#But he knows how to play soccer and he at least doesn’t talk down to them

[corellianhounds]

Star Wars has me up researching how I can mush two different geographic regions together to come up with the right ecological setting for this fic

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ adore me, mark your territory !!

ᝰ.ᐟ after having to endure locker room conversation since his blue lock days all the way up to his pro days, yukimiya realizes that if he wants to show you just how serious he is about his thoughts on his relationship with you, he needs to make his mark on you. ( fem!reader )

pairing kenyu yukimiya x reader word count 3.6k content contains corruption kink/innocence kink, loss of virginity (both you and yukki), first time, creampie, breeding kink, slightly manipulative!yukki, you two attended the same private catholic high school, mentions of purity culture, coercion, very naive reader, talks of marriage, dark(ish) content kinktober masterlist

To love someone is to know them. 

You love Kenyu Yukimiya with all your heart; you know his hopes and his dreams, his fears and the tiny voice in his head that serves to either goad or encourage him. The two of you grew up together, attending all the same Catholic private schools up ‘til he went pro fresh out of high school graduation, and you decided to attend a tiny, private all girls university. 

You know that he’s kind and funny, much more outgoing and adventurous than you. You know that he can be gentle, and that he chooses to always be gentle with you. You know that he loves you just as much as you love him. 

But while distance makes the heart grow fonder, perhaps it’s the distance that has caused this newfound unfamiliarity between the two of you.

“Kenny, I don’t… I don’t understand.” You’re lying down on your painfully small twin-sized mattress in your dorm room. Kenyu’s on top of you, his body hovering over your own. He gives you that familiar, comforting smile of his as he asks you gently (your Kenyu’s always so gentle with you), 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Of course we do.” You say softly. Your arms are by your side, and you’re playing with the frills on the oversized comforter of your bed. Your whole entire room still screams girl. Yukimiya finds it endearing; he finds everything about you so damn endearing. Your floral quilts, and the stuffed animals he’s won for you from claw machines and unfairly rigged carnival games. Your fluffy comforter, and the way you always love to wear dresses, even when it’s just to attend a lecture. 

And your unwavering innocence. 

Everyone knows that Catholic private schools aren’t as pristine as the parents of the students like to claim it is, but you’re the only one who remained devout. The only one who genuinely stayed true to the lessons taught. You didn’t drink, you didn’t smoke, you didn’t sneak out. The only parties you attended were birthday parties chaperoned by a trusted adult and held in the early afternoon. You always followed the dress code and never tried to get away with folding the waistband of your school-issued skirt to make it shorter, like some of the other girls did. Hell, Kenyu had to literally ask your father for permission to date you before he asked you out. 

And while Kenyu’s always been on his best behavior, it’s not like he’s unaware of the world. He’s not naive like you. And that’s okay. One of you has to know enough to lead the other; Yukimiya’s more than happy that he’s the one taking on that role. 

The thing is, Kenyu truly does love you. It’s why he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to force you to go further than what you think you’re capable of, than what you think you’re allowed to go. He ignores the hard on he gets every time you two make out, the way your hips sometimes move on their own, grinding against him with no thought to strip out of your clothes and let him finish. You’ve been together since the first year of high school, and now you’re in college, and he’s playing professional soccer, and he loves you, and he still hasn’t even seen your pussy. Honestly, his closest friends tell him he must be a saint. 

But the talks in the locker room, the snide comments from his least favorite teammates, the jokes and the teasing and the mocking, condescending tones — gotta protect Yukki’s ears, can’t let him Mr. Private School hear this, as if he’d even know what we’re talking about; damn virgin — all of it is chipping away at his pacifist, mild-mannered demeanor, revealing the feral, greedy egoist that lies underneath. 

You had been so excited to hear your beloved boyfriend was flying down to your college town this weekend, just to see you! Your roommate’s out on a holiday with her parents, leaving the dorm room all to yourselves. In your cute mind, this just means more room for the two of you to hang out.

For Yukimiya, it means he has no more obstacles to get in the way of him fucking you for the first time. 

“And you know what two people who love each other do, right?” He’s still using the same pacifying, soothing tone he always uses when he’s trying to calm you down. When you skinned your knees and cried from the sting of the alcohol wipes used to clean the cuts, he had used this voice on you. When you cried at the airport because he was leaving the country to meet the team who paid an exorbitant amount to have him on their starting lineup, he had used this voice on you. Right now, you can’t understand why he’s using this voice on you. You’re not hurt; just confused. 

“Kenyu, wh-what are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about making love, [Name].” One large palm is rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thigh. The movement causes the thin fabric of your sundress to rise up. Yukimiya’s never touched you down there before. You don’t know why his touch feels so good, but you do understand what he’s talking about now. 

“But Kenny—” Your voice is reduced to nothing more than a nervous whisper, almost as if you’re scared someone is listening in. “—we can’t. That’s for married couples.” 

Well, if it’s any consolation, Yukimiya’s always planned on marrying you. 

He kisses your forehead, his hand never relenting from its position on your thigh. Your dress remains lifted up at an angle on one side. He can see part of your cotton panties; plain and white. If he moves his fingers up a few more centimeters, he could tug at the waistband of them. 

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve been thinking…” His hand travels from up your thigh to rest on your hip. The one side of your dress is now all the way up, and his thumb rests on the thin waistband of your panties, rubbing reassuring circles to get you to remain calm underneath him. “We’ll get married soon, anyway, right? I love you so much that I need an outlet to show you just how much I love you.” 

“Married? Soon?” Your eyes widen. You find yourself daydreaming about marrying Yukimiya, starting a family. Yukimiya’s smile stretches wide across his handsome face. His sweet girl, he knew you’d be putty in his hands after he mentioned that. 

“Of course.” He kisses you on your lips sweetly, his hand never leaving your hip. “And I want to give you all the love a husband has for his wife. Won’t you let me, [Name]?” 

Kenyu’s always been handsome. You have a collection of all his professional photoshoots, and you know that he has a bunch of fangirls from just his looks alone. It’s so unfair of him, really, to give you that imploring look of his. You can’t say no to Yukimiya, and you think you never want to.

And so you do let him. 

Kenyu’s quick. With the speed he normally reserves for on the field, Kenyu’s mouth meets your at the same time his other hand grips your neglected hip. Now both of his hands are bunching up the fabric of your dress, pulling the skirt up to reveal your simple, plain panties. 

“Mmph.” You moan into the kiss. This is a bit different than what you two normally engage in; somehow, everything feels a lot heavier, headier. You can’t seem to think straight. All you can focus on is chasing after his lips, matching his hungry pace. 

The heat radiating off the two of you is enough for Kenyu to separate from you momentarily. The lens of his glasses are fogged up, and he grins at you, satisfied at the progress you’re making, before taking his glasses off and setting them neatly on your nightstand. 

And then he’s back to kissing you passionately again. You’re lost in the pleasure of his kisses, unknowingly bucking your hips up, not knowing why your body is craving friction, for some attention, down there. Your hands reach up to grip the front of Kenyu’s shirt, tugging at him, trying to bring him closer. You’re getting desperate, and he finds it so cute. 

“Lift your arms up for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your lips, and your head’s too hazy for you to properly register his request. He repeats it, still as gentle as ever with you, and this time, you manage to comply. 

“Fuck.” You don’t hear Kenyu curse often; he says it’s impolite to do so in front of his girl. He breathes out the word, and you feel shy all of a sudden as his eyes roam over your body. He tossed your dress to the side unceremoniously, and because the dress itself had padding, you decided not to wear a bra. You’re laying on your bed, nothing to protect your modesty besides your cotton panties. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. The only girl I see.” He praises you, and you don’t feel too shy anymore. 

“K-Kenyu—” You look up at him, all doe-eyed and sweet. You’re pressing your thighs together, drawing his attention to the plush of your thighs, the way hiding in between your legs is your special place that only Kenyu will be allowed to see, to touch, to taste, to love. “What do we do now?” 

He leans down, whispering in your ear in his familiar, kind voice, “Now, you lay down, and let me show you how much I love you.” 

You love Kenyu so much, you think it should be impossible for your heart to have so much room for him. You know Kenyu must feel the same way, but never before has his love for you ever felt so overwhelming. Kenyu pries your thighs apart, forcing you to open your legs for him, but you didn’t know showering you in his love meant that he was going to take his fingers and rub against the mound in your underwear. 

“W-wait, Kenny!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs, but he’s too big, too strong. He blocks the movement, keeps you nice and spread for him. “I—” You don’t know what to tell him, and you don’t know how to explain why there’s a tiny puddle gathering in the thin fabric of your panties. Sometimes, you feel funny and this starts to happen, usually after a long makeout session with your boyfriend. 

“You’re so wet for me, [Name].” He almost sounds in awe, staring down at your covered pussy almost as if in a trance. The pace he’s using is rather slow; he’s content, for now, with just stroking his fingers up and down your covered slit, fascinated with the way he can watch you slowly drench through the cotton. The wet spot only continues to grow; he bets he can get his fingers damp with your arousal soon, and he wouldn’t even have to take your panties off to do so. “Do you always get this wet for me?” 

You want to cry, and you can even feel the tears welling up in your eyes. He looks up, instantly stopping his ministrations, his concern written all over his expression. “Hey, hey.” He shushes you, peppering kisses all over your face. He’s not stroking you anymore, but his large hand is cupping your pussy, the heat of his hand encasing your special place. You’re practically throbbing against him, your cunt aching and hungry for his touch. He just has to get you to open up for him, to understand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to get wet right here for me, you know that?” 

You sniffle, unsure if he’s just placating you. “Really?”

“Really.” His smile is so gentle, his tone so soothing and reassuring. He’s back to grazing his knuckles across your cunt, enjoying the way the fabric keeps on getting damper. “It means your body is happy, and it lets me know that you love me as much as I love you.” 

His other starts to tug at your waistband, dragging down your panties until he’s pulling them right off. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down and stares at your pussy for the first time. Your folds are glistening, your little clit peeking out at him, begging for him to suck on, to rub against. 

“Cute.” He tells you, tracing a finger curiously against your slit, the tip of his index finger so close to entering your clenching, unbreached hole. “I’m going to make you feel really good now, okay, [Name]? Tell me, have you ever played with yourself down here?” 

“Wha-?” You’re confused, appropriately so. The boys and girls were separated during sex education, but you remember your teacher drilling it into your heads that under no circumstances should a young girl ever touch herself. You had been confused at the time, confused as to why anyone would ever. You’ve been taught that only your husband should ever touch you right there. But Yukimiya loves you, and he’s going to be your husband, and now you’re starting to think you know why girls may want to touch themselves. You’ve felt this heat in between your thighs before, this mysterious hunger for something, but now you’re feeling it tenfold. You shake your head, too choked up to speak. 

“No? Not even like this?” You don’t expect Kenyu to insert his finger. The intrusion is foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. Your walls instinctively clench around his digit, and he has to remind himself to breathe, to remain collected, to take things slow so you can enjoy yourself properly. “You’re clamping down on just one finger.” He breathes out, curling his finger, moving it against your walls. He brushes against a spongy spot inside of you, one that has you jerking up, a shocked, pleasured moan escaping from your parted lips. “That feel good?” He asks, before adding a second finger, both of them bumping against that same sweet spot. 

Your legs feel like jelly, and you nod weakly. It does feel good. Too good. So overwhelmingly good that a foreign, euphoric sensation is taking over you. You can’t seem to control your body, and you can’t stop the flow of cute, pleasured mewls flowing from your mouth, and you manage to scream out a warning to Yuki. “S-something is—” 

A clear stream of liquid spurts out of you, splashes onto him, soaks your cute comforter. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Your walls are too sensitive now, but throughout the whole process, Yukimiya never stops thrusting his fingers in and out of your inexperienced cunt. His eyes are wide, but the gleam in them is sharp, hungry, calculating. “I didn’t even get a chance to mess with your cute little clit. You came just from penetration?” He finally removes his fingers, examining the way your juices are dripping off his digits. “You didn’t just cum, you squirted.”

You turn your head, trying to bury your face in a pillow so he can’t see the embarrassed and debauched expression on your face, but he takes his dry hand and forces you to continue looking up at him.

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart.” He coos, sucking at his fingers obscenely before releasing them from his mouth with a pop!. “It means you’re perfect and all ready for me.” 

Kenyu knows that his cock is the first cock you’ve ever seen, and he’ll make damn certain that it’s the only one you’ll be seeing for the rest of your life. There’s no frame of reference for you to use, but you don’t think that men should be so big. When he frees his dick, making a show of squeezing tightly at the base and pumping it, showing off to you, you swallow hard. 

He taps the head of his cock against your swollen, needy clit, teasing the both of you. He’s losing all sense of restraint, and even rubbing the underside of his cock against your glistening folds, trying to slick up his cock so it’ll be easier to glide into your soaked cunt, is enough to make him want to cum. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained, the gentle tone hanging on by a thread. “We’ll be making love for the first time. Aren’t you excited?” 

You nod. Excited and nervous. His cock much larger than his fingers, and maybe he should have prepped you more, but you came so easily. He always knew you were perfect for him. Pleasure is so unknown to you, the tiniest taste of it is enough to take you out. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

He holds your hand and kisses you to distract you from the sting of his cock breaching your virgin cunt. You gasp into the kiss, pain registering in your mind first, but Yukimiya is quick to take your breath away, to swallow up any potential protests that might have come. He keeps on kissing you, his fingers intertwined with your own, and he’s pushing himself as deep as he can go. He only lets up from the kiss the second he’s buried to the hilt, and you greedily swallow up the oxygen you’ve been deprived of. 

The feeling of a hard cock inside of you is foreign, but your body clings to his length. Unlike his fingers, with its dexterous ministrations that had you keening and squirting when he brushed them against a special spot, his cock fills you up, stuffs you full. Your cunt is greedily sucking him in, and when he whispers that he’s going to really start moving now, it’s not just one spot that he’s hitting.

You’re not sure what’s happening to your body, but it feels like Yukimiya is wringing out pleasure from you from every angle inside of you. 

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good for me, sweetheart. Such a tight pussy, so wet, so warm.” The heat encasing his cock is nothing like he’s ever experienced before. The wet warmth of your pussy is so inviting, so intensely pleasurable, that Kenyu doesn’t think he’ll be able to last. Cumming so soon might be embarrassing, but it’s not. Not when it’s his sweet girl’s pussy that’s begging for his cum. 

You wail out his name, your legs reflexively encircling around his waist, locking him in, keeping him close to you as you cum again. This orgasm is practically ripped out from you, your cunt way too sensitive, the repeated battering of his cock drilling into your hole too much for your inexperienced mind and body to handle. 

“Kenyu, Kenyu, Kenyu!” When you say his name like that, it makes it hard for him to not immediately bust a load inside of you. Gone is the gentle expression from your boyfriend’s face; in its place is something feral, dark. 

When he pulls out, he sees your white cream coating his cock. When he thrusts back in, he hears the lewd squelch of your wet, overstuffed pussy. It’s enough to drive a man insane with lust.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grunts out, and your head struggles to remain straight, to not loll to the side and let yourself be used. You look up at him, but your eyes are glassy and your mind seems to be in a far away place, so far gone, so fucked out. “We’re going to get married soon. So it’s okay if I get you pregnant right now, right?” His bare cock fucking your virgin pussy raw. He’s going crazy. “I’m gonna fill you up, get you all nice and bred for me. Make you my wife, make you a mommy.” 

The domestic daydream makes you tighten up around him, even though your body is too weak to cum again. That’s alright. He’ll just have to cum enough for the both of you. 

