#felt like that took so much less time but it was probably bc they were easier to draw lmao

[persona-arcanas]

[MAGICIAN SERIES] Yosuke Hanamura! The man so far in the closet he projects his feelings onto poor Kanji </3

[crescenthistory]

begging for a fic where regulus says “i love you” to reader for the first time and it FLOORS them bc reggie is not one to voice his feelings a lot, much less something as powerful as the feeling of love

listen, when i saw this ask i sat down and wrote this in ONE sitting, THANK you. you probably intended for this to be a scene at the beginning of a relationship, but i instead decided to psychoanalyse my poor darling reg for a few thousands of words and give him a patient partner. hope you'll forgive me lols<3

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, the most ancient and noble black family trauma (including descriptions of abuse and neglect), gn!reader, black brothers angst and reconciliation, sunshine!reader, reader is very patient and understanding with regulus, kinda past bartylus, barty is a hugger here, reg pov so some spiraling, vague implied references to sex (so implied that i believe it's safe for minors, but just putting that out there)

on the tip of my tongue

It’s not that Regulus didn’t love you. Quite the opposite, actually. 

It’s just that love had not been a spoken matter in his life until you barged into it. Love was implicit as much as it was hidden and reserved; something you grabbed greedily at while you had it and rationed carefully over the next few weeks or months, hoping to get by on it. 

For a long time, Regulus thought his mother loved him. She was strict and firm, but when he came to her for advice, she would give it and might even pat him on the cheek if he accepted what she had to say readily enough. He would hold his cheek afterwards and syphon the warmth left from her touch, wishing there was a way for it to stay with him forever.

When he got to Hogwarts and experienced true, unrestrained friendship he realised there was a way for it to stay with him forever – the other party just had to not withhold it. His cheek would be warm if the people who loved him kept holding, kept returning. With them, attention was not something he was occasionally graced with, it was always on him, within easy reach.

It took him a while, but Regulus eventually got used to the physical affection, at least from his friends. He came to expect it and lean into it, which in and of itself felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were hugs and pats on the back and tousled hair. There were pretend-scuffles on the quidditch field and the common room. There was that one term in third year where Barty decided he and Regulus simply must learn how to kiss and the boys spent most nights sneaking off into the empty common room and unskillfully, sloppily making out through kisses. There was that one night in fifth year where they picked it back up again. 

Still, with the hands-on approach to love that Barty and Dorcas had and infused into their little safe haven of a friend group, it remained unspoken. There was the occasional “mate” or the nicknames he brought with him from home – “Reg” was fine and while he did not much care for “Reggie”, he let it slide due to the affection it held. The closest they got to spoken love were the promises to fiercely protect each other, to kill and die by each other’s sides if must be. To beat the living daylights out of anyone who lays a finger on the other and then hex the pain to stay with them forever. An oath of loyalty was their "I love you".

Other than them, Sirius had been his one source of affection throughout his life, but as everything else in Grimmauld’s Place it had been quiet. 

Sirius was the perfect big brother, whether Regulus wanted to admit that or not. He held his hand when they crossed the street and held Regulus at night when he cried. Sirius taught him as much as he could, and though he occasionally was arrogant or impatient with his lessons, he didn’t give up on them. Regulus knew he loved Sirius at the very least, even if he had in more recent years questioned if that love was returned.

The problem with Sirius is that Regulus does not know of most of the affection the older boy showed him. Sirius insists that the two spent the majority of their first years attached at the hip, but Regulus struggles to remember much before the age of 12, which you had once told him he might want to look into with a professional at some point. To which Regulus emphasised the “at some point” more than the rest. So any hugs or touches or love Sirius showed him has been long since forgotten. Apart from the bed-sharing; Regulus remembers that vividly. Crawling into his older brother’s bed at night when he had nightmares, hoping Sirius could chase the monsters away. Regulus didn’t think he did it that often, but Sirius swore he once slept an entire three months solely in Sirius’ bed.

The most significant way Sirius loved Regulus, though, was through what he did for him, not to him, which Regulus did not himself see. He was such a good shield between their parents and Regulus that the young boy didn’t even realise the service he provided. Scoldings, blames and beatings – there was nothing Sirius did not take for Regulus.

If Regulus’ childhood was painful enough not to remember, he could not stand the thought of how Sirius’ must have been.

That is part of how he learned not to resent him for leaving Grimmauld’s Place – even that he did in part for Regulus. When left alone with an increasingly vexed Walburga Black, Regulus learnt quickly how severe some punishments can be. Consequently, he learned what Sirius had endured for him, how strong of a shield he had been. 

Sirius knew he could no longer withstand the weight of that house, so he left, in hopes that he could be a better protector for Regulus from afar. Finding a good home full of warmth and smiles, and coaxing Regulus into joining him there under safer circumstances than he himself had. When the two had their infamous heart-to-heart, it was Sirius choking on the words “better protector” that finally broke Regulus – the first time he had cried in front of his older brother since they were little.

Now he knew well that Sirius loved him, beyond most words. And the things they said to each other during that talk where he convinced Regulus to leave might even mean more than a simple “I love you”. Still, it remained unsaid. 

It was simply not tradition for Regulus Black to speak them.

Then, he met you. 

What was that thing James always says? Game-changer? You were that for him.

Somehow, affection just came pouring out of you like you were overflowing with it and just had to share it. With your friends and your family, even strangers – it just came naturally to you. And when Regulus entered your orbit through his reunion with Sirius, you more than happily let that extend to him as well.

It absolutely floored him. 

The first time you said “I love you” to him was long before you got together or before he even had the nerve to actively flirt with you. You ran into him in the hallway and stopped him, trying to squeeze as much conversation as you could out of him in the few minutes you both had between classes. It was evident you were soaking up his presence as if it was truly enjoyable, and it warmed something in him he was only able to name later on. When you had to run, you ended the conversation with a casual “okay, see you later, I love you, bye!”. Regulus was left gaping. Nearly ended up late to McGonagall’s class because of you. 

Saying it as a form of temporary goodbye reminded him of how he used to ration his mother’s touches, it carried him until the next time he saw you. Except next time with you was dinner later the same day, and then breakfast and then hanging out in the library. He never had to wait long, never had to go wanton.

The love kept flowing freely from you in all the ways he had gotten used to over the years and then many more – physical touch, quality time, acts of services, words of affirmation, you checked off the whole list. He began calling you soleil, French for sunshine because of how you shone with that love for everyone. It was a slip of the tongue one day, and when he saw how it made you smile, he just kept calling you that.

With such a loving and lovely creature, Regulus thought he couldn’t help but fall in love with you; he was not at fault for it, you were entirely to blame with your loveliness.

His voice had shook some when he first confided in Sirius about it. The older boy had smiled fondly and joked, “That was not quite what I meant when I told you to make yourself at home with my friends, but I’m glad you’re comfortable.” Regulus argued he in no way shape or form felt comfortable with the emotion, but Sirius would have none of it.

His voice shook even more the first time he told you how lovely you look today, but unlike Sirius, you didn’t notice. You smiled and returned the sentiment with ease. He realised then that he would likely not be able to talk himself into a relationship with you, given his lack of skill and your lack of deducing any intent behind sweet words, so he went the Regulus-route as Sirius had called it.

Meaning, he pursued you through quiet, unwavering loyalty and company, attaching himself at your hip for as long as you seemed comfortable with it. When he realised there was no limit on the amount of time you were willing to spend with him, he went further. 

Regulus went to hold your hand for the first time in Hogsmeade. Looking back on it, you both laughed at how he spent ten whole minutes inching his hand closer and closer to yours, practically holding his breath, awaiting a rejection or harsh response. Ever so slowly, he interlinked his pinky with yours. An opening both for you to take it further or cast him aside, whichever you pleased he would accept. The beaming smile you flashed as you looked up at him then, lacing the rest of your fingers together tightly, never left his mind for long.

Hand holding led to walking arm in arm which led to prolonged hugs which finally, finally found you both sitting in the Astronomy tower, kissing with large, dumb smiles on your faces. The same night you had your first kiss Regulus surmises you probably had your first hundred kisses.

Now, laid in bed beside you, two years into dating, Regulus could not imagine not being comfortable around you. He smiles fondly when he thinks of the boy he was before you decided to simply drown him in affection, but he does not relate to him anymore. There is no place he would rather be than here by your side, in the flat he purchased for the two of you straight out of Hogwarts – the last time he can remember panicking before asking you to take the next step in your relationship – playing idly with your fingers as you hummed some melody he could not place. It felt right.

The one thing that had remained the same throughout your relationship, both before and after it turned romantic, was that you overflowed with “I love you”s and he had not said it once.

You had talked about it before, of course you had. Sirius had given Regulus a stern talking to about communication when you first started going out, unwilling for his baby brother and friend to get hurt by their own stupidity. 

“I don’t know if I can say it,” Regulus had said then. “It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know how.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t need to then,” you had said so simply, through a smile that made his heart spin happily. “I know what I need to know. I like saying my truth because that’s how I am; but I am more than happy to accept you showing yours because that’s how you are. And I love you as you are.”

Regulus had known in his bones that you meant it, and that made it all the more sweeter. He attacked you with kisses after that, relishing in the giggles it drew from you.

“If it ever changes, will you tell me?” Regulus asked after, when you quieted down in each other’s arms. “If you ever need to hear it?”

