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blockedbykei · 7 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

— synopsis: kageyama always had one agenda in his life: volleyball. it just so happens that you seemed to challenge him even more than the sport has ever done in his life.

— warnings: (this chapter) awkward kageyama, sucks at feelings. frenemies to lovers, a little angst bc kageyama's about to relapse lol pls don't attack me also i don't know how the academic system works in japan

— parts: i, ii, iii, iv

ii; love thorns all over this rose

kageyama is awake thirty minutes before his alarm rings.

and in those thirty minutes, he spends it like he usually does— planning.

and with a little bit of spice, reminiscing.

"they'll pay you," he said on the phone. he had sensed your relief despite your silence on the other side.

"thank god." you sighed. "okay dude, i gotta be honest with you. i'm only using this opportunity as some kind of job starter, 'kay? i won't be permanent. so don't get your hopes up."

"i won't be too hopeful on you." he deadpanned. a little too honest, to upfront, maybe brought up by buried pain. kageyama shook the thought. "when can you start?"

"anytime you want me to start, tobio-chan." you beamed. he heard ruffling in the background, and the familiar sound of keys jingling. "except today though. i have some paperwork to do. will tomorrow be okay?"

"okay."

that was yesterday, at 4:13pm. it was now 5:30 in the morning.

and it seems like you were awake too.

kageyama jumps at the sound of his phone vibrating against his wooden bedside table. he pushes the covers off his body, pushing himself up to sit against the bed frame before unplugging his phone off his cable.

you. u up? wanna jog around? 5:32am

he doesn't hesitate to reply.

kageyama. Sure. 5:32am

—

to his fortune, your apartment was near his home. so the idea of jogging around was easily fulfilled as his legs are now being warmed up outside the entrance of your building.

kageyama is a little eager to see you at this time in the morning, a rush of excitement adding a bounce on his heels. and he only waits for five minutes until he sees you exit the elevator in your sports attire.

jacket and leggings. same as his, except he wore sweatpants.

your hair is tied up messily, strands of hair above your head uncombed and bumpy. you walk towards him and give him a smile, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

he thinks that image of you will stay plastered on his mind.

"ready to go, tobio?"

he looks at you, foot pressed on a bench. his fingers tie his laces as he stares at you.

kageyama was always a man of few words, and you'd learned how to read him through his eyes and body language alone. his stare may seem blank to others, but you read it as "yes, i'm ready."

and he says it either way. "yes"

—

"so what exactly is it that i'm supposed to do?"

you've matched his pace, or maybe he's slowed down to jog by your side, or maybe he's just slow and you're a bit faster than him. either way, you're happy to be in the same speed, enough so that you can talk to him without having a hard time.

kageyama hums. "uh. you will be like my life coach?"

"what the fuck is a life coach?" you grimace.

"i don't know either." his breath is white past his lips from the cold air, sparing you a quick glance. "i just think i'm too obsessed with volleyball that i kind of... don't have a life outside of it."

"i thought volleyball was your life."

"it is. until i became an adult." he swallows thickly. "when i'm not on the court, i'm in my classes. when i'm not in my classes and the court's not open i... i don't do anything. i think i'm a boring person."

"so you're like a loser?"

kageyama sighs dejectedly. "yeah."

"and you want me to make you more, what, interesting?"

"yeah."

"and i'm getting paid to do this?"

"yeah."

"i'm getting paid to teach you how to get a life," you guffaw, small pants leaving your mouth as you do so. "i never thought i'd be doing that after three years. holy shit, tobio-chan."

kageyama pouts. "do you find joy over the fact that i'm a loser?"

"oh yes," you shake your head, a smile on your face. "i do enjoy that."

you both stop after ten minutes, deciding to take a break by sitting on the bench. you place your feet on the space beside kageyama, bringing it to your chest, facing him. he tilts his head up and swallows the water rapidly as if he'd been parched since the dawn of time.

he wipes his sweat off his forehead, his biceps contracting, hair sticking to his skin. you blush at the sight.

"so what do you want to try doing?" you ask him, tugging on your sleeves.

kageyama shrugs. "how to not be too obsessed with volleyball."

"okay genius," you roll your eyes. "i meant do you want to learn how to ride a bike? how to paint? to swim?"

"i know how to ride a bike," then he pauses, looking down at the tips of your shoes grazing his thigh. he scratches his chin. "i wanna learn how to swim."

you scrunch your nose. "did you even attend the swimming classes back in high school?"

"no."

"god, tobio," you laugh through your nose. "where were you? hiding in the gym?"

"i was with you inside the janitor's closet remember?"

your smile fades a little, pulling your feet closer to yourself. and then you look away from him.

"so i'm teaching you how to swim then." kageyama wishes you'd look at him again, take your eyes off from whatever you're staring at and plant them on him instead. "i might push you into the deep part of the pool, then i remembered you're tall so you could just stand. unless i put a rock on you..."

"do i need to list it down?" he asks, and you look at him. your eyes seemed duller than earlier. he almost winces. "all the things you're going to teach me?"

"hm," you scoot closer. your arms rest on top of your knees, your chin resting on top of your left forearm. "first, you're gonna get a manicure with me. that'll be tomorrow because i want one."

"okay."

"then we're gonna do yoga," you beam. "so you could relax. you're always so tense."

kageyama pulls his phone app, and you assume he's opening the notes app. "okay."

"swimming. then skydiving. camping. joining those bike marathon thingies. oh! pottery. i think you'd like pottery."

"do we really have to do skydiving?" he shivers a little; partly from the cold, partly from the image of falling from the sky with the chance of dying. "i don't think that's a hobby that will help me with volleyball. i think that would just make me want to stay on the court."

you roll your eyes. "whatever. add cooking. unless you already know how to."

"just a little."

"add cooking."

his fingers type on the letters, the click-clacks emitting from his phone mingling with the soft breeze's gentle whisper. "anything else?"

"i kinda wanna keep the others a surprise." you smile, flashing him a bit of your teeth between your lips. the wisps of your hair fall on your cheeks, and your eyes almost smile at him. "done taking a break? i wanna run again."

kageyama stands up, putting his phone on his pocket. you kick your feet off the bench and place them on the ground, stretching your arms.

you start before he does. he feels a thread of nervousness coursing through his veins, tying it around each tendril. there's doubt knocking on his head telling him that at some point of this "life-coaching" of yours would eventually fuck up whatever it is that you have now.

he wouldn't want to fuck up twice.

his feet jogs himself up at your pace, his heart twinging at the smile you give him.

—

september 2014

senior year meant mandatory swim classes. which meant that kageyama would skip class for the 63rd time since his freshman year.

the table was jovial with excitement, albeit it seems that tsukishima was voicing the similar disdain towards swimming. "getting dressed in front of you guys is enough." he reasoned.

hinata and yamaguchi beam in excitement, mostly because they both knew they would be given free time to play around the pool. and since the boys and girls were separated, you and yachi made a silent vow to stick with one another.

"tobio," you placed your hand on his shoulder. he jumped out of his daze, food in mouth, his head turning to look at you, and you debate on telling him to stop looking at you like that, because while a second ago he seemed horrified, now he looked at you like you'd given him a miracle to be saved. "you alright?"

"yes." his head nodded, putting another broccoli in his occupied mouth. "i don't want to go swimming."

"me neither," you giggled. your hand was still on his shoulder, burning onto his uniform and seeping through his skin. kageyama fought hard not to blush. "i promised yachi though, so. please don't skip."

"okay." okay, i'll still skip.

"kageyama," hinata bumped his shoulder. "let's race to see who swims fastest."

"i don't want to, dumbass," kageyama snarled. "i want to eat lunch. let's see who gets to finish first."

their petulance had always interested you. their relationship would always trick people into thinking they despised one another, but no one ever really saw their true bond and how close they were. you laughed at the way they would swallow their food directly and at the way yachi had begin to voice her concern on choking and something about the heimlich maneuver.

in front of you, yamaguchi and tsukishima's slowly blooming ("platonic" they said, defending) relationship seemed to quietly berate the two.

later that day, you'd lost yachi with your other classmates right after you ascend from the pool. you quickly got yourself dressed, hair dripping wet and leaving streaks of water down the back of your blouse, and searched for her.

you found yourself inside the gym five minutes later, seeing that the doors were unlocked. but when you peeked, the sight of her bright blonde hair was nowhere to be seen.

a muffled cluttering sound startled you.

"hello?"

your voice echoed in the empty gym.

"(y/n)?"

kageyama's nervousness rang at every corner of the gymnasium. you saw him peek his head out from the closet, eyes wide. you furrowed your eyebrows.

"what the fuck are you doing there?" you asked hastily, walking towards him. "you're supposed to be at the pool—"

he yanked you towards him, inside the closet and closing the door behind him. it hadn't registered to you that kageyama began hearing footsteps approaching the gym and it put his heart at an alarming rate. your mouth snapped shut, hiding behind his body, your hair leaving droplets on his uniform.

then there's muffled conversation, a few laughs, a tone that mimicked questioning, and then you heard the doors slam shut. you froze.

"how are we going to get out?" you panicked, voice small and a whisper, even though you're certain that a normal volume would've sufficed.

"calm down," he scowled. "i have the keys with me. how'd you think i got in here in the first place?"

he pulled the keys out and twirled them in his finger. relief defeats the panic that settled on your face, though a smile never rose out of you. but it was enough for kageyama to reassure you. he walked to you, resting his back against one of the shelves beside you, keeping a distance that could've looked like he wasn't giving you any sort of distance at all.

"what are you doing here?" he asked, arms crossed. you took the keys off his hands, clutching it in your fist, and couldn't help yourself but sneer at him.

"you said you'd go to the class."

"i only said okay, doesn't mean i'm agreeing."

you gawped. "that is agreeing!"

"you didn't answer my question." he instilled. "what are you doing here?"

you scratched the back of your neck, fingertips dampened from your slowly drying hair, chlorine and faint conditioner evident through the scent. "i lost yachi. i thought she could be here 'cause the doors were open."

he showed his acknowledgement through a hum, no words leaving him. you sighed and approached the door, twisting the doorknob and peaked through the small slit you created.

"i should probably go," you said, looking back at him. "we should probably go."

you give him a stern look, vexated at his lie. kageyama pushed himself off the shelf, walking towards you, and you thought that maybe he'd decided to follow your orders, but instead his arm reaches out to pull the door close.

the brightness from the outside is only evident through the cracks beneath and between the doors, the only light in the dark room. kageyama stood in front of you, both of you leaning your bodies against the metal door.

your heart beated a little faster, the sound reverberating in your ears. you hope he doesn't hear how fast it gets with the way he slowly leaned closer to you, his head tilted just the slighesg, hair falling just above his eyebrows.

his eyes are dark, but there's a little shine at the edge of his irises, his gaze soft. his lips are parted the slightest, tongue coming out to gloss the dried skin. you swallow thickly.

it felt too oddly intimate to be in a situation like this with a friend you've known since the beginning of junior high. and you wondered if it was inappropriate of you to blush wildly; if it was disrespectful of you to want to tiptoe the edge of your friendship just because you're in a closet with him hiding as if you'd both be shot dead and you're enjoying the last, quiet moments together.

you knew you've never seen him as more than a friend. at least, that was what you've manipulated yourself to think. you convinced your excitement to see him as a way to be excited to start your day. you tell yourself you're concerned for his safety because you worry his sister would eat you up if he'd gotten hurt without you rather than because you wouldn't want him to get hurt in general.

you forced him to take breaks from volleyball because you poke fun at his lack of social life, not because you worry he may drive himself away from you from his over enthusiasm and passion.

you do not feel lovesick over kageyama.

and he thought that the look on your face— surprised, blushing, wide eyed— was the most endearing sight out of all endearing sights. the corner of his lip tugs upward, his teeth beginning to poke out of his awkward smile.

"we don't have classes right after," he reasoned. "we could stay here for a few more minutes."

"you-" you point your finger to his chest, nail digging on his shirt and onto his thick skin. "-have practice. i have a student council meeting and volleyball training at the local court, thanks to your fucking greedy asses, by the way. both of which will start in like-... uh...-"

"seven minutes." he cocked a brow. "let's stay here until then."

so you did.

you sat on the floor and ate the snacks he had on his bag, cross legged, on opposite sides. you started the conversation by asking when the nationals were, and that if it fit right into your schedule, you could bring the student council to up the level of the cheerleading team for karasuno. kageyama beamed at your offer.

your phone lit up, a notification bar on the screen, and he knew what your wallpaper was– it was the six of you, on one of the carnivals last june, on the ferris wheel that showed hinata yelling out the edge, tsukishima gripping on the sides for his dear life, yachi and yamaguchi laughing at the chaos they ensued;

you, holding the phone up, with kageyama beside you, smiling with his eyes set on your laughing figure.

he saw the way your eyes lingered on the screen for a moment before you tapped on the text, screen brightening, your fingers tapping on the keyboard.

"who's that?" he asked, curiosity undecided if he should be jealous (and deny it) or be relieved.

"kuroo-san," you said. "he's inviting you guys to play at nekoma next week. says he and the old team are visiting to check out the new team, and he thought it would be great if you guys fought with them again...? what...?"

"why is he texting you, though?" he shoves a hello panda in his mouth. "shouldn't he text yachi? or literally anyone else."

"i don't think he has her number."

"why does he have your number?"

"because hinata gave it to him."

he swore to murder him after 7 minutes.

"i'll tell them," he said, forced to give you a smile; forced to hide the distaste on his tongue at the thought of kuroo sending you a text. "you gonna come?"

"maybe, i could play, too, bring my team so we could finally play at a court where we wouldn't have to share with kids." you scowl at him. "can you impress me for a hundredth time?"

he'd take that chance at any given moment.

—

kageyama finds himself on the court again after your jog. the cold air still fresh on his damp skin, the sound of your voice still evident even if you'd already left almost an hour ago to meet up with your team one last time.

"so, how'd it go?"

hinata plays with the ball on the other side of the court, bouncing it between the floor and his palm. kageyama shrugs, placing his towel on top of his gym bag.

"she said we'll start tomorrow," he answers, walking towards the net, fingers poking through the square slots. "i'm nervous about this."

"i think it's a big mistake." hinata blurts out, his hand immediately covering his mouth. his wide eyes do nothing but start the fuse in kageyama's temper.

"what do you mean it's a big mistake?" he ducks between the net, towering over his shaking friend, who walks backwards and shoots him an ever nervous grin.

"i'm just saying– i mean well, we've talked here and then, and she hasn't exactly– dude, you're scaring me–"

kageyama stops in his tracks, sighing heavily with a hand on his forehead. "exactly what, hinata?"

his friend shakes his arms, snapping them. his right hand comes up to his left and rotates it, looking at kageyama like he hadn't scared him beforehand. "she hasn't exactly forgotten about what you did, you know. i mean its nice of you to take the chance and make up for what you did, but if you ever fuck up again, i don't think she'll be as forgiving as last time."

"i won't fuck up." he scowls, going back to his side.

"and if she finds out you only did this to keep her from getting that job with kuroo-san?"

kageyama places his hands on his hips, looking up yo the ceiling. it was high; the lights a bit blinding, the basketball hoop folded upwards to keep out of the way from high serves. his eyes close and counts to three, until he feels his nerves calm down, before looking back at hinata.

"has he mentioned it to her?"

"i don't think he has." hinata says. "i don't think he's forgotten, either."

"okay."

"kageyama," he begins, looking at him warningly. "if she finds out you're only doing this so that you won't lose her– so that she'd be here with you, she's not going to like it."

"i know that."

"then stop whatever it is that you're doing!"

"whatever, man! i'm doing her a favor," he spins the ball in his palm, squishing it with the other. kageyama glares at his orange hair, not at his eyes– because he doesn't want to actually make him feel that he was mad at him. "she said she quit because she didn't want to be associated with volleyball anymore. kuroo's offer is associated with volleyba-"

"an offer is an offer, kageyama, it's her decision to decline it or not," hinata sighs. "don't confuse her. don't make her fall again. don't make things even more complicated than it already is."

kageyama feels the gasoline inside him about to burst, his eyebrows furrowing further, scowl deepening. he throws the ball into the air, and jumps at the right time to serve. hinata, thrown off guard, ducks and covers his head with his hands as the ball hits the wall behind him.

hinata looks back at him with wide eyed anger. "you- you jerk!"

he runs to him, diving beneath the net to tackle his legs. kageyama falls to his back, his yell echoing, wrapping his legs around hinata's neck.

his anger, albeit predictable, is rooted on something he can't identify. he knows he's mad at hinata, but he also knows it's not exactly the actual cause. there's a deep set of guilt planted in him that coalesces with the anger he decides to displace on others. maybe it's because he knows that hinata's right— that the offer kuroo was supposed to propose was yours to accept or decline; it wasn't his position to keep you from doing so.

but at the same time, he knows that if he hadn't done anything— even if he could— to keep you here, with him, while he's slowly easing the pain he'd caused you, he would die with the regret he'd feel. and even so, he would do anything to get you back.

so at the feeling of his head meeting the floor, kageyama is snapped into a dilemma of morals and deluded wants. hinata pins him to the ground, knees on either side of his hips, looking disappointedly down on his heaving friend.

"we haven't fought this hard since freshman year," he laughs tiredly. "she's my friend, kageyama. and you're my friend either. i don't want you both to be hurt to the point where it affects all of us. i was honestly surprised that she was able to act normally after the shit you pulled. she was that afraid to lose you."

hinata pushes himself off him, offering his hand to kageyama. he takes it, pulling him off the ground. "please don't tell her."

kageyama could see him contemplate. he knows how easy hinata is to control under pressure, most especially if it included his guilty conscience in honor of a friend— he can't bring himself to lie. he was never a liar at the expense of someone.

but if it was something he had to do for the people that he cared for...

"okay," he says in his pleading gaze. "i can keep quiet. but i don't know when kuroo will bring this up to her. she'll find out eventually."

"i'll tell her myself."

—

after spending five hours in relishing the exhilarating thrill of spiking a ball across the court, his free training is cut "short" when his phone begins to ring.

doused in sweat, he walks to the bench where his bag resides. hinata plops down to the ground, elbows on his knees, panting. kageyama picks up his phone and sees your icon—

in a small circle, with a smile, in the karasuno uniform with your hair in a ponytail. he does not remember the day the picture was taken nor what the event was, but he swears he's had the same icon of yours since high school, even after he'd switched the phone.

he clicks the green telephone button.

"hello?"

"are you at the court?" there's a busy crowd behind you. you sound uncomfortable.

"no."

"don't lie."

"yes."

you laugh, he blushes. "okay. can i come there if it's okay? we've got matters to discuss."

he says yes and you're there 20 minutes later. you discard the thick coat off your shoulders, revealing something that looked too comfortable to be considered as casual— literally a large shirt and sweatpants.

"ey, (y/n)!" hinata comes up to give you a one-armed hug, trying not to get you wet with his sweat. you smile at him, sitting down on the bench beside kageyama's bag.

"hey, sho-chan." you beam. "mind if i'm here for a short while?"

"i don't mind if you stayed here until midnight." he laughs, sitting down crossed legged in front of you on the floor. kageyama sits on the same bench, his bag dividing the two of you.

"so what's up?" he wipes his face with a towel. do players actually sweat this much?

"so i got a call from your management," you begin, taking your phone out and opening your notes app. "i took in minutes of the meeting as a habit. anyway, so your pr manager told me that we can't exactly be seen together all the time unless we want people to think that we're dating. yuck."

the emphasis on your yuck makes him laugh out the pain.

"anyway, so she said we can't do whatever it is that you want all the time. we either have to do it with your friends, the two of us on a very private area, or just you alone." you explain. "so i decided to, like, create a list of all the things we should do. and i also need you to sign this contract because i'm not doing this forever."

a soft copied contract he assumes is sent by his management is displayed on your phone as you hand it to him. you zoom in on his name, types in capital letters beneath a line where his digital signature is to be placed. with a shaky finger, he writes his signature.

you stutter. "you- you didn't even read it."

"i don't want to."

"you have to," you roll your eyes. "okay so, your management says that i have to do this life-coaching shit of yours only until your next big match."

"which is in a few months." hinata butts in, a granola bar in hand.

a few months. he has a few months with you.

a few months of making up for the damage he caused. a few months to change the way you act around him. a few months to keep you with him. kageyama doesn't know what happens after then— maybe you'd already found out the offer kuroo ought to give you, and maybe you'd take it with no hesitation, leaving him behind.

the stress of lying catches up with the way his stomach twists and his tongue loses its taste. the hollow feeling of nervousness emits from the way his palms begin to sweat. he feels pressured to plan already— to figure out what to do right after the contract ends; what to say when you found out he interfered with a major opportunity.

"yeah. so. i also can't interfere nor be the cause of your downfall in volleyball or they will sue me." you bite your bottom lip. "is that even possible? like, defamation?"

"what's defamation?" kageyama asks, fingertips fiddling with the cap of his waterbottle. you huff.

"it's by ruining one's reputation by creating false statements. i'd do that if you piss me off," you jest, going back to your phone and scrolling. kageyama thinks of it as a real threat. "anyway, so i will have to ask your teammates or friends to come join us for the following weeks, although i do prefer if you also do it."

he frowns. "why me?"