“Hang onto me, sweetheart.” And you do. Your legs are still wrapped around him, but you weakly raise your arms, holding him close to you. He starts pounding at your pussy, his unrivaled speed and strength turning you into mush. You have to dig your nails into the muscled skin of his back, feeling like you’re on the edge of a cliff, about to crash. 

“Fuck, I’m about to put a baby in you, love. My sweet girl, my sweet wife.” He kisses you, messy and sloppy, and he stills. The aggressive thrusts stop, and you realize why. 

There’s a new heat entering inside of you; hot spurts of his cum are pouring into you, and he only moves his hips a bit to plug you up further, to make sure none of his seed can trickle out of you. 

You’re about to lose consciousness, your brain fried from pleasure and exhaustion. All you do is weakly mumble out his name before the world goes black.

You think if this is what making love is, you love love.

“Holy shit, Yukki.” Isagi gapes at his shirtless teammate. 

Yukimiya glances up, about to pull his jersey over his head. “What?” 

“What the hell happened to you?” 

“Hm?” He asks, before turning to try to examine his back. Across the pale muscles are thin, red scratches, fading slightly from the time it’s been etched onto his skin by your nails. He smiles serenely, his mild-mannered attitude ever present. “Oh, this? My fiancee likes me close to her at all times.” 

[stylespresleyhearted]

🍻 PUB NIGHT W/ CALLUM TURNER HEAD-CANONS

Warnings: nsfw (minor) but still beware. mentions of callum turner’s wonderful penis, quickies, hickies, and giving him head in a bar bathroom.

This is for all my Callum girlies 🫡 This man has become what I yearn for the past month. I find him absolutely perfect and his accent is sexy and he’s so normal and down to earth and funny and I’m in love. Honestly. Special thanks to all the ladies in my Callum Turner discord chat who talked about how amazing it’d be to be his girlfriend and go to a pub with him. I hope you all enjoy & feel free to come into my ask box to yell about Callum if you feel like doing so.

Masterlist can be found here.

| photo collage created by me.

-

• See, Callum’s been so busy doing promo for Masters of the Air and he’s been traveling to different cities and landing new roles. You can’t tag along everywhere; you have school or work or both but he makes sure to call you at least every morning and night and in between he’s texting you silly selfies of what he’s doing throughout the day and keeping you updated. Letting you know he’s still thinking of you even when you aren’t with him.

• He leaves Golo, his dog, with you and demands many videos of him on walks and him playing in the park. Talks to him over FaceTime and makes sure to tell him to “listen to your mum.” He’s also jealous he isn’t home to cuddle with the both of you and he tells you so.

• And when he finally comes home? Everyone is eager to catch up and see him and congratulate him on everything he’s been doing so as much as you wanna drag this man to your bedroom and keep him there, he’s an extrovert and he’s got friends and family to catch up with and projects lined up so he’s dragging you to a pub that isn’t too far from where you live.

• Not before you guys sneak in a quickie though. He takes you from the back, bending you over your make up table and blaming you for getting ready in your bra and panties. This man totally thinks you purposely shape your mouth into an ‘o’ shape to tease him when you’re doing your mascara no matter how many times you tell him it’s a universal girl thing.

• Callum hates when you wear matte lipstick because it stains his mouth and no amount of washing off in the loo will get it off. He also doesn’t like when you wear matte lipstick because you only give him pecks as you don’t want it on your teeth or staining your face.

• He doesn’t mind later in the night when you drag him to the restroom and stain his cock with your lipstick though. He loves it when you’re messy while giving him head. He loves an eager girl.

• You two are the last to arrive even though you arranged the time. There’s some goading from your friends who were all waiting for you but honestly they’re used to your tardiness, especially when Callum’s been gone for more than a couple of days.

• During your tryst he left a hickey on your collarbone and you didn’t bother covering it. Not because he’s possessive but because you loved to feel claimed by him. You don’t care if people think you look “dirty.”

• After greeting everyone he leads you over to the bar and while you wait for the bartender to approach you, leaning on the bar top, he’s got one of his large hands cupping your ass. The. Entire. Time.

• He orders a round of shots for everyone to start the night. There’s a football (soccer) game on and he makes sure to score a seat facing the television with you sat right beside him. He’s got his hand on your thigh or when his elbows are on the table and he’s gesticulating during conversation, you wrap your arms around his bicep and lean your chin on his shoulder.

• You love listening to him talk. Love how his accent thickens when he’s around his mates and it only gets worse the more drinks he has. Sometimes you have trouble understanding him but you nod along and pucker your lips for pecks when he looks to you to confirm some part of his story.

• Callum doesn’t care how many kisses you ask for or if others deem you clingy. This man enjoys all the affection and attention you give him, he loves being loved on.

• Honestly it doesn’t take long for him to say ‘fuck it’ and just pull you onto his lap. Hand on your ass/thigh to keep you close to him.

• Him and his friends talk shit to each other, rooting for opposite teams and your content just being in his presence and watching him relax because you know how much work he puts into his craft.

• The more he drinks, the redder his face gets and his chest begins to get splotchy and he starts to get sweaty but he never tries to detach himself from you no matter how hot it gets. You don’t mind the smell of his sweat or if it gets on you and you have a thing for gently nibbling on the tip of his wonderful dumbo ears as his blushed skin progresses. The first time you nibbled on his ear he thought he had to head to the loo to “take care of you”, he thought it was a sign but he soon realized it’s an affection you bestow on him when you’re drinking.

• Callum presses kisses to the hickey he left against your collarbone. Nonchalantly too, not even to draw attention to it just mid listening to a mate talk he’ll lean over to press his lips against it. You think it’s his way of letting you know he’s still attuned to you, even if he’s in conversation with someone else.

• When your friends finally manage to pull you off his lap and onto the dance floor, he stays in his seat but his attention is split between the conversation he’s in and watching you to make sure you’re okay. He trusts you and he’s confident in himself enough to not be overly possessive he just genuinely wants to make sure you’re okay throughout the night. Doesn’t want anyone spilling their drinks on you or assholes who can’t take no getting too close.

• He holds your clutch/your purse for you to make sure you don’t lose any of your items. And he never complains about keeping it safe for you.

• And you appreciate that he trusts you and lets you handle issues on your own, he truly only steps in when the person isn’t accepting ‘no’ as an answer or being a complete creep.

• You’re the opposite. You trust him but as soon as a female gets to close you make sure to stake your claim. Wrapping an arm around him or asking for a kiss, pulling him towards you and saying “come dance with me, babe.”

• He politely excuses himself from whoever was hitting on him and gives you a knowing chuckle.

• As soon as you’re beckoning him over to the dance floor he doesn’t hesitate to join you. He isn’t shy, doesn’t mind two stepping or grabbing a tight hold on your hips when you throw it back on him to a particularly raunchy song.

• He does blush a bit, but it’s hard to tell because he’s already red from the alcohol.

• You can feel the length and the girth of him against your ass when you press against him. His cock is large and thick and you get wet remembering he didn’t wipe your combined come off before he tucked it back into his jeans after your quickie.

• I will not do this man’s cock justice but we know he’s large. Everything about him is big and his penis head is probably fat, and the tip of it a bit crooked because it’s long and for more mouth watering details read Marina’s cock-versation here.

• When you turn to face him his hands immediately fall to your ass, cupping both your cheeks in his large, warm palms. Your arms around his neck, both smiling at one another all dopey and tipsy and in love.

• If there’s karaoke at the bar you both take turns dedicating a song to each other.

• Maybe even perform a duet.

• You don’t smoke so you don’t join him for any of his cigarette breaks but he only heads out after asking if you’ll be okay or if you need anything from him before he heads out.

• He comes back and wraps himself around you, smelling of cigarette obviously, but you tuck your nose into his neck and breathe deep where the smell of pure him still lies. Sweat and musky and the cologne he sprayed on.

• Callum always asks if he can kiss you after smoking because he knows the taste of cigarettes is overwhelming sometimes and you don’t smoke. Sometimes you cringe your face afterwards and it always makes him laugh. He’ll throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you in and say “sorry, love.”

• He doesn’t mind that you take loads of selfies of the two of you or photos of him or videos to keep in your camera roll. He’s always ready with a funny face or a kiss. (Or he flips off the camera - his go to pose.)

• Throughout the night, he continuously tells you how sexy you are, how pretty you look and that he knows he’s a lucky bastard to have you.

• You’re the one always making sure to order glasses of water at the end of the night. He doesn’t get drunk often and he’ll mostly stick to his Guinness, but you’re prone to waking up with hangovers after one beer.

• If you’re refusing water, he has the bar tender pour them in shot glasses and has you thinking it’s liquor. He finds you cute as hell and is watching you with a huge smile the entire time.

• There’s always a detour on the way home - a stop at your favorite pizza spot a block away from your house. If you have any of your friends with you, Callum makes sure to herd all of you like sheep and get food and water in all of you. He listens to the drunk girl conversation and goes along with anything you say.

• Once your home he helps you take off your lashes and your make up. He knows you always complain and feel bad the next morning when you sleep with it on because you break out. If you’re sober enough to do it on your own he’ll just watch you. Not wanting to get in bed until you’re in bed too.

• He makes sure there’s water on your nightstand.

• Throughout the night he’ll end up detaching from you (even though you always follow) but your first sleeping position of the night is always him curled around you as you back into him. He goes to sleep cupping your boobs because he says they keep his hand warm and he likes the feel of them. He’s a man and boobs are fun okay?

-

[tenjikufag]

Blue lock, Isagi, mutual pining and fluff ending with smut?

Love-Sick

Yoichi Isagi x Male Reader

-mutual pining, oblivious dorks, fluff, smut ending (no penetration), teammate!reader,

-thank you for the request! I am definitely projecting when it comes to the practice part, sports are hard. -ex athlete

Yoichi Isagi.

The male stood beside you, squirting water into the side of his mouth. You were kneeling down and tying your cleats, being sure to tighten the laces snugly

“Flashy cleats you got there.”

He laughed lightly, looking down at the colourful sports shoes with bright laces. You only hummed, gazing up at him as you stood up and adjusted your jersey.

“Yeah, gotta get noticed some way.”

“Don’t think your skills are enough? I think they are.”

He was being truthful, he admired your skills and your work ethic- you were so particular about how you practiced that even walking on the field was a no go for you, he would watch you as your brisk jog across the field entertained him in-between drills.

You had been someone he’d wanted to catch up to ever since he met you, in every aspect of life. You were smart, you were sociable, you were good-looking, and at the very heart of his admiration you were athletic and determined.

Everything he could ever want in a partner, really. And god did he want you to be his, he could never imagine himself settling for someone that wasn’t you- and that’s what it would be! Who is content with settling when what he wants is right there?

But, that was the problem. You were right there, and yet he couldn’t stake a claim on you.

Stretching his arms over his head, he shook out his limbs before following behind you to join practice.

He stood in line behind the others on the team, watching as you demonstrated the drill as the coach instructed- he couldn’t help but focus on the way your body would flex the muscles in your legs with every sharp step and turn around the spaced out fluorescent cones. Along with the rest of the team, a low grumble of understanding was heard as you jogged to the back of the line with him, his half focus on the next in line but the other half was on you and how you caught your breathe.

“Those cleats makin’ you any flashier?”

“Ugh, I wish. Did you see me almost clip my ankle up there?”

You said in a hushed voice, in hopes to not get yelled at for talking. Really, he didn’t notice. It looked so smooth when you did it, in contrast to the teammates infront of him looking almost rigid trying to remember the sequence of steps and strides.

He was next up.

And his mind blanked, maybe he should have been paying attention to the actual drill and not just how you looked.

“Yoichi! Come on, get moving!”

The coach called out, noticing his stalling. The boy nodded, trying his best to remember the sequence- he’d give it his all even if he got it wrong just to try and impress you and not look dumb..

“What the hell are you doing?! Back of the line!”

He cringed, plopping down his foot heavily as he walked to the back of the line…

It was going to be a long practice.

By the end of it, everyone was panting heavily and hunched over their knees trying to catch their breathe.. you were still happily talking away between breathes to your other teammate.. isagi squinted, watching as the other boy seemingly blushed at whatever you had said.

In truth, you were both talking about your crushes- your teammates on a girl classmate of his and yours on Isagi, no one really cared if they knew you liked guys but Isagi didn’t know. Not yet, at-least.

You had liked him for quite some time, playing with him for atleast a couple of years and knowing eachother outside of soccer only made this crush harder to let go of, the love and adoration you felt for him only growing day by day. Hell, probably even minute by minute if you really gave it thought.

“Dude, you should just ask!”

“What if it doesn’t go well? What if I get rejected?”

Isagi perked up, the dispersion of bodies making your voice more clear in his ears. His heart couldn’t help but beat faster, he’s gotta know!

“Rejected? Who would reject you?”

You felt yourself pale, your teammate almost busting at the seams trying to contain his laughter.

“Hey! Quit laughin’!”

With a solid shove, you sent the laughing boy to the ground where he only continued laughing at the cliché predicament.

“C’mon Y/n! Tell ‘im!”

Isagi crossed his arms, pouting.

“Yeah, tell me! I am your friend!”

You looked over at him with wide eyes, jaw almost slack with surprise..

You couldn’t tell him! Not here atleast, you were both sweaty and gross- and you didn’t even have an idea of what to say!

“Whatever, my ride is probably here- I’ll leave you to it.”

Your teammate laid his hand on your shoulder, mumbling something Isagi couldn’t hear but it made you blush and drag your hand down your face.

“Anyways, you wanna stop by the convenience store with me? I’ll tell ya on the way.”

Isagi nodded, following you to the benches to grab your bags and switch out of your cleats.

“God, do you ever wash that thing ‘sagi?”

You grimaced watching him put on a familiar pull over hoodie. It smelt faintly of old sweat and obviously doused in whatever cologne he used.

“It’s my practice hoodie.”

“I can smell that!”

He laughed, pouncing on you with a hug to tease you with the smell. You pretended to gag, pleading for him to let you go.

“Let’s go! I want some Gatorade and chips!”

The two of you walked side by side in a comfortable silence, the typical routine after practice was just this then you’d take off in opposite directions on most days but since it was the weekend and there was no practice tomorrow- sometimes you’d go over to one of your houses.

Isagi was hoping you’d stay the night at his place, his family wasn’t home and the two of you would have the whole space to yourselves.

“So who’s the one that’s gonna reject you?”

Curiously, he glanced over at you and saw you flinch- the bag of chips crinkling in your hand.

“You remembered that?”

Scratching the back of your neck, you sighed and mumbled a “in a bit.” And he left it at that, both of you paying for your snacks and stuffing them in your bags.

The two of you stepped out of the convenience store, you already half-way done drinking what you’d bought.

“Alright, I’ll tell ya but I gotta ask you somethin’ first.”

Isagi nodded, his eyes big with curiosity and hope.

“How do you feel about me liking guys?”

“It’s a guy?”

“Yep.”

You popped the ending vowel, looking at passing cars while swirling the half full drink around the bottle.

“That weird you out?”

“Oh, uh. No, I may like guys too- but no I don’t have any problem-“

“Cool. When we get to the stop light I’ll tell you then.”

The stop-light was where the two of you would typically separate and it was roughly a block away.. he wanted so badly to question further but you kept quiet. Your brows were tightly knit together in thought.

If he could hear it, your heart would sound like the biggest drum in the world being played- you were almost worried about it. Isagi wasn’t any better but he hid it a lot better.. he thought maybe you were just shy about the whole thing.. when you said you liked guys something in him leapt for joy, he had a chance if you actually got rejected!

He’s methodical, he would swoop in to make you feel better then maybe he would be able to swoon you enough to be his. It really was a foolproof plan in his mind.