You had said something about how you “do hear it”, always with your metaphors and abstract ways of viewing things. When Regulus, ever the pragmatist, had insisted on getting an answer to his question because “you know what I mean”, you had promised to tell him. You never did need to because it never changed for you.

It was Regulus it changed for.

In your shared bed, your hand in his as he followed its outline and your bare legs entangled, something deep in him shifted. You were sleepy and content above him, reading some paperback he borrowed you ages ago that you only picked up once you moved in together and all your books were in the same place anyway. He was laying half on top of your chest and staring at you with what had to be love in his eyes because that’s what he felt in his soul. He had been staring for the past half an hour, not even realising it, lost in his train of thought.

He had expected that when he would finally say it, there would be some grand reason, some special moment. Something that would cause that shift, something that required him to voice what he felt and you knew.

There wasn’t; it was just you and him, and he was so unbelievably happy and comfortable. He had tried microdosing love and you ended up giving him a lifetime supply instead. You were everything.

“Sol?” The question drawled out of him, mouth ahead of his brain but heart running miles before both. 

You looked up with a smile, stopping your absentminded humming. “Yeah, love?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners and he spent another minute just looking at your face. You let him, indulgent and sweet as ever.

“I love you.”

You froze. The smile remained on your face, the same contentedness there, but your eyes widened and your hand on his back stopped mid-circle. “What?” you whispered.

He kept staring at you with a smile, almost finding humour in your increasingly shocked expression, though some old part of him remained alert for rejection. Which makes no sense, she tells you it every day, he reminded himself. Still, old habits die hard.

You decided to trade one question for another upon his silence and your mental recalibration. “Why?”

“Why?” Regulus repeated through a laugh, as if the thought was incredulous. “Have you met yourself, soleil? Have you seen what you’ve done to me? I’ve always loved you.”

You sat up quickly at that, jostling Regulus up with you, though he was less graceful in the change of position as he did not anticipate it. You looked at him with the same wide-eyed expression. “Not what I meant,” you said then.

Regulus opened his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t sure what.

“But you didn’t have to,” you blurted out before he could. Rushed, almost frantic. “Don’t say it because you think you have to.”

Regulus furrowed his brows in confusion before they cleared up in realisation of your fear. He shifted to sit closer to you, practically pulling you between his legs, and grasped both your hands softly. They had been hovering between your forms, as if over an injury you did not know how to treat. Slowly, he dragged his thumbs back and forth over your knuckles. “Amour, soleil,” he whispered, emphasising the words with all his might. “I know I don’t have to. I wanted to. I want to, it feels right. I– I love you.”

The second time, the phrase flowed more freely from his tongue. Easily. He found he quite liked the taste.

You opened and closed your mouth twice, eyes flickering all over his face as if to deduce whether you trusted his words. Then, ever so slowly, he saw that smile he loves so much begin to grow over your lips, that looked increasingly more kissable to him.

“Yeah?” you asked him breathily through your oncoming grin.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “I love you. I always have, you know. But I felt like saying it now.”

Your laughter was almost watery as you squeezed his hands in yours. “I do know. And I love you,” you asserted clearly, as if there had ever been any doubt.

“So I’ve heard.” The cheeky remark was the last thing that left Regulus’ lips before he moved forward and captured yours.

Just like that first kiss in the Astronomy Tower, one led to possibly a hundred more. Giggles and sighs all mixed together into what Regulus was proud to call his life.

A life with you. A life of love.

[ghostfacd]

YES I KNOW THAT HE’S MY EX! | TOM BLYTH

pairing. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

summary. you knew tom was your ex, and that you should probably stay away, but that’s never stopped you before

part 1 | installment of this au (please read for more context!)

ynuser :)

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user1 im loving the aesthetic

user2 THE BIKINI TOP IS SO CUTE

user3 put them toes awayyyy

rachelzegler i pay attention to things that most people ignore (this isn’t your car.)

➥ user4 PLEASE?? not rachel using yn’s own lyrics on her

➥ user5 IS THIS TOM’S CAR??

user6 i may be delulu but those r tom blyth’s mfing hands.

user7 he has her hair tie on; i repeat, tom blyth literally has yn’s hair tie on

When Tom had messaged you saying he wanted to talk, no matter how much you knew it was a bad idea, you decided to agree to it anyway.

The breakup had ended pretty badly. Although it was an agreement between you and Tom, that didn’t mean that’s what the both of you truly wanted.

The reason the two of you broke up in the first place was that Tom was talking too much about your future, which wasn’t a bad thing — but it overwhelmed you. You weren’t ready to settle down, not yet, at least. You and Tom had only been dating for a few months, and although it was all sweet and loving, you knew that getting engaged this early was like asking for a disaster to strike.

He was upset. Clearly. He loved you, you loved him, so why was it such an inconvenience for you to agree to take the leap in your relationship? That caused a blown out argument between you two, and by the end of it, you had agreed breaking up was the right thing.

You had a acting and music career to focus on, and Tom had an acting career that was just at the beginning of its success. You felt that it wasn’t right to put a distraction into his life.

“Is this a bad idea?” You ask breathlessly as you pull away from the kiss. You can’t help but stare into Tom’s eyes, which held a language of their own.

“Maybe,” he says, wiping the corner of your mouth. “But who cares?”

Who cares. Right. Well surely, it was a bad idea to meet up with your ex, much less kiss him, and although alarms were baring in your head that you probably shouldn’t—you go in for a second kiss, this time, Tom doesn’t let you go, cradling you close to his body.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to take the next step in our relationship, I’m fine if you’re not ready yet. I just want you, okay?”

And how could any girl possibly reject Tom Blyth when he’s begging so prettily? Certainly not you.

tomblyth and ynuser both posted an instagram story !

ynsbiggestfan THE GIRLS AND I AFTER SEEING THE STORIES ON INSTA

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user8 IM ACTUALLY DYING BC NO WAY WAS THAT A COINCIDENCE

user9 they’re connected they cant be far away from each other

user10 she’s my Heather 💔💔

➥ user12 fr i wish tom was that inlove w me

user13 so this is why rachel said that wasn’t yn’s car

➥ user14 ITS ALL MAKING SENSE NOW

sean.kauf photo dumpy

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ynuser pic creds ?? 🤬

➥ sean.kauf 🤓🤓

user15 wait im confused, is she together with tom again or is she with sean..

user16 Ykw i cant even be mad, if i was as hot as yn, i’d have two bfs too!

➥ user17 REAL SHIIT

tomblyth fun fact: the 2nd pic is sean third wheeling after forcing me and yn to speak to each other

➥ user17 TOM CONFIRMED IT IM DEAD

user18 all the yn haters must feel stupid asf rn after accusing yn of being with sean

➥ user19 literally cause all 3 of them are literally close 😭😭 like why would sean date yn, he’s literally friends with tom

user20 if yn isn’t dating sean let me have him omg

ynuser yes i know that he’s my ex but can’t two people reconnect !!!!!

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user21 this took the cake.

user22 time to cry again bc tom blyth is off the market

user23 she got him wrapped around her finger FR

user24 THE THIRD PIC OF THEM 🥹🥹

user25 THE CAPTION OUUU GIRLY IS BRAVE

tomblyth i only see you as a friend (the biggest lie i’ve ever said)

➥ user26 I CHOKED

➥ user27 THEIR SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGERS ARE CRYING RN

[bokunoheros]

LIPSTICK STAINS & MIRRORS

CHARACTER: SHOUTO TODOROKI

GENRE: FLUFF, SMUT

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but written to be afab (shouto calls you princess once), reader is implied to be shorter than shouto, y’all are like 20+, married and live together, mirror sex, kissing, so much kissing, i love kissing, oral (m. receiving), fingering (reader receiving),  inappropriate quirk usage (temperature play), shouto is a tease but in a loving manner, cervix kissing, chair sex, riding (reverse cowgirl), cumming inside, and aftercare, also kinda lazy ending?? bc i stayed up til 10am finishing this and wanna be done so bad

SUMMARY: you just ordered a bunch of new lipgloss and can’t wait to try it out — subsequently, your husband thinks you look beautiful, but doesn’t know how to verbalize it. 

WORD COUNT: 7.7K

🦊’s A/N: this wasn’t actually going to be the first fic i posted here, but i DID just get a bunch of lipgloss i've waited a week and a half for, and would love to do the following <3 anyway shoutout judydoll they didn’t sponsor this but i wish they would. // also i pulled like two all-nighters writing this so i’m sorry if it like. starts unraveling a lil at the end i didnt actually proofread this god bless everyone thank you for giving this fic a chance

you had just ordered a bunch of new lipgloss you’d gotten in a buy 2 get 1 free sale, and it had finally come in the mail! after squealing excitedly and startling your poor husband, and highschool sweetheart, you quickly ran up to your shared bedroom and sat down in front of your vanity. fumbling with the box for a second, you get up to grab a pair of scissors from the bathroom before using one blade to cut through the packaging tape sealing the contents inside away. 

once you’d managed to get your greedy little hands on the new products is around the same time shouto had wandered into the bedroom, where he stood leaning against the door frame, watching as you excitedly looked down at your lipstick and wondered which one to try on first.

hm……. maybe the more natural looking color instead of the red..? probably, since it's less likely to leave a stain, you think to yourself, oblivious to your husband's presence — until you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, that is. 