"because you hired me and it's also your job to be less of a pain in the ass," you poke the space between his eyebrows. he groans, grasping your wrist and pull it down from his face.

hinata's eyes narrow at the sight of two tinted cheeks.

you break free from him. "i'll be sending you the list tomorrow. i'll get going now."

kageyama stops you from slinging your bag over your shoulder, a hand on one of the straps. "how'd you get here?"

you make a confused face. "uh. by bus?"

"let me drive you home."

"i'm fine, tobio," you laugh lightly, standing up, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. "it's only one bus ride. plus, i don't think hinata's done with practicing yet—"

"we're done!" hinata claps his shoulder, squeezing it, tight enough to make him uncomfortable. kageyama glares at him through his peripherals. "it's fine. i'll close up."

it's gotten to the point where hinata had pushed the both of you off outside the court and into the parking lot.

kageyama almost feels desolated— the silence caused by confusion almost deemed you a ghost, thus making him feel like he was lost in a very crowded parking lot. but when you nudge his shoulder, and the look on your face was replaced with a small smile, he takes his keys out of the pocket of his gym bag, his car beeping not too far.

you sit on the passenger side, quickly buckling your seat belt and dropping your bag on your lap. kageyama shuts the door and sticks the key in the ignition, a random song on the radio playing as it lights up blue.

no one says a word during the drive.

you can sense the tension was brought by thoughts that are wanted to be shared but never spoken. something about the past— the past you'd tried to forgotten; the past kageyama was trying to mend. it was not because of the sudden professional relationship created by the both of you.

(it actually also was that.)

the ride was short— maybe five songs had passed and three ad breaks. he parks just at the side, where he wouldn't be told off, and you unbuckled your seatbelt.

"thanks for the ride," you say, finally. he sucks in a breath of relief.

"no problem." and just when you're about to reach out and leave, he puts his hand on your wrist again. you stop on your movements, looking back at him over your shoulder.

"is something the matter?"

"why'd you take it?" kageyama asks, his hand still on your wrist. you blink at him, sitting back down and resting your back on the car seat. but his hand now hovers over your burning skin.

your eyebrows furrow. "what do you mean?"

"why'd you take the job if it sounded stupid?"

you look into his eyes. kageyama looked unsure— almost in disbelief. he seems to be doubting you at this moment which almost brings a scoff out of you. his bottom lip is quickly bitten, a habit of anxiousness.

"i told you– it's a starter job. it's not easy to get a job while i'm still in college. i kinda need the money as soon as possible too, y'know? i'm not exactly a pro athlete so i don't get paid—"

"why are you helping me?" he urges. kageyama leans over the transmission, a hand on the wheel. his elbow is placed on the shoulder of your seat, and he's unbelievably close to you that you feel his hot breath. "you could've taken a job at a cafe. tsukishima could've helped you with it. or yachi-san. so why did you accept my last minute offer?"

it was like he was searching for a reason for your sudden acceptance at an incredulous offer for a job that he made up. he wanted to know the reason behind it— maybe something that could get his hopes up on fixing a relationship that's barely even there; something that could feed on his nightly routine of delusions about you and what could have been.

your eyes flicker between his. kageyama has always had intense eyes. too intense that you can't decipher what he's actually feeling sometimes. but even so, they're the only ones you're forcing yourself to look at— because he's so close. there's barely any friendly proximity between the two of you. you're afraid of glancing down his lips to avoid any miscommunication; you don't look at anywhere else because you don't want to seem shy.

your heart starts to beat faster. you curse it.

"because you're my friend," you murmur. "and i'm actually concerned about your obsession with volleyball."

kageyama leans back just the slightest, but you can still feel his heat.

"i've always wanted to help you lessen your obsession since high school, y'know? at least this time i'm– i'm getting paid."

"you still want to help me even after—"

"i don't want to talk about it, kageyama."

it seems as if you knew what he was going to say. the sudden use of his surname, the softness that immediately hardened at the memory flashing in your mind; the guard you instantly put up. kageyama's heart twinges, leaning back on his seat.

he expects you to leave him and slam the door, watching you walk towards your building.

instead, he feels your hand on his.

your hand on his.

his head snaps to you, twitching slightly. your fingers squeeze the back of his hand a little, offering him a sad smile.

"i care for you," you say. "i hope you don't abuse it again."

kageyama feels like he's been holding his breath for years.

you exit his car and close it properly, crossing the front and enter your building. he watches you disappear behind the doors of your elevator, and he thinks you may have been looking at him as well.

the feeling you leave on his hand remains. he puts it on his chest, placing his other hand on top of it, and feels the way his heart skips multiple beats that he considers rushing to the hospital.

nervous. guilt. an unfamiliar sensation on his belly that rises up to his chest filled with heat.

he does not want to fuck this up.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#hq kageyama #kageyama tobio x reader #haikyuu kageyama #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #tobio kageyama #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff #haikyu #haikyuu fluff

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xalicitie · 11 months ago

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Take Care of Me — Paul Maud’dib Atreides (smut)

Leila is Chani’s trusted crony. While Chani and Paul share a passionate and intimate love for one another, as Paul embraces his role as Lisan Al-Gaib, Chani encounters detrimental trouble in dealing with his new persona and thus turns to Leila as a channel for her frustration. Leila has been Paul’s own medic for a day, and returning to his chambers to treat an opened wound, she takes her frustration out on him. And yet, she finds out he’s frustrated, too.

The full story will be posted on AO3–HAHA. Just kidding. I have no fucking motivation anymore and it’s killing me. If I manage to fill in a few scenes on this story, then it will make it onto AO3. The full story starts a few scenes ahead of this.

Also, this is based on the movies. I’m reading book 1 now, but I wrote this pretty early on. A lot of the stuff probably won’t make sense in the Dune world. If u have a problem suck my cokkk

Isn’t it obvious I like medic smut scenarios

Also if u want the ending of this tell me! idk if the Dune fandom will welcome me here🙏

I enter Paul Maud’Dib Atreides’ chambers for my second round—and yet within my circumstance, and the unfortunate display of events that have fallen into place, instead of knocking, I barge through.

I find Usul confined to his bed, blood gushing through his white garment.

“Leave.” I pronounce with an impatient tongue. The nurses at Usul’s side take a look at me, and with silent agreement, rush off and through his grand doors.

Usul dons a blank countenance, slightly embellished with the graze of concern. More prominently, however, I can see physical pain in his eyes. I try not to let him uncover that this deeply perturbs me.

“Now why in the fucking world would you do this to yourself?” I demand. My footsteps boom through the lifeless room, my lips stiff with inhibition.

He sits there for a second, gaping up at me slightly, plainly confused.

“Excuse me?”

I know this is the Messiah. And I understand that he could have me thrown off the planet for speaking to him in such a wretched way. But with this, I uncover in myself boiling rebellion.

“Damnit, don’t gape at me.” I snarl a bit. I can feel my indignation running wild, through a pounding chest and through my mindless mouth.

“Sit up.”

He does, silently. I’m grateful.

“Take this off.”

I gesture to his shirt. He does this, too.

I come around with a cloth. Staring down at him, I survey the image—he’s bleeding out. Quickly, at that. He messed up his stomach wound considerably. His toned stomach is scaled with blood, a red, filthy gash on his left side. My heartbeat chases a pounding rhythm. Holy shit: he might fucking die.

My inhibition snaps.

“Nevermind. Screw it. Lay against the headrest. Be careful, you damned fool.”

Usul groans as he backs into his bed. “I was told I was getting nursed, not chastised.” He seethes through a set of clamped teeth.

“Yes, well, you managed to ruin your binding. I can see it took an incredible amount of effort, too.” I climb into the bed. Barring off any uncomfortable undertones, I crawl towards him.

“Yet I also don’t need a fucking coach right now, Leila. I need a medic.” I feel his hot breath lingering in the air near; I snap my face towards his. His gaze is unwavering, and I can see his studying gaze, his brow twitching calculatingly.

I’m a frazzled mess—I can tell as my eyes twitch that’s it’s painfully obvious.

I flinch suddenly. My gaze wanders, and I find warm, masculine digits consuming mine.

“You need to stop shaking, damnit.”

His quiet yet pregnant words resonate with me and into my weak, distressed body. I fall still. With his palm against my aching fingers, I find the quickest respite.

“Focus. I will not die.”

“Did you prophesize that, hm?”

“No. I trust you.”

My eyes flutter shut. I inhale a tremulous breath. He’s right—I can’t work in my state right now. But if I want to do as much as merely stopping the bleeding, I’ll have to shift my attitude. Swiftly.

My mind doesn’t dare wander towards Chani. It would be custom for me to turn to her for strength, but the mental image of her mainly brings about animosity. Instead, I focus here, now—on Usul’s palpable heat, in his hands and in the heavy scent of his presence.

I take a moment. A moment, quietly finding my peace and my lost, inner instinct.

After many prolonged breaths, I sit up.

And I get to work.

“This is going to hurt. You might want to lay down.”

Silently, he obeys me.

My skills succumb to my mind. I work intensely—I dab the cloth into his thick blood, which stains his alabaster skin. As I work, a few meager thoughts roam my mind: I doubt no Fremen wouldn’t pay their wage for a touch of his blood, I ponder. Being so intimate with his mortality brings everything into scope; Usul has a power only rivaled by Emperors, Kings, and Queens, however any hit can be fatal. Without Paul, the Fremen lose their symbol and their incentive. But, well, no pressure.

On the other hand, I’m notably grateful for his compliance. And I’m even further impressed with his determination too, in refusing to speak a single word nor a mere sound. As I uncover my own tenets, and I come out of Chani’s shadow, I’m starting to realize.. my favor isn’t entirely for Chani.

A bowl of water arrives with a nurse. Thanking her and sending her off, I near Usul again.

“Does this have to do with Chani?”

As I begin to clean his wound, I talk pointedly, inquiry woven into my tone.

His voice comes eventually, but he groans when I pour the sacred water directly onto his gash. His bony fingers twitch and attach onto the mattress, grasping lightly.

“-Did she tell you anything?” He utters begrudgingly.

“Mhm.” I answer.

“Is that why you’re in a mood?”

Water pools onto his stomach, which is hard with muscles, rising and falling with his trained breaths. It slips onto the bed, wetting it gradually by the second.

“I questioned you first.” I demand.

I can smell his eyes rolling a mile away.

“Yes. I attempted .. reaching her. She’s more stubborn now than I recall.”

I nod involuntarily. Stubborn was a nice word.

“So, you’re not her minion anymore?”

My focused brows shoot up. I drive my mien into his.

“Do you want me to screw up your wound?”

“Leila.”

Trickles and little indications of nerves meander through my body. I realize I’ve paused my work, and with a surge of purpose, I return.

“I don’t dislike the change. You’re finding yourself.”

I bite my gum. “So I have been a nobody until now?”

“No.”

I draw a cloth, lathered with soap around the borders of his wound. He mumbles something, maybe a curse, before speaking again.

“It’s gratifying to see you.. not so impressionable.”

I really do hate being timid and gullible sometimes. Thus, the reason Chani’s been such a magnetic force of my life. She has stiff, ardent opinions, and a defensive stance. Her caution keeps her ready to strike.

But I know this persona is who I am. Even now, with a callous expression discoloring my soft features, I understand—this isn’t me.

“Well, I can’t take care of you forever.” I speak with disdain, brushing away my probing thoughts. “Whatever you do in your pastime isn’t my business, but if you manage to break through this dressing a second time, for whatever reason, I’m getting another nurse to manage your carelessness.”

I hear a smile. “Yes ma’am.”

“Do you know what it is to be a nurse?” I begin. “No. You fight, and you thrust your blade at any living thing. We clean up. We witness the rubble of war, and we tend to the malignant products of violence.” I set the now empty bowl aside, my eyes cast far into the monochrome walls.

“You can’t afford to be careless. You’re the Messiah, Usul. And I surely cannot, either. I mess up, and you’re blood’s on my hands.” I pause. “In this very moment, we’re linked—so I just want you to do your part, as I do mine.”

“So I’m the source of your ire.”

My face scrunches into a frazzled frustration. “Did you hear anything I just said?

“I won’t mess up again. You can trust me.” I rest there, sitting above his body as my fingers dress his wound with ointment, a stone-cold countenance on my face. “What bothers you?”

I bite my gum grimly. “Don’t provoke me.”

“But if you keep your anger confined, what else might invoke it?”

“This isn’t the time for this, Usul.”

“-Paul.”

My fingers halt, propped against his warm skin as I meet eyes with Usul.

“What?”

“I would rather you call me Paul.”

I search my mind. Does anyone other than Chani call him Paul? His mother, of course. And Gurney, obviously. But the list drags to a stop there.

Is he marking the enhancement of our friendship? Maybe he’s egging me into transferring information. Altogether, it puzzles me.

Alas, I disregard my selfish thoughts. It’s foolish of me to pleasure myself with the thought that I might mean something special to the Lisan Al-Gaib. Sighing, I rise from my position.

“Okay, Paul.”

I turn to the table at my flank, taking up a pristine, fresh sheet of dressing into my hands. “Sit up against the headrest. ..Please.”

He does so without complaint once again. I approach him apprehensively. The silence is disarming. I can feel his gaze on me like a cool, unshakeable breeze.

As I begin my work, I succumb to his request.

“Counsel-Member Sarat has been my patient for the past week.” I swallow my shame while my fingers press into Paul’s stomach, attaching the covering gingerly. “He died today. Of infection. And .. and the counsel thought it fit for me to be demoted from my position as head nurse since, inherently, the war has ‘dulled my senses and muted my skills’. They’re rather unyielding in their blame, which they’ve..” I laugh dully. “..brutally pinned on me.”

“They’ve stripped you of your title as head nurse?”

“Mhm.” I confirm gently. It feels that, if I speak a decibel louder, I might crackle and fall apart.

“Give me an hour; I’ll give you your title back.”

“..Paul, it is not your place.” I tell him with warning eyes.

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“I-“ I grunt out an intermittent groan. “Do you really care if I’m head nurse or not?”

“You’re the best in your field. I’ve seen it, I witness it this very moment. Ignorance runs through the council, it’s rather obvious.”

If my complexion warrants it, I blush. I haven’t heard kudos of such high acclaim of late, or.. ever, perhaps. Hardness and disdain may have encrusted my heart, but his words seem to chip at the layers with ease.

“Just, don’t act yet.” I say carefully. “Today has been enough for me. A prolonged night of sleep might just be enough to relieve me of this stress.”

I apply one last morsel of pressure into his side with my palm, scrutinizing the dressing. Immediately, the strings of responsibility lay off of my shoulders. He’s alive, breathing, and his stomach is marked by white linen rather than the thick, maroon tints of his precious blood.

“And you. Our deal?”

I look for understanding in his face, yet I’m met with gentle confusion. I roll my eyes.

“Take care of yourself. Don’t fuck your wounds up, and I don’t have to stress about you.”

“Mmm, because you care so much about me?”

He says this blandly and with a husky tone. I chuckle, falling cocky. “You know what I mean-“

Something warming creeps up my waist. My eyes drawn to the sensation, I look down to see Paul’s hand at my side.

I lift my head. I’m met with his eyes—blue and slitted, brushed by the shadow of the dim light at the end of the spacious room. The cold throb of the air suddenly becomes terribly tangible.

Suddenly, I know. As he holds my gaze, as he holds me, I know. Every stalking thought of my intuition was valid—the prickles of tension were never figments of my wild imagination. That look, that look of his is polluted with infatuation.

I press myself away from him. “What is—what are you-”

“Just stop, Leila.”

His fingers dig a little into my skin. Suddenly, my walls are up. My shoulders surrender to stiffness; my breath refuses to release.

He leans in closer, stealing meager inches of the mattress.

“Isn’t it easier this way? We’re both stressed out of our minds, it hurts, I know. I can relieve you of your pressure, Leila-“

“You jest!”

I push him away with incredulous palms. This shocks me just as much as it does him.

“Chani. We both care for her—is this what you imply?! For two of her loved ones to betray her in one night?-”

“What is there to betray?!”

With a quickness I’m unable to fathom, we are then a mess of limbs; his legs have crawled forth and are propped onto mine, his arm bridging the distance, deft fingers bordering the brink of my neck and shoulder.

Not a wisp of breath sprouts from inside of me.

“She is frustrating. I know you’re angry with her, with how you so unabashedly project. You’re awfully transparent.”

“You are a cocky bastard.”

“Mm.”

Paul tilts his head, as if saying ‘see?’. I stifle a curse from spilling out, off my flaring tongue.

Warmth spreads like wildfire at my hip, as his left hand claims its spot. The thumb of his right ventures over my jaw and to my cheek, while his remaining digits curl around my neck. I repress a shudder, as well as a susurration at my mouth—one that would surely betray me.

“Don’t you see?” He says it so low, his voice crackles in its sudden baritone as he speaks. “Let me take care of you.”

My eyes flutter shut. My mouth gapes slightly; he leans closer and closer.

“You are Chani’s. Chani is yours.”

“You know that's not true.”

My breath trembles audibly. I can hear it in the thick air.

“Why don’t you act on your own desires?”

“How arrogant do you have to be? I do not desire one morsel of you-“

“Ah, I’ve yet to see you pull back.”

My lashes flutter, opening my eyes so that I can witness a peek of the image in front of me: he breathes me in like oxygen, as if he might suffocate any moment. I can see two slits of blue, their light dawning on me and onto the amalgamation of our intimate shadows.

“I'm afraid I know you better than you know yourself, Leila..”

I breathe in, desperately attempting to sort out my visceral thoughts. Maybe a mere moment of preparation, maybe just a little time ..

Yet he denies it. I breathe in, and Paul Atreides has ensnared me with his lips.

The power he has over me is, in itself, terrifying. I mold underneath his touch, every contiguity setting my skin aflame. Paul kisses like a savage—as we sway, his tongue slithering hungrily between my lips, our mouths a battle of uncertainty and voracity, I see him in a different light. The stiff, self-controlled, solemn boy stripped of his armor is revealed to be an animal, just like any other man.

He must be stressed out of his mind. His movement is desperate, his lips feral. His body snakes over me as my hands brush against his skin—each finger passing a rib one by one, drinking in his warmth. Skin of the Messiah.

Even if I refuse to merge with the Fremens’ united belief, I understand well, with awe and terror, Paul’s title and his power. It chills me, through flesh and into the cavern of my soul: I contact the armor of a royally begotten warrior, and I am all the same groped by the hands of a mighty killer.

Chani. Chani. Chani.

I miserably try to redirect my focus. It shocks me how insanely hungry I am for him—it never occurred to me that I had affection for Paul, but my desire flows copiously. I think back on Chani. I attempt to meditate and recall their love and what strife I’m paving.

And yet my body betrays me, These thoughts, even further, backfire.

I am angry. I am tired, and worn from Chani’s groping. The circumstance is rousing something in me—a beast of a feeling, a pit of animosity. Without caution, I shove Paul into the headrest.

“Stay still.”

I climb onto him. I look down, and find his glimmering blue eyes consumed with startled shock.

“Don’t you care about your wounds at all?”

I kiss him. I trap him against the head of the mattress, letting my hands run wild. With his waist bearing my weight, I begin to steadily ride his crotch.

Paul isn’t mine. In a perverse way, this motivates me further—he could be using me as a channel of relief or as a source for his irate, and he might even be infatuated with me. Yet once I’m immersed in my drive, and I’ve established a tantalizing pace to bounce over and over on his hard-on, I realize: I don’t really care. I want this, and I’ll take my goddamn share.

#paul atreides #paul atreides smut #dune part two #dune #timothée chalamet #Paul Atreides fanfic #Paul Atreides fanfiction #dune fanfiction #Paul Atreides x oc #fanfiction #oneshot

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hesherehesthere · 1 month ago

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Goddamn, This Bastard I Am

Author's Note: This is the "I project heavily onto Roy" fic I've been threatening for a while now. I finally wrote the damn thing and made myself sick over it in the process. Enjoy!

Ao3 Link: (X)

Summary: Roy reflects on various events from canon while Jamie and Keeley are in Brazil.

The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to increase in volume with every passing second, the sound burrowing its way underneath Roy’s skin.

Roy sits on the couch of his house, unable to tear his eyes from it. He holds a glass of whisky in one hand, his pointer finger swiping along the rim in an absentminded fidget. Jamie and Keeley had just left on their trip to Brazil for Jamie’s Nike sponsorship, and he hadn’t been able to focus on anything else.

Jamie has been texting him updates over the past hour or so, seemingly unphased by how royally Roy had fucked up. That, or he’s pretending. Jamie was good at pretending.

Prick act, his brain says.

At least Keeley was still upset with him, as she should be.

His phone lights up and vibrates beside his leg, and Roy allows his eyes to wander over to the screen. There is a preview of an image, and a heavy sigh escapes him as he grabs the phone from the couch and unlocks it.

A picture of Jamie greets him; the other man is sitting in a chair near the airport gate, face flushed from apparent exertion, and his tongue is stuck out.