It went quiet, no cars, no people, the walk signal red to halt pedestrians. It felt like his heart would stop with everything too.

“You sure you wanna know, Isagi?”

He nodded deliberately, clutching the straps to his bag tightly in his hands. You smiled, looking up at the timer.

10,

9,

8,

7,

6,

5,

4,

3,

2,

1,

“It’s you, Isagi.”

Your bright smile stretched across your lips, your feet taking you towards your house.. he stood in place, trying to comprehend what had just really happened.

You like him back?

For how long?!

He could have been already dating you?!

Even if it felt like he took years, he was quick to grip your wrist and pull you back to him. You initially wanted to pull away, afraid he was going to berate you but when you saw his shy smile.. you knew he had something else in mind.

“Come over to mine?”

—

You laid pinned to his bed, the familiar scent of him on his sheets and the leeching energy of need filling your heads.

He sat ontop of you, kissing you like you would disappear if he stopped; gasping for air in-between every kiss but never daring to pull away. Drool clung to the corner of your mouthes, the kisses wet and sensual while he swerved and circled his hips against yours in need of some type of friction.

“You.. need… to stop..”

He only moved to grind on you more, now moaning into your mouth. Your tongues prodded against each other, he was clearly inexperienced as were you but it was a chance to learn how to love, how to love each other in an intimate way.

With your hands messily running through his hair, he finally pulled away with a gasp- breathing just as hard, if not harder, than at practice. The once pale skin was flushed a bright pink, his eyes glazed over with what you could only see as arousal.

“Woah, I don’t.. think we should go that far. Not yet..”

His hands were already fumbling at the hem of your shorts, his big eyes looking at you, begging to atleast see and touch it.

“Please?”

Running your hand through his thick black hair, you sighed and nodded lightly- hands quick to pull down your shorts to your knees. His eyes widened a fraction, never seeing anyone’s but his own dick.. with a lick on his lips he lowered his face down to really inspect it.

“I’ve never seen anyone else’s..”

What? With the way he was so quick to undress your bottom half you had imagined he’d.. done it before?

“Really?! Are you sure you want to do this now?”

With a determined nod, he took your member into his hand- it was warm and he liked the way it pulsed and got firm in his grasp.

“Have you done this before?”

“Uh, yeah. A couple times but-“

He sneered, a pang a jealousy coursing through him at the thought of someone else having seen you like this before.. and he shut you up before you could tell him anymore.

“I’m going to be better than them.”

The confidence in his voice made a chuckle reverb through you, hand petting his head in reassurance.

“I’m sure you will.”

“And I’ll be your last, the victor. The best..”

As much as you wanted to laugh, a light hiss of satisfaction ran through you first- his tongue taking an exploring lick up your shaft and flicking your tip.

He experimented, running his tongue around your dick and making notes of which part elicited a reaction from you. Coming off your tip with a pop, he gave a long, slow, lick up the bottom side before taking the plunge and shoving you into his mouth- his tongue licking against the sensitive spots.

“Fuck!”

Bucking your hips, he gagged at the sensation of you in the back of his throat. He wanted to come off, catch his breathe and relieve the momentary nausea from the action but he kept himself suctioned to you.. remembering the porn he’s watched throughout the years and the random sex talks among his more horny counterparts as he tried breathing through his nose.

It made a word of a difference and his eyes widened, pleased with his research paying off before he began bobbing his head up and down.

“‘Sagi.. I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer..”

He hummed, big blue eyes looking up at you.. he wanted a taste. It was his first time after all.. and he’d heard it could be addicting to swallow your partners load, he didn’t know what to expect but he hoped it was nice..

“I don’t think… you’re gonna like it..”

You warned, lightly tugging at his hair to lead him off. He swatted away your hand, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance- he wanted it and he’s gonna have it.

You fairly warned him, it wasn’t but seconds later that you twitched in his mouth and unloaded deeply in the back of his throat.

He gasped, gagged, and choked, the load being far bigger than he expected but he tried his best to actually taste it before it went down his throat. He popped off, your soft dick now laying against your stomach.

He frowned, you sat up and began apologizing but he sat up and licked his lips

“I didn’t get to taste it properly..”

Your mouth gaped open, he was deadly serious. With a hard blush, you covered your face

“You can’t be serious..”

Sighing, you seamlessly switched positions with him- he was too deep in his thoughts to comprehend that you’d pulled down his shorts, only refocusing when he felt a hand jerk his cock a little bit.

“What’re you doing?”

“You don’t think I’m gonna let you sit around hard all night do you?”

With a deadpan face, you kissed his tip. He flinched, the unfamiliar sensation making his abdomen burn instantly.

“I’ve never…! Gotten a blowjob! Hah, fuck!”

You already had almost all of him in your mouth, he was perplexed at the sight of his dick poking out the side of your cheek. He was embarrassed, admittedly but the roll of your playful eyes eased the anxious tension he held.

When you pulled off momentarily, you spat on him and jerked him slowly.

“Just sit back and relax, I don’t bite. Not here, at-least.”

With a smirk, you took him in your mouth and connected your eyes with his- he intently watched how you followed your mouth with your hand, making sure every inch of him was taken care of and touched. He moaned loudly, head thrown back at the wet and warm tongue that swirled around the head of his dick.

Without warning, he came. And he came a lot.

You too, swallowed his load but didn’t choke or gag like he did. He looked down at you briefly, one eye shut as he tried to refocus on you.. that was the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced and the biggest load he’s ever produced.

He felt a slight jealousy in him again; who else got to experience that with you before him?! Who taught you, how many dicks have you sucked before he got to you? It was envy, really.

Smiling up at him, you crawled up and hugged him- leaving a soft peck on his cheek.

“So..”

He looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“We boyfriends or what?”

He looked at you, almost offended.

“I would like to be your husband but yeah, boyfriends, husband later.”

You both blushed at what he said, he went to correct his blunt, but truthful statement but you shut him up by squeezing him tightly in a hug.

He felt.. happy. A new kind of happy, it was warm and fulfilling. He was almost mad that you didn’t confess, or more so he didn’t say anything, alot sooner.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch. 3 returning the favor

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 4.5k

a/n. hope you enjoy! i really had fun incorporating a lot of the other characters in this one.

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☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

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|| 9:21AM Gojo Satoru sent you a photo

|| 9:22AM Gojo Satoru: Here’s our practice schedule for the week. Honestly, it’s better if you come when we do practice games or something, since on other days we just do drills or strength training, but coach doesn’t really tell us what we’re doing beforehand so would probs have to play it by ear

|| 9:27AM Gojo Satoru: Oh yeah, we’ve got a big game in three weeks on the 28th. It’ll decide if we’re automatically seeded into the top 16 teams bracket, which is really crucial if we want to eventually bring home the championship. Not sure when your assignment is due, but that would be a good official game to come to 

|| 9:28AM Gojo Satoru: Let me know as soon as you can if you want to make that game. I’ll have to ask coach to get the referee sign-off for you to be on-field during play at least a week before

You look down at all the messages he was sending you during class on a Monday morning. After he sent you that house party details post from his fraternity’s Instagram page last week, their posts kept popping up in your feed and you saw one this morning with a bunch of the guys in the frat, Gojo included, shotgunning beers until 3AM last night. You marvel at how he’s somehow not hungover beyond repair and is texting you before noon. 

Pressing and holding on to his messages, you give him little thumbs up reactions and you decide on a heart reaction for the picture he sent you of the practice schedule. Then, you set your phone down and look at the video of the men’s soccer team highlights your professor was playing from the game a week and a half ago.

“Here, here, this right here. Midfielder #24 surveyed the field, spotting #13 making a run for it down the flank. Pinpoint pass to left winger, who starts steering through defenders, but loses the ball. Then, center forward #10 steals the ball back! He steals the ball, he fucking steals the fucking ball back!” Your professor was running back and forth in front of the projector screen, his finger following the movement of the soccer ball in the video. Your heart jumps a beat when Gojo shows up on screen, with his signature #10 jersey, and some people in the lecture hall stand up in excitement with the professor. “Beelines towards the goal, and BAM! Goalie stood no fucking chance, ball sent immaculately into the back of the net. Victory for UTokyo, 2-1, in the last seconds of the game!" Your professor cheers and jumps up and down. Some people cheer with him, others sigh, others are in awe, and some simply clap. 

Another entire lecture goes by where the professor spends absolutely no time going over film photography theory and instead just talks about how soccer used to be back in his day. You approach him after class, clutching your laptop case to your chest, and it’s only when you clear your throat in front of him that he finally looks up at you from the podium. 

“Oh, y/n, how can I help you?” He asks as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, professor. Bit of a request, could I have like two extra days for my assignment? There’s this event that I really want to use for the subject matter but it’s the day before the deadline, and I would need some time to develop my photos,” you say in the politest tone you can muster up.

“Yeah, sure. Just get it in before the end of the deadline week,” he says nonchalantly. “Looking forward to seeing it. Good work on the last one, by the way.”

You give him a smile and a word of appreciation before turning on your heel and making it up the stairs to exit the lecture hall, pulling your phone out of your tote bag. 

|| 9:53AM You: i can make it on the 28th. please get that referee permission for me

You press your lips together as you press send, and then type a bit more.

|| 9:54AM You: and thanks a lot

Your stomach is suddenly growling and you’re about to head over to the student hub when your phone starts ringing. You look down at the contact name that says Nobara and pick up.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up,” you say as you make your way towards the heart of campus, enjoying the light breeze as the sun peeked through the clouds. 

“Where are you? Didn’t we have a Film Club meeting today?” She asks you, her tone a bit impatient. “We were supposed to discuss that collaboration with the school newsletter.”

Shoot. You forgot. These days, you were a bit too distracted by recent happenings, like Mina practically falling head-over-heels for a guy that was quite possibly the opposite of her type, the towering amount of class assignments that never seemed to end, and this whole arrangement you were trying to coordinate with Gojo Satoru. The Film Club meeting totally slipped your mind. You were supposed to head out of class a bit early to make it on time. “I’m so sorry, Nobara. I totally forgot about it. I’m unfortunately all the way on the other end of campus right now. I typed up some notes in the document, can you just run those by them? If we need anything else, I’ll reach out to them by email.” 

She sighs on the other end of the line. “Yeah. I’m not good at these conversations, but I guess as President I should be better at them anyways. I’ll let you know how it goes.” And then she hangs up. 

Mentally happy that you were at least free of one other obligation today, you prepare to make your way to the dining hall when your phone vibrates again.

|| 10:01AM Gojo Satoru: Will do, and sure thing. By the way, you free right now? Coach is having us do a practice game, probably for around 2 hours

You squint your eyes at his message, considering the opportunity. You didn’t have any other classes left for the day and were just going to grab something to eat before heading home, but now you wonder if you should make it to this practice session. He did say that you have to be flexible since he doesn’t even know exactly what they’ll end up doing before practice, so you figured this might be your only chance this week to practice capturing shots of them as they play, since it seemed like they had Tuesday & Friday off based on Gojo’s schedule picture. Unfortunately, you only brought your digital camera with you today since your film camera was too heavy to carry around unless you knew you needed it, but you can still do a lot with digital that would help for the film camera shoot. You could make it work.

|| 10:05AM You: yeah, i’m free. i was just gonna grab something to eat first, and then i’ll head over to the field in maybe 15 min. but i’m not exactly sure how to get onto the field, or where the entrance is…

He adds a heart reaction to your message which startles you a little bit. An accident, maybe?

|| 10:06AM Gojo Satoru: Lol, just meet me at that weird art sculpture they put up last semester. The one that cost like all of our tuition money. I’ll walk you to the field

You let out a sigh, somewhat nervous that you'll be seeing him again soon. The last time you saw Gojo was when you left him standing unceremoniously at the kitchen island with a somewhat offending comment. Nonetheless, he didn’t necessarily seem angry at you. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been way more helpful than you had ever anticipated. You started to feel like the effort you put into getting Mina to go to that house party was nothing compared to the effort he was putting in for you to ace this assignment. 

Stopping by your school’s mini grocery store, you pick up a sandwich plus some strawberry vanilla soda, and take some bites as well as some sips as you leisurely make your way to the expensive art sculpture near the sports fields. As you get closer to it, you see Gojo from a distance talking to some people. A few of them were guys, a few of them girls, and he was laughing out loud at something one of the girls said. A part of you wonders what it’s like to be adored by so many people. 

When he spots you at the other side of the cross walk, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he’s hurriedly saying goodbye to the group in front of him. Their heads turn to each other in confusion before turning their attention in your direction as he makes his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says as he lightly jogs up to the sidewalk you were standing on. You notice he’s wearing a black long sleeve undershirt with a short-sleeved blue one on top, along with some athletic black shorts and running shoes. When he brushes some of his hair away from where it had fallen near his eyes, your heart skips a beat at his handsome expression. A smile graces his face. “You ready?”

You nod, swallowing the mouthful of sandwich you didn’t realize you had stopped chewing, and follow his lead as the two of you cut across behind the batting cages of the school’s softball training area. Your eyes fell to Gojo’s back as he walked on the pavement. His shoulders were broad, shoulder blades pulling the upper half of the fabric of his clothing somewhat taut across as the rest of it freely flowed down to his lean lower back. The long sleeved shirt he wore underneath was pretty loose-fitting, but you could still see the thickness of his muscles. With every step that he took, his calves flexed in a way that made you realize he must really work out.

“What are you eating?” He says as he turns around to face you, walking backwards for a few paces as he looks at your hands.

“Oh, just a veggie sandwich,” you answer as you hold it up next to your face. “Campus delicacy.”

His smile widens. “And what are you drinking?” This time he asks with a bit more curiosity.

“It's strawberry vanilla soda,” you say as you juggle all of the things you were holding in your arms. 

“Can I have some?” He asks with a somewhat innocent tone. “The soda, I mean. I’ve never had that flavor.” 

You hesitate, but alas you were a people-pleaser. “Sure.” 

He halts his movements and so you do too, and he closes the gap between you two in one exaggerated stride. His hand gently pulls the soda bottle out from where it was tucked into your elbow to keep it from falling. You notice the veins on his hand get more defined as he squeezes & twists to release the cap and it sends something akin to a wave of arousal through your body, entirely startling you. But when he brings the bottle up to his lips with his head tipping backwards, drinking directly from it, neck bobbing as he swallows and a single drop trickles down the expanse of his jawline, the arousal directly hits you at your core. 

“Hm,” he licks his lips. “That’s pretty good.” 

You’re standing there in shock, your grip on your sandwich causing dents in the bread. He dabs the stray droplet of liquid at his chin with the back of his hand and turns around to keep walking ahead, making his way up the stairs onto what looks like a grassy field. It takes you a second to start moving too, and by then you need to do a light jog just to catch up to him. 

There’s a comfortable silence that develops between the two of you and when you glance at Gojo, you notice his eyes are closed and there’s a serene smile on his face, a gust of wind pushing the hair up out of his forehead and sending the blades of grass dancing across the hilly field. You smile too at the sensation of cool wind on your skin. It was a beautiful day outside with sparkling sunshine and quiet whistling wind.

“Can I ask you something?” You say after contemplating if you should interrupt his somewhat meditative state. 

“You can ask me anything,” he easily replies. 

“Why are you so willing to help me out with my assignment?” 

He turns his head to look at you with a neutral expression. “Because you did me a favor.” 

You sigh. “I know…but it really wasn’t that hard to convince Mina to go to that party. I feel like you’re helping me out way more than I helped you out.” A small ladybug lands on the fabric of your jeans and you marvel at it before it flutters its wings and flies away.

