. Hob's hands move to grab the underside of his thighs, hoisting him up so they can grind against each other. Dream's arousal turns sharper at the display of strength.

Dream pulls away and looks him in the eye. "Fuck me."

From his spot on the counter, he watches Hob's eyes darken. The fingers gripping his thighs tighten the slightest bit.

"Yes." Hob leans in and kisses him again, hands petting Dream's sides and hips. Hob tastes sweet, their tongues sliding against each other. Hob's hands slide up to slip underneath his shirt, Dream shudders as his hands stroke the sensitive skin of his belly.

"You're gorgeous." Hob's fingers are carding through his hair now. He tilts his head back and groans.

As Hob kisses him, he reaches around the other man's back to untie his apron. Hob pulls away from his mouth briefly to pull the strap over his head, and Dream tosses it across the kitchen. He returns to kissing Hob with a vengeance, pulling the other man close by his belt loops. Dream rolls his hips sharply, pulling a low groan from him. A thrill shudders through his spine at the sound.

Hob’s hands are under his shirt now, gripping his waist. His hands are slightly sticky from the dough, but Dream could not care less. He pushes his tongue into Hob’s mouth, tasting him.

He starts to unbutton Hob’s shirt, revealing thick, glorious, coarse, brown chest hair that he wants to bury his face in, though he settles for dragging his nails through it. Hob tugs at the edge of his shirt and Dream quickly pulls away to let him pull it up over his head, letting it fall to the floor.

Dream pushes his chest into Hob’s, rough hair tickling his own bare chest. They stay like that for a little bit, grinding slightly, teasing each other, breathing the same air. His eyes are warm, and fond.

God, he’s fucked.

Dream reaches up, slowly pushing the shirt off of Hob’s shoulders. They're broad, strong, dwarfing his own slight build. Hob kisses him again, this time trailing down to start kissing his neck. He tilts his head to the side, sighing at the rough feel of his stubble.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, darling?” Hob gusts, breath hot against his neck.

“Yes, please.” Dream huffs a breath as Hob steps away for a second, opening a cabinet and grabbing the olive oil.

He sets it down on the counter, yanking Dream off, spinning him around and guiding him to bend over the counter with one strong hand on his back. The show of strength sets his stomach aflutter, anticipation and arousal melding together.

Strong arms encircle his waist as Hob reaches around him to undo his jeans, pulling them down to his thighs. He settles himself against the table as he hears Hob open the oil, soon feeling blunt, slick fingers at his hole.

Hob takes his time fingering him open, kissing anywhere he can reach and driving Dream crazy by switching between ignoring his prostate and steadily rubbing it until he’s begging.

“Fuck, Hob- please, please.” Hob gives him one final hard pass over his prostate, the pleasure zinging up his spine, making his eyes roll a little, before he pulls his fingers out. He strokes a soothing hand along Dream’s spine as he slicks himself up.

Dream groans out a, “Fuck.” As the head of Hob’s cock presses against his hole. Slowly, slowly, Hob slides in. The oil isn't quite as good as the lube he has upstairs, the stretch burning a bit, but it feels incredible, his legs trembling with it.

When Hob finally bottoms out, Dream is breathing hard, his every exhale tinged with a whine. He feels warm lips press against the nape of his neck, a quiet ‘shhh’ soothing him.

They stay like that for a while, Hob running his fingers through Dream's hair and whispering something that Dream can't focus enough to catch.

“Hob-” Dream whines. Hob runs his hands down Dream’s thighs, coming back up to settle at his waist.

“I’ve got you, love.” He pulls out slowly, cock dragging along his inner walls, before thrusting back in again, holding him in place, hips digging slightly into the counter’s edge.

Dream moans, breath hitching with every hard thrust. Hob’s cock is constantly sliding against his prostate, sending pleasure radiating throughout his body, through his abdomen, down to his toes.

Hob starts a fast rhythm, sending Dream higher and higher, the heat building in his belly at a fast pace.

A chocolatey scent fills his nose, and something small and warm is being pushed against his lips, “Open up, love.”

He does, and suddenly his senses are overwhelmed with rich chocolate. The overstimulation of his taste buds, mixed with the pleasure coursing through his body is nearly too much, he doesn't know which to focus on.

“Please, please.” He begs. Hob grabs his hips and somehow starts fucking him even faster.

“Come for me, darling. You can do it.” He pants, his thrusts starting to get erratic.

Dream keens, back arching. He scrabbles to grab ahold of something, anything. Hob’s hand finds his and he squeezes, surely nearly breaking it, as he screams his pleasure.

He feels the warmth of Hob spilling into him a few moments later. Hob leans heavily onto the counter over top of Dream as they come down.