‘made it to our gate’, is the message that accompanies it, but Roy can’t tear his eyes away from the photo. He can just make out a hint of bright pink and long blonde hair in the corner of the frame, though Jamie has mostly cropped Keeley out of the photo. Roy wonders if it was Jamie or Keeley who had insisted on that.

Probably both of them.

He groans, turning his phone off and taking a long drink from his glass. He drops his head against the back of the couch and stares at the ceiling.

You really fucked it up now, Kent.

The voice in his head is loud, pounding like a headache and thrumming through every inch of his body.

Probably one of the only good things in your life and you fucked it.

He didn’t know when he had started thinking about Jamie as something good, instead of a vehicle for his own self-hatred, but at some point, he had.

In a moment of clarity, he realizes he never answered Jamie’s text, snatching his phone from the couch a second later. He swipes it open and responds with a thumbs up. As soon as the message is sent, his stomach begins to tie itself up in knots as he stares at the exchange. He groans again, locking the phone and tossing it out of arm’s reach.

Don’t know what he sees in you. You can’t even carry on a basic fucking conversation.

From where Roy had tossed his phone, it vibrates again, and Roy considers leaving it. However, every second he ignores Jamie feels like another fight he’s fucking instigating. It eventually gets to him. He shuffles to the side, leaning over to snatch the phone, slightly sloshing his drink in the process.

‘you should have come with us, coach.’

Roy is still processing that when a second text follows.

‘could have yelled at me to keep pace, maybe we wouldn’t have been so close to being late’

A complicated mix of emotions swirls through Roy at the message.

The voice in his head uses that confusion to pounce.

You really are a fucking bastard. He thinks the only reason you like being around him is to yell at him.

He’s typing out a response to the message before he knows what he’s doing.

‘You’re better off without me there.’

Jamie leaves him on read.

---

Roy’s eyes scan over Jamie, who is seated on the other side of the booth. Traces of blood are still present on his face and hoodie, mapping out the memory of where Roy had hit him.

His own shirt feels breezy from where Jamie had torn it, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Dragging Jamie to his kebab place had seemed the most sincere form of apology he could think of as they had stood on Keeley’s front porch, but he hadn’t considered the way it would make him feel to actually have Jamie sat across from him.

What the fuck were you thinking?

Roy wants to apologize, to Jamie, and to Keeley, but he can’t figure out how to do it in a way that doesn’t feel like putting a bandage on an open wound thrice the size of it.

Jamie isn’t looking at him as he eats, the chicken kebab Roy probably would have ordered for him anyways almost halfway gone. Roy still hasn’t touched his.

The silence between them feels heavy, like a physical weight on Roy’s shoulders, but Jamie doesn’t seem to be as affected as he is. That, or he’s really good at pretending.

No one knew what was going on with his dad for fucking ages, of course he’s good at pretending. Don’t you remember the whole prick act?

Roy clears his throat, trying to force down his racing thoughts. Jamie glances up at him momentarily, but when he realizes that Roy doesn’t have anything to say, he goes back to his kebab.

It was your fucking idea to go to Keeley’s in the first place, the voice in his head reminds him for the thousandth time.

He’s a better man than you. You just had to go and drag him down with you.

Roy huffs, grabbing his kebab and taking a vicious bite, as if that would somehow shut up the voices playing on repeat in his head.

You tricked him, you know. You saw how fucking excited he was to go for a drink with you. But you had to go and open your goddamn mouth. You should have just let it go.

Roy knows he should have let it go, this fucking voice of guilt didn’t need to keep bringing it up.

“You alright in there, coach?” Jamie’s voice cuts through the haze of Roy’s thoughts, and he snaps his eyes up to look at him from where he now realizes he had been glaring at the table.

“Huh?”

“You looked like you wanted to kill your kebab. I know they’re like, unreasonably good, but-”

“I’m fine.”

An unreadable expression passes across Jamie’s face at Roy’s bluntness, but Roy can’t bring himself to apologize.

Jamie stares at him for a few seconds, seemingly putting his thoughts together. “We fucked up tonight,” Jamie says finally. Roy growls, an attempt at a warning to get Jamie to stop talking, but the other man continues despite the threat of more hostile noises. “We fucked up,” Jamie repeats. “But we can’t change what we did. We can only apologize and try to be better in the future.”

Roy gapes, eyes widening slightly as he tries desperately to keep up.

See, told you. Definitely a better man.

“Right,” Roy says instead, his voice a deep growl as he shakes his head, following it up with another bite of his kebab.

He needs another drink.

---

Jamie continues to text him over the following week.

Most of the time, it isn’t anything to write home about. Jamie texts him a variety of stream of consciousness messages, and Roy responds with one-word answers.

Jamie will ask if he’s allowed to eat or drink certain things, and Roy will respond with reasonable answers. Jamie pouts. Roy can’t see it, but he knows Jamie is doing it.

But then.

Jamie sends him photos from the Nike shoot.

It’s late and Roy is sitting in bed, newest novel in his hands, when his phone lights up with the message. He sets the book against his chest and opens his phone.

The photos are accompanied by a flurry of mentions of disclosure agreements and pleading with Roy not to leak anything.

‘you can’t show anyone yet’, Jamie texts. ‘i shouldn’t be showing you yet either, but you’re my coach, so it should be fine’

As if Roy would even want to share them with anyone.

He feels a surge of possessiveness flare inside of him as he taps on one of the photos to enlarge it. He starts to swipe through the assortment, his eyes locked to the screen. They start off harmless enough, but Jamie looks breathless, and they seem to have oiled him up to replicate the gleam of sweat.

In one of the photos, Jamie’s shirt is pulled up to wipe some of the fake sweat from his brow, his sculpted torso on full display.

Roy can feel his face beginning to warm as he stares at the photo, tongue heavy in his mouth.

‘Are these ads for Nike or a porno?’ Roy messages Jamie, but quickly scrolls back in their exchange to enlarge the photo again. He feels the first pang of guilt for looking at Jamie like this, but he already hates himself.

What’s one more log on the fire?

‘they know what the people want ;P’ The message from Jamie appears at the top of his screen, and Roy swipes it away.

His eyes scan over the lines of Jamie’s body- his defined abs and biceps, tits and waist that Roy finds himself wanting to grab. His arse is hidden due to the angle of the photo, and Roy thinks it’s a shame; it would be the perfect photo otherwise.

You’re a fucking creep. The voice in his head is back. Punch him over Keeley and then objectify him when he’s not around.

Roy closes his eyes tightly, sucking in a heavy, shaky breath as he tries to pull himself together. Despite his best efforts, he can feel his cock starting to stir in his shorts and he winces.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and Roy opens his eyes to see another message from Jamie at the top of his screen. ‘do i look good, coach?’

Fuck it.

In a moment’s time Roy bookmarks his novel and sets it to the side, storyline he had once been following long forgotten.

He shoves his shorts down enough to palm himself over his boxers, head tipping back against the headboard as he stares at the ceiling and tries to come to terms with the fact that this is what he’s doing. It wouldn’t be the first time he thought about getting off to Jamie Tartt, but it’s the first time he’s ever followed through.

After a few moments of composing himself, his eyes flick to his phone once again. The screen has gone dark, and he quickly unlocks it once more. He lets himself drink in the photo that is the source of his grief.

Do I look good, coach?

The words swirl through his mind as he stares at the photo, echoing in his head in a familiar voice as he finally pushes past his boxers to wrap a hand around himself properly.

Look bloody fucking gorgeous, Roy thinks to himself. Fucking unreal. And all thanks to me.

Another surge of guilt and an unknown emotion (pride? possessiveness?) flood through Roy’s body.

He fucking did that himself, you self-centered bastard. He would have done it with or without you. You think your bossing him around and yelling at him gives you the right to claim that?

Roy growls a bit under his breath, shaking his head, but swipes through the photos to another that shows his arse more prominently.

That first day that Roy showed up for their morning training and Jamie hard greeted him at the door, naked from the waist down, haunts his dreams. Even back then he thought that he might have liked to fuck him.

His hand works steadily over his cock, visions of an imaginary Jamie pleading with Roy to let him come merging with the reality of the photos in front of him.

Jamie really was a good boy when it came down to it. He would pout and complain, but always followed Roy’s instructions. If he wasn’t sure what Roy wanted, he would ask.

Even while he was away on his trip with Keeley, he was still reaching out to Roy, making sure that he was pleasing him.

You don’t fucking deserve that kind of devotion, Kent. The fuck have you done for him? Made him feel like shit?

Roy grasps at the hope that the echoing thoughts would cause his body to calm down, so that he won’t have to deal with the repercussions of jacking off over one of his players, but unfortunately his cock doesn’t get the message.

He comes not long after with the imaginary sound of Jamie’s voice, high pitched and begging, mixing with his looping thoughts of guilt.

It takes him another five minutes to recover from the intensity of the orgasm, before he pulls his phone out once more.

‘They look good.’

---

The windmills are beautiful.

Jamie is beautiful.

The thought hits Roy like a bomb going off, and his brain struggles to keep up with its sheer explosiveness.

Jamie looks over at him. He is leant forward on the handlebars of the bike, his face somehow both soft and completely lit up in joy.

Time freezes.

When they had arrived in Amsterdam, Roy all worked up in knots over Keeley moving on, this was not how he had expected to spend his night.

He had expected to spend his time yelling at Jamie, telling him what to do while Jamie whined and pouted, but listened just the same. Instead, he had been dragged all over the city and forced onto a bike, vomiting all of his thoughts and trauma, all of which was encouraged by the sheer overwhelming nature of being close to Jamie Tartt.

No, not Jamie Tartt.

Jamie.

Jamie Tartt was someone different- an imaginary figure in Roy’s head- someone that he used as a scapegoat for all of his anger.

Jamie was just Jamie.

Jamie was who he was here with tonight, and Jamie was the person that Roy had been spending every morning with for the past several months.

Jamie Tartt was the person he had yelled at in the bus, but Jamie was the person he had received in return.

“Windmill,” Jamie says simply, waving his hand in the direction of the structure. “See? Told ya they were real.” There is a cheeky sort of grin on his face, his eyes lit up in mischief as he pokes the bear.

Roy can’t find it in himself to be bothered.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Windmill.”

“Well? Beautiful, ain’t it?”

You’re beautiful.

“Yeah. I guess.”

Jamie giggles, and the sound of it spreads a warmth through Roy’s body in a way he didn’t think possible. “You don’t have to be so old and grumpy all the time, you know,” Jamie says, and he glances back towards the windmill himself. “It’s okay to admit you were wrong.”

There’s a hint of teasing to the other man’s voice, and Roy waits for the anger to start pricking at his skin.

For whatever reason, it never comes.

“Alright,” Roy finally concedes. “I was wrong. They’re beautiful.”

There’s a slight hint of shock to Jamie’s features as he turns back to Roy, but it quickly softens to something lighter and sweeter. “Good. I’m glad you like ‘em.” He pauses for a second, seemingly turning something over in his head. “Come on,” he says finally. “Follow me.”

Before Roy is even able to comprehend the words, Jamie takes off like a shot, and Roy curses under his breath. He was able to get the hang of the bicycle well enough, but starting so quickly is something he still hadn’t mastered.

Eventually he manages to get the bike moving, trying desperately to keep up. He feels a little silly, but after the initial word vomit of an exchange, Jamie hadn’t laughed at him and had been nothing short of encouraging.

He finally manages to catch up to Jamie, his breath coming out in harsh little pants, when something happens. The wheel must hit a rock, or at least that’s the excuse he makes for himself as he loses his balance, cursing loudly as he veers off to the side before falling to the ground.

Luckily, he lands mostly in a soft cushion of grass and moss. His face burns red in shame as he lays sprawled out on his back, staring up into the covering of trees.

Several moments pass before Jamie’s face appears in his line of vision, an amused smirk playing across his features. “Hey, I mean, you made it pretty far before totally wiping out.”

“Fuck you,” Roy replies, but there isn’t any heat behind the words as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

Once the embarrassment passes, he realizes that the bike is sitting slightly off to the side. Jamie shoves it out of the way with his foot as he crouches down next to Roy. “You fucked up the bike pretty bad, coach. Dunno if you’re gonna be able to ride it anymore.”

He is closer to Roy then, his face barely a breath’s width away, and Roy feels his own breath catch in his throat.

“Hit a rock,” Roy mutters under his breath, and amusement lights up Jamie’s features.

“Of course you did, coach,” Jamie replies, and then his hands are on Roy’s thighs. The touch feels like fireworks to Roy’s flustered brain, and his ability to think immediately flies out the window.

“Let me check and make sure you aren’t hurt nowhere,” Jamie says, and his hands reach for Roy’s sides. “Tell me if anything hurts.” With that, Jamie begins to press over Roy’s skin in short, firm bursts, hands moving to different areas as the seconds passed.

If Roy didn’t know any better, he would have said Jamie was looking for an excuse to feel him up.

“I’m fine,” Roy finally manages to choke out, but the words feel forced. He finds it hard to breathe when Jamie looks up, locking their eyes. Traces of a smile tug at Jamie’s lips.

Roy wants to kiss him.

Roy really, really wants to kiss him.

He pushes the thoughts down as quickly as they come. It wouldn’t be fair to Jamie, who is so young and kind and full of hope, to be dragged down by someone like Roy.

Besides, you’re probably just worked up about Keeley.

Yeah, that’s it.

He’s just worked up about Keeley, and it would using Jamie to kiss him, no matter how desperately his brain is trying to tell him otherwise.

Luckily, after a few moments, Jamie seems to be content that Roy isn’t too badly damaged, and he scoots backwards a bit, putting some distance between their faces and giving Roy room to focus.

“Well, you look alright,” Jamie says. “Even if your head seems a bit fucked up. You don’t have a concussion, do you?”

“I’m fine,” Roy says, instinctively. “I don’t have a concussion.”

Jamie nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on you anyways. Someone’s got to.” He stands up as he speaks, glancing mournfully at the bike that lays off to the side. “You really did do a number on this, though.”

He thinks for a moment, before his face lights up again. “Alright,” he says. There’s a giddiness to his tone that makes dread begin to settle in Roy’s gut. “I have an idea. Stand up.”

Roy pushes himself to his feet as Jamie mounts his bike, which is luckily still intact.

“You can sit behind me,” Jamie says brightly, scooting forward on the bike seat so there are a mere few inches behind his arse. “You grab onto my waist, and I bring us back to the bus.”

Roy groans, his mind racing as he tries to come up with an alternative. When nothing comes, he eventually sighs, perching himself on the couple of inches left after Jamie has seated himself

Once Roy’s arm is solidly slung around Jamie’s waist and they are sitting far too close to comfort, Jamie starts moving.

This is going to be a long ride.

---

What Roy doesn’t expect to receive is a text from Keeley.

The contents of said text make even less sense.

‘Fucking answer Jamie’s texts, Roy.’

Roy blinks in confusion at the message before his brows furrow deeply. He swipes back to his message thread with Jamie. The very bottom of the photos from the Nike shoot are at the top of the screen, and a fresh wave of guilt washes through him before he manages to push it down.

Underneath it were a couple of different texts, but Roy had responded. Not in depth or complicated responses, but that was to be expected.

He swipes back to Keeley’s message. ‘I have been responding. Did he say I wasn’t?’

Anxiety hits him in a wave, and he flicks the switch on the side of his phone, turning off silent mode.

‘He says you’re tolerating him. He keeps trying to start conversations, and you’re stopping them before they go anywhere. He thinks you’re mad at him.’

Panic rises inside of Roy in a matter of seconds. He had been doing everything in his power to ensure that Jamie didn’t think he was upset, and he’d somehow gone and fucked it up anyways.

‘I’m not mad at him.’

‘Then tell him that, not me. I’m tired of being the middleman.’

Roy stares at the text for a minute longer. He couldn’t say that he blamed her. In fact, he fully expected that Keeley would never want to speak to him again after the stunt that he and Jamie had pulled at her house.

Mostly you, though.

‘I’m sorry,’ he texts back.

‘Just fix it, Roy. He’s really fucked up over you.’

Keeley would know better than anyone how it felt to be fucked over by Roy’s bullshit, and he feels the twist of guilt he always does when he thinks about how the two of them had ended. Now he was doing the same thing to Jamie.

‘I’m not mad at you.’ He sends the text before he can second guess it, before he can turn the words over in his head until they spill out his ears. ‘I’ve just been busy.’

Liar. You haven’t been doing anything except wallowing in self fucking pity.

Roy stands to his feet as he waits for a reply, heading towards the kitchen in an idle pace. He grabs a beer from the fridge, the lid of the bottle hissing at him as he opens it. He understands. He’d hiss at himself too.

The ding of his phone brings his attention out of his own thoughts.

‘keeley told you ;-;’

Another message follows a few seconds later.

‘i’m sorry. told her it was fine’

‘But I’m not mad at you.’ Roy is surprised he doesn’t break the screen of his phone with how aggressively he’s hitting it with his thumbs.

‘it’s fine if you are’

‘Well, I’m fucking not. I just have a lot on my mind. But I’m not mad.’

You’re not mad at him, the voice in his head reminds him, and Roy grinds his teeth. But you know you’re a shit person. Everyone is worse off after you’ve been in their lives. You fucking hurt everyone.

He takes a long swig of his beer, staring at the screen.

Fuck it.

‘You’ve been whining about wanting me to see the room. Fucking face time me then.’

His phone lights up with the incoming call a few seconds later.

For a second, he regrets all of the life choices he’s made that have led him to this point. Then he hits accept, and Jamie’s beaming face greets him on the screen.

“Hi, coach,” he chirps, and he grins at the screen. “Never thought you’d miss me so much you’d want to face time me.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he can’t ignore the way his heart flutters at seeing Jamie so happy. “If your suite is so fucking great, show it to me then.”

Jamie continues to beam as he does so, flitting around from room to room, alternating from showing his own face to various wide shots of the room.

Finally, the room tour nears an end. “Oh, and here’s Keeley,” Jamie says, flipping the camera to show her. He squishes in close to her side so they’re both on screen, and Keeley’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Hi, Roy,” she says, and her voice is slightly tighter than Roy would like. He can feel himself wanting to hang up, to run away from the whole situation, but he forces a smile anyways.

“Hi, Keeley. Good trip?”

Her face softens a bit at the question, and she glances over at Jamie, who is watching her expectantly. “Yeah,” she says, finally. “It’s been nice. Even nicer now that Jamie’s not pouting so much.”

Roy watches as a red flush works its way over Jamie’s cheeks and down his neck, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt. Roy can’t help but wonder how far down it goes.

“I wasn’t pouting,” Jamie insists, making Keeley and Roy chuckle in unison.

“You do pout,” Roy says, voice warm in a way he wasn’t expecting. “Don’t worry, it’s cute.” He blinks in surprise at the words that came out of his own mouth, and he feels the heat rushing to his own face as Jamie’s deepens.

Keeley only watches them curiously.

“I- have to fucking go,” Roy finally manages to choke out. “But I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” He hits the button to end the call before either Jamie or Keeley can say much to protest.

Way to fucking go, Kent.

---

This was for the fucking best.

Roy had to tell himself that this was for the fucking best, or he’d yell.

Fuck, he still might fucking yell.

Keeley was busy, and he was busy, and it just wasn’t going to work.

That’s not why. You’re fucking jealous of her success. No fucking confidence in yourself. She deserves so much fucking better than you. A fucking broken-down ex-footballer that can’t love her the way she deserves.

The words play on repeat in his head as he recites the script he’d prepared. They were busy, it would be better for both of them if they broke up.

He tries to ignore the shattered expression on Keeley’s face as he forces out the carefully chosen words through gritted teeth.

She’s better off without you.

---

“I’m just always fucking everything up, aren’t I?” Roy says, glaring at the floor. Doctor Fieldstone sits across from him, her face carefully neutral.

“Why do you say that, Roy?”

“Because it’s fucking true? All of the relationships I’ve ever had, all the friendships- I fuck them. Ruin everything, no matter how hard I try not to. Everyone’s better off without me in their lives, I don’t bring anything fucking meaningful to the table.”

Roy wasn’t sure he had ever said anything like this in therapy before. He usually got out of his sessions stiff, confused, and unsure of all he had said and hadn’t said. He thought he was typically doing a lot more of the not saying than the saying. The past week had been a lot though, the voice in his head getting louder and screaming more and more frequently.

He hadn’t meant to give it a voice, but it seems he had, just the same.

Now she’s really gonna think you’re fucked up, y’know. You’re not supposed to say that shit out loud.

“Sorry,” Roy mutters, wrapping his arms around himself and sinking back into his chair.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Doctor Fieldstone replies. “How long have you been feeling this way, do you think?”

Roy almost laughs.

A better question would be when hadn’t he felt that way.

“I don’t know,” he says instead.

“Alright. Well, could you give me an example of when you’ve done this recently then?”

“Jamie thought I was mad at him,” Roy says, the words spilling out before he’s able to stop them. “I hadn’t been texting him back right, and he was upset.”

“What did you do about it?”

Roy freezes on the spot, his eyes locked with hers. “I… texted him. Told him I wasn’t upset with him. Then I face timed with him.”