He’s silent for a second. “Honestly, when you agreed to help me out with Todo’s little crush, which by the way I had to do because I lost a bet, and you mentioned something about terms and conditions in your message,” he starts to say, a brief pause making its way between the sentence as if he was actively trying to relive that first night he was texting you, “I thought you were going to ask for something sexual in return.” 

Your mouth drops at his line of thinking, suddenly mortified. That’s how your message came across to him? Oh my God, you had to rethink how you texted everyone in your life from now on.

“I mean, weren’t you being a little flirty? ‘My terms and conditions will come later’. Or do I just have some weird sexual brain rot?” His eyes are still on you, his tone way too casual in your opinion for this sudden topic of conversation. You also realize that he thinks having sex with him would be returning you the favor. And then you try not to think about how good he probably is in bed. 

When you can’t think of what to say and just stare at him with wide eyes, he smiles and stretches his arms out in front of him as another gust of wind passes by. “Well, anyways, when you shared what you actually wanted from me and it ended up being a pretty earnest request…let’s just say I was emotionally moved by your dreams and aspirations.” He says that last part somewhat dramatically and you roll your eyes, sending him an annoyed look. “A little disappointed, but nonetheless moved.” 

“Wow, you’re the type of person that would trade favors for sex?” you ask him with a sneer to your tone. 

He sends a lazy smirk to you over his shoulder to where you’re trailing behind him now. “Not really, no, can’t say I’ve ever done it before,” he says slyly, “probably would’ve made an exception for you, though.” And then he’s giving you a wink.

You can’t help but blush a little. He was definitely just teasing you, some hobby of his that he does just to constantly get a kick out of the people around him since he knows he just has that much of an effect on them, so you try not to let his words get past your skin to the more vulnerable parts of you. He’s reading your expression before he speaks up again.

“We’ve already started this little return favor of yours, so no take-backs. It’s an eye for an eye. Not an eye for an eye and throw some casual sex in there, too.” He makes his way up what seems to be the largest hill across the field and he stops at the top, peering out at whatever was across from it. When you made your way to the top too, your eyes widened as you saw an expanse of flat grassiness covered in orange cones, green land markers, white chalk outlines, and netted goals. Oh, and a lot of men. “Alright, you freaky little photographer. Here are your muses.” 

You let out the breath you were holding in and smiled, hands immediately reaching for your digital camera case within your tote bag. A wave of creativity and inspiration hit you as you were finally able to lay your eyes on your subject matter and setting, and you couldn’t wait to get started. 

Gojo makes his way down the hill and you stumble after him. He high-fives a couple of his teammates that were leaving the first wave of practice and makes his way over where the second-wave practice players were stretching on the field and running laps.

“C’mon, Itadori, I’ve seen snails with a more urgent sense of direction than you! Pick up those goddamn knees!” You hear a loud voice from a few feet away from you and flinch, eyeing the scary looking man that had a…Pomeranian dog in his arms? He was wearing a black athletic jumpsuit and had extremely tinted, thick sunglasses on. His facial hair was a bit jarring and you immediately decided you were scared of him, despite how gently he was petting the little dog cradled in his arms. 

“That’s coach Yaga,” Gojo says beside you with a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Real nice guy.”

You turn to give him a suspicious look and he just returns it with a wider smile. 

“Hey! It’s y/n,” you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out and you glance at the direction it came from. You see Geto standing next to Nanami and he whacks his hand against the blonde's chest to get his attention when he makes eye contact with you before jogging over. You see Gojo put his hands in his shorts pockets in your periphery. “What are you doing here?” 

You give him a shy smile, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “Here to take some photos.”

“Are you with the school newsletter?” Nanami’s smooth voice says as he approaches Geto, standing next to him. They both were wearing matching blue tracksuits. 

“No, I’m not. Just here to…take some photos for one of my classes. It’s for a film photography assignment.” You suddenly wished you were part of the school newsletter committee, so that you could at least provide them with some positive publicity with your photos. You wondered if they would think you’re just using them. As if Gojo could read your mind, he patted Geto harshly on the back and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hear that, punks? She wants to try and take some nice photos of you lot. Be grateful! Of course, your grotesque appearances cannot simply be fixed by any technology yet known to man,” Gojo says rather loudly, continuing to smack Geto on the back. Geto has a small pitiful smile on his face and Nanami just looks annoyed. You feel lighter somehow, less tense. 

“Okay, cool, let us know if we can help in any way,” Geto says kindly as he sits down on the grass to continue stretching out his legs. “Oh by the way, Satoru, Chosou’s out sick today so you might need to cover for goalie.” 

“What? Why’s that fucker always getting sick?” Gojo says as he walks towards one of the duffle bags on the bench, and you assume it’s his. He pulls out a water bottle. “He needs to stop eating that goddamn grocery store sushi.” 

“Oh! Oh! It’s you,” another somewhat familiar voice calls out from ahead. You see a guy wearing a dark blue jacket that had a red hood approaching you from the inner field. Then you recognize he was that guy at the entrance of the house party that called you a- “It’s casual tomboy!” 

Your eye twitches slightly as you take in your appearance. Sure, you were wearing jeans again, but your top was somewhat stylish and feminine. He arrives in front of you and notices the digital camera hung at your neck. “Hey, what’s that?” He points directly at your midriff where the camera sat. He almost pokes his finger right through the delicate attachable lens that cost you nearly two months of rent.

“A little rude, Yuuji,” Geto says, grunting as he switches from one stretch to the other. 

Yuuji gets closer to you to study the camera and you instinctively lean away from him before Gojo is grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and yanking him away from you, Yuuji’s arms flailing out in front of himself in a struggle. “Hey, get back to practice. You’re not allowed to talk to pretty seniors.” 

Coach Yaga grunts and crosses his arms from where he stood a few feet away, the tiny pomeranian now barking at his feet. “I never said you could stop running laps, Itadori! Get your ass back out there! I’ll be sending you to recreational soccer for the rest of your freshman year if you don’t get your damn head straight!” Gojo lets go of Itadori’s hood and the poor boy is scrambling across the field to join what seems like the other first-years for their warm-up laps. Coach Yaga turns to you and gives a hmph before vaguely gesturing to you. “May I know what you’re doing out on my field?”

“Coach!” Gojo says, making his way over to the scary man. He slings his arm around his neck and the man just continues to glare at him through his sunglasses. “She’s with me today. Photographer y/n will be taking some handsome photographs of you that you can send to your wife, and then maybe your wife will actually want to-”

Coach Yaga puts Gojo in a headlock and Gojo’s instantly tapping on his back to get him to ease up. “I dare you to finish that sentence, boy.”

You let out a small laugh. This was certainly a lively bunch. Nanami approaches you and expresses interest in your camera. You lift it up for him to take a closer look. He pinches his chin between his bent index finger and thumb, as if he was a detective analyzing a crime scene. “I see…so this is a film camera.” 

“Ah…” you laugh awkwardly. “No, this is just a digital camera.” 

“I see…so this is a digital camera,” he repeats, equally as intrigued. 

The time eventually comes along where all the players start the practice match. There’s obviously not enough players out on the field for full teams on each side, but they’re split into 1st & 4th years vs. 2nd & 3rd years. You learn that the second wave practice group has the talented players at the top of each of their year groups. Gojo doesn’t seem to participate in the practice match despite one team having to omit having a goalie since the coach requested he sit out to watch the plays and make suggestions.  You’re a bit sad you don’t get to see him play, but figured you’ll have a chance in the future. You take a few snapshots as one of the other first-years, a quiet boy named Megumi, kicks the ball towards the goal that ends up bouncing off the goal frame. You spend some time tweaking the exposure, zoom, and focus until you feel like you have a pretty good idea of the settings you’ll need to get some fluid shots. 

When you look up over the field again, raising your digital camera to your face, you notice Gojo looking at you from across the field where he stood at the sidelines. You both keep your gaze on one another for a couple of seconds, and you boldly lift the camera up to your eye, taking a few snapshots of him. When you pull it away, look down at the results on the small screen, and then glance back up at him, his eyes are slightly wide. Something stirs within you when you remember his words from earlier: I thought you were going to ask for something sexual.

Your mind wanders back to the party from last weekend, and the feeling of him leaning down next to your ear in the kitchen as he said “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” The memory itself made your cheeks feel warm. Did he…think that something was going to happen that night at the party? Probably would’ve made an exception for you…Disappointed, but nonetheless moved. Somewhere in the haziness of your thoughts, you realize that meant that Gojo would’ve wanted to sleep with you if that was indeed your condition.

When you look to the other side of the field again, Gojo’s eyes are still on you but his handsome face looks a bit troubled, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking, but for some reason you felt like he could tell what you were. When you raised an eyebrow at him, his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head as if to say it's nothing. 

Coach Yaga’s sharp whistle cuts through the silent conversation you two were having as he yells, “alright, boys. Practice over! Go stretch yourselves out.” 

You quickly stuff your digital camera back into its case and collect your things into your tote bag. In your peripheral vision, Gojo’s making his way over to you and when he’s right next to you, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“How’d it go? Get some good shots?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Um, yeah, I think so.” You’re still not looking at him, pretending to fiddle with something in your tote bag. He leans down a bit to look at your face more clearly when he notices you’re not meeting his gaze, but you still struggle to make eye contact with him. “I’ve gotta go, can you tell the guys I said bye?” And then you’re making your way up the hill.

There’s a beat of silence as confusion washes over him from your behavior. “Hey, wait, y/n, do you know how to get back to campus?”

You spin to face him when you're at the top of the hill, finally looking him in the eye. There’s a concerned expression on his face. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks a lot for today. Let me buy you a strawberry vanilla soda sometime, okay?” Flashing him a small smile, you turn around and run down the hill, ignoring the fast beating of your heart.

a/n. thanks a bunch for reading!

➸ take me to chapter four!

[yournowheregirl]

Eddie used to be a pretty fearless person.

He ran red lights almost on the daily, provoked his bullies while his bruises from the last run-in were still healing and agreed to shady drug deals in the dead of night.

Having a kid changed all that.

As soon as Hayley was born, Eddie found himself riddled with anxiety every waking moment of the day. Scared to drop her, scared she’d get sick, scared she’d break something, scared that someone’d take her from the playground if he looked away for just one second. Even Wayne had to pry Hayley out of his arms when he had to go back to work and assure him that everything would be fine.

Lucky for Eddie, none of those fears ever came true. Until today.

They’d just gone through Hayley’s night time routine - reading a chapter of that Narnia book Jeff had gotten her, singing her good night song together, kissing her forehead and sharing I love you's - and Eddie’s about to close her bedroom door when Hayley’s squeaky voice suddenly speaks up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, sweet pea?”

“I wanna join the soccer team.”

And just like that, with six little words, one of Eddie’s personal horrors suddenly becomes a reality.

His daughter is a jock.

“Uh, let’s… let’s talk about that in the morning, okay? Sleep tight!” Eddie says quickly and closes the door behind him.

As soon as he knows Hayley’s fast asleep, he dials one of the two numbers he knows by heart.

“Hello?"

“What have you done to my daughter?” Eddie seethes.

“Well, hi to you too, Eddie.” Chrissy says on the other side of the line. “What’s up?”

“Hayley wants to join the soccer team and it’s all your fault, Chris!” Eddie is pacing up and down his living room now, trying to calm himself down without reaching for his cigarettes - he quit when Hayley was born and this is not going to be the reason that’ll end his seven year streak.

“And how is that my fault, exactly?”

“You- you have poisoned her mind with your jock ways! Hayley isn’t a jock! She likes dragons and castles and fantasy worlds, as is her right as my daughter. I mean, her middle name is Arwen for fuck’s sake, being a nerd is in her goddamn DNA!”

“Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Chrissy says calmly. “Hayley’s always been a curious kid, it’s in her nature. She always wants to try new things and then move on to the next big thing. Remember how she wanted to become a drummer after she saw Gareth play? And then she abandoned the drum kit after two weeks?”

“Right.”

“Maybe this is just another phase, maybe she overheard some classmates and wanted to join in on the fun.” Chrissy says. “Just take her to try outs and see what happens, there’s always a chance she doesn’t like it.”

Eddie lets himself fall onto the couch. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in defeat. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, Eddie, how have you not learned this yet?” Chrissy giggles.

Which is how Eddie finds himself waking up at the crack of dawn that next Saturday. Well, he was supposed to sleep in for another thirty minutes or so but Hayley was so excited about try-outs that her high pitched screams and jumping on his bed woke him up regardless.

Hayley’s excitement carries on during breakfast and she barely keeps still as Eddie braids her hair. She’s even dead serious about the color of her hair ties, saying that they have to match the colors of the soccer team (aptly named the Purple Cobras, so obviously the hair ties have to be purple as well).

And any other morning, Eddie is trailing behind his daughter, making sure she hurries up so they’ll get to school on time, but not today. Now, she’s already got her coat on and bouncing from one foot to another in the hallway and calling him out instead.

“Dad, come on!” Hayley whines. “We’re gonna be late.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Eddie huffs as he puts on his trusty leather jacket - if he’s gonna freeze his balls off by being outside all morning, at least he’s gonna do it in style. He can’t help but laugh at Hayley, who’s now jumping up and down from excitement. “Geez, you better save some energy for the try-outs.”

“Can we go now?” Hayley sighs and scrunches her nose in annoyance and yeah, she really is his kid.

“One ride in the Munson Mobile, coming right up!”

Hayley doesn’t shut up about the intricacies of soccer the entire drive to the local soccer club, apparently Chrissy (the traitor) had helped her read up on the rules and now obviously Eddie had to know all about them as well.

Half of what Hayley’s saying flies over his head, partly because he’s never really cared for sports but mostly because he can feel his anxiety growing with every passing second.

What if Hayley gets injured? What if some tackles her and she breaks her leg? Or worse?

What if she is an amazing player and she needs all these fancy soccer supplies and training clinics and Eddie’s forced to get another job to just to keep them afloat?

What if she’s weak at sports, just like Eddie was while growing up, and all the other kids will make fun of her and laugh behind her back?

What if-

“Dad, look, we’re here!”

The van barely comes to a screeching halt and Hayley’s already halfway out the door when Eddie grabs her by the collar and pulls her back into her seat. This obviously annoys Hayley, judging by the furious look on her face. If Eddie was a weaker man, he would’ve cowered in fear, but he invented that look so he barely feels a thing.

“Sweet pea, listen to your dear old dad for a minute, alright?” Eddie says softly. “I know you really wanna be on the soccer team but it’s still okay if you don’t make the team, you know that right? I won’t love you any less if you don’t make it or you don’t like it, just try your best, okay?”

Hayley’s face turns serious, as if the words are slowly sinking in. “Okay.”

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asks, holding out his pinky finger. Within a split second, Hayley’s tiny finger links around him and she sends him a toothy smile.

“Pinky promise.”

“C’mon, let’s kick these kids’ butts!”

Hayley giggles. “You’re supposed to kick the ball, dad.”

“Oh, right, silly me.” Eddie grins and follows his daughter outside.

But right as his anxiety has died down, it comes flooding right back as soon as Eddie lays eyes on the soccer field. There are so many kids. So many balls being kicked at full speed, with no time to duck. So many sneering soccer moms who look at him like he’s the devil incarnate. So many dangers just waiting around the corner and Eddie just want to turn on his heel and run. Hayley’s inevitable temper tantrum be damned, at least she’ll be in one piece and-

“Hayley Arwen Munson?”

Both Eddie and Hayley whip their heads around at the same time, only to be greeted by one of the coaches and shit- Eddie’s suddenly very interested in soccer.