After a few minutes, Hob starts to straighten up. Dream hisses as he pulls out, and Hob breathes a, “Sorry, love.”

They both stand and silently fix themselves up as best they can. Which isn't much, at least in Dream’s case, he has flour covering his chest and face. Irritatingly enough, Hob looks more put together, if a bit flushed. He chuckles at Dream’s scowl.

“Here.” Hob grabs a dish towel, wets it, and gets to work wiping Dream’s face. His index finger is curled under his chin, tilting it up, and Dream can't stop staring at his eyes, focused on his task.

Hob finishes wiping the flour off of his face, and moves down to his chest before he catches Dream staring at him, seeming to realize he may have overstepped. He freezes, face flushing.

“Uh- I. I think you've got that covered, I'll just- uh. Bathroom! I'll go wash and then, uh, start cleaning up in here.” He rushes off, muttering something about, ‘Going to have to bin those brownies.’

Then Dream is left standing dumbly in the middle of his kitchen, the memory of strong hands and warmth all over his body, holding a damp dish towel.

Shit.

Fin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus:

“Bin the ass brownies” - @seiya-starsniper 2024

[hopefulromances]

Long Time Coming I Chapter Three I It's Nice To Have A Friend

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge of it itself. Being a football protigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Word Count: 2498

Warning: I have literally no clue how football works.

A/N: Hey fellas! I hope things are going well for y'all and that you're enjoying the story! I am like a puppy dog and thrive on words of affirmation so if you're enjoying pls let me know!

Prologue One Two

            “She said what?” Keely gaped, looking up from her laptop at Jamie.

            “She said that I made her feel like… like she didn’t deserve to be here,” Jamie repeated, leaning back in his chair.

            “Aw, poor girl,” Keely pouted at him. “What did you say?”

Jamie shrugged. “Nothing, she walked away before I could say anything.”

            “Well, what would you have said if she stayed?” She pressed.

            “I… I don’t know,” Jamie admitted, after a second. “It just made me think about… me dad.” Keely frowned at that. She didn’t know a lot about his dad, Jamie had always stayed mainly private about that part of his life, but what she did know wasn’t great. He continued. “I was just such a dickhead.” Keely snorted. “What? I’m opening me self up to you. Can you try not to laugh at me?”

            “No, Jamie, no! I’m not…” She cleared her throat, trying to appear serious. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, I’m pretty sure you’ve called yourself a dickhead about a hundred times since you’ve been back.” Jamie rolled his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. “Have you talked to Dr. Fieldstone about it?”

            “Yah, I have. She said I need to forgive me self so I can let them forgive me. Cause if I won’t forgive me why should they. Whatever the fuck that means.” He was frustrated with himself. It was like she could understand what the ball was doing before it even moved. Why couldn't he just tell her that. “I just want her to know I’m sorry. It doesn’t help that the rest of the team hates me to.”

            “Well Jamie, they aren’t going to just forgive you. You have to show them you’ve changed.”

            “Ted said not to buy them all PS5s.”

            “No, not like that! Just… let them show you how to make it up to them,” Keely clarified.

Jamie looked at her for a second processing what she said. “…. Keely?’

            “Yes, Jamie.”

            “Can you return 30 PS5s?”

            “Oh, Jamie.”

The next game was against Coventry City. The coaches didn’t usually spend a lot of time with the lads before games, but I loved the energy in the locker room. I walked around the room, talking with the boys, giving last minute tips, handing out fist bumps. I could feel Jamie’s eyes on me as I did. Every now and then I would glance over at him as he tied his shoes. I warded him off with a small smile, but I didn’t dare get too close to him.             

“(Y/N)! Look at this!” It was Colin, excitedly showing me his boots. “Had Will shine these bad boys this morning.”

            “Yes, Colin your shoes look great,” I rolled my eyes whilst giving Isaac a fist bump.

            “You’re not even looking!”  

I turned a looked at Colin. They did look really great.

            “You know what Colin, those do look great,” I conceded, reaching over to give him a high five.

Just then the sound of stretching tape caught our attention. I turned to see Sam pressing black tape over his Dubai Air logo. Someone cracked some joke about Dubai Air not paying him enough but he quickly explains that it was more than that. That Dubai Air owned by a compnay that was destroying the environment in Nigeria. There was silence in the locker room.

Then Jamie stood up.

I eyed him, ready to step in if he decided to make a stupid decision here. But instead, he stretched the tape and put it over his own Dubai Air logo.

            “Gotta wear the same kit,” he explained. As if it was simple. As if it was expected.