“oh! shouto, just in time,” you grin, waving him over. “which one do you think i should try first?” you ask, knowing he had always shown an interest in the process of how you did your makeup. not that he had actually verbalized said interest, rather, it was something you noticed while you were still in highschool. after months into the actual relationship, you two had finally had sex and you had stayed the night at his house. once this became an almost routine of sorts, you'd begin bringing stuff to stay overnight, and get ready for class in the morning, including a few makeup palettes. and so, shouto slowly took an interest in the way in which you’d do your makeup — be it just some eyeshadow/liner, or a fully beat face, he found it to be so…..interesting. 

that being said, the youngest of the todoroki family takes a step towards you and away from the doorframe to look down at the lipsticks in your hands and picks the one in the shiny silver, almost holographic, tube and says this one. 

huh, what do you know? he had picked the lipstain! guess it’s meant to be, then.

untwisting the cap, you shift in your seat slightly to better face the mirror as you pull the wand from the bottle, and find yourself face to face with the applicator you had been tweaking over for what felt like ever — a nice, smooth, iron tip! one of a kind, really, as you had never seen anything like it before! looking into the mirror, your gaze lingers on shouto for but a moment before focusing on your own lips and applying the stained lipgloss evenly — and then one more coat for good measure. 

“what do you think?” you ask sweetly, turning around in your seat to face him.

what he thinks? obviously, he thinks you look stunningly, jaw droppingly gorgeous regardless of what you’re wearing, or if you have makeup on or not (save for the times you’ve ugly cried around him…), but god…. he can’t ignore the way his body suddenly feels flushed as he looks at your lips and the red-ish color currently staining them.

“i think — it looks nice,” he says simply as he takes a few steps closer to you, up until he’s directly behind your vanity chair and planting his hands on the back of it.

“just… nice?” your voice comes out softer than normal, and you sound audibly disappointed. at this, shouto begins to internally panic as he thinks of a way to get his admiration.

“very nice,” he corrects quickly, and you can’t help but let out a little chuckle at how rushed he sounded — you understood that your husband wasn’t exactly a stellar wordsmith, so you weren’t actually too upset with him.

“that’s it?” this time, you sound much more lighthearted, as you raise a brow at him and watch him speedrun the five stages of grief through his expressions and slight body language.

“....i think, you look very lovely,” he’s finally able to vocalize. even after all this time, he still got somewhat bashful when complimenting you — it wasn’t his fault! you just happened to render him speechless and left his dick hard every time you did anything! fuck… how should he go about this? maybe he should just show you what he thinks? yes…. that should work. 

“stand up,” he says all of a sudden — he didn’t sound demanding or rude or anything, but there was a certain firmness to his voice that had you obeying without a second thought. without a moment of hesitation, shouto steps around to the side of the chair so he’s standing almost in front of you, and plants his large, calloused hands on your hips.

“shouto….” your voice comes out as a mere whisper as he pulls you closer toward him, left hand coming to cup your cheek as you look up at him.

“hm?” is all you get in reply as he leans in to kiss you tenderly.

tilting his head slightly to the side, he slots his lips over your painted ones in hopes of properly conveying his feelings on how he thinks you look. truthfully, as embarrassing as it may be, shouto wishes you’d put some lipstick on him so he could kiss you all over and leave a physical mark as you so often did to him. maybe one day he would have to sneak some of your lipgloss for himself to surprise you with? perchance… (you can’t just say perchance!) that being said, he takes advantage of the lipstick you’re currently wearing and hopes it transfers onto his lips. 

and just like that, you’ve forgotten all about your new lipstick, or anything that wasn’t your husband, really. when you first met him, it was a little difficult to imagine shouto todoroki as a good kisser, and it was kinda true initially!, but after a little guidance and experience, he very quickly got the hang of it and used his newfound skills to turn you into nothing more than a panting mess.

swiping his tongue over the seam of your lips, he pulls away with a slight grin just as you part them for him.

“hey…..” you whine. “that’s not fair.” 

“what isn’t?” he asks in a way that would’ve made you think he was playing dumb if he wasn’t….. well, like the way he was. you know your husband well enough to know that he was asking an earnest question, as he often teased you without meaning to or being aware of it.

“just… kiss me again, …please?” you ask in such a saccharine voice, shouto finds himself unable to resist for even a moment as he eagerly leans back in for another kiss.

god…. he was just so fucking weak when it came to You. he could never tell you no or deny you of what you asked for — hell, the first time you asked if you could kiss him (when he was still a kissless virgin), he accidentally bonked his head against yours in trying to copy the way you tilted your head to the side. …only, he had tilted his in the same direction as you, making for a very awkward, very laughable (but memorable) first kiss.

“mmh,” he hums quietly, pleasurably, as his lips work against yours — gently and tenderly, full of nothing but adoration for you, his sweet spouse. 

there just truly weren’t enough words in the world for shouto to describe his affections for you, so instead, he often took to showing you exactly how he felt; more often than not, this led to fleeting but heated kisses throughout the day that left you on your toes and wanting for more. jesus, did he even realize the effect he had on you? (he did Nawt.) 

this time, it was you to take the initiative to swipe your tongue over his plump lower lip before nibbling on it lightly and sucking it into your mouth. at this, the softest little moan slips past shouto’s throat at the feeling and he pulls you closer to him, so much so that your chest was now flush against his as the hand on your cheek leaves a cooling sensation against your flushed skin. 

releasing his lip with a wet, almost schliiick kind of noise, you go to pull away from the kiss, just as he had done earlier, just to find the hand on your cheek had shifted to cradle the back of your head, and the hand on your hip had turned into an arm wrapped tightly around your waist as shouto’s tongue manages to slip into your open mouth.

you can’t help but giggle at the almost ticklish feeling of the wet muscle running around the inside of your cheeks before his tongue is suddenly ice cold and you’re squealing and trying to push him away.

“shouto!” you cry with no real irritation or upsetness — all he had done was catch you off-guard, really. okay, so maybe he could tease you on purpose every now and then..! it just wasn’t often that he did such a thing! he was typically kind of oblivious to a lot of things — not that it was his fault or anything; he hadn’t exactly grown up with the best social cues or …. uhm. family, in general, really….. (touya and enji i’m looking at you). 

“yeah?” he breathes, looking down at you with stars in his eyes.

“what was that about?” you ask, trying to steady your breathing, chest heaving slightly as your hands find their way up to his chest, where they rest on his boo—well defined and muscled pecs. 

“what was what about?” he echoes, tilting his head, actually playing dumb this time—he knew damn well what he had done this time around, and he couldn’t contain the little smile that tugged at the corners of his plump and almost pouty lips. he loved using his quirk to tease you — given, he’d been extremely hesitant about it at first, worried he might hurt you, or somehow cause some kind of permanent damage. thankfully, as the years went by, he gradually warmed up to it, and now? he couldn’t get enough of your reactions! like when he was fingering you, and suddenly his hand started to get a little too hot, or a little too cold, depending on which one he was using; it wasn’t enough to actually hurt or cause any damage, just some mild discomfort turned to pleasure once you got used to the feeling. and sometimes, whenever you let him cum inside or somewhere on you, his cum felt hotter than it should — sure, yeah, cum is warm, but…. his was just hot! it didn’t scald or anything, but it was definitely an added sensation that wouldn’t be possible without his quirk.

“you know what..!” is what you would have said had shouto not leaned in to kiss you again—effectively cutting you off and rendering you speechless. so maybe he knew he was a good kisser; he was highly observant after all, and would have to be a moron to not realize that he at least left you breathless every time! sure, he didn’t realize the full extent of the effect he had on you, but… partially aware is better than completely oblivious, right? 

this time as you two kiss, the hand cradling your head moves back down to your hip, and before you know it, he’s picking you up and sitting himself down in the chair you were previously sitting on not too long ago. 

“ah–!” you gasp at the sudden movement and change in position. now straddling his lap, with your back to the mirror, shouto begins trailing kisses down to your jawline and then the column of your neck. now, your husband wasn’t a particularly sloppy kisser. no, more often than not, he was very put together in almost every aspect of his life, and the bedroom was no exception. well, save for the occasions shouto just simply could not contain himself, and it was beginning to seem like one of those situations as he runs his freezing tongue over the sensitive skin of your neck, causing goosebumps to form as he nibbles at the junction where your neck and shoulder meet. 

“sho–shouto—,” you breathe as he peppers kisses over your tender flesh. it had taken him a long while to be able to show affection so freely, and even now, he still had some trouble, but compared to the todoroki you knew in high school, he had improved by leaps and bounds! 

your husband merely ignores your soft cry of his name—his dick doesn’t, though, and you can even feel it start to twitch to life beneath you. fuck. all you had done was put on a little lipstick, and?? now your husband was glued to your neck, nipping and biting along the way, even stopping in a couple places to suck against the skin there in order to leave a couple hickies! 

“don’t tease,” you try to chide him, but it comes off weak and a little pathetic sounding as shouto finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck and takes full advantage of it. jesus christ! his tongue was so cold!! it was such a contrast to the heat of his breath, you couldn’t help but pant at the feeling. 