Doctor Fieldstone smiles a bit, and Roy tears his eyes away, staring at the wall as he waits for her to respond. “That doesn’t seem like a terrible solution to me.”

“But I hurt him in the first place,” Roy says. He knows he’s doubling down, but he can’t help it. “I didn’t even know I was doing it, and I hurt him. Just by… being me.”

“We all have the capacity to hurt people, Roy. Intentionally and unintentionally. Sometimes things happen. Sometimes we hurt people. Sometimes they don’t forgive us. That’s life. It’s what we do afterwards that matters.”

Roy is immediately transported back to sitting in the kebab shop with Jamie, when he said something not too different.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” Roy asks in a huff. “If I just keep fucking up and hurting people?"

“Well,” Doctor Fieldstone replies, her voice steady. “Unfortunately, I think that until you learn to accept yourself, you might just keep going down this path. You’re running from intimacy because you feel like you don’t deserve it, because you don’t deserve for people to love you, but that’s always going to hurt the people that do love you.”

“Because they’re wrong,” Roy insists. “They shouldn’t love me.”

“But they do. That’s the thing about love.” She pauses for a moment. “Tell me something.”

Roy grunts, but glances at the woman expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

“You love your niece, correct?”

Roy scoffs. “Of course.”

“Of course. And what would you do if she told you one day that you shouldn’t love her? That she doesn’t deserve love?”

The whirlwind of unidentifiable thoughts swirling through Roy’s mind come screeching to a halt. He gapes for a second, then shakes his head. “She wouldn’t.”

“But if she did?”

Roy makes a soft noise, shifting slightly as a sick feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. “I’d tell her she was being stupid, that of course she did. That she couldn’t fucking stop me.”

“So why are things different when it’s you?”

Roy finds himself sitting in that for a moment, a lump forming in the back of his throat as he shake his head. “Dunno,” he finally manages to grit out before clamping his mouth shut.

“Right. Well, I’m telling you right now that people love you, Roy, whether or not you think that you deserve that. Pushing people away doesn’t change that, it just hurts them.”

Roy continues thinking about that for the rest of the night.

---

It’s good fucking champagne.

Roy is still thinking about how Jamie’s face had lit up when he had seen him and Keeley. Now that an hour or so has passed, Jamie and Keeley are practically on top of each other with how close they’re sitting.

He takes another swig from the bottle in his hand, his eyes scanning over the two of them.

They really are gorgeous together.

No matter what his jealousy on the matter is, that is unable to be argued.

Jamie says something, but the words fly over his head, none of them making any sense to his hazy brain. He’s not drunk, he hasn’t had enough for that, but it feels like he could be.

Keeley must think whatever Jamie says is funny though, because she giggles, head lolling a bit closer to his shoulder as she takes another drink.

Then Jamie’s eyes meet his. There is something teasing to the gaze of them, something curious and soft and all of the things Roy once thought Jamie could never be.

He hadn’t thought that for a long time.

Jamie looks expectant though, as if he is waiting for some sort of answer, and Roy racks his brain for what he is supposed to say.

“What?” He asks finally, causing Keeley to giggle again.

“Jesus, granddad, how much have you had?” Jamie asks, but the corners of his lips are tugging at a smile. “Do I have to cut you off?”

“I’m not fucking drunk,” Roy says. “Just tell me what you want.”

He cringes internally, the words coming out harsher to his own ears than he had intended for them to. Jamie doesn’t seem to notice though.

“I said, you should give me a day off from training tomorrow. My leg and the champagne and all.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “Of course you’re taking the day off,” he replies. “You already fucking played injured, you don’t need to train injured too.”

Jamie hums, and there is a softness to his expression that almost has Roy biting his lip.

“Thanks, coach,” he says, before taking another sip of the champagne. “Why did you guys come after me, anyways?” “I already told you, to celebrate,” Roy says, at the same time that Keeley says, “We didn’t want you to be alone.”

Roy freezes in place, his eyes darting away from Jamie to rest on Keeley instead.

She raises an eyebrow.

“We didn’t want you to be alone,” she repeats, eyes locked with Roy as she speaks. Then she turns to look at Jamie once more. “You did fucking amazing in the match, and we didn’t think you should be alone after being injured like that.”

A soft flush makes its way across Jamie’s features as his eyes dart back and forth between Roy and Keeley, before finally settling on his own lap. “I would’ve been alright,” he says, and Roy feels a frustration bubbling up inside of him, pricking at his skin.

“Keeley’s right,” he says, the words coming out before he knew what was happening. “You did fucking fantastic.”

Jamie looks up, the blush across his cheeks deepening slightly as he locks eyes with Roy. “Yeah? I did?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go fishing for compliments.” The words are a mumble, but he gets them out before he gets nervous and tears his gaze away. He feels a warmth spreading through his body and he swallows hard.

The silence that settles through the room is almost uncomfortable, and Keeley is the one to eventually break it.

“Right! Well, plenty more champagne where that came from.”

---

Roy isn’t sure exactly how much time he has spent over the past week staring at the wall, but it has to be more than usual.

He knows that Jamie and Keeley will be on their way back from Brazil soon, and he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to face either of them, especially after all Doctor Fieldstone had given him to think about.

You shouldn’t push it, they probably don’t want to talk to you anyways.

Roy groans, rubbing his hands over his face before digging the palms of his hands into his closed eyes.

“That’s not for me to decide,” he mumbles under his breath, immediately feeling exposed. It feels strange, unnatural. He surges forward regardless. “Pushing people away doesn’t help anything.”

He feels his body tense as he speaks. He shakes his head and scoffs before going back to staring at the wall.

This is fucking stupid. You know that’s not fucking true. You being around them is what’s causing the problem-

Before he was forced to continue arguing with himself, a loud knocking from the front door startles him from his thoughts. Confusion immediately takes over; he hadn’t been expecting anyone to come around, and there were only a few people it could be. Maybe he had forgotten about a package.

As he walks towards the door, his mind still mulling over Jamie and Keeley in the background, he is distracted by the sound of hushed whispers and giggles.

He opens the door.

“What the fuck-” Roy cuts himself off when he sees who is standing there; Keeley and Jamie are stood side by side. Jamie’s arms are behind his back, and both of them look like they are trying not to laugh.

For a moment, Roy gapes, before figuring out how to speak again.

“You two weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“Got an early flight,” Jamie chirps, his face bright and his eyes lit up with excitement. “Thought we’d surprise you.” With the words, he pulls his arms out from behind his back, a bottle of champagne in either hand.

A flood of emotions washes through Roy then, and for a moment he loses the ability to speak again.

“Why?” He finally asks, and Jamie glanced at Keeley, who smiles a bit and tips her head in his direction.

“We figured you’d have been moping around here all lonely and pitiful the whole time we were gone,” Jamie says, and Keeley laughs.

“We didn’t want you to be alone,” she says. “Are you going to invite us in?”

Roy makes a soft noise, stepping to the side and opening the door wider as Jamie and Keeley make their way inside.

They came here for you. They care about you.

Roy sucks in a sharp breath, staring after Keeley and Jamie as they push deeper into his house.

He shuts the door and follows.

#ted lasso #roy kent #jamie tartt #keeley jones #royjamie #roykeeley #keeleyjamie #royjamiekeeley #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #i write sometimes

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riririnnnn · 9 months ago

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(ooc... i guess??) what's the relevant lore for the aiku kidnappings 🧍‍♂️ is everything under the girlfriend fc tag fair game or are the movies and interviews in a different timeline

Ah, you are a brave one, aren't you? Not many ask this question for they are scared what might be the consequences. If you still wish to continue, then you are welcome. Please make yourself comfortable in my humble abode.

I must warn you again, proceed with caution.

If you are still willing to know everything, then please follow me.

The root of this nightmare was born when @soleilonthesun broke up with Aiku Oliver and left him all alone. Sources say that it wasn't, particularly, a messy break up and both the involved parties did walk away in peace. However, the credibility of this statement is still quite debatable considering that it is believed to be the starting point of everything.

Whereabouts of Aiku after the break up is not completely clear. Some sources say that he was seen in clubs with exotic dancers while some say that he was seen in a café all alone. Nevertheless, it is confirmed that he was last seen inside his apartment complex about two days prior to the first kidnapping after which he was never seen near that building.

The first kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and the first victim's name is @riririnnnn. She was an attacking midfielder for Girlfriend FC and resided in the dorms with other members of the same team.

The victim had, supposedly, complained to her twin, @bueris, about a shadow figure lurking near her window during nighttime and feeling a strange sensation of someone watching her as she slept. The complaints were then directed to the manager, @licoririce, but no further actions were taken thinking it to be just a figment of imagination. Besides, dozens of CCTV cameras and motion sensor detectors are fitted all around the dorm's outside.

Then came the night.

@riririnnnn felt a bit drowsy and her poor performance was noted by the coach, @marcsnuffy, too. She was advised to get some rest and was sent back to the dorms before the nightly practices ended.

And when she reached her room, she saw it again, she saw the shadow figure on the window again, but this time, it had a face.

"Open up," the face demanded.

"I won't hurt you," the face promised with a sickening grin.

"Open up," the voice sounded more stern.

Fear took a hold of her whole body as she shakingly picked up her phone and dialed the number of @soleilonthesun.

And when she heard the calming voice on the other side of the phone, adrenaline shot up her spine and she ran out of her room.

In panic, she begged and begged, "Soleil, please, please help me. Please come and help me."

Her whimpers were sharply followed by a loud glass breaking noise before the phone went dead on her side.

The members who were still on the field practicing, heard a sharp, shrill scream echoing from the dorms.

Her twin, @bueris, was the first to recognise the agonising screech and without a second delay, she ran towards the source.

However, by the time anyone reached the site, @riririnnnn had vanished.

Nothing beside a note saying, "Catch me if you can, Girlfriend FC," was found.

The next kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and the second victim is @luvingshidou. She played on the offense side for Girlfriend FC and was coming back to Earth from her solo trip to the Moon.

Everything was a smooth sailing and she was reporting her well being hourly when a signal to the control centre was sent saying, "Guys, I think I'm not alone.."

The message, obviously, evoked concerns. Radars and satellite images were thoroughly rechecked yet nothing was found.. until, a white, blurry speck came into light which had gone unnoticed earlier.

The information was quickly passed onto @luvingshidou, but sadly, it was too late.

All the connections were severed already. No signal couldn't be transmitted and neither could be received.

Panic ensued.

Back in the spacecraft, the member of Girlfriend FC was desperately scrounging the control panel of her spaceship. She tried everything. She turned on and off the switches. She rewired the cables. She dismantled and reassembled the talking devices, yet, nothing worked.

And then suddenly, a faint noise was heard.

Bang

She stopped her movements altogether.

Bang

The noise came from.. outside.

Bang

The frequency increased.

Bang Bang Bang

Her blood froze as her finger rapidly clicked on the emergency button.

Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang

And just like that, @luvingshidou had vanished in the cislunar space.

One single message was received back on Earth's radars, "Help."

And another note was found right outside the control centre's building, "Catch me if you can, Girlfriend FC."

The next kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and the third victim is @hooudie212. She was one of the main members among the reserved players of Girlfriend FC, and unlike the previous victims, she was actually able to catch the culprit.

Remember the CCTV cameras and motion detectors mentioned earlier? So, through those records, she piled up a clear sketch and was the first and only one to identify the culprit's name: Aiku Oliver.

It didn't take her much more time and within three days, she caught Aiku with a meticulous trap.

Aiku was questioned by her for days. He was kept in isolation and when needed, was given dosage of shocks too. However, he didn't utter a single word about the kidnapped victims. He kept his mouth sealed shut. Nevertheless, everyone was a bit relieved to know that, at least, there wouldn't be any more kidnappings.

...

And then the day came.

@hooudie212 took a short leave from her afternoon practice to go and check up on Aiku. According to @someprettyname, the other member looked a bit anxious and when asked, she simply replied, "I don't feel good. My gut feeling doesn't feel good."

Back in the prison maintained by Girlfriend FC, @hooudie212 found all the answer she needed.

He had escaped.

Aiku had escaped.

Her feet anxiously tapped the floor as she muttered, "This can't be.. this can't be.." over and over.

Her foolproof plan couldn't be defeated. There were no way it was possible.

"No, no," her voice mumbled in disbelief.

And then..

Thud

Heavy footsteps echoed behind her.

Thud

The sound grew louder.

Thud

Her guts screamed at her to run, to move, to get away.

Thud

But she stayed paralysed.

Thud

And she was never seen again. @hooudie212 had vanished.

This time, however, the culprit left a different kind of note. The next victims were already hinted. It didn't take much to decipher the code and the said members were kept in high security.

The next kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and there were more than one victim.. with an unexpected twist to whatever we knew.

First and the alleged main victim of that night is @cyberbluee. She is the right midfielder for Girlfriend FC and is one of the top gamers in whole wide world.

She was one of the members who were hinted by the note left in the previous crime scene. As soon as her name came up, she was transferred from the Girlfriend FC dorms to a higher security zone. She was guarded 24/7 by a special task force provided by the academy. Her practice times were cut short for her safety too.

Having nothing much to do, she spent her days playing games. She broke and made many records on various competitive games and that was when she received a message from a fellow gamer.

The gamer wasn't unknown to her. He usually stayed close by her in the leaderboards, but they both never knew eachother personally.

And just like that, she gained a new friend who was surprisingly, very charming.

However, a small tragedy struck when her fellow gamer friend stopped coming online. She would stare at his profile, re-read their exchanged messages and would leave texts just in case he received notifications, but nothing seemed to work.

Then, one day, someone knocked on her door.

And that was.. weird.

Knocking on her door wasn't weird, but the knock was always followed by a secret code which proved that the person behind the door is either a member of Girlfriend FC or a member of the special task force.

Knock knock

The noise repeated.

Knock knock

Again.

Knock knock

And again.

She was about to reach for the door when..

Ding!

Something popped up on her computer screen and what she saw made her face pale.

Knock Knock

The screen displayed a man knocking on a door.

Knock knock

The screen displayed a man knocking on her door.

Knock knock

She knew those neon green coloured hairs.

Knock knock

Everything on the internet is connected, after all.

Knock knock

@cyberbluee vanished after that.

Sirens blared inside the tight security building and the Girlfriend FC dorms. All the members and the officials rushed into the scene..

..except @satosuguhastakenovermylife and @getosugurusbangs.

More panic ensued.

Everyone searched for them. Their names were called out in every corner until..

"hihihihi"

A sinister laugh caught everyone's attention.

"This is so fun!"

The same voice squealed ominously.

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

That wicked voice repeated over and over like a record.

Everyone followed the source and soon reached a big, empty room.

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

A vinyl record spun round and round on a record player in the middle of the room.

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

"hihihi— huh?"

"That was quick. Tch. You ruined the fun!"

BOOM!!

The record player exploded and covered the whole room with a thick blanket of white smoke.

Everyone coughed and waved their arms to clear their vision of sight, and when it did, everyone's voice caught up in their throat.

A big poster of a hooded figure now hung in front of them on the walls.

Nothing else was found except an unspoken conclusion that there is someone else other than Aiku.

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

And that, brave one, is all I can provide you with.

Now that you know it all, please be careful.

Do not trust anyone. Do not stray from your path.

Do not accept a helping hand and do not look out the window.

The next victim could be anyone.

And there will be more than one.

Stay alert, Girlfriend FC.

#girlfriend fc #雪 with the gang

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richmonds-disaster-bi · 1 year ago

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A little Grumpy Omega Roy fic

Jamie didn't notice the missed call until he was out of the shower and ready to collapse into bed. Training had been brutal, but it was what he'd expected when he'd gotten the call to play for England.

It wasn't odd for him to have a missed call. Normally it was from one of his agents or a reporter or mostly, his Dad who kept finding new ways to contact him despite Jamie blocking every unknown number flat popped up across his screen.

What was strange about this call was that it was from Roy, and Roy rarely called him. Normally, Roy would spam him with texts despite all of them teasing him about his age. He hated phone calls more than Jamie did, so seeing a missed call without any texts had the alpha growing nervous as he fumbled to call him back.

Roy didn't pick up, and Jamie couldn't help but let out a little whine. Being away from his omega and his child was already a lot, but this had Jamie close to driving to make sure they were both okay.

He was starting to spiral a little when Roy's name flashed up on the screen, and Jamie didn't hesitate answer.

"Roy? Everythin' alright?"

There was silence on the other end. All Jamie could really make out was the faint sound of Roy's breathing. The little hitch in it made Jamie want to whine because he knew, somehow he just knew, that Roy was hurting.

"Babe, talk to me. Has something happened?"

"Jamie", Roy sounded exhausted and sad. It made the alpha want to bundle him in his arms and press kisses to his face until he relaxed but all Jamie could do was grip his phone tight, "Jamie, your dad showed up at the nursery and tried to take Elodie"

Jamie's blood ran cold at those words, so many things bombarded his mind all at once with panic being the main one.

"I'm coming home", is all Jamie could get out. His heart was hammering as he sat up on the bed, already reaching for keys and trying to think of the fastest way back to his family. He needed to be there. He needed to protect them. If he'd been there, Elodie would have been with them, she would have been safe.

"Jamie, Jamie, stop", Roy raised his voice a little and when Jamie growled, the omega growled back louder until Jamie passed, "Elodie is safe. He never even got to see her. Look, turn on your camera"

Jamie didn't hesitate to switch to video call.

Instantly, his daughters image filled the screen. She was snoring audibly. One of her little fists grasped at the shirt Roy was wearing, right over his heart and her little tuft of curls were in disarray as if she'd been asleep for a while now.

Seeing her made him relax. His body sagging as he sat back down on the bed.

"He didn't touch her?"

"He didn't even know she's a she, babe", Roy reassured, "He showed up, gave our names and showed proof that he was your dad. They called me because he's not on the list and when I told them not to let him near Elodie, he threw a bitch fit"

"Thank fuck", Jamie sighed, running a hand over his face and smiling slightly when Roy angled the phone so he could see both of them, "I can tell the coach there's been an emergency"

"No, Jamie. We're okay. We'll see you at the weekend, yeah? Just two more days love", Roy argued back with a glare, "I just wanted to tell you before some asshole got word of your dad's arrest and you'd to find out from Instagram or some shit"

Jamie nodded, biting at his lip as he watched them. His chest aching to be there with them, to scent them both and make sure they were truly okay because he knew Roy was downplaying it to make Jamie comfortable.

"I'll be home soon, yeah?", Jamie whispered, blinking back the tears he felt burning his eyes.

"Yeah love, you will", Roy gave a soft smile but it didn't quiet reach his eyes and from the way Eloide started to grumble, Jamie knew that Roy's scent must be giving away how he really felt.

"Love you", Jamie replied, wanting to burn the words into both of their minds until it stuck.

"Love you too, babe", Roy replied before hanging up and then Jamie was alone again.

And all he could do was wish that they were here with him, safe and sound and within his sight.

#grumpy omeg roy au #roy kent/jamie tartt #roy/jamie #jamie/roy #roy x jamie #jamie tartt #roy kent #ted lasso #ted lasso fic

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years ago

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on thin ice || part 1 || reader x ksj

Kim Seokjin is the image of the perfect figure skater – and he knows it. He’s got the skills, the talent, the looks – the only thing he’s missing is the matching gold medal. There’s nothing he can’t do. But when singles skating turns out to be too much for him to handle after an embarrassing mistake and a knee injury at the World Championship, his coach decides that his best chance at taking gold will be skating with a partner. That's where you come in. There’s only one problem: he’s damn near impossible to work with.

❅ Pairing: skater!reader x skater!Seokjin (feat. coach!Hoseok); dual pov ❅ Part 1 wc: 5.3k ❅ Rating: M (18+) ❅ Genre: figure skating au, enemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut ❅ Chapter warnings: knee injuries, cringe ice-related wordplay, tsundere!jin, alcohol consumption, foul language, angry!hobi, far too many descriptions of jin’s shoulders, at least one (1) mention of jin’s ass in spandex ❅ T/N: seonbae = used to refer to one’s superior

a/n: welcome to my very first collab fic! on thin ice is presented as part of the catch of the century collab to celebrate the one and only worldwide handsome jin’s 30th birthday! definitely go check out the other authors and their stories on the masterlist! i am very very late to posting T_T but it’s here now, yay! also i’d like to apologize in advance if i’ve gotten anything wrong about figure skating; i tried to do my research but it’s almost hard to describe in writing since it’s so visual. i was originally going to post this fic all at once but i decided that breaking it into three chunks would be easier for some reason. parts two and three will be coming out soon, but for now, here is part one, beta’d and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! thx! ly - robyn

PS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses; I just really love em a whole lot.

Present: “I like you,” Seokjin blurts.

His words come so suddenly you’re not sure if you’ve heard him right. Because if you did hear him right, that would mean that the Kim Seokjin, the same man who’s been making everything about your life difficult for the past six months, the man you thought, at one point, might even hate your guts – actually has feelings for you. And that’s only if he’s serious and not pulling your leg right now. “What did you just say?”