With a chiseled jaw, soft hazel eyes and broad shoulders, the coach looks like he belongs in a Calvin Klein ad rather than a little league soccer field. He’s wearing a wind breaker, white knee socks and bright purple shorts (that cling deliciously tight around his thighs), which shouldn’t work on him but it does and Eddie just can’t look away.

Hayley (thankfully) doesn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil and instead happily waves at Hot Coach. “Over here!”

The coach writes something on the clipboard and walks towards them, crouching down in front of Hayley. “Hi Hayley, I’m coach Steve, nice to meet you. You here to try out for the soccer team?”

“Yes!” Hayley replies brightly.

“Well good, you can say hi to coach Robin and the other girls and I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”

“Okay.” Hayley nods and turns to Eddie. “Bye dad!”

“Hold up, hold up, hold up.” Eddie says quickly, once again grabbing the back of her t-shirt to keep her from running off. He kneels down in front of her, trying to look her in the eye. “Be careful, okay, baby? And if you don’t like it you can just yell and I come and get you, no questions asked. And if your laces get loose, you can yell too, literally if anything goes wrong you can-”

“Dad…” Hayley interrupts him and puts her tiny hand onto his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Eddie laughs and ducks his head. God, this is like kindergarten all over again, when Hayley just skipped to Miss Coleman without a care in the world and Eddie was sobbing into Wayne’s shoulder as he watched her go.

“I know it will be, sweet pea.” Eddie says softly, pressing a kiss to Hayley’s forehead. She takes that as her cue to go, skipping across the field towards the gaggle of girls that surround another one of the coaches.

Eddie feels his heart burst as he sees Hayley smiling as she greets the other girls, she seems to fit right in. He sighs deeply and stands up, trying to keep his eyes on Hayley, when a voice suddenly speaks up.

“Arwen.”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps because shit, he totally forgot that Coach Steve was still there as well. “Yeah, she’s named Arwen. What about it?"

Eddie wants to eat his foot as soon as he utters the words. He’s always been defensive when it comes to Hayley, being a single dad who doesn’t look like your standard suburban dad next door will do that to you. But to do it in front of a cute guy like that? It makes him want to kick himself. Repeatedly.

But much to his surprise, Steve doesn’t seem to mind all that much. In fact, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips. “That’s from Lord of the Rings, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Eddie replies dumbly. He feels his walls lowering down - holy shit, this Steve guy is hot and he knows Lord of the Rings? If they weren’t around a bunch of kids right now, Eddie would’ve dropped to his knees already.

“Cute.” Steve chuckles and are Eddie’s eyes deceiving him or is Steve actually checking him out? Before he gets a chance to wrap his head around all that, Steve gestures back to the field. “Well, I gotta jet. Soccer waits for no one. See you around, Mr. Munson.”

“Ew, no. Mr. Munson is my dad.” Eddie winces, remembering all the times his neighbor growing up came by to help Wayne out and refuses to call him by his first name. “I’m Eddie.”

“Well then,” Steve smirks as he walks backwards. “see you around, Eddie.”

As Eddie tries to look like a normal human being instead of a total creep - which proves to be terribly difficult when Steve turns around and puts his ass on fully display in those damn shorts - he slowly begins to realize one thing.

Maybe Hayley’s decision to join the soccer team is the best idea she had in a long time.

[pettyprocrastination]

Pretty Girl

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

author’s note: I finally caves and joined the Ghost pit. This is my first real attempt at writing full smut so be gentle lmao. Reader’s callsign is “Necro” 

warnings: smut, talk of body issues, mention of injury. 

word count: 2k

-----

     Soap enjoyed needling the masked soldier more than any of you did of course, but maybe that's just because he could get away with it more. 

     You said it’s because Ghost had a soft spot for him. 

     “Bet you live a real double life Lt.”

      “How so?” 

     He sits across from you, long legs stretched out under the rickety table covered in turned over cards from the others that turned in earlier. You're hardly playing anymore, but the way his boot knocks against yours every other minute keeps you from getting up. 

     “You’re a right fucking terror but I’d bet money on you being some secret softie.” It’s a poor attempt at getting him to lose focus. So he doesn’t see Soap’s knee bouncing like a blinking beacon he got dealt a shit hand. 

     Ghost doesn’t budge.

     “You see me as the picket-fence type, Johnny?” 

     “Wife and kids too, I’d bet.” He plucks a card from the deck and grins. “Probably the coach of the football team and everything.” 

     While the idea of your Lieutenant coaching some junior soccer league - and no doubt getting entirely too angry at a bunch of six year olds taking the ball in the wrong direction - was arguably fucking hilarious- 

     You noticed a shift the moment Soap spoke to him. 

     Ghost draws up, like a string inside him had pulled taught. Something flashes in his eyes then disappears just as quickly. 

     Soap looks to you before dropping his eyes to the cards in his hand. 

     An exposed nerve neither one of you were aware even existed has just been pulled open in the middle of a poker game and nobody knew how to tend to it’s bleeding. 

     “I call bullshit on that.” 

     You could certainly try though.

     “Guy like you?” Ghost turns and suddenly that silent tremor of anger is being shot your way instead of Mctavish’s. He seems grateful for it. At least you assume he is, since you're putting your ass on the line for him now.“Would definitely be a shit husband.” 

     It’s nothing. A light jab at the kevlar covered core of the man across from you who could arguably very well be somebody’s husband -none of you truly know much about him aside from the origin of his accent and his own horrid humor he terrorizes you all with. But it’s enough. His shoulders slump and the tension in the room ebbs away as he leans forward on his knee, cards completely neglected in his hand. 

     “What makes you so sure?” 

     You toss your own hand on the table. Cards splay out in front of them both and you hear Soap mumble a barely legible ‘fucking cheat’ as you stand. 

     “Call it a woman’s intuition.” You nod towards Ghost, who watches you through narrowed eyes as you leave.

     “I’m turning in. Have fun with the full house.” 

     You count ten minutes into their next game before the door opens. You don’t bother turning over from your spot on the creaking couch you’ve played yourself out. It’s only a matter of seconds from when Ghost enters the room that he’s tugging the blanket off of your body. 

     “Your lack of subtly is becoming appalling lieutenant-” 

     A sudden pull at your hips leaves you falling face first into a dusty pillow until your ass is in the air and he’s tugging your pants down at a frantic pace. Teeth graze the inside of your thigh and you groan. 

     “Don’t give a fuck about subtly tonight.” 

     Clearly. 

     “Had more pressing matters to attend to.” 

     “You let Soap win?”

     Two fingers slip beneath the band of your panties and slide through the slick of your cunt. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as presses himself against your ass, cock straining against his fatigues. 

      Sex with Ghost is always powerful. Rough hands pushing and pulling you into place on disciplined muscle in between debriefings. His mask lifted up just high enough that you see a flash of his mouth before he sinks it into the scarred skin of your chest until it blooms with his own bruises. 

     But it’s different tonight. 

     Fingers breach the give of your cunt and you dig your fingers into the cushion beneath you. 

      “That’s it.” His hips rock against yours as you hear the sound of him undoing his belt with his free hand. “Fucking soaked for me, Necro.” 

     He’s rushing.

     The stretch of his cock against your walls tips over the cliff bordering on pain but then he leans down, covering your body with his own and tucking his face into the crook of your neck. Your lieutenant isn’t small by any stretch of the word. The first time you took his cock in full was prefaced by slow orgasms pulled from your body with his tongue and fingers until you were trembling for him. Even then he slowly sank into you inch by inch until you were grabbing at his shoulders to make him move. But now there is no warm up or gentle touches. Nothing but stars behind your eyelids and mumbles of “That’s it, darling. Take it.” that rumble from his chest as he begins to drag his cock from the grip of your pussy before sinking it back in at a cruel pace. 

     You hear the scraping of a chair across the floor in the other room. Most likely Soap turning in for the night. It strikes you with the awareness that neither of you are being particularly quiet. 

     “Oh, Jesus.” 

     “Nah. Just me this time.” 

     What begins as a laugh melts into a shuddering cry you muffle with your own hand until he grabs your wrist, pinning it above your head. 

     “Don’t do that, Necro. Let me hear you, yeah?” His breath fans out over the back of your neck. “Let me know how good I make you feel.” 

     “The others-” 

     “Won’t do a fucking thing about it.”  He rasps. “They all know I’d bash their heads in if they even thought of taking me away from you.” 

     The double meaning makes your head spin but you push it away. It isn’t something you can afford to think about when your slick has begun to drip down your thigh and the room has become nothing but a choir of your voice mixing with his in the most carnal way possible. 

     The hard surface of his mask bumps the back of your head as his teeth drag against the small of your neck. 

     He knows you so well it’s angering. Every curve and crook of your body responding to his touch while you’ve yet to see his face.

     The civilian part of your brain whispers in your ear and tugs on the thread. That a man who fucked like this while calling you names had surely been swiped up by somebody years prior. 

     “You know, maybe Soap was right.” You look over your shoulder and grin at him. His mask has slipped ever so slickly that you can see a scar poking out under his eye. 

     "I've bet you got a pretty girl waiting for you back at home." 

     "Why would I want a pretty girl when I have you?" 

     It's said so plainly. So flat and blunt you can’t help but bark out a laugh that has you squeezing his cock as he drills into you. 

     "You calling me ugly, lieutenant?" 

     A trained hand wraps around your throat and pulls you flush against his chest. You feel coarse hair rub against your bare back as his hips snap against yours. ‘He took his shirt off.’ you realize. ‘When did he have time to take his shirt off?’

     Sneaky bastard. 

     “I’m calling you mine, Necro.” 

     He pulls out of your pussy and you barely have enough time to register the empty feeling of your own orgasm dwindling away before he’s flipping you onto your back and slamming back into you. 

     “You hear me?” Ghost grips your thighs so hard you're sure there will be bruises come morning but you just nod. “Those sweet tits and that wet little cunt are all mine, aren’t they?” 

     Even as he fucks into you at a brutal pace you can tell something is different. He’s possessive and needy in a way you’ve never seen but welcome nonetheless. Maybe your comment really got to him. 

     Maybe he does have some lonely little housewife back at home. 

     “Say it.” 

     You hope not. 

     “Say youre all mine.”

     Adultery didn't need to join the laundry list of reasons you were going to hell. 

     His teeth sink into the crook of your neck and you're shocked back into the moment. “Necro-” he rasps. He noses at your cheek, mouthing at your skin like he’s committing you to memory. “C’mon, let me hear it. Say youre all mine.”

     He’s begging. Fucking Ghost of Task Force team 141 is begging for you and its giving you a high you'll never be able to kick. 

     He slides his hand down your stomach and the rough pad of his thumb presses down on your clit and you cry out. 

     "Say it." 

     "I'm yours, Ghost." 

     Ghost groans against your cheek, teeth and tongue flicking out in a mess of a kiss to your salty skin. 

     “Goddamn right you are. My Necro, my pretty girl. That’s you, isn’t it?” 

     "Say it." His mouth drags against the shell of your ear as he orders you. "Say 'I'm your pretty girl, Simon'." 

     For a moment you freeze and he wonders if he's crossed a boundary. 

     No, fuck that. He knows he's crossed a boundary. 

     Before this it had only been Ghost or Lieutenant and the occasional "you fucking perv". 

     But Simon was personal. Simon was raw. It was one inch closer to the man beneath the mask than he had ever let anybody else get to and he’s blurting it out mid stroke like some pussy-drunk highschooler on prom night. 

     You're looking at him like he just fucking proposed and for a sliver of a second he wonders what that’d be like before ripping the thought to pieces with his incisors. 

     He wonders if he’s struck a nerve.  

     The lieutenant had once said something of the ilk before. After an infiltration that left you all walking away exhausted and half of you needing medical attention, he found you in the safe house bathroom, blood dripping from your nose and staining the front of your shirt. 

     "It looks worse than it is." You defend when he crosses his shoulders and overtakes the space around you. "It's not even broken." 

     "Yeah." He shifts from one foot to another. "It looks like it's been broken before, though." 

     The concern coating your face in fear of angering your superior was wiped away at his statement and replaced with a flat expression.

     "Well if you want to pay for the nose job-" you turn on your heel to face the dingy bathroom mirror once more and continue cleaning the blood from your face. "-be my fucking guest, sir." 

     He made it up to you, of course. That same night you had spent three hours finding ecstasy again and again with your legs wrapped around his head, the crooked ridge of his own nose lighting you ablaze with the way it rubbed and dragged against your clit. 

     You were all broad shoulders and hardened muscles. Hands calloused like his own and he savored the way they felt against his biceps when all you could do was hold onto him and muffle your moans by biting into his shoulder. 

     Simon was nice like that.

     But it didn’t change what you knew. You weren’t pretty. Not in the classic definition. 

     Some days you were indiscernible from the men on the team. With hair cropped close to your scalp and covered in just as much blood and scars as the others, there was nothing small or lithe about you that stood out in contrast to them all.

     Perhaps it was an old insecurity he unearthed on accident. One you thought had been buried away but was slowly uncovered by every poke and prod about your femininity or lack thereof by your teammates. Until years of poorly hidden remarks and self image came barrelling forward from a teammate who was doing his own poorly made attempt of saying something romantic while the two of you screwed in a safe house. 

     Simon wonders if this is the last time you’ll let him fuck you. 

     There’s a moment he’s convinced it is. You’re watching him with wide eyes, completely frozen underneath him and he’s about to apologize, something the liutenant doesn’t fucking do and doesn’t know how to do when he’s already balls deep inside of you but then your hands settle on the back of his neck. You take a shaking breath before nodding. “Yeah.” your hands pull him down to you as you speak in a trembling voice that has him drowning. 

     “I’m your pretty girl, Simon.” 

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Falling Into Place

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Word count: 1k

Pairning: Aaron Hotchner x Agent!reader

Summary: As Jack's soccer game ends, Y/n feels the growing tension with her boss, as they watch their children play together

______________________________________________________________

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Jack’s soccer game came to an end. The kids were all gathered around Hotch and Rossi, who were offering encouragement and pats on the back. Ava was still nestled in your lap, her little body warm against yours, but her energy had returned. She squirmed to get down, eager to join the excitement now that the bigger kids were done playing.

“Mommy, can I play with Jack now?” she asked, her voice full of excitement.

You smiled, smoothing her pigtails. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Jack bounded over, grinning from ear to ear. “Ava, come on! I’ll show you how to kick the ball!”

Hotch glanced over at you, his eyes lingering once again. You caught the way his gaze swept over your bare legs, the hem of your dress fluttering slightly in the warm breeze. He looked away quickly, clearing his throat and trying to refocus on gathering the kids, but it wasn’t lost on you.

You stood up, brushing some grass off your dress and feeling the heat creep up your neck. There was no denying the tension that had been building over the past few months. You’d both grown more comfortable with each other, but there was still an unspoken line neither of you had crossed. Still, you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked—strong, steady, and in control, even with a field full of kids vying for his attention.

Rossi caught you watching Hotch again and let out a soft chuckle. “You know, if you keep looking at him like that, someone’s going to notice. Not that I’d blame you.”

You shot him a look, trying to play it off, but the amusement in his eyes told you he wasn’t fooled. “Rossi…”

“Hey, just saying,” he replied, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “You two would make quite the pair. Not to mention, Ava seems to have taken a real liking to him.”

You shook your head, laughing lightly. “He’s my boss. That’s not happening.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Rossi teased. “Just don’t wait too long. A man like that? He doesn’t stay single for long, especially with all those soccer moms circling.”

Your eyes darted to the sidelines, where a few of the moms had gathered, chatting among themselves and clearly keeping an eye on Hotch. They weren’t exactly being subtle, and the idea of them vying for his attention made your chest tighten. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was more between you and Hotch than either of you wanted to admit.