“��m not,” is the only thing he says, it was more of a mumble, really, as he bites down harder than he had previously, and you can’t help the squeal that leaves you as his teeth sink into your skin.

“shouto!” if you didn’t know any better, or if you had married someone more… aggressive (katsuki)...., you might have thought your husband had drawn blood — he didn’t, obviously, as he would never intentionally hurt you, but he did like to toe the line of pleasure and pain often enough to keep you on your toes, just enough pain for it to be able to bleed into an acquired type of pleasure.

“yeah?” he all but hums in response, sounding pleased with himself.

he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, however, as he quickly pulls away from your neck to plant another heated kiss to your glossy lips. it doesn’t last very long, though, as he pulls away just far enough to look at you properly, and his eyes widen when he sees the way your lipstick had been smudged and it had spread slightly down to your neck (it was more like lightly red-colored patches in the shape of his lips peppered vaguely over your flesh). 

“will you put on some more lipstick?” he suddenly asks, sounding out of breath.

giggling quietly at his request, you nod and oblige, shifting to turn around on his lap so that your back was against his chest, and your ass against his steadily growing erection. grabbing the tube of lipstick from your vanity, you untwist the cap and begin to apply more, focusing wholly on your lips during the process, completely missing the way shouto was eyeing you in the mirror.

after putting the cap back on and setting the silver bottle full of what felt watery liquid when you put it on, but wasn’t actually, back down on your vanity’s surface, you tilt your head to face your husband, who had wrapped his arms around your waist while you had been applying the aforementioned beauty product, and smile at him.

“better?” you wonder aloud, knowing it was much better indeed.

“mhmm,” he hums sweetly, one hand coming up to all but squish your cheeks, just without the pressure, to better tilt your head towards him as he himself leans in for yet another kiss. you swear, the first time you kissed shouto, a switch flipped in that poor boy’s brain, because ever since then, he’s been addicted to them like they’re crack—he needs your kisses the same way he needs oxygen to breathe or a therapist for his generations of trauma stuffed into a single, incomplete lifetime. (please….. please, go to group therapy with the rest of 1-a, i’m begging.) 

shouto can’t help but smile against your lips as he pulls you flush against his chest and rolls his hips, and consequently, his hard-on, up against your ass. neither of you can contain the whimper or little gasp that slips past your throats, nor can you help the way one of your hands comes up to thread itself into his peppermint-colored hair as you part your lips needily, trying to shift around in his firm grasp. 

despite the quality of your lipstick, it still transferred partially onto his lips, simply due to how fresh the coat was, not that your husband minds. he’d revel in the way he’d get to smear lipstick over your body, and — pause. his hands suddenly find themselves planted on your hips as he manhandles you to face him again, and meets your gaze for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead. but in that moment, you could see all the love and admiration in the world swirling around in his beautifully mismatched eyes, and you couldn’t control the wide-ass smile that had spread across your face—so wide, in fact, your cheeks hurt. even though it was such a simple action, you could truly feel his love for you in everything that he did. 

“i love you—so much, y’know,” you practically coo, hands moving to cup his flushed cheeks as you simply just look at the man you had married. goddamn! he was so beautiful! taking in all the fine details of his face, you notice the faintest little dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and the way even his eyebrows, and even his awfully long lashes (he got them from his mother), are different colors. his perfectly plump and pouty lips to match his overall softer facial features. how could anybody be so perfect-looking? it was just simply unfair! even with his ice burn scar and somewhat sparse left eyebrow growth, it didn’t change a thing in your eyes. 

shouto feels his heart flutter at your words, and his grin stretches to be almost uncharacteristically wide as his hands shift lower on your hips, closer to your upper thighs, and his thumbs begin rubbing tender circles against the plush flesh there. 

“i — love you more,” he whispers back. the words sound shy coming from him, but you can tell he means his words. you may have fallen first, but shouto fell harder. his smile softens a bit as his hands move up to cup your cheeks tenderly before pressing another kiss to your painted lips. god. he truly could not believe how lucky he was to have you — you, who brought him out of his shell back in highschool, you who showed him love can be tender and soft, you who taught him how to let love into his heart. 

now, it was shouto’s turn to show you just how much he loved you.

sliding his tongue over the seam of your lips, he lets out a soft hum as he grips your thighs before sliding his hands slowly upwards and up under the t-shirt you wore—it was his, actually!—and over your bare ribcage. you can’t help the goosebumps that broke out over your skin at the feeling of his calloused hands against your much softer flesh, nor the chill that runs down your spine and causes your nipples to stiffen under the thin fabric—especially with the way he begins to palm and grope at your tits. 

“mmnh,” you hum at the temperature difference of his rough hands, and let out a soft moan when it increases drastically all of a sudden, your right nipple freezing cold and the left a little too hot for comfort—even your body was unsure of how to react to such a feeling, but it sure does send a throb down to your clit, and you can feel a damp spot begin to form in the seat of your panties, which is all you happened to be wearing under your stolen shirt.

“shouto, please,” you whine, squirming around on his lap, and dragging your thinly clothed cunt over the erection in his stupid grey sweatpants that always drove you crazy. 

“please what, love?” he asks, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. 

“god…. just— fuck me,” is all your able to get out, but, lucky for you, your husband has something even better in mind than just that. sure, he couldn’t wait to get his dick wet—to feel the way your cunt wraps around his sensitive tip—god, he can feel himself leak pre-cum like he’s some excited teenager again, and he groans at the nature of your request.

“mm, …not yet,” he smirks, and, before he’s even processed what he himself is doing, he had already licked an embarrassingly hot stripe up the length of your neck.

“shouto!” you squeal. “what was that for?!” 

“felt like it,” he replies simply before attaching his full lips to your neck once more, where he began nipping and nibbling at all your most tender spots, before he finds your sweet spot and bites down particularly hard and begins suckling against the skin there, determined to leave a mark of sorts. now, while shouto was not one to leave marks in obvious places—he was perfectly content with marking you in places only he could see—he just couldn't help himself for some reason..! maybe it was because he was feeling rather bold at the moment, or because he couldn't get enough of the sweet, quiet noises you were making as he nipped and sucked at your flesh until you were sure the skin was raw. 

“sho—” you can’t help but wiggle in his lap, cunt grazing over his erection. when he groans at your actions, you repeat your actions, rolling your hips down against his as he marks your neck up in pretty blue and purple and reddish hues. 

suddenly, an idea pops into your mind, and you find yourself melting off of his lap and onto your knees between his legs, eager hands reaching to unbuckle his leather belt and pull it off of him. 

“wh–what’re you doing, baby?” shouto finds himself breathless with a flushed face as you begin to unbutton his pants and tug down the zipper, exposing his all-too-tight black boxers and the wet spot that had formed on them. you only grin and lick your lips at the sight, of course, eager to get your husband’s perfect cock in your mouth.

“what’s it look ‘m doin’, huh?” you look up at him with big wet eyes and pouty red lips. “now lift your hips f’me,” you instruct him, and he does as told, so you can tug his pants and boxers down in one swift go.

shouto hisses as his sensitive tip comes into contact with the cool air of the bedroom, and he looks down at you a little embarrassedly, biting as lower lip as you kissed his swollen and flushed head before taking it slowly into your mouth. 

“ah–!” your husband moans as you suckle around his mushroom-headed tip and he can’t help the way one large hand falls down to rest on top of your head, long fingers burying themselves into your hair as he begins to set a moderate pace for you to bob your head. unfortunately, poor shouto still had trouble controlling his reactions whenever you gave him head — your mouth and tongue were simply too skilled for your own good! for his own good! 

tilting his head back to look at the ceiling instead of you, in an attempt to not bust too early, he catches a glimpse of the lewd sight in the mirror and—oh god. his dick fucking twitches and he feels an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leak from his sticky tip and into your hot mouth. 

“jesus christ—fuck,” your husband groans—it wasn’t too often that he swore, only when he was especially mad, passionate, or, in this case, especially horny. “take it easy, honey—please,” he whines, hand gripping your hair tighter, forcing your head further down his thick length despite his contradictory words. you pay his actions no mind, however, only doing your best to suppress your gag reflex and hollow your cheeks out around him before swallowing thickly; you even went as far as to deepthroat him all the way, uncaring of the way drool seeped past your lips and all around the base of his cock. swallowing around him again once his leaky tip hits the back of your throat, and shouto’s hand grips your hair a little too tightly—not that you minded in the moment. if anything, it made your pussy throb. as did the way he was panting and moaning softly above you. god…… his little noises were absolutely divine and each and every one sent a jolt to your clit. 

much to his embarrassment, shouto is surprisingly noisy in bed — not exactly loud per se, but certainly unable to contain all his little huffs, puffs, and soft moans and quiet groans. but it wasn’t like it was his fault! how exactly was he supposed to stay quiet when you’re making him feel so damn good? jesus, it wasn’t fair! for him, anyway; for you, his sweet sounds only made you all the more hot and bothered. 

his gaze falls down to meet yours, and then further down to his dick and the way your glossy lips wrapped around it and the fucking lipstick stains you were leaving around him. how was he meant to last like this? (here’s a hint: he wasn’t!) 

pushing against his hand for a moment, he lessens his grip as you pull off him with a sickening schliiickk noise and wrap one hand around his base as you pant for air, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

“shouto?”