“I said I like you, all right?” He’s definitely being sincere. His cheeks are flushed and he can barely look you in the eye. “Really. I think I might even be in love with you. So…please don’t leave me, okay? I know you said we’d play it by ear, but I don’t want to anymore. Don’t make me look for another partner, because the only one I want to skate with is you. I’m asking you to stay. Forever, if you want.” Seokjin trains his eyes downward while he picks at the side of his thumbnail. “Are you going to say something or are we just going to stand here in awkward silence until one of us takes the hint and leaves?”

“Sorry,” you manage finally. “It’s just…I don't know what to say." He likes you. He might even love you. How exactly were you supposed to react? In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have expected those words to come out of Kim Seokjin’s mouth.

“I know I’ve been an asshole.” he mutters under his breath. “Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He sighs. “All right. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t feel the same way. You don’t like me anyway. It’s fine. I’ll go.”

"Wait," you say, catching one of his hands in yours as he turns to leave. You pull him back toward you, until the firm planes of his body are flush against you, your lips reaching up to meet his in a kiss, hoping to convey all of the words tumbling around inside your heart, everything you want to say but can’t seem to put into words. I forgive you. I won’t leave you. And I think I might love you too.

Seokjin seems startled, like he’s not the one who just told you he might be in love with you, but he doesn’t push you away; instead, he leans in further, deepening the kiss. God, he’s a great kisser. You’re the one who initiated, but he clearly knows how to seize the moment. You feel it all over, tingling down your back, in your fingers, in your ears, in your legs, until you tear yourself away, breathless. His face is inches away, shuddering breaths intermingling with yours. He exhales a chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

You cup his chin and turn his face toward you. "Actions speak louder than words, Ice Prince. Didn’t you know that?"

Six Months Ago: You didn’t have many regrets in your life. The ones you did have were boring, basic, like not being wilder in your teens and early twenties, or not confessing your feelings to the cute guy you used to train with before he quit skating and disappeared from your life. No. Those were nothing compared to the decisions that had brought Kim Seokjin, the biggest asshole in professional figure skating, into your life. Agreeing to skate with him – now that was regrettable. Maybe the most regrettable thing you’d done. The man was gorgeous, of course: tall, broad shouldered, a tiny, trim waist any woman would kill for, an ass that didn’t quit even in spandex, sparkling brown eyes, a head full of dark hair. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, for crying out loud, in a painting or gracing the head of some sculpture. By anyone’s standards, and especially his own, Kim Seokjin was perfect, if not a little wounded after his fall from grace – literally – at the World Championship in France almost half a year ago now, where he’d torn his ACL and blown his knee along with his chances at gold and the Olympics, the reason he supposedly needed a partner. To anyone with a passing interest in dramas this only made him more perfect: beautiful and slightly tormented, like their favorite male lead, or a fallen young demigod from a Greek epic. His horde of adoring (mostly female) fans even referred to him as “Worldwide Handsome Jin.” You had to wonder just how much of his public persona was real. You knew a thing or two about it; you used to be one of his fans, though more of a casual observer than anything. You’d seen firsthand how he interacted with them: all winks and smiles and air kisses and finger hearts. It had all seemed so believable then, that Kim Seokjin was not only a world-class figure skater, but a total sweetheart in addition to being the most attractive man in the sport. The complete package, as it were. It would be a dream come true – no, the chance of a lifetime – for someone like you to get to skate with the Kim Seokjin. But that was before you agreed to work with him.

They always say don’t meet your heroes, right?

Right from the start he’d been a pain in the ass, from the moment his coach, Jung Hoseok, had offered you the position as his partner. During your tryout you could hear him picking at you from the stands, but you’d come far enough to believe that you were something of a professional, and could work successfully with most people, even the difficult ones. Kim Seokjin was not most people. He took being difficult to an entirely new level. Within the first ten minutes of your practice together he’d knocked you over, then blamed it on you. Okay, fine – in his defense, not that he deserved it, it kind of had been your fault. You should have known better than to skate up behind him without saying anything. But did he have to be such an ass about it? You were willing to let it go for the first week or two, figuring he was just nursing his wounded pride from blowing his chance at Worlds gold, but it had been weeks, and he was still the same old jerk. You supposed it only made sense that he was a dick. No guy could be that attractive without also being a total jackass. The man hated you. You were convinced of it. Nothing came out of his mouth that wasn’t critical or dismissive. That same mouth always seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. And you, who had been practicing for years, perfecting your signature moves, were suddenly an amateur again. In his eyes, anyway.

“First time on ice, huh, Twinkle Toes?” he mutters into your ear, hand on your waist as you both freeze in your ending positions. Twinkle Toes. Where did that nickname even come from?

“With all due respect,” you hiss, teeth gritted in a feigned smile, “kiss my ass.”

“Ooh. Feisty.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Who do you think I got it from? Shut up.”

"Cute," he says. "I'd love to see you try and make me."

You scoff irritably and yank your hand out of his grasp.

A short whistle blast brings you both to attention. “Well, that was fucking terrible.” Hoseok is glaring at the two of you with a withering expression and you wince internally. It only took a few weeks to find out that Hoseok never minces words when it comes to criticism. “Really. It’s ungodly how awful that was. You two need to get over yourselves, stat, because I’ve had enough of this shit. We've been running the same program for weeks and it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. You’re both barely making the lifts, you're sure as shit not sticking the landings, and your arms are all over the place, all because you can’t stop picking at each other long enough to focus, when neither of you are in any position to be complaining about the other. If you don’t put a lid on it and start acting like the professionals you’re supposed to be, then it’s suicides until the end of eternity for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” says Seokjin. He crosses his arms and gives you a sidelong glance. “I will if she does.”

The audacity of this guy. “I never wasn’t, Ice Prince. Check yourself, or I will do it for you.”

“Great idea, Hobi.” Seokjin looks pointedly at his coach. “I think it’s already working.”

“Don’t Hobi me!” Hoseok snaps. “I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit! Go get to know each other somewhere outside of this rink. Go get food or something. Talk about yourselves. Don’t you dare talk about skating. And try not to kill each other. Yeah? Awesome. Get out of here. If either one of you calls me to complain I’m blocking you.”

“How do you know that the second we get out of here we’re not both going to go our separate ways?” demands Seokjin.

“Because,” says Hoseok. “I’ll know. And I swear to God I will kill you. I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Don’t think I can’t make that happen.” The barely-concealed fury simmering in Hoseok’s eyes is enough to keep either of you from protesting any further.

That was how you’d wound up in a barbecue restaurant, with perhaps the most unlikely dinner guest you’d ever faced. Seokjin sat stoically across from you, scowling, saying nearly nothing, except to insist upon grilling the meat himself. “I’m sure your cooking is about as good as your skating, so I’d rather not take my chances,” he said, curling his upper lip. You sighed resignedly, and waved the waitstaff back over to order several bottles of soju. If you were going to get through dinner with him, you were going to need it, even though you weren’t supposed to since you were in training.

An awkward silence falls over your table like a blanket, almost heavy enough to fold. You watch him as he methodically turns the meat over on the grill. “Do you… like cooking?” you say, hesitantly, in an attempt to break the ice.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes laser-focused on the meat. “Hoseok keeps me on a pretty strict diet during training season, so I don’t get to do it very often, but it’s nice when I get the chance.” There’s a teasing grin on his face. “Let me guess. You’re a terrible cook?”

You scoff. “I get by just fine.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” One eyebrow quirks. “Is ramyeon and convenience store tteokbokki still as good as it used to be?”

“Bite me.” You scowl. “If you must know, I don’t have to cook for myself because my mom brings me food. Every week. So I can focus on training. Balanced meals every night, and all I have to do is wash the dishes.”

“Congrats,” says Seokjin sardonically. “Eat up. Those are done.” He points to a still sizzling batch of pork belly with his chopsticks.

You glare at him as you reach for the meat. It’s perfect. Damn him, you think angrily. Is he just good at everything? You down your glass of soju and pour yourself another, under Seokjin’s disapproving gaze. “What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just thinking you might want to pace yourself a little.”

“Why don’t you stop judging me and loosen up?” You pour a fresh glass and push it toward him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other. And having fun? We can’t exactly do that if you’re just going to sit there and be a stick in the mud.” You nudge the glass closer.

“Yah, stop it! I don’t know why I’m even listening to you.” He picks it up and downs the whole thing in one gulp. “There. Happy? I can keep going.”

“How about a game of Truth or Dare? Only, if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. What do you think?” You lean on the table, resting your hands in your palms and looking up at him.

“No.” He turns over a piece of meat. “I have no interest in getting to know you. I’m only here because I’m trying to not give Hoseok an actual reason to murder me.”

“Isn’t he younger than you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he says dismissively, “it’s Hoseok. He may threaten to murder me like twice a week, but he knows what he’s doing, most of the time. We’re contemporaries, sort of. Which makes him a better coach than some retiree who hasn’t skated in years and has no idea what it's like anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll coach after you retire?” You’ve thought a lot about it yourself, and it’s probably what you’ll do once you decide it’s time. You like the idea of molding the next generation of future potential Olympians and World Cup champions. It feels honorable. Rewarding. A way of paying the universe back, somehow.

Apparently Seokjin doesn’t think so. His eyes narrow and his jawline goes taut, like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who says I’m retiring anytime soon, Twinkle Toes?”

“No one, Ice Prince. It was a simple question. Just forget it.” So he’s not the coaching type. Certainly not surprising, based on what you know so far.

“I can’t imagine anything worse, anyway,” he grumbles. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to get to learn from me, but who has the patience for that? Who’d want to spend all of their free time with a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing?”

“Well, someone has to, don’t they?

“Sure, I guess, if you’re a sadist or something.”

You toss back another shot. Maybe that’s what gives you the courage to ask your next question. “Ice Prince, with all due respect, weren’t you an amateur once? What’s with this burning hatred for beginners?”

“Me? An amateur? Ha!” he scoffs. “Not once in my entire life have I ever been an amateur at anything. Do you know how I got to where I am? Talent. Raw talent. Not everybody has that.”

“Well, maybe that’s your problem, then.” You shrug. “You’ve been coasting on your looks and your talent your whole career, so you don’t know how to handle it when things actually get hard. Is that why you’re so insufferable? I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seokjin demands.

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “Whatever could I possibly mean by that?”

“As if you’ve never wanted to quit when it’s gotten hard,” he mutters, returning his attention to the grill in front of him. “No, because Twinkle Toes is perfect, isn’t she?”

Oh yeah, Hoseok, this was a great idea, you think, rolling your eyes. We might just kill each other first and save you the trouble.

The evening wears on, and you debate pretending to go to the bathroom so you can sneak out of the restaurant and go home, where you could be eating one of your mom’s premade meals prepared with love, with a TV show or a movie for company, instead of eating barbecue prepared with loathing and waging verbal warfare with a man who’s made it his life’s purpose to test your limits. You blow out a breath and order yourself another few bottles of soju, determined to make it through this as painlessly as possible, and attempt to refrain from hurling any more insults in Seokjin’s direction.

Time slows and speeds as neither one of you speaks, and you slip further and further into your stupor, losing track of how many drinks you’ve had. You slam your empty cup down next to your mostly empty bottle of soju – the third one. Or is it the fourth one? His face swims before you, his features blurring into a big round blob, then back into Kim Seokjin. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” he demands. His voice sounds distant. “You know if you drink too much you’ll get us both in trouble. Your coach already hates me, and Hoseok will look for any excuse to smack me across the head.”

“Shut up,” you burst, jabbing a finger in his general direction. “You shut your beautiful mouth, Kim Seokjin. I wouldn’t be drinking if it weren’t for you. This is your fault.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” If your brain is still working the way it’s supposed to, you’d swear he sounds amused. “Okay. How is it my fault?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “It just is, okay?”

“Nope.” He crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it’s my fault if you don’t have any solid evidence.”

“You’re annoying. That’s why.” You prop your head on your fist. “God, you’re so annoying. Ugh. Why did I ever agree to this? You obviously hate me. Nobody’s doing me any favors. I’m just suffering at this point having to deal with you every day.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“I don’t even remember anymore.” The memory seems so distant now. You sigh. “My coach said it would be good for my career. And I admired you. I always have. I really thought I could learn something from you, you know? That skating with you would make me a better skater. I wanted to get along with you. But I guess it was naïve of me to think we could be friends. I mean, I get it. You’re Kim Seokjin.” You’re rambling. “Years of experience, a bajillion gold medals, hordes of screaming fans. And you hate me. I know. You don’t have to like me. But of course you hate me. So why do I even feel bad for you? You’ve got everything you ever wanted, don’t you? What do you care about some little nobody like me?” You sniffle, allowing a few tears to plop onto the table. It’s the most honest you’ve been with him since you met, even if it is because you’re drunk.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just releases a heavy sigh. “You’re not a nobody, y/n.” A napkin appears in your line of sight, extended between two long fingers. You look up, and he smiles wryly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but only because you’re so far gone I know you’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.” His voice softens. “It might look like I have it all. But I don’t. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built in the past fifteen years, it’s all been for one thing. With one mistake, all of it could disappear in an instant, and I might never achieve what I set out to do. If I don’t have any of that…I have nothing. And that terrifies me.”

Kim Seokjin…is scared? You don’t know what to say. “What do you want?” you ask. “This thing you’ve been working for the whole time. What is it?”

“What everyone wants, obviously.” Seokjin avoids your eyes. “Greatness. Recognition.”

You prop your cheek on one hand and gaze at him. “There are things other than greatness, you know. Love. Contentment.” Your mind goes blank trying to think of something else. “Other stuff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’s in the cards for me.” He laughs, a goofy one that sounds sort of like a windshield wiper. It’s the first time you’ve heard a genuine laugh out of him. “Ah, why am I telling you this, anyway? It’s not like you care. Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you say I was insufferable or something like that?”

“Hmm.” You consider it. “No, I really don’t hate you. You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t think I’d say I hate you.”

“So where does that leave us?"

"Wait." You hold up a hand. "You don't hate me?"

"Did I ever say I did?"

"How do you feel about me then?" You lean in, wobbling slightly. "You like me, don't you, Ice Prince?"

Seokjin scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I didn't say that either, Twinkle Toes.” He leans back and crosses his arms across that impossibly broad chest of his, gazing at you imperiously. “I tolerate you because I have to. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, come on. Humor me. We were having such a nice moment, y’know?”

"All right. Fine.” He huffs in mock seriousness. “You’re a little bit more than tolerable, and you’re actually decent when it comes down to it. There. Are you happy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes. “Kim Seokjin thinks I’m decent. That’s something, I guess.” A warm feeling washes over you. You rest your cheek against the surface of the table. It’s cool and flat. “Maybe I should call you seonbae now.”

“Whatever floats your boat, y/n.”

He doesn’t hate me. Kim Seokjin doesn’t hate me.

It’s your last thought before your mind goes blank.

Seokjin wasn’t betting on any of this. Blowing his knee in France, having to hit pause on singles skating to take on the entirely new challenge of skating with a partner: a partner he never wanted and had set his mind on hating – none of it. He’d returned from six months of rehab for the torn ACL, against both Hoseok and his physical therapist’s warnings that it was too soon, hoping against hope that he’d find that everything in his world was still as he’d left it. He’d been sorely disappointed to find that nothing was the same and would probably never be the same again. It was the most he could do to stay upright on the ice. Jumps were no man’s land. Spins weren’t much better. Fifteen years of training, conditioning, and careful practice, gold medals and world-class athleticism, all shot because he had to have his ten seconds of glory at Worlds, ten seconds that had turned into months of pain and embarrassment. It swelled when he used it too much, swelled when he didn’t use it at all, and went stiff overnight, making him limp like an old man in the mornings. Why did he bother, really, when he could barely swing any of the fundamentals anymore? Quitting and taking early retirement sounded more likely than taking home bronze at Worlds – or even placing at all.

Then Hoseok suggested he try skating with a partner. For some reason he seemed to think, since Seokjin couldn’t handle singles, at least for the time being, that somehow he’d be better off skating with someone else. It was a terrible idea, in his opinion – there was nobody even close enough to his level, especially before he’d fucked everything up, and not now, either. But Hoseok was his coach, even if he was two years younger than him, and the best course of action was usually for Seokjin to let these things play out until Hoseok realized for himself what a shitty plan it was and righted the course on his own.

He already knew you were going to be a problem, the second you arrived for practice that first day. Your coach, Coach Lim, also happened to be Hoseok’s old coach, hence how he’d managed to get a hold of you. Seokjin already knew she hated him. She was an old friend of Hoseok’s mother, who had medaled or at least gone to the Olympics for figure skating at some point years ago, had envisioned the same thing for Hoseok, and both had been particularly disappointed when Hoseok had decided to quit competing in favor of replacing Seokjin’s coach. But it wasn’t like he’d held a gun to his head; the timing was just right and Hoseok liked the idea of ordering someone older than him around, so that was Coach Lim’s problem, not Seokjin’s. He wasn’t sure how long you had been training with her, but she’d probably been shit-talking him for years. It would only make sense for you to hate him too. He couldn’t have asked for an easier way out of this if it had been handed to him. If you hated him, and your coach hated him, then there was no possible way that this could work out, right? It really was too bad. You weren’t the best by any means, but you had potential, just as he had all those years ago when someone had spotted him doing figure eights at the rink near his grandmother’s house and suggested he take lessons. With time, you could even be great. That, unfortunately, was exactly what he didn’t need: someone else who just needed time. That was all anyone had been telling him since he’d torn his ACL. One step at a time. Take it slow. These things take time. God, he couldn’t stand it any more. Clearly he was no longer the wunderkind he’d been fifteen years ago, when a fall like this would have set him back a month or two, not a whole damn season of competitions. He didn’t have time for that. He was a 24-year-old with a knee injury, for fuck’s sake, with 25 fast approaching in December. He didn’t exactly have time to waste on someone like you, someone who just needed time, when the average age of retirement for figure skaters was 26. He might as well have an expiration date stamped on his forehead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, once he reached that imaginary expiration date, someone, it didn’t matter who, would take one look at him and toss him out on his ass. He couldn't let that happen, not without something to show for it.

Unfortunately, you were going to be harder to get rid of than he thought. You hated him, he could tell. But you hadn’t quit yet. You were a formidable opponent, and he’d even come to enjoy picking at you. However, that was before. Before the two of you had been forced out to dinner together under the guise of getting to know each other. The dinner where you’d gotten three bottles deep in soju and practically started sobbing at the table, all because you were convinced he hated you, when the truth was that he didn’t. Seokjin didn’t even have to think about it that hard. He’d set out to hate you, and he did, at first. You were a representation of his failure at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. It meant he no longer had what it took to make it on his own, meant that he should get comfortable waiting for nothing to happen. But he didn’t hate you anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d done what he promised himself he wouldn’t: he’d come to like you. He liked having a partner – liked having you as a partner. Skating was already a solitary sport, especially for him, and the only person who’d ever wholly supported him in it had been his grandmother; his parents had been too busy complaining about him wasting time that he could be studying to come to any of his competitions. He hadn’t minded that at first. He preferred his own company to anyone else’s. But in working with you, he’d come to find that it was nice having someone else around – someone he didn’t necessarily have to consider competition – because he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Though he couldn’t have you knowing that. You would be even more insufferable than you already were. So he didn’t say so. He’d simply handed you a napkin to wipe your eyes.

You didn’t hate him either, though you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t hate you, not anymore. So what did that mean? You hadn’t answered him when he asked, either too surprised by his response or too drunk to think of one. Seokjin ponders the question as he struggles down the dark, almost empty streets to the address he’d managed to squeeze out of you before you passed out for good, with you riding piggyback behind him, ignoring the shooting pains trying to creep back into his bum knee. At least he’d only really had to carry you to and from his car, he reminds himself. It could be worse. Which he’d found out was true when he realized he’d have to carry you up three flights of stairs. Seokjin sighs. You let out a groan and wrap your arms even tighter around his neck while he eyes the first set of stairs in front of him.

“Hey, knock it off,” he grumbles, jostling you roughly to see if it’ll loosen your grip. It doesn’t – but he starts up the stairs anyway, his knee throbbing painfully with each step. He’ll have to ice it later for sure. Why is he doing this, exactly? Really. He could have just left you sleeping on a bench somewhere near the restaurant. It’s cold, for one thing, so you probably would have gotten sick, then Hoseok and Coach Lim probably would have teamed up to kill him or something. There were certainly ways he could have gotten you up the stairs without further injuring himself. Simply dropping you on the ground, for one, and forcing you to walk on your own. That would definitely sober you up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Generally speaking, Seokjin tried not to concern himself too much with what other people thought of him; it never ended well when he paid too much attention to what people were saying about him. This time, for some reason…he rather enjoyed the thought that you didn’t completely hate him, although even if he’d left you outside to sleep on a bench it probably wouldn’t change your opinion of him much.

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the third floor and manages to finally pry you off his back, setting you on unsteady feet to steer you down the hall towards your apartment. You flop against the wall next to your door, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor while he unlocks the door with the keys he confiscated from you back at the restaurant. Seokjin crouches down in front of you. “Aish, what is this? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Mm,” you grumble sleepily, waving him off with a sloppy hand gesture. “I’m tired. You can just leave me here.”