Meanwhile, Ava and Jack had started playing, kicking the ball around as Hotch watched from a distance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked relaxed, almost content, and you found yourself drawn to that calm confidence. He was good with the kids, patient and encouraging, and it was hard not to admire that about him.

As the kids ran around, giggling and chasing the ball, Hotch wandered over to you, standing a little closer than usual. “Jack really likes Ava,” he said, his voice low and warm. “He’s been talking about her since the last time you brought her into the office.”

You smiled, glancing over at the two of them. “Ava talks about him too. She’s always wanted a big brother.”

Hotch’s eyes softened as he looked down at you, and for a moment, you felt like there was something unspoken between the two of you. Something that had been growing, quietly and steadily, even if neither of you had acknowledged it outright.

“I’m glad they get along,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s good for Jack to have someone like Ava.”

The way he said it, the warmth in his tone, sent a flutter through your chest. You tried to ignore the way your heart raced when he stood so close, but it was hard—especially when he looked at you like that, with a hint of something more behind his eyes.

And then there was his presence. The way he stood, tall and imposing, yet so gentle with the kids. You could see why the soccer moms had their eyes on him. He was the kind of man who commanded respect and attention without even trying, and that was dangerous—because it was exactly what you found so attractive about him.

You tore your gaze away from him, focusing back on the kids. “Ava’s having the time of her life. I think she’s more excited about playing with Jack than the actual game.”

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich. “Jack has that effect on people.”

From the sidelines, Rossi sauntered over, grinning broadly. “Well, well, well. Looks like the kids are already best friends. Give it a few years, and we’ll be planning a wedding,” he joked, winking at you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Rossi, they’re just kids.”

“Hey, it starts somewhere,” he teased. Then he leaned closer, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, Hotch could do a lot worse than someone like you. Just saying.”

Before you could respond, he patted you on the back and wandered off, leaving you flustered and glancing at Hotch, who had clearly overheard. He shot Rossi a look—one that was somewhere between amused and exasperated—but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back to you.

“Rossi has a tendency to… overstep,” he said, his voice a little strained.

You nodded, your pulse quickening. “Yeah, he does. But he means well.”

Hotch nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. You could feel the tension between you, thick and palpable, but before either of you could say anything more, Ava ran up, pulling on your hand.

“Mommy, can we stay a little longer? I wanna keep playing with Jack.”

You looked down at her bright, eager face, then glanced at Hotch. “I don’t see why not,” he said, his tone softer now, as if he was letting something else slip through his usual reserve.

As the kids ran off again, you and Hotch stood there, watching them in comfortable silence. The late afternoon sun bathed the field in a golden glow, and for a moment, it felt like everything else faded away—the office, the stress, even the lingering tension. It was just the two of you, watching your kids play together, and something about it felt… right.

But still, you reminded yourself, he was your boss. You couldn’t let yourself get caught up in this. No matter how tempting it was.

[lunaviee]

꩜ — comfort, kinda school au, ooc nagi?, implied chubby reader, 0.6k wc

thinking about how you’d be studying super hard for finals week and draining yourself, growing more lethargic with every hour. the words on the page look like they’re blurring together and you’re almost positive you’ve been trying to read the same paragraph for like 10 minutes.

you’re broken out of your trance when you hear a faint mumble of “shit-“ come from behind you. the clacking of the keyboard suddenly becomes more apparent and you turn around to see nagi on his computer. was he studying? heavens no, this is nagi we’re talking about, he was playing on his pc. he looks cute, you think, his head tucked into the collar of his hoodie, leaving only the honey-like glow of his eyes and the softness of his hair peaking out. the brightness of his screen is turned down, you notice, probably out of courtesy because he knows you’ve been studying hard.

“y’done?” he hums, a low grumble in his voice, most likely from tiredness. you feel just a little bit bad. nagi insisted on staying awake while you studied because he “can’t fall asleep without you”

you sigh and shake your head, getting up from your seat to stretch. nagi reaches his hand towards you and lightly tugs on the fabric of your shirt. he pulls you into his arms with ease, turning his chair for you to be able to stand between his legs. his hand covers the small of your back, the other arm looping around your waist as he leans his head on your lower stomach. your hands gravitate towards his hair, raking through its softness. it’s slightly damp, he took a shower a while ago but never bothered drying it.

a comfortable silence lingers in the air and you can feel your sleep catching up to you. “can you be done? ‘m tired,” he mumbles, tugging you to sit down on his leg. you glance over at the time on the screen, reading 1:49am. yikes. nagi drags a kiss from your exposed shoulder up to your cheek, hand rubbing against your back. he knows how stressed you are and he doesn’t like it. mostly because it takes away from your nap time with him.

“i still have chem to study for..” you sigh, slumping against him out of dread. there’s a short silence as nagi stares at the glow of his computer screen on your cheek. he a little bad considering he’s always been gifted when it comes to academic. he doesn’t study at all and manages to get at least an A on the test. “that’s not until next week. cmon, pretty, it’s late. lemme sleep.”

his slow and gentle touches across your back slowly lull you to fall limp against his chest. you know studying is important, but right now it feels like there’s just bricks in your legs and his embrace is always so comfortable. he takes your silence as a yes and turns off his pc before lifting you up. even considering the amount of training he does for soccer, it still surprising how easy it is for him to just pick you up like a ragdoll.

he climbs into bed with you still in his arms, tugging the blanket over the both of you. nagi’s always brought a comforting sense to you and he makes you physically feel all the stress seep out of your body. you sink further into his chest and practically start melting into him with your proximity. he holds you tightly and securely, pressing a kiss onto your forehead before the both of you knock out for the night.

✮— what is up guys!! let’s ignore my long ass “break”😇

[discokicks]

FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

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

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

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

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

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’d gotten her? Got who? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

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

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

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re catching on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My word’s not good enough?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you get why.

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

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

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

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

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

“Not your coach.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But if we do?”

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

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

“What?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[reigningqueenofwords]

One Day at a Time

Pairing: Past Bucky x Reader

Part 3 of Little Soldier

After Bucky had comforted you, there was this odd tension between the pair of you. You figured that it was your history trying to come back to you. You’d moved on! Why did you feel that small tug towards him? You were currently in your room, waking up from a nap. You’d gone straight from talking to Bucky to your room to lay down. “JARVIS?” You sat up, running a hand through your hair. “Can you ask Steve to have Nat watch Dom for a few minutes? I want to talk to him.” You planned to talk to Steve, then Nat after, and try to sort out what you were feeling. They were your two closest friends, and you trusted them completely. Their personalities were different enough that they’d offer two different perspectives. 

A few minutes later, JARVIS alerted you that Steve would be there shortly. Getting out of bed, you went to get each of you a bottle of water. Letting out a breath, you leaned against the counter, staring at a single spot on the floor. 

Once you’d heard a knock, you snapped out of it. “Come in.” You called out, making your way to the door. You gave him a small smile as you handed him the bottle of water. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course.” He smiled back. “How’d your talk go?” Steve motioned for you to head to your couch so the two of you could sit down. 

You shrugged a shoulder. “It was hard.” You half whined. “We talked about what you told me about what he told you, he wanted to know more about Dom, and he wound up holding me because it hit me that Dom can’t play soccer anymore. We have that whole damn set up at the house, and he loves it. Now...he has no backyard.” That’s what your son knew! Nature, having a yard to play in, going to school like a normal kid, and now? Now he was living with the Avengers, in the city, with no chances of anything being the same. 

Steve was surprised at how that talk went, but had known it was gonna be emotional either way. “So, what’s on your mind now?” He figured that you needed to work things, and needed to get your thoughts out. 

“Everything!” You sighed. “He wanted to know if I could get Dom to stop calling him the ‘creepy guy’ at least.” You started. “And I obviously plan to talk to Dom about that, I do. It just got me wondering how the hell I explain things to him. I don’t want to lie to him, but at the same time, I don’t think blurting out ‘hey, buddy, the guy you’ve been calling creepy is your father’.” You explained. “What if once I’m healed and all that, and the whole shock factor wears off for Bucky, he just pulls away? And then just avoids us?” You glanced at him, worried. “I don’t want to get Dom’s hopes up to get to know him for that to happen. I don’t want him to be angry that his father has been just hours away this whole time...and I’ve never said anything. I don’t want him angry at you guys because you live with him and never mentioned him. Ya know? It’s so hard.” 

He wished that he had answers for you, that he could take away your worries and aching. But, he couldn’t. This was one area where being Captain America was useless. “Why don’t you take baby steps? You don’t need to worry about either of those extremes right now.” He reminded you. “Right now all you need to worry about is healing. That’s the most important thing right now. And being there for Dom.” He rubbed your back. “Why don’t you let Bucky know that you are thinking of telling Dom who he is, but you are scared. He’ll get that. Let him prove that he wants to be there. If he doesn’t, then that’s his loss. You and Dom are amazing.” 

You gave him a tearful smile. “Steve. You’re great.” You sighed. “That’s a good idea.” You agreed. “Have I ever told you I love you?” You nudged him with your shoulder. 

Chuckling, he shook his head. “Not lately.” He teased. “But, I love you, too.” He smiled. 

“Alright, Nat. You’re up.” Steve told her as he went to get Dom. “I’m gonna steal this little guy and bring him out to get Y/N a little something from him.” He smiled as Dom got excited. “Hope to cheer her up a little bit.” He explained. 

She tickled Dom’s sides, making him giggle. “Alright, get your mom something good, kiddo.” She got up. “Have fun with Uncle Steve.” She ruffled his hair playfully. 

You were still on the couch when Nat walked in, ice cream in hand. “I thought you could use some of the good stuff.” She grinned. “I grabbed your favorite.” 

That made you smile. “You’re the best.” You moved to sit sideways. Each of you were on an end of the couch, ice cream in the middle of you. “So, did Steve give you a heads up about what’s going on?” You wondered if you’d have to repeat yourself. 

“He gave me a basic idea.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think he wanted to say too much around Dom, honestly.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, true.” You took a bite of ice cream before you explained the same thing to Nat as you had to Steve. Your elbow was resting on the back of the couch, and your head was resting on your knuckles. “So. Yeah.” You let out a breath. “That’s that.” 

She nodded. “Well, how do you feel about him and Steve?” She asked, curious. Nat could read people, and you knew that, so lying was pointless. 

Staring at her, you blinked a few times. “What does Steve have to do with this? He’s one of my best friends.” You pointed out. “Pretty sure that tells you what you need to know about how I feel about him.” You were honestly confused at her bringing him into what was going on with Bucky when it came to Dom. 

Nat looked amused, smirking at you. However, all she did was shrug, not explaining it to you. She saw something there, but didn’t want to voice that at the moment. Not when you had just lost Will. “I hate what Bucky did.” She started, looking more serious. “He’s lucky I never tore into him after that. I get not wanting kids, I mean I love Dom so much...but I have no desire to have my own. Not even with adopting or anything. But that? That was bullshit.” She shook her head. “Seeing you guys happy over the years has been great.” She gave you a sad smile. “I never guessed you’d be in this spot, honestly. If he hurts you guys this time? No one will ever find him.” Trying to lighten the mood, she nudged your leg with her foot. 

You couldn’t hold back your smile at that. “Thanks, Nat.” You let out a breath. “I should go find my little guy.” You told her. 

“He’s out with Steve.” She told you. “So you have some time to yourself.” Not something you were used to, she knew that. “I’d suggest a hot bath if you could.” However, she knew that you needed to heal. 

“Girl time? Paint each other’s nails?” You asked. “Please?” 

Nat pretended to think. “I’ll go get the few polishes that I have.” She grabbed the ice cream. “And put this in your freezer.” 

Steve had Dom on his back, a bag in hand, as he made his way towards you. “Your mom is gonna love your present, little guy.” He smiled. 

“I hope so!” He giggled. “Thank you for paying for it! I don’t have a lot of money in my piggy bank...that’s at home.” He added with a pout. “I wanna go home.” He sighed. 

“I know, Dom.” He said gently. “I hope you can think of this as home soon, too. We love having you guys around.” Which was true. Going from seeing them a few times a year, to daily, was great. “Now we can have sleepovers whenever you want!” He reminded him. 

Dom sighed. “Yeah, but we can’t go camping here.” That was something he liked that Steve had done with him when he visited for his birthday. 

You were alone when the two of them got back. Steve set Dom down once your door was open. “Mommy!” Dom called out, rushing to find you. He crawled up on the couch with you. “I got you something!” He said proudly. 

Steve came in, handing you the bag. “Here you go, doll.” He smiled as you took it. 

“Awe, thank you guys.” You put the bag on your lap to look inside. First you pulled out a little stuffed cat. “So cute!” You rubbed your thumb over it. “And soft.” You set it next to you to pull out the one other thing inside- a little bracelet that was clearly meant for a little girl. “I think I’ll put this on the kitty for a necklace.” You smiled, pulling Dom into a hug, kissing the top of his head. Looking up at Steve, you gave him a thankful look.

“I love you, mommy.” He said as he stayed leaning against you. “I’m glad you’re getting better.” 

You let out a soft sigh. “Me, too, baby.” You agreed. “Did you have fun with Uncle Steve?” 

“Yeah!” He said excitedly. “Can he stay for dinner?” Dom shifted to look up at you. “Pleeeeeease?” He gave you a cute pleading look. 

Chuckling, you looked at Steve. “If he wants to, yes.” You agreed. “Does Uncle Steve want to stay for dinner?” 

Steve pretended to think, tapping his finger on his chin. “Well, it’s either that or eat with everyone else…” He mused. “I’ll stay on one condition. Dom helps me cook dinner for his mom.” He chuckled as Dom nodded. “Well, then I guess I’m staying.” He agreed, making Dom clap. 

Wanda looked around as the team ate dinner. “We’re down a few people.” She noted, raising an eyebrow. “You were with Y/N earlier Nat, she okay?” If you were missing, she would worry that it was because it was a bad day. 

“I think she’s as okay as she can be.” She shrugged. “I had her laughing, though, so I’m hoping that helped. I know Steve took Dom to get her something to help, maybe it was food?” That wouldn’t be too far off, after all. “Kid does like food, and he was always trying to feed us when we were there.” 

Chuckling, Sam nodded. “She has a point.” He agreed. “I woke up once last time we were there to him trying to scale the cupboards for a midnight snack.” He grinned. “We ended up eating cold pizza.” 

Bucky just listened to the stories, learning more about his son. Stories that you might have told him, perspectives that you didn’t have. He took a bite of his food, staring at the table. Hopefully none of them got weird now and changed the subject because of him. 

“Oh, remember when he was almost two, and he came over and swiped a tiny handful of fries?” Bruce chuckled. “We all thought he was done eating, so she let him out of  his high chair. He bee-lined it right to me and grabbed my fries. First time he tried McDonald’s.” He had loved getting to make those memories with you and Dom. He was a breath of fresh air. “And then I lost the rest because he liked them so much.” He added. 

“So, that’s probably what it is.” Nat laughed. “JARVIS, Steve and Dom brought her food, didn’t they?” She asked, amused. 

“No, miss.” He told them. “However, they are dining together.” He added. “Shall I alert them you are asking for them?” 

Wanda and Nat shared a look. “No, thanks, JARVIS.” Wanda giggled at Nat’s facial expression. “Let them enjoy their meal.” She added. 

Were you and Steve closer than you let on? Bucky wondered. 

You had just gotten Dom to bed, showered, and were drying your hair when there was a knock at your door. You were wearing a sports bra and shorts, but figured it was Nat or Steve, so you simply walked over and answered it. Instead of one of your best friends, you were met with a shocked looking Bucky. “Uh, hi?” You said awkwardly. 