“yeah?” his heart is pounding and he bites his lip as he looks down at your flushed face that now had a thin sheen of sweat over it, and he feels almost ashamed for the way he immediately craves your mouth back around him.

“i want you to cum in my mouth, okay?” you tell him with a soft smile, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before taking him into your mouth once again, all the way down until your nose was flush against his mix-matched pubic hair and you had to actively breathe through your nose so you didn’t hurl. shallowly beginning to bob your head, your tongue laves over the underside of his veiny cock as the hand previously wrapped around him moves to cup his balls, fondling them softly before giving them a gentle squeeze.

“oh—sweetheart,” he moans, dick twitching violently in your mouth. “don’t stop,” he all but begs you, rolling his hips up, forcing himself further down your throat. you actually do gag at this, but are able to swallow most of your excessive drool down, only some of it spilling over and out of your mouth and onto to your husband’s dick, mixing beautifully with your lipstick stains, and poor todoroki groans at both the sight and feeling.

all it takes is a few more bobs of your head and another squeeze to his balls before they’re tightening and suddenly he’s cumming down your throat—just like you had asked him to. god, he swears you’ll be the death of him!

swallowing around his awfully sensitive length one final time, both to tease him and get his cum down, you pull off of him with another disgustingly wet noise before looking up at him oh-so-sweetly.

the hand that wasn’t still fondling his balls comes to wrap around his dick, pumping it slowly as you press a little kiss to his flushed and shiny tip, licking it playfully and swirling your tongue around it for a moment before you actually stopped teasing his cock with your mouth and just with your hand.

“baby, please—” his voice is uncharacteristically whiney and his hips buck up into your grasp. despite his natural temperature regulation due to his quirk, shouto finds his entire body feeling hot, so hot, thanks to your delicate touch. “just—ah!” he moans softly as your hand begins moving up and down his shaft slowly, moving up and up until you could place your thumb over the slit of his red and swollen head and run it over the horribly sensitive spot. 

“god–damn, sweetheart—give me a moment, please,” he begs you, hips bucking upwards as his cock twitches simultaneously. shouto feels like he’s losing his mind as you pump his oversensitive length and he has to keep his eyes away from the mirror lest he nut again—no, the next time he came today, it would be inside you, his beautiful fucking spouse. “just let me breathe.” one of his large hands comes up to run through his hair and push his bangs out of his face just for them to fall right back in place once it exits his hair. 

with a scoff and a roll of your eyes, you blow a puff of cold air over his cockhead and let out a playful okay. 

“i guess,” you giggle, looking up at him from your spot on the floor. it’s true that your knees were starting to get a little sore, but you figured you were basically done anyway, so, naturally, you went to stand—just for shouto’s massive hands to land on your hips, up under your shirt, and turn you around so that you’re facing the mirror before tugging your panties down to your now reddened knees in one swift movement.

pulling you onto his lap, his painfully hard cock pressed into the crack of your ass, you whine and squirm in your husband’s strong grasp.

“b-baby?” you sound audibly confused and shouto can’t help but smile at your reaction as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

“shh,” he hushes you gently, one hand coming down between your legs to stop and rest on your clit. 

“sho-shouto,” you can’t help but whine as he applies a slow but firm pressure to your achy bundle of nerves, gently starting to trace teasing circles over it.

“can’t i make you feel good, too?” he whispers into your ear, catching your gaze in the mirror. his heterochromatic eyes are glued to the reflection of yours and you feel a chill run down your spine as he nuzzles his nose against your neck as his middle finger dips down to your dripping slit before bringing it back up to rub against your pulsing clit.

“ah!” an airy breath escapes you and your back arches at his calloused touch. “fuck,” you hiss as he begins pressing soft kisses to the already brusing flesh of your neck and finger moves with experience over your slick button. 

the first several times you two slept together, shouto was rather shy, and not particularly bold — always scared he was going to hurt you somehow or fuck up your pleasure, and then you’d want nothing to do with him; so it took a bit of instruction and teaching him what it is you do and don’t like, but shouto, ever the fast learner, quickly caught on and figured out what exactly he had to do and how he had to do it in order for you to feel good. 

“that’s what i like to hear,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you, nibbling on the lobe of your ear before blowing a puff of cold air onto it. todoroki could never get enough of the noises you made — the same way you couldn’t get enough of his whimpers and whines — and would do anything in his power to elicit such sweet sounds from you.

“sh-shut up,” is all you’re able to get out, unable to think as he brings his middle finger back down to your slit and actually inserts it into you this time — fingering you in the lightest, most teasing manner possible, while he heats up his hand, his right arm wrapping around you tighter to keep you in place.

shouto just chuckles at your poor attempt at a quip as he licks a chilly stripe up the column of your neck, causing you to shiver as a devious grin stretches over your husband’s usually sweet face. 

“oh, honey,” his voice is low and deep and admittedly makes your pussy clench around the single finger stuffed in it — god, you wish he’d add a second or third to actually stretch you out. and, almost as if he had read your thoughts, shouto curls his finger inside of you before pulling it out about halfway so he could slide another in until—he just stops, one finger half way in you with the tip of another barely poking at your entrance. 

“sho–shouto?” you all but whine, hips wiggling futilely, wishing he’d just scissor your cunt open already!

“look in the mirror,” he commands softly. nodding hesitantly, you reluctantly look at your reflection and take in the lewdness of the scene: shouto had your legs spread out over his, keeping them open by borderline entwining your lower legs with his, with his thick ring and middle fingers positioned against your cunt, and his chin now resting on your shoulder, piercing gaze capturing your own. 

as he finally begins easing his ring finger into along with the one already in there, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and just like that, any movement stops.

“i didn’t tell you to close your eyes,” he mutters, right hand coming up to slip under your shirt and pinch a nipple. 

“ah! ‘m sorry!” your eyes immediately fly open as you try to focus your gaze on the sight in front of you as shouto’s fingers get progressively hotter the further they slip into you, and suddenly—you were burning from the inside out!

“mmh, shouto….” you whine, one hand coming up to tangle into his hair, giving it a light tug. 

your husband merely ignores you as he focuses on pleasing you instead; curling his all too hot fingers at just the right angle, spreading them apart to scissor your pretty pussy, his eyes trained on your reflection and each little way you react to his touch—the way you flinch and try to close your legs, just for him to effortlessly prevent this by spreading his a little wider. god; he had learned to be a little too good at this for your own good. 

“nngh—, c’mon baby, don’ be a tease,” is all you’re able to get out as your husband takes his goddamn time fingering you; this couldn’t even be considered as finger-fucking! the feeling of the calloused pads of his heated fingertips rubbing against your already hot inner walls as he pumps them slowly—your internal temperature felt like it was skyrocketing, when in reality, it was only one or two degrees higher, something shouto could easily remedy should he switch hands. 

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about, lovely,” he smiles gently, beginning to pepper kisses along your neck once more. fuck, you coudn’t stand when he played dumb like that — he had to have known what he was doing!! (and he did! that just wasn’t for you to know.) “if there’s something you want…. then you’ll have to ask for it directly, my dear,” he tells you cheekily, and you can physically feel his smile against your skin as he begins to suck against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

god! damn him! 

“f-faster,” you whine, wiggling and rolling your hips against his slow moving fingers, just for shouto to pull them nearly all the way out of you. “sh–shouto! goddammit! please don’t tease me!” you plead, eyes beginning to lightly water over out of sheer frustration. tugging at his hair, you try to twist around enough to give him another kiss — just for him to avoid your lips, too!

“uh-uh,” he chides, his freezing free hand pinching one of your nipples, and you gasp louder than you would have liked to at the feeling. “watch yourself in the mirror ‘n ask nicely and you can have anything you want, princess,” shouto says softly, physically unable to stop smiling. sure, most of the time, his teasing was truly unintentional, the other half of the time (a little less than half, really, it was closer to 60/40) was completely on purpose, as hearing you whine his name or for him to touch you never failed to turn him on or bring a somewhat sadistic smile to his usually stoic face. 

nodding, you refocus your attention onto the large vanity mirror, with the chair scooted far back enough so you could clearly see his fingers buried in your glistening cunt, and you physically can’t control the whimper that slips past your throat as his index and pinky fingers move to spread your slick folds apart so you could get a better view of what shouto thought was the most perfect pussy in the world—ever since you’d first had sex (despite his initial nerves), he had quickly grown addicted to the feeling of your cunt wrapped oh-so-snuggly around him. 

finally, your husband finally began to finger you in earnest, crooking his fingers in such a delicious way so deep inside you—much further than your own fingers could ever reach, anyway—and suddenly you wish it was his dick filling you up, not just his fingers..! unbeknownst to you, this was both shouto’s brief way of giving his sensitive cock a rest so he could fuck you properly without creaming too early and making sure you’d get to cum twice, too.

“you’re so tense,” his voice has a saccharine lilt to it, and you feel goosebumps erupt over your skin as he watches the way his fingers pump in and out of you, and he can feel his length twitch and drool pre as he imagines your cunt fluttering around his dick instead of his fingers.

“‘s not my fault—you’re not exactly making it easy f’me to relax,” you complain, shifting around in his grip as you give his hair a light tug. 