He patted his jersey before tossing the tape into the center console. I studied his face, looking for any signs of mockery, but there was none. Soon the whole team had stripes of black tape over the kits. The whole game, all the focus was on Sam, even though it was Jamie’s big return. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he celebrated Sam when he returned from the post-game interview. We lost the game, but no one seemed to mind.

            “All I’m saying is that objectively, this red looks better than the blue boots,” Colin insisted, motioning to his feet.

            “Colin, the red is going to get dirty so much more easily than the blue,” I counter, pointing at my own shoes.

            “Now that’s just- “

            “Hey, (Y/N), can I talk to you?” Jamie interrupted.

Colin and I took simultaneous sips of our beer, making eyes at each other before I nodded. Colin took that as his cue to leave, giving Jamie a cheer as he left. Jamie looked down at his shoes, looking a little nervous.

            “What’s up, Jamie?” I asked, trying to force him to meet my eyes. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was a ticket. “What is this?”

            “It’s my ticket to your final game at Imperial,” he explained, motioning to the ticket.

Surprised I looked down. Imperial College. Where I had gone to uni and played football all four years. This final game I lead my team to the league championship.

            “I-I don’t under- “

            “Me and some friends had heard about this crazy talented football girl,” he began, still not meeting my eyes. “I thought, there was no way a girl could be as good as they were saying.” He laughed a little. “So, we bought tickets to see you play. And you were that good. Like… even better than they was saying.”

My mouth was agape with surprise. I looked down at the ticket, shaking my head in disbelief.

            “Jamie, I- “

            “Wait, let me finish, please,” he interrupted, again. “You really were incredible that night. I thought I would see you in professionals but.... your name never popped up. Anyways, when I found out you were coming to coach here, I suppose I thought that I needed to prove me self to you. Make myself look bigger and better. But it was really because I was intimidated by you. I was dumb, and really stupid. And I know I’ve been saying it a lot but I really am sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t good enough for us because the truth is, you’re really better than most of us.”

I was shocked by his sincerity. “Thank you, Jamie.”

He finally looked up at me. His eyes were big and searching, it almost broke my heart. I smile at him and raise my beer towards him.  

            “We’re okay, Jamie,” I reassured him.

His face broke out into a smile, that stupid cocky smile that I had seen so many times before.

            “Good, good,” he clinks his beer against mine. We both took a long sip of the beers looking around at the room.

            “You know, what you did today, for Sam, it was really good of you,” I told him, sincerely.

He shrugged. “Any of the lads would have done it.”

            “But they didn’t, you did,” I press, nudging his shoulder. “It was good.” He kept his cocky smirk, but I could see his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. “Doesn’t excuse you playing like rubbish out there today.”

            “What? I did not!”

            “Oh, yes you did!”

The two of us sat there bickering and chatting about the game until long after everyone else had left. But I barely noticed. Jamie was funny. He was sincere and honest in a way I didn’t expect. It was too soon to tell but I felt my heart jump. The same way it had that night with the ghosts. Maybe, just maybe, that Jamie was here again.

I had a routine. Since moving back to Richmond, I stayed in the same schedule. I woke up at 7:00am. Get up, get a quick workout in, shower, eat breakfast, and get to work early so I could have some time on the pitch. Occasionally, when I was leaving my house, I would run into a pap or two asking me some inane questions about my place in the league and what I was doing to single handedly fix sexism in the football industry. Keely just told me to keep my head down and keep walking.

But now there was a new part to my schedule. Now when I arrived at the pitch, Jamie was there waiting for me. We’d play against each other, throwing sharp jabs at one another for whatever tiny mistakes the other would make. It was fun. Jamie was a fun friend. Wasn’t that great. Friends? Almost best friends, I might say. It was distracting.

            “So, hows that puzzle coming?” Ted asked, as I walked into the coaches room after my daily session with Jamie.

            “Huh? Oh! Good, I suppose? He’s doing well,” I responded, sitting in my seat. “He’s a fun guy to be around.”

Ted gave an understanding grunt. “Aint, that just great. A new friendship. Beard, didn’t I tell you I knew what I was doing.”

            “Don’t gloat,” Beard grunted from behind his book.

            “Hooh! I love it when he gets bitter,” Ted giggled, smiling at me. “Turns his eyes a lovely shade of hazel!”

Beard lowered his book just enough to show me his eyes. They did look lovely.

The game that weekend didn’t go great. We ended up in the video room watching the loss on the television. Isaac’s leadership was taking a steep turn. His fear was coming out in aggressive rages on the field when his teammates didn’t make the plays they were supposed to. After one particularly bad defensive move by Jan Maas, Ted paused the tv.