“Uh, hi.” He hadn’t been expecting to see you in so little. “I was wondering if we could talk again?” He was trying very hard not to look over your body. “Just a few minutes? Try to push past this awkwardness?” That would honestly be his first hope. To just get to the point where neither wanted to inch away from the other. 

Licking your lips, you nodded and let him in. “Uh, lemme go grab a shirt.” You told him as he shut the door quietly. 

“Yeah, of course.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. He watched you walk away before looking around your room, wondering what your home had been like. He’d only seen it the once, and it wasn’t like he had a chance to stop and look around then. A moment later, you came back, a baggy shirt on. 

“So, what’s up?” You asked, wondering why he wanted to talk again so soon. You’d just talked to him hours ago. “Everything okay?” 

He nodded a bit. “Yeah, just, uh, I had a question?” He hoped you didn’t deck him or something. You raised a curious eyebrow at him. “Is...is there possibly something more between you and Steve?” He asked. 

This time, both your eyebrows shot up. “Me and….Steve?” You stared at him. “Okay, first of all, did Nat tell you to ask this?” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Why would Nat tell me to ask?” He wasn’t close to Nat at all anymore. She tolerated him, sure, but friendly? Not so much. 

“Something we talked about earlier. And, to answer your question, Steve is one of my best friends. That’s all.” You shrugged. “Nothing more. And it kinda hurts you’d ask me that when I just lost the man I planned to marry.” You said honestly. How else were you supposed to react? 

He winced. “Sorry, I really didn’t think that one through, I guess.” He sighed. “I was just curious, that’s all. You guys just seem close. Forget I asked, and chalk it up to me being a dumbass.” He said half jokingly, hoping that didn’t worsen things between you. 

Sighing, you figured you could try. “Well, I had something to ask you, too.” You admitted. It was his turn to look curious. “If you can show you want to be a dad...did you want Dom to know you’re his father?” You asked, nervously. It was written on your face that you were scared for his answer. “I don’t want to tell him for you to pull away and decide you still don’t want him. But, if you changed your mind, and you want to be there, I want to give you that chance.” You swallowed. 

“You...you want to give me a chance to be his dad after everything I said, and how much I hurt you?” He was shocked. “Really?!” 

“As scared as I am, yes. It’s up to you, though. What do you think?” You were trying to hide the fact that you were shaking a bit.

Tagging: @ilovetaquitosmmmm @vicmc624

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I canceled my wedding or at least change the plans I already agreed to?

So I (26M) got engage to my boyfriend (28M), we’ll call him John, about 4 weeks ago. We’ve been together for the past 5 years.

To provide some context, John and I come from different backgrounds, he grew up in a upper middle class urban and very progressive family, I come from a middle class/lower middle class rural family. I have one twin brother (26M) and one sister (17F) and my mom and dad. They all are very involved in the local community and their church and basically everyone in my family is very religious (but my sister). I always was a good student growing up, so naturally about 9-10 years ago, I left my hometown and move to the big city about 4h away to study. I have been out to my family for about 3-4 years now, and while I wouldn’t say they are supportive, they are not homophobic either. Mostly we don’t talk about it and just pretend like there’s nothing. I’m pretty happy with this situation because I know of so many people who were just rejected by their family, so I feel lucky they are still here for me.

So anyway, back to the wedding, John really wants to have a big wedding where we would invite everyone in our families and friends, just like his siblings had (he has 5 brothers and 2 sisters) and since I’ve been to 2 of his brother’s weddings and enjoyed them a lot, I agreed that this is the kind of wedding I wanted.

Then I called my mom to tell her about the engagement and the wedding, but she told me that, she doesn’t want to be rude, she’s truly happy and proud of me, but that her, my dad, brother and sister wouldn’t attend because that would be too much for them. (I also suspect that they’re afraid that people in my hometown will learn about it and start talking). My sister later reached out to tell me she was saving her allowance so she could come.

I told John about the decision of my family not to come to the wedding and he gave me the look (queer/lgbt people out there, you know THAT look) and was visibly upset. Later we went to play soccer with 2 of his brothers (that I’ve actually known for longer than John) and we talked about it. I explained that I was kind of bummed out to have to do all the wedding stuff without my family (especially my bro) like choosing the tuxedo etc. of course they both gave me the look, then they told me it was non sense that I wasn’t gonna do it alone, and that they would do it with me, because after all after all these years I was like one of the brothers. Later that day also, john’s dad called to tell me how sorry he was, and that I he would also do all the wedding stuff with me and the brothers, and that John would rather have his mom with him for that anyway. That was really sweet of them and I thanked them all (and kind of agreed to it?).

Last weekend, we were discussing the guest list for the wedding with John, (we won’t get married before next summer but apparently you gotta do these things super early), and John told me he already told his whole family (that’s like 45 people) and his childhood friends (around 30 people) and they were super excited to meet me (for those I don’t know). This is the moment I became very uncomfortable about the wedding, because I’m gonna have like 10-15 people with the +1, all friends that I made as an adult and no one from my family or my childhood. I also realized that I was gonna spend my wedding day getting the look from EVERYONE we know and this is just not something that I want.

Now I’m thinking of canceling the wedding because I know this is gonna be a terrible day for me, but since I know John really wants to get married and I sort of already agreed to the big wedding plan, he talked to everyone about it and I don’t know if I can ask him to scale it down to like 10 people and close family only? So WIBTA if I canceled my wedding or change the plans after agreeing to it?

PS1: I know the real AH are my family in this situation, but this is not something I can control so pointing that out is useless. I want to know would I be an AH if I did something within my control and how can I not be one. And just fyi, they are great people, not progressive for sure, but they are trying the best they know how and for that they deserve more respect than hate.

PS2: I know my sister told me she would be here, but if my parents aren’t coming, I’d rather she doesn’t come because I’m afraid this is gonna create so many problems for her and my parents. Of course, if I feel like she’s gonna show up anyway, I’ll pay for her trip expenses, she’s still a child.

PS3: No I haven’t talk to John about the look and how I feel because I know it’s gonna ruin the day for him, and that he will try to fix it and find a solution to a problem that doesn’t really have one. He’s sweet but he would be useless in this situation. And I love him enough that if necessary I’ll go through with the original plan so that he can have this day to remember.

What are these acronyms?

[noodyl-blasstal]

Fake Dating - TAZNC Day 1

It's @taznovembercelebration time again!!! My first card pull was "Fake Dating" (delicious, also, we're already off the rails). Want to take part too? Find to post here. You can write, draw, share thoughts, anything. It's just a fun time to talk about taz!

Anyway, have some Taakitz! Read below or on Ao3:

--

“Krav, Kraverooni, Kravino, please? Taako’s asking you from the bottom of his tiny shrivelled up husk of a heart.” 

Kravitz rolls his eyes. “You hand reared a litter of kittens you found in a bin bag.”

“Easy money, the resell on those.” Taako says all faux nonchalant, flipping his hand as if Kravitz didn’t sit up all night with him so they could take shifts to sleep but both woke up for every single feed alarm anyway.

“You kept three of them and gave the others away for free.” Kravitz says flatly, "... In fact!" He's worked up now, he's remembering "... You did home inspections for every one to check they'd be safe and happy." There’s no chance he’s going to let Taako pretend he doesn’t care. He cares often and passionately in various directions. “Anyway, who was the one who organised the letter writing campaign to Angus’ school when they tried to stop his soccer team’s funding and put it into the football team?”

“Anyone would have done that.”

“Did anyone else?”

“They might have.”

“If you didn’t?”

“If I didn’t.” There’s a long pause. “It’s not because I care though. Taako just didn’t want to see his sad little face.”

“Because you don’t care.”

“Because he takes up more room when he’s sad. It gets everywhere, the child mope. I’d have to scrub it out of the floors.”

“And why would he be moping here?”

“Because… I… It’s court ordered.”

“Uh huh.” Kravitz has him on the ropes.

“And there’s evidence of that, then, is there? If I googled your name I’d see the sentencing?”

“I had Google wiped by data assassins.”

“I assume you have a copy of the paperwork I could review?”

“Cats ate it.”

“Which ones?”

“This one!” Taako indicated Tiny Taco, who’s gnawing at the string of Kravitz’s shoe. Taako’s got him here, it’s plausible, but…

“Cats plural, who were the accomplices?” 

“You don’t know them. Strange cats, a bad crowd that Taco’s been hanging out with. I’ve tried telling him, Taco, son, they’re not worthy of your time, they’re leading you down a bad path, can’t you just play nicely with Garyl and Beans? But no, he worries me sick instead.”

“Taco’s a house cat.”

“He’s been running up massive phone bills.”

“How did they get in the house to eat the documents with him?”

“He pushed it under the door and they lady and the tramped it.”

“You have a porch, the cats aren’t allowed in the porch.”

“The back door.”

“Uh huh. And this flagrant fabrication is easier than admitting you want nice things for Angus?”

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“You’ll think I care.”

“You do care. I watch you care all the time! Today you cared at least three times before breakfast.”

“Nuh uh.” Taako’s squirming in place now, he can’t run though, it’s his house.

“Yuh huh. Who helped Grant with the papers to set up his juice stand?”

“Well it made sense, I set up Sizzle It Up so I knew what to do. It was a chance for Taako to show off.”

“You helped coach Sloane to ask Hurley out.”

“So she’d stop whinging about it to you. She was taking up my valuable Kravitz time.”

“You care about me then?”

“No.” Taako looks pained when he realises what he said and how quickly he said it. “Just the normal amount. The friends amount.”

Kravitz tries not to let it sting. Of course Taako just wants to be friends. It’s fine. Kravitz is a grown up, he can look after himself. He shouldn’t have let it get this far, shouldn’t have let his feelings get so deep. It’s fine, he can just change the subject, they don’t have to do this now, especially not with the current context. “You didn’t let Magnus pet the bear.” 

“I should have.” Taako says darkly. “Then I wouldn’t have had needed to listen to him complain all the way home.” 

“Also you didn’t want him to die?” Kravitz asks casually, trap closing.

“I’m not a monster.”

“Show off, I can’t believe you’d be so insensitive.” Kravitz flops backwards onto the chair, hand across his eyes.

Taako throws a cushion at him. “Come off it, you love it, wolf boy.”

Kravitz sits up, grins to show off his slightly-sharper-than-they-should-be teeth. “Sounds like I’m not the only one.”

“It’s such a good club, Krav. Lup and Magnus are always saying how fabulous it is there, and who’s more fabulous than Taako?” 

“Good point. I can’t think of many people.” He means it, is the problem, Kravitz can’t think of anyone more fabulous, more funny, more handsome… nope!

“Then you see why Taako’s solution is perfect?”

Ah fuck. They’re back to where they started.

“Why me?”

“Do you know any other single werewolves who’d be down to fake-date Taako into The Starblaster?”

Kravitz growls low and slow, surprises himself just as much as Taako. “Er. That… I… I have to go to the bathroom.” Kravitz flings himself off the sofa, dives towards the toilet, slams the lock home, and tries not to let the panic take hold. Maybe Taako didn’t even notice? How often was he even around werewolves? Did he even know what that was? Like, fine, yes, his sister was married to Barry, and Magnus was married to Julia, and Taako was part of their families and he’d seen the dating process up close, and… fuck. No no, it was fine. He was psyching himself out unnecessarily. Barry told him all the time that he worried too much, ocerthought everything, this was fine, good even, he’d just say that it was a cough if Taako asked.

Kravitz splashes his face with cool water. It doesn't help as much as he hoped, but it was worth a go. "It's fine." He says firmly to his own reflection. "He didn't even notice."

“So I couldn’t help but notice…” Taako says, the second Kravitz re-enters the room. It’s probably too late to go hide again. “... that you might be feeling a bit possessive when it comes to other weres dating yours truly.”

“It was a cough.” Says Kravitz, not even convincing himself.

“Uh huh.” Taako isn’t convinced either. “You know, the only condition of getting into The Starblaster is that you're a were or you’re dating one.”

“I’m aware.” Kravitz cannot believe Taako is still focused on the club while simultaneously tearing away the carefully constructed wall Kravitz has been using to hide his ridiculous unwanted feelings for months. Doesn't he care? He could at least be offended. The indifference hurts.

“Well it doesn’t have to be fake. I didn’t realise you’d be down.”

“Are you offering to sleep with me to get into the stupid club?” Kravitz is angry now, furious. He thought they were friends, he thought Taako wanted some kind of relationship with him - even if it was just friendship, he would have been happy with friendship. He doesn’t want this, it should be special, not just some flippant transactional thing.

“No! I’m offering to sleep with you because I like you, you idiot.”

“Wait, did you just proposition me, confess you have a crush on me, and call me an idiot in the same breath?” Kravitz didn’t know whether to be offended or elated, settles on something in the middle.

“Sounds about right. Wanna kiss about it?” 

Kravitz does, in fact, want to kiss about it, but first he needs to know what is going on. “You like me? Romantically like me?” 

Taako arches an eyebrow and looks peeved about the lack of kissing. “Obviously.”

“For the club?”

“A bit for the club.” Taako’s forehead wrinkles. “It’s really cool. I’m not going to lie to you. But that’s more a perk of the boning, not the reason for it.”

Kravitz sinks down onto the sofa. Taako likes him back, Taako likes him back and not just because he wants to go to the stupid club.

“If anything, the boning will be the biggest perk of the boning.” Taako says cheerfully, pats him on the shoulder.

“Why are you like this?” Kravitz asks through his hands, face buried.

“You love it.” Taako says, plonking himself down next to Kravitz and throwing an arm around him. “Can we skip to the kissing bit now, or do I need to tell you about how I was gonna fake date you so hard you’d forget we weren’t real dating?”

“Can we do both?”

“You want me to talk through the kisses?”

“Between them?”

“Fine, but it’s a talk sandwich, kissing bread.”

“Kissing bread.” Kravitz extracts his face from his hands, sits up, and nods solemnly.

“Here we go!” Taako says, leaning in. 

“No!” Kravitz scoots backwards. “That was terrible, awful. Our first kiss is not going to be prefaced by “here we go!””

“You do better then.” Taako’s arms are crossed and he’s doing the frowny thing and Kraivtz is going to kiss every grumpy furrow out of his brow.

“I’ve wanted to do this for months.” Says Kravitz simply, makes it inches from Taako’s lips before he pulls back.

“That’s not fair! You can’t just be all suave out of nowhere. What am I supposed to say to top that?”

“You don't need to top it, it’s not a competition.”

“It could be. If it was.”

“Well it isn’t.” Kravitz says firmly. He reaches for Taako, trying to draw him back in. They were so close to finally getting it together.

“Buckle up, sweetlips.”

Kravitz stands, horrified. “Taako! What… why would you?”

Taako’s too busy laughing to answer. “Your… your face!” He gasps out.

“Do you want to kiss or not?” Kravitz is trying not to be petulant, he’s trying so hard, he’s failing.

Taako dives forward and crashes their mouths together. Kravitz can’t entirely tell when his mouth opened, or when exactly Taako started to nip at his lip, but it’s good, it’s great, even. Kravitz’s hands pull Taako closer, closer, closer, cradle his face, weave into his hair, help pull him down when he moves to straddle Kravitz’s lap. It’s messy and passionate and perfect, he doesn’t want it to end.

“Wanna kiss or not?” Taako pulls back, then snorts with laughter.

“I would love to do more kisses, why don’t you come back down here?” Kravitz asks, running a hand over Taako’s chest in what he hopes is an alluring manner.

“No, you said… I… it’s perfect. “Wanna kiss or not?” and then we did. That’s how we got together.” He collapses onto Kravitz’s chest, giggling furiously.

“You tricked me!” 