“Yah! You want to sleep in the hall like some drunk? Get up and go inside.” Slipping his hands under your arms, he pulls you back upright and nudges you into your apartment, ignoring your protests.

Once he’s gotten you inside, you seem to realize where you are, and you stumble off down the narrow hallway, bumping noisily into corners and the edges of things. Seokjin watches from the doorway of your room as you finally collapse face-first into your bed, a muffled snore escaping from your mouth. He can’t help but chuckle looking at you, snoring, completely dead to the world.

“Shameless,” Seokjin mutters. “How can she be so shameless?”

I thought I could learn something from you. I thought, maybe, skating with you might make me a better skater. He considers what you said earlier as he drags a blanket over your sleeping form and lets himself out of your apartment, wondering if you really meant it. You really weren’t so bad, he thought, and maybe there was something to be gained from skating with you, too. Maybe gold wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed.

previous || part 2 →

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chloe-caulfield94 · 1 year ago

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Why does "To All of You" fit the opening of Season 1 so well?

For me, one of the most memorable moments of Season 1 comes near the beginning, when Max puts her headphones on and traverses the school corridor listening to "To All of You" by Syd Matters.

The most obvious reason to enjoy this scene is that we get to listen to a damn good song while Max entertains us with her insightful (and often witty) comments about the realities of school life.

But I think that "To All of You" works in this scene in three more ways. As an expression of Max's state of mind, as a heads-up for the player on what to expect moving forward and finally, as a premonition of things which might come true in the end.

In my mind, the song is about the idealized image of women in popculture, especially American cinema. "Shiny smiles and plastic bodies" - a perfect, but ultimately impossible to achieve (and therefore not real) image. The only thing that can result from chasing this unattainable ideal is sadness - "I cry sometimes, walking around my own place; Wondering why she cries sometimes". People trying to conform to impossible standards will always be disappointed in the end.

While the song is explicitly about beauty standards, I think its message can be extrapolated. It's about desiring things that are perfect and being sad that they're impossible to achieve. This works as an expression of Max's state of mind.

Max wishes to become a renowned artist. She wants her works to be appreciated by others. That's the ideal she strives for. But as it is often the case, there is a discrepancy between what we imagine and what we get. Putting her work out there is very difficult for Max. She's full of self-doubt. To the point she tears up a photograph that would win the competition if submitted. Max is sad because of the irreconcilable difference between what she wants and what she has the strength to do. It's going to take at least a few sessions of coaching by Chloe for Max to discover her confidence.

Since the song is about being nostalgic over the things that we desire, but are ultimately not real, I think it also serves as a heads-up for the player to suspend their disbelief. There's going to be mystery and mysticism ahead. Which you could dress up in SF mumbo-jumbo like vague references to quantum physics or chaos theory, but why bother? Isn't it more fun to just say the power of love and the desire to protect those close to you transcends time and space?

And finally, the song serves as a wish which may come true. It's a song about someone desiring an American girlfiend that they could take for a drive on the seaside. Well, if Max plays her cards right, at the end of the week she's going to have a girlfriend driving her around. A girlfriend with a rebel spirit, who is giddy about guns, proudly displays a US flag in her room (which is the only large surface in her room not defaced with grafitti) and drives an impractically large, gas-guzzling SUV. Truly, an American girlfriend.

#max caulfield #chloe price #pricefield #lis #life is strange #syd matters #to all of you

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espies-galaxy · 2 years ago

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How Finding Your Right Inspiration Can Change Everything.

Dear World,

Today I was scrolling down my Instagram, and like any typical summer, you see copious amounts of people at the beach or hiking, basically out and about. More likely than not, if you are a girl, you have friends, models, and celebrities, and they are this "ideal" image that is out there.

These girls are tiny, with long legs and flat tummies. Kinda makes you feel bad about yourself if you were not blessed with fast metabolisms and you have a severe craving for that Cotton Candy Blizzard that only shows up for like one month out of the year. When I noticed this happening on my feeds, I started looking into something more suitable and more achievable for someone with my body type.

I happily work out roughly 3-4 times throughout the week. Do I need to work on my eating habits... I mean, yeah, I really should. But I am doing better than I used to, and you have got to start somewhere; you do not just start liking kale overnight.

So what I did was I went through Instagram looking for more inspiring body images types like athletes or trainers. They show that strong, healthy, and fit are all COMPLETELY different than the tiny little models and celebrities we see. Do not get me wrong, those body types are just as beautiful, but it is extremely hurtful to only see those.

Again, do not get me wrong, if you can kill it and get your absolute ideal image, then good for you, darling, because not everyone has those chances. If you are like me, you know that getting down to 110 pounds will be a near-impossible task without having to take serious measures.

When I did this, it was like an awakening for me. I realized that I could be beautiful without stick-thin legs, or just because I could see my triceps muscle meant nothing more than having solid arms. I may not have abs or a little fat on my body, but that is perfectly okay.

So there you go on my idea of body image. Now, get this. I realized I am awful at going to the gym by myself like I literally look around and then leave. I had it in my mind that girls do not squat with weights because I will get man thighs, or girls do not do bench presses. Girls just run, and magically they are what my mind said was "ideal."

I used to be an athlete, but once I stopped, it was like I was never taught to work out and condition on my own. So I thought, hey, maybe join the YMCA, but again the problem with the gym, I just did not know. I searched a little deeper and have seen loads of my friends talk and show their progress with CrossFit.

My mind looped right back around to if you do CrossFit, you will be a lady bodybuilder, but I sought out information anyway and found a gym that is like 5-7 minutes from my house. I went and talked to the owner, and he basically was like, unless you want to look like that and you do the diet that goes along with it, your body will just tone up.

I took a free class, and as silly as it sounds, I was instantly hooked. I am now starting my fourth week there, and in the three weeks so far, I have only lost about two pounds, but I have lost inches. Not a mass amount, but enough you can start; well, I can start to see the difference.

Now, I go three times a week and do yoga on the weekends. I have a coach who is encouraging and is teaching me the things a coach growing up should have taught me. On my off days from the gym, I am going for a walk, a run, going for a hike, or something semi-active. I get antsy and annoyed like I am wasting my time. The days I work out are at 6 a.m., and I have zero problems with waking up for it because that workout makes my day.

And it could be the release of endorphins from exercising, but I am getting into the swing of things. Who knows, maybe one day I will wake up and look at myself and be like, yeah, this is where I want to be. Then, I will go to the gym, and who knows how much I could be lifting or squatting or even how many darn pull-ups I can do.

For now, it is a day-by-day mindset. I will continue to look at the more body-positive people, even if ours our polar opposites. As long as you and I are strong, happy, and healthy, it does not matter.

I encourage anyone who reads this to think about what their ideal image is, and if you are where you want to be, then try to be the one to inspire other people because you never know when someone might need it.

Sincerely,

The One With The New Outlook On Life (originally written by me on July 5, 2016)

#inspo #inpired #inspiration #inspirational #life changing #health & fitness #health and wellness

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girish-jha · 4 months ago

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Guided Meditation For Beginners Near Me Arizona | Girish Jha

In today’s fast-paced world, stress and anxiety have become prevalent issues for many. As individuals seek effective ways to relax and center themselves, meditation has emerged as a powerful tool for enhancing mental well-being. Arizona, with its breathtaking landscapes and serene environments, offers a perfect backdrop for beginners to embark on their meditation journey. In this article, we will explore guided meditation opportunities for beginners in Arizona, with insights from Meditation Coach Girish Jha.

Why Choose Guided Meditation?

For those new to meditation, the practice can sometimes feel daunting. Guided Meditation provides a structured approach, making it easier to focus and understand the process. A trained guide helps participants navigate their thoughts and feelings, fostering a deeper connection to the present moment. The soothing voice and expert guidance ensure that even the most novice meditators can reap the benefits of this transformative practice.

The Essentials of Meditation

Before diving into the specifics of Guided Meditation Sessions in Arizona, let’s briefly touch upon the essentials of meditation:

Mindfulness: Cultivating an awareness of the present moment without judgment.

Breathing Techniques: Learning to control breath is fundamental in calming the mind.

Visualization: Creating mental images that promote relaxation and peace.

Posture: Finding a comfortable position that supports both comfort and alertness.

Guided Meditation Sessions in Arizona

Arizona is home to a variety of Meditation Centers, wellness retreats, and community workshops that cater to beginners. Here are some notable options to consider:

Yoga and Meditation Studios

Many yoga studios in cities like Phoenix, Tucson, and Flagstaff offer Guided Meditation Classes Tailored for beginners. These classes often integrate breathwork and relaxation techniques, making them an excellent introduction to the practice.

Nature Retreats

Arizona’s stunning natural landscapes, from the Red Rocks of Sedona to the peaceful Sonoran Desert, provide ideal locations for guided outdoor meditation. Look for retreats that offer sessions focused on connecting with nature, helping participants feel grounded and tranquil.

Local Wellness Centers

Wellness centers often host meditation workshops led by experienced instructors. These sessions typically focus on various techniques, including loving-kindness meditation, body scans, and guided imagery.

Learn from Girish Jha

Girish Jha is a Renowned Meditation Teacher who has made a significant impact in the community. With his unique approach that combines ancient wisdom and practical techniques, beginners find comfort and clarity in his guided sessions. His classes not only teach meditation techniques but also encourage participants to incorporate mindfulness into their daily lives.

Girish Jha emphasizes the importance of consistency in meditation practice. He often says, Meditation is a journey, not a destination. His guidance inspires individuals to cultivate patience and self-compassion as they navigate their personal meditation paths.

How to Get Started

If you’re interested in guided meditation in Arizona, here are some steps to help you begin:

Research: Look online for local studios, wellness centers, and retreats that offer beginner classes. Websites like Meetup or local Facebook groups can also provide leads on groups hosting meditation events.

Schedule a Class: Once you find a class that resonates with you, schedule your session. Many places allow drop-ins, while others may require advance registration.

Gather Your Materials: Wear comfortable clothing, and consider bringing a mat, cushion, or water bottle to enhance your experience.

Stay Open-Minded: Approach your first session with an open heart and mind. Embrace the experience, and remember that everyone’s journey in meditation is unique.

Practice Regularly: After your initial sessions, find ways to incorporate meditation into your daily routine. Even a few minutes each day can significantly impact your mental clarity and well-being.

Conclusion

Guided meditation is an accessible and effective way for beginners to explore Mindfulness And Relaxation. With the stunning landscapes of Arizona and the expert guidance of instructors like Girish Jha, you have the perfect environment to establish a rewarding meditation practice. Whether you’re looking to reduce stress, improve focus, or simply find a moment of peace, you can start your journey today with the many resources available nearby. Embrace this opportunity to connect with your inner self and discover the transformative power of meditation.

Girish Jha

Visit: https://girishjha.org/programs-master.php

Mobile: +1 609-447-5421

Mail At: [email protected] Address: Gilbert, AZ | Scottsdale, AZ | NJ, USA | Delhi, India | Poltava, Ur

#MeditationservicesinArizona #MeditationServicesinGilbertArizona #GuidedmeditationforbeginnersGilbertArizona #GuidedmeditationForBeginnersNearMe #guidedmeditationclassesingilbertarizona #guidedmeditationforbeginnernearmearizona

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lionessphotography · 5 months ago

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Capture the essence of your beauty and confidence with dreamy bridal boudoir photography sessions

Weddings are not just about the big day; they are a celebration of love, intimacy, and personal beauty. Bridal boudoir photography is a popular wedding trend. If you want to capture the essence of your beauty and confidence, a dreamy bridal boudoir photography session might be exactly what you need. Let's look at how this distinct photographic style may inspire you and create great memories.

What is Bridal Boudoir Photography?

Bridal boudoir photography is an intimate and artistic way to celebrate your femininity and confidence before tying the knot. It usually involves a private photography session where you're styled in beautiful lingerie, wedding attire, or even soft, flowing fabrics that accentuate your silhouette. The objective is to generate amazing photographs that showcase your attractiveness in an intimate and classy setting.

Why Choose Bridal Boudoir Photography?

1. Empowerment and Confidence Boost

Bridal boudoir photography allows you to embrace your body and celebrate your unique beauty. Stepping in front of the camera in a vulnerable state can encourage you to let go of insecurities, and the resulting images often leave brides feeling empowered and confident as they approach their wedding day.

2. A Special Gift for Your Partner

Couples boudoir photography sessions can be a wonderful surprise gift for your partner. Imagine presenting them with a beautifully bound album of your intimate portraits as a unique wedding gift. It's a great way to add a personal touch to your wedding celebrations.

3. Cherished Memories

These sessions capture a fleeting moment in time, reminding you of your beauty and strength as you embark on a new chapter in your life. Years down the road, you'll look back at these photos with fond memories and appreciation for the journey you travelled.

Finding Bridal Photography Near Me

With the growing popularity of bridal boudoir photography, finding talented photographers in your area has never been easier. Searching for "bridal photography near me" yields many options. Look for photographers who specialize in boudoir sessions, as they'll know how to make you feel comfortable and bring out your best features.

In addition, if you're located in or around Sydney, there are excellent bridal photography services available. Just search for "bridal photography Sydney" to find professionals who can create the dreamy aesthetic you desire while understanding the local vibe and styles.

Tips for a Successful Boudoir Session

1. Choose the Right Photographer

Choose a photographer whose style connects with you. Look for portfolios that demonstrate their ability to capture beauty and emotion, and read reviews to ensure they create a comfortable environment.

2. Prepare Your Wardrobe

Select outfits that make you feel beautiful and confident. Lingerie, flowing robes, or even a cozy pair of pajamas can work wonders. Consider incorporating personal touches, like a family heirloom or items that hold special significance to you.

3. Schedule a Trial Hair and Makeup Session

Feeling your best is essential to capturing stunning images. Schedule a professional hair and makeup appointment, or try out different styles beforehand to see what looks good on you.

4. Set the Mood

Discuss with your photographer about the mood and style you desire for your shoot. Whether you want a soft, ethereal look or something bold and edgy, clear communication will ensure your vision comes to life.

5. Relax and Enjoy the Experience

It's natural to feel a bit nervous before your session, but remember to breathe, relax, and have fun! Your photographer will coach you through the postures and make you feel at ease.

Embrace Your Journey with Couples Boudoir Photography

Couples boudoir photography is another beautiful way to celebrate your love story. These sessions can bring a unique twist to your wedding preparations by allowing you and your partner to bond through playful and intimate imagery. Capture the essence of your relationship in a tender, romantic setting, and you'll create lasting memories.

Dreamy bridal boudoir photography sessions are not only a trend but a meaningful experience that encapsulates your beauty, confidence, and the love you share with your partner. Whether you're looking for "bridal photography near me" or specific services like "bridal photography Sydney," remember to choose photographers who understand your vision. Empower yourself through this intimate art form and create timeless treasures that you and your partner will cherish forever.

So why wait? Embrace your beauty, step in front of the camera, and capture the essence of your journey to forever.

#boudoir photography #boudoir photoshoot #boudoir photography sydney #bridal boudoir photography #couples boudoir photography #events photography #bridal photography #portraits photography

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theorist-influencer-untitled · 1 year ago

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10.8.23 Sunday

12:25 am

I have windblow....I still feel bitter... This curse is so unfair for 16 years...

The guy that I like is always rejecting me....Or some other women will take that guy away from me...

I wanna kill angels, I feel that way... Sometimes, I'm seeing blood on my hands....

Windblow2x I respect Coach John but I don't like him or them, I mean their tandem Jen and him... I'm not jealous! I feel irritated coz I accidentally heard that this Coach John commented something like "Yeah! I killed her already, nobody will know her"... I think Coach John was talking about me and I think Jen was near him that time.

I'm not really sure and I don't get it...If Coach John is talking about me or telling something on Jen. Remember angels, the last time Jen said "I'm sorry but I'm not sorry"... I don't understand...

3:49 am

Hmm... Still, have windblow...

youtube

3:58 am

youtube

4:08 am

youtube

9:14 am

Whoah! Uncle DD is here today... Hmm... Hmm...

9:52 am

youtube

10:05 am

This Uncle DD is somehow fake just like Coach John... Nice but something is a mystery....

10:59 am

Uncle DD gave me 100 and left some sachet of shampoo's and laundry powder, some sachet toothpaste and some medicines... He said life is difficult for them as well... He also brought some canned soda's and tight-budgeting for our food,that we need to thrift... What can I do? I still need to wait for my rewave...

Plus, he is manàging some bills here... But still tight angels and I'm not satisfied...

12:24 noon

I saw RV awhile ago in the store, someone just took the canned good that I bought, I put it on the table in front of the store...

When I turned around it was my brother RV who made a joke on me... He said he will just fetch Zia and give the medicare of my biological mother.

1:21 pm

I texted someone in Iqor hoping for a powerful link of casual or friendship that I need a rewave coz I got sick and I still need a job and money.....Hoping he is assisting me at my back...

My voice is not yet returning to its original tone and I still have phlegm in my system... On 11th I can go back but waiting for a rewave.

7:10 pm

I still have windblow and I feel irritated...

I feel ugly,fat and wrinkled....I wanna botox.... Thinking of money.... I wanna travel like seeing sand dunes... I feel self-pity here in the house... I wanna travel...

Yesterday, I showered my baby John and this late afternoon I showered Neko coz I pity her whenever she is scratching her body...

7:34 pm

I need to diet....Shit! Will be 42 in a lil while... I wanna buy a honda motor or car... I feel self-pity...

My dreams and wants are all over-lapping....I feel self-pity,my future... I never feel beautiful for 16 years...

I need money and I need an uphill job... If only I'm an artist on screen,life is easy, beauty is there and money is quick...

I still wanna do my starbucks everyday... I wanna go back to AF, do yoga and do my abs.....

I'm a jealous kind angels... I hate women who will just steal my personality and my styles and damage my entire image just like Jen...

Jen is the servant of Coach John, it's better to get some new vibe and wave...

7:54 pm

Hmm... My door is open for now though someone put a period??? Hmm...

youtube

8:04 pm

Am I going to have my next love team angels? Let's see...

Will still keep some old love teams? Hahah...

I want some progress in life....Will be 42, I feel boring....

Frustrated on some things in life, men that I wasn't able to attack smoothly....

Phase of life that I wasn't able to get a lift from someone and someone....

8:11 pm

Shit! Still, I can't sing my voice is not yet returning...

8:20 pm

I love this version...

youtube

9:06 pm

Drinking turmeric, still healing my throat from Miles/ dread-locks guys "streptococcus bacteria" that he gave me last week....

youtube

10:28 pm

I still have the windblow... Yeah! I feel panicky and not that happy...

I feel frustrated, still... I feel ugly ,fat and wrinkled... I'm worrying so much of aging without any success...

10:50 pm

Windblow...Windblow...Wrinkling for nothing... My God will be 42 in a lil while...

youtube

#Youtube

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elizadx · 2 years ago

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10 Effective Approaches to Take Care Of Anxiety and also Bring Back Internal Tranquility

Anxiousness is a common mental health and wellness problem influencing countless people worldwide. It can manifest in various forms, such as generalised stress and anxiety disorder, panic attack, social anxiousness, or specific fears. The signs of anxiety can be overwhelming, consisting of too much fear, uneasyness, problem concentrating, and physical symptoms like quick heart beat or shortness of breath. Fortunately, there are several efficient techniques that can assist take care of anxiousness and also bring back inner peace.Paragraph 2:1.

Exercise deep breathing exercises: Deep breathing methods, such as diaphragmatic breathing or box breathing, can activate the body's leisure response and decrease anxiety symptoms.2. Take part in routine physical workout: Normal exercise can boost state of mind, launch endorphins, and minimize anxiety and also anxiousness levels.3. Focus on self-care: Taking time for self-care tasks like obtaining sufficient sleep, consuming a well balanced diet, and also engaging in tasks that bring happiness and also relaxation can substantially affect stress and anxiety levels.4. Use leisure techniques: Methods like dynamic muscular tissue leisure, directed images, or mindfulness meditation can assist soothe the mind as well as reduce anxiousness.5. Look for assistance from loved ones: Connecting with trusted member of the family or good friends can supply a sense of comfort as well as understanding throughout distressed moments.6. Restriction caffeine and also alcohol consumption: Energizers like high levels of caffeine can intensify anxiety symptoms, while alcohol may momentarily mask anxiety but ultimately intensify it.7. Obstacle unfavorable thoughts: Cognitive-behavioral methods can assist recognize and challenge unfavorable thought patterns adding to anxiousness.8. Develop a regimen: Establishing a regular daily routine can supply structure and also stability, decreasing anxiousness sets off.9. Participate in stress-reducing tasks: Tasks like journaling, exercising yoga exercise, or paying attention to soothing music can help reduce anxiousness.10. Think about therapy or therapy: Looking for expert aid from therapists or therapists can offer effective tools as well as support to take care of anxiousness.

Read more here https://pacrim.co.uk/perfect-anxiety-coach-near-me-for-effective-support/

#howtobecomeananxietycoach #anxietylifecoach #anxietymanagementcoach

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sillygooseassociation · 2 years ago

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Lucky Charm

Request: Would you write about surprising Ted with lingerie or in one of his shirts or jerseys when he gets home from travelling? 😈

Description: You welcome Ted home from his win against Liverpool, a welcome he will excitedly accept.