He began his motivational speech. This time about romcommunism. An interesting play on words about getting through the dark forest of the season.

            “What about aca-teamwork?” I suggested referencing my personal favorite romcom.

            “Oh, that is a Pitch Perfect comparison,” Ted quipped, snapping his fingers. “Becca thought she was cool by trying to be independent but what she needed was teamwork.”

            “But wasn’t the real lesson in Pitch Perfect the understanding of sisterhood and how surrounding yourself with people you love creates strength?” Colin pointed out.

            “Exactly, Colin,” I agreed, leaning back in my chair.

Ted came to sit next to me as the lights went down. I scanned the lads to watch their attention levels when my eyes landed on Jamie. He was smirking at me. When he caught my eyes, he gave me a fist pump a la The Breakfast Club. I shook my head at him and motioned for him to pay attention.

As the boys were changing and packing up for the day, I erased the strategies off the board.

            “Good call today with the Pitch Perfect reference, I love that movie,” Colin shared coming up behind me.

I capped my marker and turned to look at him with a smile. “It’s only the greatest romantic comedy in the 2010s!”

            “I agree. We don’t talk about the sequels, though,” he pointed out.

            “What sequels?” I joked, raising my eyebrows. “I’m still waiting on Becca to choose a song for the next auditions.”

            “You get it, alright, I’ll see you around girlo!” He gave me a pat on the arm as he walked out of the room. As I watched him leave, I noticed Jamie sitting on his bench listening to us talk. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

            “Something to add, Jamie?” I asked, grabbing my bag.

He picked up his own bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Nah, I ain’t seen that one.”

            “What! You haven’t seen Pitch Perfect?” I gaped. Though I knew it wasn’t super surprising that Jamie hadn’t seen it.

            “I prefer 10 Things I Hate About You, I like… what’s his name…” He approached me as he thought about the name. “Heath Ledger’s character.”

            “Patrick?” I offered, shocked that Jamie knew about one of the best rom coms of all time.

            “Exactly!” He started towards the door. I followed him, walking close enough that our shoulders were brushing. “What are your plans for this weekend?”

            “Uh, beating Sheffield Wednesday?” I replied, raising my eyebrows at him.

            “I mean besides that.” He rolled his eyes.

            “Dunno, maybe sleep in for once? Eat a French fry?” I shrugged. “What about you?”

As we rounded the corner to leave the room, I spied the newest sponsorship that Keely had hooked up for the boys. Keurig coffee makers.

            “Woah, maybe make too much coffee with my brand-new coffee machine,” he gloated, picking up his coffee.

            “Change of plans, I will be at your place drinking too much coffee with your new coffee machine,” I joked, glaring jealously at it.

He laughed. I decided I loved that sound and smiled at him. When I went to follow him, I heard a loud throat clearing. I turned and saw Rebecca and Keely looking at my expectantly. I frowned at them and turned back to Jamie.

            “I’ll see you around, yeah?” I called after him.

He turned back and for a second it looked like real disappointment on his face. But it cleared up quickly when he saw Keely standing behind me.

            “Oh alright, see you at Sheffield,” He turned to walk away but not before calling out, “Bye Keely!”

I don’t know why but it made my heart drop to hear him address his former girlfriend. I waved at him before turning back to face the two women behind me.

            “What do you two want?” I pouted, leaning against the wall next to Rebecca.

            “You like him!” Keely shouted, clapping her hands excitedly.

I snapped my head in their direction. “What are you talking about?”

            “She’s right,” Rebecca concurred, starring at her phone. “Everyone can see it.”

            “Everyone?”

            “Everyone,” Keely concluded. “Except, apparently, you and Jamie.”

I looked incredulously between Rebecca and Keely. I do not like Jamie. JAMIE! Of all people. Just a few weeks ago I couldn’t stand him and now they think I like him.

            “Seriously, that is just ridiculous, Jamie is just my friend,” I clarified, shaking my head.

            “Your friend that you go to work with, hang out with while at work, and walk home with?” Rebecca inquired, finally looking up from her phone. Her stare as piercing. But no, there was no way that I liked Jamie like that.

            “I think the two of you need to get laid,” I finished, pushing myself off the wall. “Instead of getting in other people’s business.”

I walked away from them, back to my office where I could pretend to be mad at them. I wasn’t mad, not really. Just annoyed. So, what I wasn’t able to have a friend in Jamie? I wasn’t able to admire his physique in a friendly way? Or laugh as his naivete and honesty? I finally felt like I had someone who respected me in this field. That’s all he was. A friend.

Tag list:

@optimisticsandwichgladiator, @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo, @ajax-petropolus-wife