Taako laughs harder.

“We’re going to have to tell people that when they ask.” Kravitz says, aghast. He really doesn't want to have to tell anyone this story.

Taako attempts to sit back, taking a moment to collect himself. “We’re going to <i>get&lt;/i> to tell people when they ask. What a gift!”

“A gift.” Kravitz repeats, quietly, carefully. 

“Hey Krav?”

“Yes Taako?” 

“I think you’re great.”

“I think you’re great too.”

“Wanna kiss about it?”

Kravitz cups Taako’s face, brings it gently, reverently towards him like Taako’s the most precious thing in the world. He might be in this moment. Kravitz kisses each cheek softly, then his nose, his forehead, and finally his lips. It’s gentle, tentative, full of care.

Taako pulls back. “You’re going to tell people this was what happened, aren’t you?”

“Yep!” Kravitz says happily, pressing their lips together again.

“Fine. But I’m telling the real story.” Taako says huffily before kissing a firm line from Kravitz’s collar bone to his jaw. “The people need to know.”

“Uh huh.”  Kravitz is finding it harder to focus on anything but the insistent kisses on his neck and the hands working themselves down his chest. “Gotta give the people the…” He tails off as Taako’s teeth graze his neck. “What… they… it’s science.”

“Uh huh.” Taako replies. “Great point.”

“No more words, just kissing.” Kravitz tugs Taako closer again.

“Are you going to tell people this bit too?” Taako asks. 

“Ssssh.” Kravitz kisses Taako again. “Nothing about other people, just about us.”

“Just us.” Taako nods. “And how much fun we’re going to have at The Starblaster.”

Kravitz sighs.

“Hey Krav?” Taako noses at his cheek.

“Yeah?” 

“I’m glad we figured it out.”

“Me too, Taako. Me too.” 

--

Thank you for reading! You can find the next day here.

[remusbutfemale]

Just other Dps hcs because idk I like doing them:3

TODD IS ACTUALKY ME so

Todd hcs…where do I start

He definitely plays some sort of instrument, maybe the piano. But he was forced into it and doesn’t associate himself with it unless it’s brought up.

“My mom was thinking of buying a piano” Charlie would probably say and Todd would be like; “oh cool, I play the piano” and everyone’s like ‘what the fuck? You play the piano????’

He’s queer. Do I really have to elaborate here?

He def wasn’t entirely sure on his whole sexuality for a while, but he knows he isn’t straight. So that makes me wanna say he’s unlabeled, he is just a silly guy!

holds stuff off until last minute

“Did you do the Latin homework?” Neil would ask, and Todd would be like 😨 bc he didn’t really forget but he also just forgot it was due the next morning

Neil

he definitely does method acting, especially for puck

He would act like his character in the play during the school days, just for fun; maybe even when he was in his dorm with Todd. (Im gonna pretend he’s alive to not want to die) when he got a bigger role he would go out of his way to put himself in that character’s shoes until he had to film.

He has a collection of rocks I just know it dawg

“Neil what the fuck,” Charlie would say and Neil would turn confused as hell obvi, and Charlie found his little trinket drawer, like yeah he collects other stuff but bros entranced by rocks. “Oh yeah my rocks! Do you like them?” He would ask and Charlie would be like “yeah, I guess.”

His favorite season is summer.

He would LOVE summer, he definitely swims and is outside the entire time. He would probably be deathly afraid of bees tho, would scream and cry when he seen one. He loves summer but hates bugs, he loves butterflies.

steven :3

I have a strong feeling when he was playing soccer he broke his glasses, this happened at least twice.

He would be like ??!?? And stare blindly at his broken glasses on the ground, squinting HIGHKEY. And wouldn’t get a replacement for a day and just be extremely blind trying to see the board in his classes.

doesn’t know how to cook, like at all. OR BAKE he cannot be in a kitchen without fucking it up.

“How the hell did you mix up 1 ½ cups of milk with just half??? Now we have to restart!” Gerard would say; I feel like they’d just be baking at his house during winter break because they have nothing better to do. And Meeks somehow fucked up the bread by adding too much milk and pitts is just like ?!!? How the hell?????

a piece of shit tbh LMAO like in a humorous way

“Cameron you fucking dumbass how did you fuck that problem up? It’s literally sooo easy— don't be mad at me you’re an idiot!” Or like “couldn’t be me, I would never be that down bad especially for a girl— with a fucking boyfriend you weirdo” to knox

SPEAKING OF now its Knox’ turn

we all know he’s a hopeless romantic but I wanna feed into it

He would be on about Chris to Charlie and he would just be like, “okay I genuinely couldn’t care less”. And then he would also read love poems, would be into Romeo and Juliet tbh, probably would imagine him as Romeo and Chris as Juliet.

I genuinely have no hcs for this man so all of these are probably ooc.. but he PROBABLY knows every type of bird to exist, he just looks like that.

“Is that an ancient murrelet!??” He would say looking at a bird sitting a couple feet away, and Neil would be like “how the fuck do you even know that”

Okay this one’s just for me to laugh at

When he was talking to Chris when they were on their way to Neil’s play, knox fell on his ass and it was a really awkward walk there; they didn’t talk and it was just really really awkward

Charlie dalton😈

Don’t get me started

This boy gets on every teacher's nerves like.. he’s just an arrogant piece of shit im sorry😭

“Mr dalton PLEASE sit down” the teacher would ask for the 15th time as Charlie would mess around, and then he would get sent to Nolan’s😭

So so bisexual like it’s insane

He flirts with Neil a lot— as a joke but he thinks Neil is attractive. He also thinks women are hot, I think he has a preference for women but will date a man without a thought. Todd definitely asked one time “are you gay?” And he would be like “I dunno— maybe for your boyfriend” and then Todd would be like “HES NOT MY BOYFRIEND I DON'T EVEN LIKE NEIL LIKE THAT” and Charlie would say “I never said Neil”

Never shuts thebfuck up

Yapper of the year award goes to Charles Dalton like im so fr, the poets love him but Jesus he talks too much😭

[whereismyhat5678]

I'm gonna take a lot of time

GIVE US ALL THE HEADCANONS JUICE!

please 🙏

ALRIGHT THIS TIME IT’LL BE A MIX- (I missed some things about Peppino and I’m just gonna do the people that come into my head at the moment-)

ALRIGHT HEADCANNONS IS A GO-

- I FORGOT TO MENTION- When Peppino got older, like present Peppino, he got into playing golf, he’s pretty good at it too! He wears the entire set he got the golfer dad hat the golfer dad fit he got everything. I wanna draw him in a golf fit now-

- Peppino’s parents were pretty tame, his Father was a mechanic/chef and his Mom was a stay at home, she was THE SWEETEST person you would ever meet, Pep was definitely a Mama’s boy- His Father was good too, he taught him how to cook and make GREAT pizzas

- After The War Pep was still a bit uneasy but he still kept in touch with his parents, they always told him if they ever needed them they would be there (Now in the present he still talks to them! They’re great ❤️❤️)

- As a kid Peppino was a bit of a rascal, he liked eating a ton of sweets which is why he was a bit bigger than most kids, BUT he could REALLY do a good punch, he was the strongest kid around, if you needed him to do something he’ll do it as long as you pay him 5 cents or give him candy 🤷‍♀️

(- I guess the anxiety didn’t really start until the War….. That shit really does something to you…..)

- But still I think before the war he was still athletic at the least, yeah he was, again, chubby but he could run pretty fast and was really good at punching- He was gonna do football but he ended up doing soccer cuz he loved the sport so much, he was great at it

- As a Teen he was still really talkative but more serious- you get that teen angst once you get older y’know? Yeah that was him, he wasn’t much of a trouble maker but he did stay out late nights and partied a lot, this is also the time he was a big flirt, to girls AND boys 🔥 (“Yeah I like boys too, watcha’ gonna do about it?”)

- I SHOULD ALSO MENTION when he was a kid he met Mr. Stick

- I call Mr. Stick Samual since at the time of picking a name for him I kept meeting people named Samual- It was pretty funny-

- Stick was a pretty shy kid, it was mostly cuz he was bullied a lot and not many kids liked him (except for Peppino, they were good friends)

- Y’know Eustace Bagge from Courage the Cowardly Dog? Remember that episode that showed a younger version of him and he didn’t have any hair? Yeah that’s what I picture Stick to look like as a kid-

- Poor honey was lonely, and unfortunately he had to move away for a short time because his Dad got a new job :(

- Should I mention his parents? His Dad was a big ol’ business man and his Mom was a Doctor, unfortunately his mother was really overprotective and feared for her baby which passed to Stick as a kid and therefore was even more scared, nervous? He was just anxious-

- I think Stick doesn’t talk to his parents much because, one his Mom didn’t even want him to move out, and two his Dad, although tried to be there like hanging drawings on the Fridge and called him Sport and stuff like that, he just was really busy, and wanted him to be in the same business as he was which intrigued Stick but he just didn’t like the feeling of being tied down by his Mom so he moved back to where he grew up as a kid. FAR AWAY.

- When he did get back it took him a while to find Peppino but when he did they got lunch and just hung out, they had a good time knowing each other again :] (Throughout the years they did change a lot, Pep got more anxious and had a bit of anger problems and Stick was more stuffy and serious, and other than the fact that after Stick dropped from his job and kind of become a con artist and…. Asked for money most of the time- They were still good friends, although Pep was annoyed with the fact that Stick made him pay at the Tower, he’s still angry about it-)

- Stick met Burton at a lab, Stick took engineering science (unfortunately he didn’t stay for long but he still likes inventing-) and he met Burton as an appointment.

- Burton is the most gentle soul imaginable, after their appointments Stick started to want to be around him more, which they ended up doing when after Stick was kicked out (for a certain accident 😬) and moved in together in their new apartment.

- Like the concept art, the apartment they live in is haunted, Stick constantly is seeing shit in the building and he’s scared but a bit intrigued, he’s gonna do something about it eventually 🤷‍♀️

- Burton stays at the apartment most of the time, he cooks and he cleans and Stick does- whatever the fuck he’s doing to get money- and come back to a very loving caring kind husband 💕💕

- Yes they did get married, and Burton’s brother the Pizza Pope helped them, he is a very supportive brother 🫶🫶

- When Stick comes home angry he goes straight onto Burton and screams into the void of softness (his chest) and hugs him afterwards, Burton is like a big ol’ pillow and he’s very comforting 💗💗💗

- ALSO, I’d like to think Burton is very soft spoken, like a very calm comforting deep voice. And he almost reminds me of a big cuddly teddy bear 💖💖💖

- Burton asked how Stick got all the money and why he was gone for so long, (poor hun was worried sick SOMEONE GIVE HIM A HUG) Stick replied, “TOWER”, and walked to bed and stayed there for hours, he was very drained-

Oh I have some Brick headcannons now YAAAY-

- All the rats in the Tower have their own personalities, and the poor things probably got hurt along the way from Pizza Head not only from him experimenting on the Fake clones and having them loose, therefore they attacked a lot of the rats, but they also just have to generally fend for themselves because of how dangerous the tower is…

- Brick is a civilized rat, although he is feral when he needs to, and he didn’t trust humans much before Pep, trust me, he had a grudge.

- He likes to play chess, poker, any type of card game really-, he’s athletic, a therapist, a doctor in philosophy, AND he’s known for being the BEST cheese maker there is, he makes the best home made cheese delights!!

- HE ADORES CHEESECAKE, specifically strawberry!!

- He’s also a smoker, not to often to were he’s addicted but he favors having a cigar or cig or just a pipe every once in a while (he favors the pipe-)

- Have I mentioned that although he doesn’t do it often, he can cook! Mostly stews or anything made with cheese- he can be a pretty good chef 💪💪

- He’s also quite strong, his claws mostly help with defense and he has a strong jaw but other than than he can throw a good punch.

- Okay, when he finally got to meet Gustavo he was VERY skeptical, and Gus tried to get him out of the dark by being sweet but it really didn’t work. Brick did not trust him.

- Gus was jumped by Brick

- After a little…. Incident…..Brick saved Gus, and Gus is forever grateful, and Brick, well, he discovered being pet was the best thing in the universe. ESPECIALLY BELLY RUBS 🫶🫶🫶🫶

- Brick was corporative with Gus at the least, the Tower was the worst thing to happen and Brick hated it, so he was more than happy getting Gus and Pep out with the reward of being set free from the tower.

- When more levels were completed Gus and Brick started to bond, and once Brick found that he really did like being with Gus, he started getting protective…

- If anyone were to threaten to hurt Gus, you are getting jumped. By a 220 pound 6’7 beast that has the bite strength of a jaguar.

- He will kill someone if told too, but Gus would never have him do that. He did almost kill Snotty though-

- AND FINALLY, after moving in with Gus and Pep he wanted to bond more with Peppino since he’s seen that Gus REALLY likes him, therefore he feels he should like him too. After a few attempts it finally happened where Pep patted his head in contentment. Brick was finally able to go in the bed with them both, he is very happy now :]

(Gus wanted him on the bed to begin with, it’s just Pep was hesitant)

ALRIGHT FINALLY I’M DONE- I know it was long and a bit of a scatter hopping to one character after the other but hey- HEADCANNONS ARE AWESOME 👏 👏👏

[fictionfordays]

Modern AU! Findekano HCs

CW: insecurities mentioned, but no real warnings here!

WC: ~500

A/N: Findekano needs something active in his life that he can enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Tolkien Masterlist

❀ Works as a personal trainer, but really he wants to go into sports medicine. Specifically to work with a professional sports team. He knows every single muscle in the body - its scientific name, common name, and function, and also prides himself on how well he can put together a routine for literally ANYONE. Any body type, mobility range, and how to work around limitations like missing limbs, arthritis, paralysis, etc

❀ Really enjoys sports; watching, playing, it doesn’t matter bc he’s into it

❀ He’s an ambivert who absolutely loves spending time in the presence of others. He is so charming and outgoing and easy to talk to and be around. His puppy dog energy is REAL and he makes everyone feel excited about seeing him. BUT, being an ambivert, he does need quiet time on occasion, or a chance to unwind. He can find people to be draining at times, as well as specific people generally draining his energy more than others. In those moments he’s… much quieter, more stuck in his head than usual. This can be concerning for someone’s first time seeing him that way, but he’s quick to reassure them that he’ll be fine once he has some time alone<3

❀ His smile is so pretty !!! How are his teeth so white? His lips are pink and glossy? And the way it always seems so genuine and real, his pretty eyes crinkling as the corners of his lips turn up !!!

❀ I feel like this boy lives in athletic clothing. If he has to dress nice for something, like a date or a meeting, then he totally knows how to, but he truly thrives in athleisure

❀ His hair is usually worn down, or half up. If he’s active like working out at the gym or playing a game of soccer for example, then he’ll pull it all up into a perfect messy bun on the top of his head

❀ He’s very flirty, even without meaning to be. He’s just so kind and charming that it sometimes comes across a little different than he intends… He can’t help it

❀ Fingon is very handsome. Logically, he knows this, but bc his cousins and friends are also all very beautiful he often feels unattractive or at least insecure. He takes extra good care of himself due to this: twice a day skincare routine, nightly haircare routine with weekly hair masks, even a regular training/workout schedule

❀ I think he enjoys going to local farms to get fresh fruits and veggies. Poor boy tries so hard to start his own garden but he gets so busy and gets too excited about gardening and ends up either heavily over-watering or forgetting about the garden altogether. After the first five attempts at starting his own (he is determined!) he decides it’s better to let the pros do it and he enjoys supporting local farmers and businesses anyway

❀ Not a very good cook... but he tries! He can make one or two dishes really well. Knows his way around a grill though

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