Warning: smut, oral (f receiving)

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Ted’s head snapped up as soon as his chin hit his chest, letting out a squeak as he startles awake. Beard closes his book, using a finger to keep his spot, “What’s up, coach?” Ted rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath, “Nothin’ coach. Just don’t wanna fall asleep so close to home, y’know?” The right-hand man nods in understanding, opening his book once again as Ted glances out the window, watching the fields turn into buildings as they enter the city.

Jumping a little at the buzz of his phone, Ted scoffs at himself and how tired he feels, though his exhaustion doesn’t last long when he opens his messages.

Y/N 😍❤️: Congrats on your win, Coach Lasso. Hope you’re not too celebrated out xxx [image attached]

Ted checks over his shoulder at lightning speed when he opens the accompanying image, not wanting to withstand any teasing but also not okay with anyone seeing his girl. He knows the photo isn’t the most revealing, all parts are covered, yet he would have to watch pigs fly during a cold day in hell while it rains cats and dogs before he lets any eyes but his own view that sacred photo.

Looking back down once he knows the coast is clear, Ted’s eyes widen as his face reddens and his pants tighten slightly. With the sheets of your shared bed as the background, the posed photo focuses on your body from the neck down, a Richmond jersey hugging your body, stopping just below where your hips meet your bare legs. Ted takes in a deep breath, staring at the expanse of your thighs before tracing back up to the jersey, hardening even more at the knowledge that the back of your jersey has his last name plastered on it.

After an eon of a bouncing leg, a stared-at phone, and a leaking head, Ted, who normally waited for all the players to exit the bus before he did, ran off the vehicle, backpack on his shoulder as he yelled something about an upset stomach and seeing the team on Monday.

One more eon later (each “eon” being about 15 minutes in reality), Ted fished his keys out of his pocket before struggling to get his key in the lock, his hands shaking with excitement. Toeing his shoes off at the door and hanging up his puffer, Ted breathes out a sigh of relief as he heads to the bedroom, eager for release after 30 minutes of his cock leaking and not softening at all.

Opening the door, Ted lets out a low groan at the sight of you in the middle of the bed, hand under the bottom of the jersey as you squeeze your eyes shut, small gasps leaving your lips, “You getting yourself ready for me, beautiful?”

Opening your eyes to see Ted moving towards the bed, discarding his clothes as he nears, a wide smile shows on your face, “I’m always ready for you coach Lasso.” Ted moans in contentment at the title, taking off his pants so he is left in only his underwear, standing at the bottom of the bed. You lift yourself onto your knees, staring at him as you remove your hand, bringing up your glistening fingers so that it is in between you two, “Should I take care of this or would you like to?”

Ted takes one more step forward, knees hitting the side of the mattress as his hand grasps your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth as he takes your three fingers in his mouth, sucking on them as he maintains eye contact with you before closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he lets out a guttural moan. You take the opportunity to inch closer, throwing yourself into his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso, leaving a kiss on his Adam’s apple. Licking from the base of his neck to below his ear, you breathily give him your congratulations, “Very nice job on your win today, baby.”

Looking back at you, Ted’s eyes are blown with lust as he rakes in the image of you in his jersey, “Thanks, darling. Only happened because of my lucky charm.” You wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes you up the bed, laying you down on your back as he slots himself in between your legs, “Your lucky charm?”

Ted nods affirmatively, lowering himself so he is at eye level with your dripping core that he sees as he pushes the jersey up, eliciting a moan from him, “Yeah, my lucky charm. The love of my life watching me from home while wearing my jersey, and apparently nothing else”. You let out a whine at the combination of his words and his hot breath as he blows on your swollen clit.

“Now let me thank my lucky charm, ‘lright?” Before you can even respond, Ted licks up your slit slowly before latching onto your nub, sucking rhythmically as you let out a string of whines. Moving your hands down to tug at Ted’s hair, you brace your feet on the bed as you thrust up. Chuckling at your eagerness, Ted looks up at you through his hooded eyelids, “Give me a second sweetheart, let me taste ya before I give you what you want.”

You nod desperately, wanting any kind of relief but also anxious to see the throbbing cock that had made a wet spot on the front of Ted’s briefs. Ted curls two of his fingers into you before his tongue follows, lapping up as much of your juice as you can. He groans in delight, his mustache tickling your clit as it is on high alert, pushing you close to the edge. “T-Ted, Imma…” Ted pulls away barely from your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit at the perfect pace, “I know sugar, let go for me. Come all over my mouth, it’s just how I want ya.”

With Ted’s reaffirming words and resumed attack on your core as his thumb continues on your clit, you reach your peak while you let out a loud moan, pulling at Ted’s hair. As you come back down earth, you feel Ted cleaning you up with his tongue, not a single drop left behind as he hums Richmond’s chant to himself.

He pushes himself up so he’s level with your face, emphatically kissing you, bringing a moan from you at the taste of yourself on his lips. You quickly reach down, tugging his briefs down before he wiggles out of them and kicks them to the ground. You grasp him, rubbing your thumb over the tip, “Want you in me, coach.”

Ted groans deeply before nodding, latching onto your neck to leave a mark as he positions his dick right above your entrance. You move to take off the jersey before Ted stops you, grabbing your hands as he puts his weight on his knees, not yet entering you, “Hey there now. Wanna keep my lucky charm just as it is. Gonna fuck you as you wear my name, get a taste of what it’ll be like when I marry ya, okay sweetness?”

Ted was thanking every god above that he didn’t fall asleep on the bus back to Richmond.

#smut smut smut #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso smut #ted lasso x reader smut #jason sudeikis #jsuds

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angelguk · 4 years ago

Text

dedicated to the lovely @himboksj happy (very late almost criminally late) bday present! so whew... there’s a lot happening in this one! return of jock!jk and his wonderful girl oc now featuring!!: squirting, creampie, oral (fem receiving), mild choking, biting, boobs in face!!, anime tiddy mentions, praise kink galore, multiple orgasms, the use of a vibrator, jaykay is sick actually, over-stimulation, mild spit kink, dommish!jk, (redacted) pet name, mentions (and watching) of porn, everybody is in love and horny, crying cause the dick too good, fingering but not really. 5k of words that should have never left my brain. listen to continuum & nothing without you by tanerelle (kindly check masterlist for the pretty boy drabble mini masterlist if you want to read the rest of this au!)

Jeongguk didn’t mean to go snooping through your things. It was 100% accidental. He just remembered that you kept some athletic tape in your drawers because Jeongguk usually needed to wrap his knee or ankle after practice and you ensured that he always had some near (in case he came crashing at yours instead of going back to his dorm after Coach brutalised him during drills). And, anyway, you were at a point in your relationship where Jeongguk didn’t necessarily feel the need to outright ask you if he could poke around your drawers. Of course, he respected your space, but it’s not like he wasn’t nosy when you were best friends. You were in the shower too, he didn’t want to bang on the door and ask where you kept the tape.

Imagine his surprise when he reached the final drawer in your dresser, idly rummaging around for the blue athletic tape he knows is buried somewhere, and his fingers latch around a silky cloth instead. He knew what it was immediately, the shape a dead give-away. A discreet bullet vibrator, stuffed under your unnecessarily large collection of fluffy winter socks. Perhaps he stopped breathing, the twitch in his loose workout shorts undeniable. He’s not surprised that you own one and yet, his brain can’t fathom you using it. Even now, Jeongguk’s still growing used to seeing you come undone around his length, the feeling of your walls tight on his cock as your mumble his name. It drives him mad. He’s seen you in every kind of state; sobbing hysterically, laughing until tears slip from your pretty eyes, stumbling drunk in the streets, eyebrows furrowed with anger at him, that soft tiny grin you grant him on good days, the pout your lips settle into when you don’t get your way. He never fathomed he’d ever see you in that way, skin flushed with heat, eyes cloudy with ecstasy, your heat pressed against his own. He finds new ways to fall in love with you every day but it reaches new heights when he’s deep inside of you. Maybe he’s mildly obsessed with seeing you unravel, but that’s a secret he keeps to himself.

He does take a peek at your toy though, a soft velvet-like purple vibrator. It’s cute actually, something you would definitely purchase. But then the sound of water hitting the shower tiles slows down and Jeongguk swiftly tucks the toy back into your drawers.

“Oh?” You say when you open the door to him standing stiff in your room. The steam from the shower wraps around your figure in gentle wisps, sunlight filtering in from the window behind you, the image of an innocent angel appearing right before his eyes. “You’re here.”

“Practise ended early,” Jeongguk returns, his gaze trailing the droplets of water that slip down your skin. You smell good, just like that vanilla and peach shower gel that you dearly love. And the towel hiding your body is loose. It’s not his fault that he’s hard in his pants. When he moves to hug you, your face contorts, a downward tug at your lips that Jeongguk longs to change with a kiss.

“I’m wet,” you whine, brushing past him. “Go shower, you always stink after practise.”

He huffs, strong arms catching your fleeing figure and quickly wrapping you into his chest. “No. Don’t want to. I missed you and you can’t even hug me? You’re so mean to me.”

“Guk-” Jeongguk cuts that complaint with his face in your neck, lips colouring your skin rouge with a kiss that intends to leave a mark. “You can’t,” you mumble, but your fingers settle on the nape of his neck, tangling in the growing strands of his hair. “I have to get to work soon.”

“It won’t take long,” Jeongguk returns, feathering kisses across your skin as he nudges you to the bed. “I promise. Let me do this, I’ve missed you, bunny.”

Your towel is discarded somewhere in the amble to your sheets, your thighs wrapped around Jeongguk’s face a second later. He watches your body carefully, teasing your clit with purpose before he allows himself to slip his tongue deep. He notes the twitches in your thighs, the way your buck your hips against his face. He ignores his desire, for the time being, nose buried at the apex of your cunt, tongue covered in your slick, his lips latched on your clit. You like it fast, purposeful sharp flicks that make you squirm until Jeongguk has to pin your hips down, the lave on your heat brutal. His brain can’t help but wonder how you’d behave with your toy grazing your clit and his cock burrowed deep. You’re so sensitive, response to even the softest kiss he lays on your cunt. Would you be wetter than this? You’re already dripping down his face, his mouth glistening with your desire. But he wants to see if you can do more than this, squirm more than this, make a bigger mess than this. The thought surfaces as he feels your body lock, the tension in your limbs drawn high as your hands reach for his. You cum on his face with your fingers intertwined, his name falling from your lips as the afternoon sunlight hits your skin. It’s then and there that Jeongguk decides, with his mouth wet from your release, he’s going to see you squirt one day. For him and him alone.

He waits for the moment to naturally strike, silently scheming wicked thoughts every time you crawl into his sheets. It happens one evening, an empty bottle of wine at the foot of your bed and hentai porn playing brazenly on his laptop screen. Somewhere between downing the bottle and cuddling in his sheets Jeongguk had mentioned an uncanny resemblance between your gigantic chest and the anime boobies he’d grown fond of since his introduction to hentai. You’d immediately dismissed him, whacking him hard on the head and then Jeongguk had to prove it to you, opening his favourite website and pulling up a video that had your jaw-dropping.

“Your boobs do that, you know,” he says. Which grants him a sharp kick to the shin.

“Jeongguk, what is wrong with you?” He can tell you’re not annoyed, but there’s a lilt in your voice that makes him pause, doe eyes flicking to your face. You may be kicking him under the blankets but your eyes are stuck to the video, a distance glaze colouring your gaze. He can tell by the way your thighs draw together that you’re not as averse to this as you pretend to be.

“Turn it off,” you mumble.

“Why? I can tell that you like it.”

“Jeon, I’m not joking.” There’s a glare paired with that sentence, but he reads right through it.

“Fine,” Jeongguk offers, fingers already typing what’s been on his mind since the day he discovered your vibrator.

“What are you—oh.”

There’s a quiet lull. He clicks on a video that’s more familiar to him than he’ll ever willingly admit out loud. It starts the way Jeongguk prefers it to, with a man on his knees, his head buried between the thighs of a girl.

“What are you doing, Guk?” A warning. A question. Jeongguk is not sure what you mean by that and he’s too hesitant to take a look at your face to decipher the tone in your voice just yet. He takes the jump instead, hoping you don’t mind the fantasies of his mind.

“Have you ever squirted?” Somewhere between the exchange of words in Jeongguk's room, the man on his laptop screen slipped two fingers into the girl. It doesn’t help that your boobs are falling right out of your loose camisole, resting right on his bare arm.

“Jeongguk,” you return. “Answer my question.”

“Answer mine first,” he looks at you then, trying hard to read your eyes. There’s no heat in your face, just an innocence that colours your features. Wide eyes, your legs draw together, a hard swallow that he sees in the low lights that illuminate the room.

“No,” you say, bottom lip caught between your teeth. “So why are you showing me squirting porn?”

It’s then that Jeongguk realises he wants to ruin you. As horribly cliché as it sounds, he longs for that. And the urge for it doubles when your gaze falters, flicking quickly for the screen before drifting back to his. The couple is still fucking on his screen, hard quick loud thrusts that travel to the pit in his stomach fast. He’s hard in his briefs, a painful throb ebbing through his length when your hand drops to his chest.

“Guk?”

He shuts the laptop, the moans cut off, a heated silence taking its place. The bed feels too big when he gets up, ignoring the confused look you give him.

The vibrator is exactly where he left it, oddly comforting because it means you don’t use it. You have him after all. But he needs the toy for tonight.

“What? Guk? What’s go—when did you find that?” You’re embarrassed, he knows it from the way you squirm under the blanket. He glances down at it, finger pressing the switch that turns it on. A quick run through shows ten decent vibrators at different levels, it’s rather intense even in his hands, the low buzz that it emits filling the room forbidding before he shuts it off.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he says. You groan, your head dropping into your hands.

“Put it away, Guk! And don’t go through my stuff ever again.”

“Why? I think it’s cute.”

“Cu—what is the point of this, Jeongguk? I don’t get what you’re trying to do?” And there you go, staring at him with those wide ingenuous eyes. So trusting, so clueless. He draws closer then, considers taking his underwear off so you can see just what you do to him. But when your gaze drops he halts. It’s not about him tonight. It’s about you.

The bed dips under the weight of his as he says it, the toy still in his hands. “I want to see if you can squirt.” He sees the way your back stiffens, the raise in your brow.

“I’ve never done that,” you splutter, falling back as Jeongguk crawls over you.

“I know. But you can.”

“I can’t, Guk. I don’t think I can.” Your pretty lips are drawn into a reluctant pout, but there’s a bright curiosity sparking through your gaze that Jeongguk knows all too well.

“See, you don’t think you can. You said that before. And then I made you cum five times in a row.”

“No that was different—”

“We’re just seeing if you can. We don’t have to if you don’t want to but I think it’d be fun to try.”

You pause, trying to ignore the heat blooming between your legs as you weigh the decision before you. There were times when you thought you were about to, an edge in your orgasms that felt dangerous. But your body never let you go there fully, drawing back from your slipped from heights you couldn’t handle. You can tell Jeongguk won’t grant you the same precautions. His eyes a dark, toeing a line that feels forbidding. The covers are gently pulled from you, Jeongguk staying silent as you ponder. But the moment the cool night air hits your skin you know what he’s asking for. It’s a strange level of vulnerability, a bareness that makes your skin prickle. He wants something that you’ve never given anyway else — not even yourself. It’s a lot to ask for and his directness makes you pause. The hesitation crumbles when his hand settles on your thigh, wide warm palm gently nudging your clasped legs apart.

“We really don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Jeongguk says, honey eyes locked on you. You know he’s being honest; he wouldn’t push it if you said no. And yet, something twists in your stomach. You want this. The realisation is sudden and you don’t know if it’s because of how perfect Jeongguk looks tonight. Chestnut curls a messy halo on his head and his shirt hanging loose from his broad shoulders. Or maybe it’s how he looks at you as if this is the only he’s ever really wanted in the world. As if you’re the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

“I want to—I mean I want to try.” You let yourself fall open then, something clicking as Jeongguk slots right against you perfectly, your sleeping shorts bunching up when his hips roll with intent. His lips land on your neck a moment later, a kiss so soft that you don’t feel it at first, lost in the way he hits your clit when he bucks into you. Jeongguk draws you back with a bite, one sharp enough to leave you gasping, your back arching from the sheets. He lets his hands slip under then, the vibrator momentarily forgotten as he maps your skin, lips feather-light once more, kisses gentle enough to leave you delirious.

“So good to me,” Jeongguk mumbles, eyes drifting to your lips. He draws close then, mouth fitting yours in a dreamlike perfectness. It’s flavoured with wine and want, a clear hunger in how he parts your lips. The hands that grip you are hard but his lips are gentle, savouring the taste of you against his mouth as if he wants to commit it to memory. The softness of the act has your skin tingling, bright and wild yet slow like the turning of the Sun. When you part, the air is different — charged, the current that swims through the atmosphere finding a home in your body as it settles in the depth of your gut. Jeongguk doesn’t give you time to ponder, mouth trailing from the corner of your lips to the hollow of your neck where he bites. It hurts enough to shock your senses, sweeping you back from the heavenly haze to the alarming reality of what he’s about to do to you. Your whimper hits the air as his tongue presses into the mark, painting your skin dark. A pointed reminder. You’d thought Jeongguk would be possessive, but sometimes he surprises you with it. The purposeful touches, the harsh bruises he likes to leave high on your neck. Or anywhere on your body, really. There are times he’d press his fingertips into them when you’re willing enough to let him choke you, the flash in your eyes spurring his hips forward.

For now, he busies himself with breathing a new one to life, one you know he’ll play with tomorrow — or later tonight if you give him the chance. Your brain can’t think that fair, zoning out as his mouth works a claim on your skin. Eager fingertips are drifting down your thighs, brushing past the band of your sleeping shorts. It’s expected that you’re already wet, but Jeongguk delights in his find with a muted moan in your neck. His fingers don’t go further though, grazing light against the damp fabric of your underwear. The swivel of your hips is automatic but Jeongguk quickly stills it with a hard press of his palm into your skin. You’re forced into the mattress, freezing when he finally wanders from your neck to your chest. So slow, wet lips idly trailing until his face lands between your chest.

“Gukkie,” you hadn’t realised how gone you already sounded until you spoke, voice wavering. He hums in response, non-committal, his hands shifting from your hips as he focuses on freeing you from your top so he can get your boobs in his mouth.

“Don’t tease me today.” You’re trying to sound firm, pliantly raising your arms so he can get you bare. But that firmness shrinks when your eyes land on his. So dark in the dwindling moonlight bleeding through your half-open blinds.

“Why?” There’s that smile of his, one corner hung higher than the either. You’ve sunk yourself in a sea brimming with sharks. “You sound cute when you whine, bunny.”

“Jeong — fuck.” There’s no point in protesting when he’s buried himself between your chest, tongue already toying with your nipple. Too many guys before him had misunderstood how to touch you there, but Jeongguk knew — he had learned. Studied your body so that he knows when to nip or kiss, shifting from pain to pleasure until the line blurred and so did your vision, until the only sound filling the room are harsh breaths and the quiet murmur of his name. Your hands eventually stray to his head, the heat in your core demanding attention as you guide him down. Jeongguk complies, not because he doesn’t want to tease you any further, but because he loves tasting you too much to ever say no.

The sight he finds sends an ache down his length, already hard but now leaking into the fabric of his grey sweats. You spread yourself so easily for him, light pink panties coloured dark with your wetness.

“Cute,” Jeongguk whispers, falling naturally into his place between your legs. It wasn’t meant to grace the air, but he’s glad it did when he notes the bashful smile tugging at your lips and how you twist to shift your head into the pillows the closer he gets. Which, honestly, makes him pause. He wants you to watch, needs you to. Something in the base of his brain needing constant affirmation that he’s making you feel good driving his next set of movements.

The hand on your chin is unexpected and adamant. You can’t help but give in, wide-eyed when Jeongguk forces your gaze onto him. “Need you to look bunny, can you do that for me?” The nod you give him is instinctual, heat blossoming in your bones when Jeongguk smiles, satiated and proud. Perhaps you should have put up more of a fight, but how could have known what he would do with only the tender touches he’d lift as your guide. Even the quick kiss he plants on your clothed cunt revealed nothing of what’s to come. So gentle as he pulls he fabric down your hips, discarding it somewhere in the sheets, his eyes never leaving the wetness on your lips.

“My pretty girl,” he says, nipping the inside of your thigh. You squirm at that, futile because Jeongguk just held you closer. “All mine, right bunny?”

“All yours,” you return, voice far and your mind slipping from your hands. Jeongguk apparently takes that to heart because he devours you, nose burrowed in the apex of your cunt, breathing you in as his tongue mapped the velvet of your walls. It doesn’t take long for your legs to wrap around his head, back raising from the bed and the drip of your slick coating your inner thighs. Yet, Jeongguk relishes it, forgoing breathing as he eats you open, toying with your clit as if that was his sole life purpose. You forget the world with a speed that should concern you, thighs trembling with each determined swirl of his tongue over that bud. Again and again, until you spill into his mouth, wet and creamy, creating a mark of your own on his lips. He keeps you there, unrelenting even when your whines hit high and your chest heaves. There’s a ringing in your ears as the high wanes away, which is swiftly placed by a quiet mumbling that sinks into your skin.