“oh? i’m not?” his gentle smile stretches into a shit eating grin as he slides his fingers out of you entirely before bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick your slick off the digits that had been nearly knuckle-deep inside you less than a moment ago, except—he only sucks off his ring finger, leaving the middle one for you to suck on instead, bringing it up to your plump, glossy lips whilst softly telling you to open your mouth. of course, you obeyed without a second thought, happily, and almost hazily, swirling your tongue around his finger in a similar manner you had done with his cock. the action reminded shouto of such, and he lets out a quiet groan at the feeling.

“mmh,” you hum pleasantly around the digit that was pressing down lightly against your tongue. you weren’t too pleased, however, about the lack of stimulation your pussy was receiving, and you decided to make this known to your husband.

catching his eye in the mirror, you let out a little whine and wrap both your hands around his thick wrist as you purposely let the drool in your mouth build up so it begins to seep down his hand and slowly trickle onto his forearm. 

“baby, please. please just fuck me,” you mumble, tugging on his wrist to pull his calloused, slick finger from you spit-soaked mouth. 

shouto really was planning to finger you to an orgasm, honest, but—when you asked so sweetly, he just couldn’t say no to you!

“fuck,” he groans, both hands quickly settling onto your hips in order to lift you enough to align your soaked slit with his flushed and achy cock. “y’know i can’t tell you no when you ask like that,” he says before letting you slowly sink all the way to the base. 

“you feel so good,” he groans out as your puffy pussy wraps around him tightly.

“s–so do you,” you whine out, feeling his head kiss the entrance to your cervix. jesus christ, how was it possible to hit so deep? “s-so, so good,” you tell him, trying to look at the two of you in the mirror and the way your cunt envelopes him and—it’s just too embarrassing to look at! 

squirming in his grasp, you try to turn around to better face him so you could plant a kiss to his plump lips. shouto, however, simply uses one large hand to squish your cheeks and hold your face in place to watch as he lazily fucks up into in the mirror. no matter how bad he wanted to kiss you (that would have to come (cum) after you), he just enjoyed that flustered look on your face too much to not indulge in it! besides, he was always so sweet to you, he’s sure you can handle some light teasing. 

“aa–ahh! sh-shouto! fuck!” you cry as he begins bouncing you up and down his needy dick. you whimper at the way he throbs inside you and your cunt clenches tightly around him—making your husband groan loudly too. “sho–!” it’s all you can do to look into the mirror at the lewd sight, and embarrassingly enough, it only serves to turn you on even more.

“hmm?” it’s all he can do to hum out a response as he keeps you moving up and down, strong arms moving with ease as he rhythmically rolls his hips up into yours. “what—” he hisses from the way his tip hits against your cervix, with nowhere left to go. “what is it, love?” he does his best to answer coherently, needing you to be the one fucked dumb first. without a second thought, one hand abandons your hip to slide down your abdomen all the way back between your legs where he began rubbing slow, tight circles against your neglected clit.

“ah! f–fuck!” you moan as he soon sets a steady pace against your throbbing bud, steadily working you up to an orgasm, the knot in your stomach tightening. 

it doesn’t take much longer before you’re quivering in shouto’s grip and whining about how close you were, and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride wash over him as he pushes you closer to the edge. 

as your cunt clenches and flutters around him, shouto feels himself growing uncomfortably close as well, and soon finds himself asking if it’s okay if he came inside.

“yes, please, baby,” you whine and nod your head, one hand moving to entangle itself into shouto’s hair as he finally allowed you to kiss him once again.

and, with a few more thrusts, you find yourself cumming in sync as the horribly tense knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re creaming all over your husband’s cock.

“oh fuck,” he groans, dick pulsing once, twice, before finally squirting his thick, hot seed deep into your womb, leaving you feeling both gross and contently full.

after rubbing your clit throughout the duration of your orgasm, shouto still doesn’t stop, even once you began coming down from you high, and you can’t help but jolt in his lap from the oversensitivity.

“sh-shouto, you can—you can st-stop!” you manage to spit out, biting your lower lip as you watch his calloused fingers rub steady circles against your poor clit. 

“but—” he pants. “you only— only came once,” he tries to explain, rolling his hips up into you despite his own sensitivity, desperate to make you cum again. 

“i– i know, but—’m sensitive, baby,” you try telling him, quickly feeling that familiar knot start to form again.  “ple—please!”

despite your pathetic little mewls, your husband ignores you in favor of your excess pleasure, significantly warming up the fingers playing with your puffy clit. 

it’s not long before you’re cumming one more time, evening out your total to two—equal to what you had given your oh-so-doting husband (even if you only went out of your way to actually give him a single orgasm—he just happened to cum a second time because you felt so good wrapped around him).

“fuck, baby,” you moan, back arching deeply as he slowly lessens the pressure on your throbbing clit. shouto never disappointed you in bed, or in this case, just simply in the bedroom, and for that, you were eternally grateful.

once you were done making a mess around the length of his dick, your back falls flush against his chest, and you both pant heavily for a long moment before either of you are able to recompose yourselves.

afterwards, shouto helps lift you off his softening dick, and into the bathroom so you could piss (always piss after sex, y’all), before going downstairs to get you a glass of water and then returning back to your shared bedroom to wait in your king sized bed.  once you re-entered the room, your husband sits up in the plush bed, with his arms extended out to you, your water already on your nightstand. 

with a smile, you make your way over to the bed, with only slightly wobbly legs, and curl up in your loving shouto’s strong arms, where he holds you close to him, resting your head against his chest, where you could hear his beating heart—a sound so soothing you were almost lulled asleep by it until you heard the quietest, faintest whisper of, “you’re so beautiful,” and you can’t help the grin that breaks out across your face as you tell him he is too, something shouto has never been too sure of how to process, but over time, as the compliments he received increased, he slowly learned how to handle and accept them properly.

“i love you,” you say in sync, and you let out a little giggle at this before saying jinx! and pressing a kiss to his cheek before nuzzling your head back against his chest and yawning deeply.

[bluebeary-jay]

How easy you are to need

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel notices that the peaceful life in Jackson has its consequences. he is not happy about it (based on this wonderful ask!)

Tags: TONS OF ANGST, but also FLUFF, established relationship, ahh intrusive thoughts (how much i hate them), Joel is probably ooc but i don't care anymore, also he's soft and insecure and vulnerable

Warnings: body dismorphia and lots of self-loathing on Joel's side, at one (two?) points borderline on smut ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) hihihi, swearing, drinking (just mentioned), suggestive stuff bc apparently i can't help myself 😌

Word count: 8K ! (8028 specifically woah)

A/N: the next fic will definitely be shorter bc i really need to start caring less about the quality of my work, it takes way too long for my liking. buuut anyway as always 🎶i hope yall will like it🎶 this is my birthday gift for you guys 💕

Joel looked at himself in the mirror with furrowed brows.

He pulled in his stomach and tried to zip his pants. It still fit, but barely. He undid the zip, turned to the side and looked at his reflection again, just to make sure.

Yeah. This pair was definitely loose until a while ago.

He glanced at the door, but didn’t hear you coming, so he sighed and looked in the mirror again. Joel was never particularly muscular, but he could no longer see those thin lines which accentuated his torso before. There was also a bit of fat above the hem of his jeans, and his frame seemed somehow heavier…

Good thing his left ear was directed to the door, because he heard the moment the water in the shower stopped running, which meant you were coming back from the bathroom. Joel spared himself one last wary look and zipped up his pants before turning around to your shared bed where his shirt lay discarded.

He was putting his arms into the sleeves when you entered. A couple of light steps, and then Joel smiled when he felt your arms wrapping around his torso. He glanced over his shoulder at you.

“You took your sweet time in the shower,” he pointed out, and he could feel your smile when you pressed your face to his back.

“We finally have hot water, so I’m gonna use it every chance I get.”

“You left some for me?”

You huffed a laugh and went around him, moving his hands away and starting to button his shirt yourself.

“There would be, if you took a shower with me.”

“Next time, sweetheart,” he chuckled and leaned in to kiss your forehead softly, combing his fingers through your wet hair. He hummed. “Your hair smells nice.”

“It’s that shampoo Ellie didn’t want.” You shook your head with a smile. “I have no idea why, it’s fantastic.”

You buttoned up the last button and smoothed your palms over his chest and down, lastly resting them on his waist. Internally Joel furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if he could always feel this fold when you put your hands in that place.

“You look handsome,” you whispered, looking up at him with twinkling eyes and such a soft, love-struck expression on your face that Joel felt his throat constricting. Everything but the sight of you faded from his mind, and he joined his hands behind your back, pulling you closer into his chest and basking in this precious smile you blessed him with. “Especially with the bed hair.”

“It’s your doin’, you know,” he murmured in response, nudging your nose with his and reminiscing how you tugged and raked your nails through his hair the night before. “You gotta be careful with it, sweet girl. If you continue doin’ it, m’gonna go bald soon.”

You hummed noncommittally and leaned against his chest, standing on your tip-toes. “I’ll take it under consideration. No promises, though.”

Joel lifted his hand to the back of your neck and kissed you slowly, reveling in the soft sigh that left your lips. You rested your palm above his heart, leaning forward to the point that you would fall over if he wasn’t supporting your weight.

But Joel held you tight and close to his body, gladly steadying you as you deepened the kiss, once again tugging on his graying hair in that way he adored. He wanted to tease you about it, but his thoughts strayed to the image of his body again when you lowered your hand from his chest to his side.