“Tastes so good,” Jeongguk murmurs, licking between your folds. “So fucking good.”

“Jeon,” Something twists in your gut when he drops a final kiss onto you as if he was thanking you for letting him do that when you should be the one on your knees thanking him. When he softly drops your leg to the soiled sheets you decide it quickly, already shifting onto your elbows.

“Yes?” Such innocent eyes staring back at you like he didn’t just fuck you open with his tongue.

“I want you too,” you’re already shifting but Jeongguk is quick, fingertips hard on your jaw when he halts you. He knows what that means, reads it in how your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, wet just like you were. But that’s not what he wants, besides, he’d rather save that for other places.

��No.” When he says that you almost deflate, but then Jeongguk drops his hand from your jaw, swiftly dragging his shirt over his back and off his body. There’s nothing that can suffocate the desire that blooms in your chest. He’s so beautiful, hard lines and warm skin, kissed by the Sun herself. There’s an itch in your palm instantly, and you hastily register that if you don’t touch him you might die. Yet, your eager hands are pinned over your head, wrists wrapped tightly in the grip of one of his wide calloused palms. There’s a brief moment where his attention is caught by the bounce of your chest before you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that you’ve never asked Jeongguk to fuck your tits before. But as you stow that away for later concern, Jeongguk’s other hand drifts to the discarded vibrator, sinister now in his command.

“Don’t want to fuck your mouth, bunny. It’s not about me tonight, it’s about you.”

“But—” Jeongguk swallows that protest with a quick kiss, the taste of you on his tongue igniting a fire that crackles and consumes until you feel nothing but heat and want, all fuelled by your erratic lovesick heart. You kiss until the only thing filling your lungs is him, like a heavy smoke that envelopes you, travelling through your body until you pull away, warm chest flushed against his. There’s a stupid twinkle in his eyes and it makes you feel sick, swaying dangerously when he shifts away. You don’t want him to go, but you don’t move when he gives you that look. The devastating ache dissipates when his pants drop from his hips, hard cock meeting the cool air. The twitch that travels down his length echoes between your walls, eagerly clenching around nothing. Jeongguk just smiles, stripping bare leaving himself vulnerable to your eager eyes. You wait, behaving good because you want to for him and Jeongguk notes this, delivering a pleased slap to your cunt when he pulls you close, one hard enough to jolt through your spine when his palm hits your clit.

“I’m kind of sensitive,” you whisper, shy again. Which is funny because weren’t you begging for his cock down your throat a second ago?

“I know,” Jeongguk returns, uncaring. The vibrator comes to life a moment later, buzzing low through the room. He knocks it up to the second-highest level.

“Jeongguk! Start low then work it up. I can’t take it like that directly, it'll chafe me.” Which is right, your clit is already feeling dry, slick staying solely between your walls. Jeongguk notes that, pausing before sinking two of his fingers deep. You squeak, hips lifting when they brush against that spot in your walls. He works you open deftly, pleased when you grind your hips into his hands, spurred on by the feeling of something finally inside of you. But it’s fleeting, Jeongguk dragging his fingers out and over your clit before raising his fingers to his lips and licking them clean.

“Now it won’t,” he states, and before you can open your mouth and deliver a retort the vibrator is pressing against that bundle of nerves, tremors echoing in your bones as your legs squeeze shut in an attempt to get away. Jeongguk pins them open, cock leaking against your thigh and he rolls the edge of the toy over your clit, before you jolt so hard the sheets shift and he knows exactly where to place it. He works it out of you, praise naturally falling from his petal lips when you give in, eyes shut tight and your heart stuck in your throat. The vibration feeds the heat in your gut, drawing it to the surface of your skin, sweat beading along your forehead and a dampness forming down your spine. It feels both quick and slow, coaxed out of you with steadfastness. Jeongguk’s gaze never strays from your pussy, locked there as he etches this moment into his memory. You look gorgeous, whining and twisting underneath him. He can tell that this is a lot for you, judging from how you bury your face away from him. He would have forced your eyes on him, if he wasn’t already so enthralled by how perfect you look like this, moans low colouring the air bright with their sound. His own want multiples when your body freezes, strung tight, the edge beckoning you over.

He pulls the vibrator off then, depriving you of your release because his brain demands that he feels this one around his length.

“Jeongguk!” You’re on your elbows, eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. “Why-w-why would you do that?” There’s a waver in your tone, a lilt so pretty he can’t help but smile.

“When you squirt you’re doing it on my cock.” He states it like it's final. And it is from how he draws you close, vibrator momentarily lost in the sheets, the head of his length brushing against your wetness.

But what catches your attention is when. A loaded promise. A determined one.

You spread your legs open, shifting until he slips past walls stretching to accommodate his welcoming presence. “Okay then, make me.” You say it with your gaze on his, watching as his eyes glaze over hips already bucking deeper, before your words register in his brain and Jeongguk’s gaze shifts into a dangerous glint.

He tugs you hard, pulling close enough so that he sinks in deep, cunt already moulding to the curves of his cock. “With pleasure.” Those words are warning, painted right into the heat of your skin as he sheathes himself inside of you. The groans in the air belong to both of you melting into one distinctive sound. It’s cut by the lewd squelch of your wetness coating his length, one that settles in Jeongguk’s gut, release already creeping into the corner of his vision. But he holds it back by knocking your legs further apart, mouth returning to the bruise he left earlier, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin. You arch into him, shifting as pain bleeds through your nerves. The motion allows the last inch of him to slip past your walls, spearing you open, before Jeongguk draws himself out and returns with a hard slow thrust. He fucks you deep, right into the bed, the frame creaking with each loud meeting between the two of you. You can’t do anything but cling onto him, eyes fluttering as his cock drives into you, determined with every piston of his hips to see you unravel. And you do, with a sickening quickness, already weak with the remembrance of your past edge. You feel soft underneath him, pressed against his skin like you hope you find a home for yourself there. And Jeongguk provides — lips mapping your skin gently and a pride in his tone that makes you want to do anything for him.

“That’s it, good girl.” You can’t say anything but his name, whining with every drag of his length along your walls. “So good to me,” he whispers, sweet, unlike his unforgiving hips. “Pretty girl and she’s all mine.”

“Yes,” you gasp, wanting this more than ever. “All yours—a-all—hnghhhh—y-yours! Jeongguk, please! P-please, please, please.”

He slows, smiling into your neck. “What bunny? What do you want?”

“Wanna cum, Jeongguk p-please let me cum.” When he moves away you feel your gut drop. The vibrator is flicked back one, humming dangerously. “Guk—” you start; he shushes you with a purposeful thrust.

“You said you wanted to cum. Remember what you promised me, bunny?” You nod, slow, nervous but your need overriding your fear. Jeongguk just smiles, shifts himself a little deeper, and then places the vibrator where you need it most. It’s not instant, but it’s quick and violent, travelling through your bones and Jeongguk rocks himself deep, curls damp on his forehead and his shoulders tense but his body still giving. You match his movements with your own, shuddering the closer you feel it creep, ripping itself right out of your limbs, drawn to the surface with no remorse, your eyes falling shut and hips seizing. The vibration paired with the feeling of Jeongguk fucking you full is intoxicating, and unlike you he doesn’t hesitate, playing with your clit unforgivingly.

You don’t even hear yourself, mouth agape and your back high from the sheets, all you know is heat, burning from the inside out. No air in your lungs as it spills from you, right onto his length, walls drawn tight. It hits his abdomen, leaving his muscles wet and glimmering as the moonlight greets his skin. Jeongguk shuts down, hips moving automatically, the vibrator thrown aside, still buzzing forlornly. He couldn’t give a damn about it, bending your legs back and fucking into you hard as you coat his cock in your wetness. If it was loud before, it’s obscene now. The nails in his back spur him further, a need he’s never felt before consuming him whole. It’s already there, the white of his desire clouding his vision, but his brain suddenly stills.

Jeongguk’s hand on your chin draws you back to Earth, mind nothing but mush as he continues to fuck you open. They’re erratic thrusts, and with them, you slowly release that your cheeks are wet. Jeongguk realises it the same time you do, thumb gingerly brushing the tears falling from your eyes away. There’s a strange new awareness buzzing through your body, like your bones feel new, limbs reformed. But nothing could prepare you for that thumb on your cheek travelling down, grazing your lips until they fall open. He slips it past, lets you flick your tongue against it, before demanding. “Open.”

And you do, because what wouldn’t you do for him.

“Can I?” He questions, and somehow you know what he is asking. Another claim. Something else you’ve given nobody but him.

“Yes.”

There’s a fall in his shoulders as if he was afraid you would deny him. But how could you ever? His thumb leaves your lips, hand drifting until it settles on your neck, pressing firmly but not tight. And then his own lips part, hips unwavering, for what he sends down your throat. You swallow, oddly thrilled by it while Jeongguk watches silently, almost in marvel. It does something to you, the way he stares, like he cannot believe you’re his. And you feel that sentiment in how he kisses you next, desperate, pleading, thankful. You return it, tongue soft against his as you feel his back draw taut, a low groan spilling down your throat when Jeongguk finally snaps, euphoria bleeding through his brain. You feel it hit your walls, warm and wet, painting you white, a strange satisfaction settling through your body.

When he eventually rolls over, quiet like he’s still recovering, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, an attempt to keep his love locked in. His hand cups your own, guiding you back into reality with a gentle squeeze.

The still buzzing vibrator is what you hear first, followed by the joint panting of your lungs. You move to grab it, hoping to hide the revelation in your eyes by glaring at him. Jeongguk is still too lost to care, face flushed a vibrant rouge.

“Turn this stupid thing off,” you mutter, legs still stuck, fused to the bed from the shock of your orgasm. Jeongguk snatches it up, waving it through the air as he turns it off, before giving it a fond kiss.

“Gross,” you comment, smacking his hard chest.

“No,” Jeongguk returns, dropping it. He plants a ginger kiss on your forehead. “I quite like it actually, we should order another one. Do you think they do vibrating panties?”

You hit him again, rolling over until your leg swings over his. He keeps looking at you like that, and it keeps clawing right through your heart. “You’re so sick and evil,” you say instead of the annoying comments that flutter in your delirious brain. You want to call him pretty, beautiful, perfect, maybe the best thing you’ve ever had. But you can’t let Jeongguk know he has all that power over you — not when already made you squirt and spat down your throat in one sitting. “Can you clean me up? I’m getting sticky.”

Jeongguk stills like he’s suddenly remembering what he just did, where he just came. And then you feel the rise of his chest, gaze flicking up to meet his. Bright and full of something akin to adoration, before he blinks it away.

“Give me a moment, I think I just saw God.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts smut #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #bts fanfic #bts scenario #au: jock!jaykay

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trashforhockeyguys · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Hold Me -20- Carter Hart

A/N: So umm the whole thing takes place in a hospital. Mentions of serious injuries, and all that goes with that. Other than that though, nothing too triggering? I don’t think? As always all previous parts are linked in my master list.

Travis scanned over all of the articles that came out as soon as it became public knowledge who was involved. The media team was doing everything they could to keep it quiet and control the coverage, but news crews were already set up outside of the hospital. They didn’t know who did it. Carter didn’t know the guy, nor could he give an accurate description. It was too dark, it all happened too fast. All anyone knew was that you nearly died. Hell, you still could.

Travis locked his phone and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’d never seen you look so pale, even all those years ago. You looked twenty times worse now. They were told that you lost a significant amount of blood before anyone could get to you. Travis couldn’t even think about Carter trying to keep you from bleeding out in the street.

Carter, of course, wouldn’t talk about it. He refused to leave, just like Ethan. But Kora eventually convinced both of them that they needed showers and food. But Carter also had to go to the rink. The media team thought it would be best if they held a press conference. Especially since the media was reporting that Carter had been hurt as well. But physically, he was fine. Mentally though? Travis knew this wasn't something he’d get over easily. None of them would.

Your parents were stuck at home, they couldn’t get on a flight out here, nor could they take the time off from work. They tried everything they could think of, but they just couldn’t. So when Ethan wasn’t here, Travis was in charge of sending them as many updates as he could. Nolan would stop by from time to time to bring Travis something, or just sit with him so he wouldn’t be alone while Kora and Ethan were gone.

“She looks better today,” Nolan said, sliding into the chair on the other side of your bed.

“She looks like shit,” Travis mumbled, “They said the biggest concern now is going to be infection.”

Nolan reached over and carefully grabbed one of your hands, “She’s still cold.”

Travis nodded slowly, “They did another blood transfusion like an hour ago. Apparently her body is still trying to regulate.”

Nolan reached for his phone, he scrolled through a couple of notifications, “They’re going to announce that they’ve postponed the game tomorrow. Other teams are reaching out with support. And Carter is about to go live, do you want me to turn it on?”

He shook his head, “No. I don’t want her to hear it.”

Nolan, for the life of him, couldn’t imagine exactly what Travis was feeling. He loved you, sure. But he didn’t love you anywhere near how Travis did. You were Travis’ little sister, the sister he never had. He’d never seen Travis act so protective over anything before he saw him with you.

He was with Travis when he got the call. Ethan and Kora had just fallen asleep. Carter couldn’t get ahold of anyone else, so he called the first person he knew would be there. Nolan spent the entire drive to the hospital trying to calm down everyone, not just Travis, but Ethan and Kora too. Even Nolan wasn’t sure how he was able to stay so calm.

“She’ll pull through,” Nolan assured his teammate.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t.”

Meanwhile, across town, Carter was in a cold sweat. He hated the media to begin with, much less in a situation like this. He had to practically be dragged from the hospital by Kora and Ethan. He’d refused to leave your side. Everything was a blur at this point, but he knew that he didn’t let go of your hand once until you were being wheeled into an operating room.

He couldn’t remember all of the terms that the doctors rattled off after you came out. Kora was the one who had enough presence of mind to ask them to use simple terms so everyone knew what was happening. But all Carter could hear was that you lost too much blood before you were brought in, that you’d flatlined several times. That it could still be touch and go.

“Carter? They’re ready for you.”

His hands shook as he followed everyone into the room and towards his seat behind the table. Cameras started flashing automatically. When the Flyers said that a statement was being made, no one thought Carter would be the one to make it. The media was reporting that he’d been hospitalized too. He wished it was him, and not you.

He blindly answered the questions that were thrown at him. The media team coached him on what needed to be said, less was more. Especially given that they didn’t even have any leads on who did this.

Everytime he closed his eyes he saw you in his arms, growing paler by the second, as he screamed for someone to help. He wasn’t sure that he would ever get that image out of his head. How could he?

Kora was waiting outside the arena. Her hair was wet like she’d just showered. She was in oversized sweatpants with an old faded sweatshirt to match. She held her arms out, offering Carter a much needed hug. For a second he wondered if he wouldn’t just fall apart right there in the parking lot.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to Travis’ place, it’s closer to the hospital,” She told him, “You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to go back to the hospital,” He replied quickly.

“Carter, you’ve been up for over twenty four hours,” Kora explained, “You won’t do her much good if you’re sleep deprived.”

But when he looked at her, with eyes filled with so much pain, she knew she couldn’t keep him away from you. So, Kora just held Carter as tightly as she could before promising to take him back to the hospital after he at least ate some food.

The scene at the hospital hadn’t changed though. The rest of the boys were still crowded around you. Nolan came out to meet Kora as Carter rushed in to join Travis and Ethan. But Kora couldn't bring herself to walk in, not yet at least. She didn’t want to see you like that, not up close.

So instead she handed Nolan a coffee cup and leaned against the wall, “How’s Travis?”

“A fucking wreck,” Nolan breathed out, rubbing his face with his free hand, “Did you get Carter to eat?”

Kora nodded, “Barely.”

Nolan looked behind him, studying his friends gathered in your little room, “The doctor stopped by about half an hour ago, they want to try to back off her sedatives this afternoon. Her vitals have held long enough apparently.”

It seemed that there was a little light to the day. If Kora understood Nolan well enough, you were out of the woods now. Save for the potential recovery complications, but enough that they were willing to try to wake you up.

She took a deep breath, feeling like her chest was going to cave in from the weight that settled on it the moment they got the first call, “You should go home Nol. I can take care of them.”

He forced a small smile, “Yeah but who’s gonna take care of you?”

She shrugged, eyes focused on the three boys huddled around your bed. Kora wondered what would’ve happened had none of you gone out. If you’d all gone right home, rather than staying late at a club. Maybe none of you would be here right now.

“I’m going to go grab some food across the street,” Nolan said quietly, “Call me if something changes.”

He had to fight himself from looking back at you in the bed. You looked so different from the girl he’d come to love like a sister. Definitely not to the same level as Travis. But he found it to be impossible to be around you for very long without feeling protective over you, just like he was with his own sisters. Nolan never really thought that he’d have to imagine a world where you wouldn’t be around. But now he had, and he didn’t like it.

You just seemed to make the world better. He wanted that back sooner rather than later.

It was several hours later when you felt yourself being pulled from the dark. Reality started coming back to you, and that’s when the panic set in. Your heart started to race as you felt the pain, at first what felt like a dull ache felt like a white hot iron being plunged into you. You wanted to scream out, but you couldn’t. You could barely move.

“Y/N? It’s okay, you’re safe.”

You knew that voice. The same calming voice you’d heard all your life. Ethan shouldn’t be here. You were in a dark part of town, alone on the sidewalk. No...not alone. Carter. Carter was with you.

“Y/N, I need you to relax, okay? Please,” Ethan seemed to beg.

Your eyes finally opened to stark white lights. You could hear the rapid beeping of a machine next to you, it sounded like a warning. You tried to move, to speak, to do anything, but the pain only worsened. Even breathing hurt.

“Hey, there you are,” Ethan let out a broken laugh that seemed to almost border a sob.

You couldn’t think straight, but you knew none of this seemed right. This wasn’t where you were supposed to be. Your head felt like it would split open before you could even get a word out. Your body didn’t feel right. None of it felt right.

“Hurts,” You forced out, the effort of the one word made everything worse.

“Okay, okay. Hold on, I’ll get a nurse,” Ethan reached over and pushed some sort of button and a few seconds later a nurse came strolling in.

Everything felt cloudy to you. Like you couldn’t quite wake up all the way. The nurse said a few words to you before moving to your IV port. Pain medication, that’s what she was doing. Maybe without the searing pain you could think. Why did it hurt so much?

“There you go sweetheart,” The nurse said gently, “That should help. You just call us if you need anything else.”

Ethan said a quick thank you, not taking his eyes off of you. You wondered just how bad you must’ve looked. Your whole body felt stiff and heavy. The pain dulled just enough. Almost like the sun breaking through a thick layer of clouds.

“Carter? Where-”

“He’s fine,” Ethan said quickly, “Kora made him and Travis leave so they could sleep.”

You felt your body relax just a little. He was okay. Zachary didn’t touch him. He was safe. You could take all the pain, as long as you were the only one who had to deal with it.

“How bad?” You questioned, voice straining.

You could tell just by the way that Ethan’s face changed that it wasn’t good. Hell, just by the way your body felt it wasn’t good. You could remember little bits and pieces of what happened. But it was like things kept going in and out of focus.

“Pretty bad. Don’t ever do that to me again,” He begged, “I swear to god. I thought we’d lost you.”

You held his hand, tightening your grip on it. It seemed you hadn’t really come all that far from where you were in high school. There was a time when you were in this exact same situation. You hated that he had to go through this again. Once again, Zachary proved that he would do anything, he simply didn’t care. He never had.

Some silly part of you still had hope that deep down he cared. Maybe if for just a second. You thought he wouldn’t be capable of something like this. Despite everything, despite all you knew and all he’d put you through, you still had a sliver of hope.

“You look like shit,” You tried to joke.

“And you look like hell,” He replied flatly, “But you almost died, several times, so I’m allowed to look like shit.”

You nodded, knowing he’d been through enough. Not just in the last few days, but ever since Zachary came into your life. You once hoped that coming to Philly would mean a fresh start for you, but once again he proved that nothing changed. She was still the same little girl, so afraid of her own shadow.

“I’m going to go call mom and dad,” Ethan said softly, “You just get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.”

You nodded, trying to relax back into the bed. Every little movement hurt. You knew if you looked under the thin hospital gown that your midsection would be bandaged up. You didn’t want to know the details yet. Part of you still thought you could wake up from this nightmare. Maybe if you didn’t know you could act like it wasn’t that bad.

But then the thought of what you told Carter before it all happened….You couldn’t go to Canada now. You couldn’t do that to him. Zachary could easily follow you there. It obviously wouldn’t be the first time that he tracked you down hundreds of miles from home. You felt sick. This really wouldn’t end. He would always be there in some way or another. You’d always carry these scars around.

You would never really be free, and Carter would never really be safe.

#carter hart imagine #Carter hart imagines #Carter hart fanfic #Carter hart fanfiction #Carter hart #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #Philly flyers imagine #Philly flyers imagines #Philly Flyers #nicolewritesthings #don't hold me #dhm

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