“You remember that tonight is this party?” you asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Joel gave up pondering about his physique and sighed heavily at your question, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, I remember. Regrettably.”

“I don’t want to go, either,” you whispered with guilt, as if someone would hear you both. “But Tommy really wanted us to come and… Just don’t make me go alone.”

“Hey, darlin’.” Joel took your face in his hands and looked deeply into your eyes. “I promised, didn’t I? M’not gonna leave you there on your own.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, smiling against them. “And mind you, I gotta make sure no one will try to seduce and steal you away from me.”

You giggled, and you were standing so close that Joel could feel your eyelashes tickling his skin. He held you close when you tried to take a step back, and your lips collided again.

“That is the one thing you don’t need to ever worry about,” you murmured quietly into the space between you two. “How could I even look at other people when I have you all to myself?”

Joel’s reflection in the mirror flashed across his mind again and a small wave of uncertainty rippled through him, but it quickly disappeared when you opened your eyes and looked at him with this raw love radiating from them. Your every word, every affectionate gesture only confirmed his conviction that you meant every word you said.

So why did he still feel so uncertain?

*****

Life in Jackson was perfect. Considering the state of the world right now, living here was like winning a lottery.

Joel had a lot to be thankful for, he was well aware of that. No longer had he any fears or sense of guilt about going to sleep and leaving you and Ellie defenseless if something were to happen. He didn’t have to count rations anymore, worrying that the kid would be forced to march all day hungry. There was now no need to keep a watchful eye for new clothes if someone’s worn off, ripped or got soaked from walking in the rain, posing a threat of you or Ellie catching a cold.

Back in Boston it wasn’t much different, though he and you had at least a bed to sleep in, as uncomfortable as it was. But there was never enough food for all those people Fedra kept there, and the winters were cold as hell, leaving at least one of you a bit sick every year.

None of those things were keeping him awake at night anymore. The only people he had to take care of – you and Ellie – were safe and comfortable. None of you had to starve or freeze, and you all didn’t have to continue walking across the country for days and days without end, struggling to survive.

Maybe that was the problem.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew that those luxuries he had an access to now were at the root of his problem. Before you all settled in Jackson, you were constantly on the move, fighting for your lives in one way or another, so of course he was… leaner and more fit back then. It was never something he paid attention to, though, never something he concerned himself with.

But now you three were living here, surrounded by more people than Joel could count, and he couldn’t help but… notice things about them.

Especially about all those men and women who looked at you in a different way.

Due to the nature of the party Tommy invited them to – mainly consisting of dancing and talking in the biggest bar in Jackson – Joel had a lot of time to ponder about his situation, all while nursing his drink and looking at you from across the room with his elbows resting on the table.

You were chatting with one of your friends near the counter, laughing and smiling so beautifully. No matter where Joel’s eyes strayed, they always came back to your person, as if you were the moon against the pitch black sky, reflecting some imperceptible light.

Some guy he knew by sight – Chuck? Bart? – walked up and tapped you on the shoulder, and from what Joel could tell, he was offering you a drink. He was standing way too close, though, and you took a step closer to your friend, shaking your head. Chuck – or Bart – persisted for another half a minute, but eventually shrugged and shuffled off, his movements tense.

Joel didn’t move. He knew from experience that you’d let him know if you needed his help.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned your head and sent him a radiant smile. He mirrored it, lifting his glass slightly like he was toasting you, which made you do the same before resuming the conversation with your friend.

His smile disappeared as soon as you stopped looking at him. Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, feeling a headache coming from the dull lights and loud chatter all around.

It were moments like this when it hit him just how old he was compared to you.

You were a sweet, young thing. Funny, sharp, drop-dead gorgeous… No wonder some people were seeking your attention. That guy was just one of the half a dozen he saw or heard about since you moved to Jackson.

Joel knew you were a loyal sort – God, he knew that, he knew you for so long now – but every time he saw you talking to someone else, his treacherous mind started to wonder if he wasn’t somehow keeping you chained to his person.

It was probably alcohol talking, but Lord, if he wasn’t reminded of how old he was compared to you every time he saw you next to your peers. You still had so much life ahead of you, and he was pushing sixty, for fuck’s sake. Before long he’ll be old and decrepit, unable to bring something useful to the table or help you in any way, and you’d still be as pretty as ever, trapped in a relationship with an old man.

For example, that guy – Chuck, or whomever – was way closer to your age, had handsome features, and Joel knew for a fact he was working at tree felling, so he had to be muscular, too.

Joel was once, too. Once.

He subtly ran his hand across his stomach under the jacket, his brows furrowed, and leaned back on the bench to get rid of those damned fat folds.

He sighed and downed the rest of the liquor in his glass, trying very hard not to think about it, not to put himself down like that and let those cruel thoughts fester in his mind, but no matter what, he couldn’t stop comparing himself to this guy, and also… how you looked next to him.

Shit. What if he was doing you more harm than good by continuing to stay with you?

“I could pickpocket you and you wouldn’t notice.”

Joel looked up, abruptly pulled out of his thoughts. You were standing over his table with your head tilted and still that beaming smile on your face.

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

He opened his mouth, glanced in the direction of the bar, and closed it. There was no sign of any of the people you just talked with.

“Nothin’,” he replied, maybe a little too dryly, so he quickly changed the subject. “You havin’ fun?”

“Yeah, it’s nicer than I thought.” You looked around and then spotted the empty glass on the table in front of him. “Do you want me to bring you another one?”

“No, there’s no need,” he grumbled, but you had already put your drink down and sent him a wink.

“I'll be right back, baby.”

Joel hissed your name but you just looked over your shoulder with a smirk, swinging your hips provocatively to the music and ignoring him completely. He sighed heavily, slumping in his seat.

He needed to get his shit together. Fuck his insecurities, he didn’t want to take his frustration out on you when you were nothing but a ray of sunshine in his life, always so good and affectionate.

Joel’s thoughts came to a sudden stop when he searched for you in the crowd and noticed another man, this time one he didn’t know, swinging his arm over your shoulders while you waited at the bar. He tried to read your body language from here, but you didn’t seem particularly uncomfortable with the man’s actions. Joel furrowed his brows, a pit of uncertainty forming in his stomach again... but then you threw the man’s heavy limb off your shoulders and went back to Joel’s table as soon as you got the drink.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured, taking a large gulp despite telling himself earlier that he was done drinking for today. “Were you okay back there?” He pointed his chin towards the bar.

You sat down next to him and smiled innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

Joel knew you long enough to recognize when you were teasing him, and he smirked despite the doubts swirling in his mind.

“Was that guy givin’ you any trouble?” he asked lazily, deciding to play along.

“Would you beat the shit out of him if I said yes?” you asked with your eyebrows raised, and Joel shrugged, acting nonchalant.

“Probably.”

You giggled and bumped his shoulder with yours playfully.

“Then no. Peter’s a good guy. Just a little,” you seemed to be looking for the right word, “uhm, persistent.” When Joel sent you a dubious look, you rolled your eyes and made a face. “He’s politely hitting on me, but doesn’t get that I’m not interested. He works at the same place I do.”

“If he keeps makin’ you uncomfortable, that’s not very polite.” You squinted at him and Joel lifted his hands in fake surrender. “M’not sayin’ anythin’. You can take care of yourself, I know that.”

You hummed melodically and glanced at the bar, then back at Joel. Then back at the bar again where that Peter guy stood. Joel noticed you biting the inside of your cheek, so he gently nudged your knee with his.

“What’s on your mind, sweet girl?”

“Maybe you could help me make it clear that I’m taken?” you blurted out quickly, making him crack a smile and chuckle under his breath.

It was so very easy to forget about all the problems in the world when you were there, sitting right next to him and warming his soul and body with your mere presence.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed and tugged you gently to sit on his lap. You faltered, but he gave your hand another light tug, and finally you let him guide you, putting one arm around his shoulders and making yourself comfortable.

Joel’s hand mindlessly went to rest on your thigh and he rubbed it comfortingly. That Peter guy, as he noted with satisfaction, was staring right back at you, eyeing the way your body was pressed flush against Joel’s with a twisted face.

Once the eyes of the both men met, Joel leaned in and kissed your neck, keeping eye contact the entire time. Peter turned away, taking a large swig from his glass.

Joel felt your muscles relaxing, and you giggled adorably next to his ear at his antics, hiding your neck between your shoulders when he nibbled at your skin lightly. Then your hand covered his, the one lying on your thigh, and stroked his skin lovingly.

Maybe Joel was keeping you chained somehow. Then again, he was but a selfish creature after all. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to ever truly let you go.

*****

The next few days – which then turned into weeks – Joel spent wondering. Mostly about what to do with his predicaments.

He had a couple of them.

The first problem was the nights. They became more difficult since he noticed… details about himself that weren’t there before, and which bothered him more and more with each day.

Joel used to love the nightfall, especially since you all settled in Jackson. In those evening hours no one bothered him, he could finally relax, spend some time alone with you, and later collapse on the bed to get a good-night sleep.

Well, not anymore.

The bedtime unexpectedly became the most stressful one for him. He was so fucking mad at himself, because laying down and having a chance to hold you in his arms was something he treasured for the longest time, but now his own insecurities stood in a way of it.

You loved cuddling and being close to him in your sleep, and Joel was never bothered by it – hell, he initiated those moments more often than not. But now he started noticing more and more how this layer of fat on his stomach moved and looked like when you draped your arm around him or snuggled closer to his chest, and it became all he could think about.

It bothered Joel so much that he started wearing a t-shirt to bed, even though he hated it with all his passion. When you asked about it, he lied that he’s cold, but in reality he was always sweaty by morning. It didn’t seem to make any difference to you, though, and you didn’t shy away from pressing your body close to his, and even slipping your hands under his shirt when you were spooning him. Some days Joel was waking up with you lying on his chest or having your arm slung across his belly, and every time it caused a lump in his throat.

He knew you didn’t mean anything bad by it – for God’s sake, you probably didn’t even have any idea that he had a problem with himself – but what once was a wonderful start of the day, now became a bitter reminder of all those things he was insecure about.

Recently he built a habit of waking up before you – he did it often before, but he always stayed in bed and waited for you to open your eyes, too – and carefully disentangling himself from your embrace. It wasn’t like it didn’t feel wonderful to be enveloped by you in this way, but once he stirred awake, lying still was a herculean task. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, his skin was itching and buzzing, he was sweating from nerves and a lot of horrible, self-depriving thoughts were flooding his mind.

So once he woke up, he’d go take a shower, trying to be a little bit louder than necessary in hopes that you’d already be awake when he gets back – so that he wouldn’t feel so guilty about not laying back down next to you.

The second of his problems was that you began to watch him more closely.

He didn’t know when it started happening, but in hindsight he realized it was just a matter of time – he was acting weird, after all, and you knew him too well not to notice anything.

A couple of times in the last few days only, Joel caught you staring at him in silence. Your eyes were solemn and your forehead sad, though you were quick to smile and act like nothing was amiss as soon as he turned your way.

You must have known something was wrong, but Joel didn’t ask about it. Honestly, with all that was happening in his own head, he didn’t want to know.

But at the same time it was as if nothing odd was happening. You were your usual self, a blessing in Joel’s life, and you still sought to be close to him and spend as much time together as possible. You still told him you loved him, surprised him with unexpected gestures of affection…

Just like today – you hugged him from behind while he was dressing up, started kissing his shoulders so tenderly and murmuring sweet nothings into his skin… In those moments Joel could almost forget about everything that was nagging him. It was easy to believe that you still liked the way he looked, that he was deserving of you, when you treated him with nothing but overwhelming love.

But the itch in the back of his mind never really disappeared. Even though he wanted it to.

Those thoughts filled his mind while you were sitting on his lap, telling him some story from work in a soft voice. You two were at Tommy’s, waiting for him to get back from helping his wife with something, and the day was so beautiful that you all went out onto the patio in front of the house to enjoy the unusually warm weather for this time of the year.

Joel’s hand was on your thigh, stroking it absentmindedly, while he nodded to whatever you were saying, but for the life of him, he could not focus.

Has your physique changed as well? Joel didn’t care about those things, of course, and in his eyes you were as breathtaking as ever – maybe even more, since so many of your worries disappeared and he got to see your smile more often. And you still felt perfect under his hands when he was holding you at night, still looked like a goddess every time he got to admire your naked body.

But even though he wouldn’t have cared either way if you gained some weight or looked any different, his body still bothered him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Joel fixed his attention to the wind-blown tree crowns in the distance.

Maybe he should start exercising.

Joel never liked the idea of waking up early and running down the streets in a sweat-soaked t-shirt, or going to the gym where everyone seems to stare and judge you, but it was never necessary.

With how much traveling, heavy-lifting and working he had to do, he never concerned himself with the way he looked. Hell, these things are the last on your mind when you’re fighting for your life in this god-forsaken world. But here, in Jackson, it was different. Life was good, and you were happy. And as stupid as it sounded for him, Joel wanted to look good for you.

Maybe he should ask Maria to assign him to extra patrols. He already volunteered for the morning ones, but perhaps…

“You’re quiet.”

Joel didn’t realize you stopped telling your story. He pressed his lips together and his hand on your thigh stilled.

“Sorry.”

“No need for that,” you reassured him quickly. Then you cupped his cheeks and lifted his head gently. “I don’t mean ‘now’, though, I mean… lately, in general.” Your eyes were flickering across his face, like you were hoping to read the answer from his features. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

No. Hell no. It was bad enough that Joel himself was aware of his issue, he didn’t want to make it even more noticeable by pointing it out to you.

Which reminded him – he moved his torso away from you only a few millimeters.

“No, babygirl,” he answered. He brushed some hair behind your ear, smiling softly even though inside he despised himself for lying to you. “Everythin’s fine.”

You didn’t seem convinced and still were studying his face with concern. Joel resumed petting your thigh, wanting to put you at ease. He could worry about himself, but he didn’t need to concern you with his problems, too.

“I promise,” he added. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

That look in your eyes didn’t disappear, but you hummed and dropped your hands. It didn’t take a genius to know you didn’t believe him.

“If you say so,” you answered at last, and then covered his hand on your leg with your own. “But remember you can talk to me whenever you want. About anything.”

Jesus, your kindness was only confirming his concerns if he was the right person for you. Joel shook his head with a crooked smile.

“You’re gettin’ sappy.”

“It’s because I’m worried,” you shot back without skipping a beat, swatting at his chest with the back of your hand. “And you’re not making it any easier.”

“There’s nothin’ for you to worry about,” he repeated, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. But he failed.

You pressed your lips together and then made a move to get up from his lap without a word. Joel held onto you delicately, not letting you stand up.

“Wait, darlin’,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “Didn’t mean to say it that way. I just… feel tired. Sorry.”

Your eyes softened when you took in the regret and weariness on his face. Joel felt your fingertips on his jaw, but before you could question him further, Tommy returned from the inside of the house with a grin.

“Age is a heavy burden, eh, ol’ dog?” he teased, apparently having heard the last bit of their conversation. The younger Miller placed three bottles of beer on the table, and winked at you. “That’s just how it is for us now. Enjoy your youth while you still can, punk.”

Joel felt a sharp jab in his ribs, not unlike being stabbed. He couldn’t find it in himself to look at his brother, less alone laugh at his teasing.

Of course Tommy didn’t mean anything bad by it, but his words were just a bitter reminder of the ever-present pit of Joel’s stomach.

The weight of you on his lap suddenly felt a lot lighter, and he himself felt so, so very heavy and tired.

Old.

Joel could feel your eyes boring into his face, but a second later you turned to Tommy, taking the burden of filling the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s already started for me. Sometimes I feel like my bones want to kill me prematurely.”

“M’sure Joel won’t let that happen. He’d fight your skeleton if you said it’s botherin’ you.”

You snorted and shook your head, but your smile faltered when you turned to Joel again. He almost broke down right then and there from the guilt and tightness in his chest.

And the dark feeling inside him just grew when your eyes stayed sad and concerned for the rest of the day.

*****

It had to end.

Joel could no longer pretend everything was alright like he wasn’t dying on the inside every time you did as much as hold his hand. He felt horrible about lying, avoiding spending time together and denying you affection he knew you so loved receiving.

If he was being honest with himself, he wanted this affection, too. Undisturbed with self-doubts and guilt.

He fucking craved it.

Those last few weeks, his evenings were mostly spent away from you and the warmth of your shared home. The nights, on the other hand, when he would sneak in and quietly lay down next to you (but just a little further away), became full of intrusive thoughts and wallowing in self-loathing.

No matter what excuse he came up with, you were persistent in holding and being close to him during the night, and Joel discovered that the only way to prevent you from doing it was to come to bed after you’ve already fallen asleep.

But it was a damn torture.

The worst part was when he was coming home to the sight of you lying amongst the tangled sheets and blankets in his bed. No matter if you were drooling or a pillow has imprinted itself on your cheek, every time this sight made Joel weak in the knees. You looked like a gorgeous, priceless painting, and it pained him to disrupt your rest with his arrival.

He tried to volunteer for evening patrols, because then he’d have a real reason to come home late, but not only Maria didn’t want to pair him with anyone during those hours – she also suspended him from all patrols whatsoever. Joel was understandably furious, but the damn woman threatened to tell Tommy about it if he kept being ‘a stubborn pain in her ass’. She sent him back home, murmuring something about spending more time with you, which he tried to pretend he hadn’t heard.

Joel sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed and hiding his face in his hand.

If Maria of all people could see that there were some problems in your and Joel’s relationship, then you had to notice, too.

Christ, he was the worst.

Joel didn’t want to push you away, of course not. He wanted to stay with you more than anything, but that desire did nothing to diminish the guilt suffocating him. For some time, he felt like the luckiest man alive, having the privilege to call you his and every day come home to you. But now with all those little things he started to notice, he felt like a fraud.

It wasn’t even about him not deserving you anymore – it was that you didn’t deserve this fucking treatment he was giving you these past few weeks.

Fuck, he had to tell you the truth. About the patrols, sneaking out, distancing himself, all of it. He couldn’t bear lying to you a day longer.

Joel stood up and pulled his sweaty t-shirt over his head. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and patted himself under his armpits and on the back, then reached for a clean one.

He’ll figure it out. He just needed some time to come up with a way to–

“Morning, handsome.”

Joel flinched and turned around quickly, not having realized you were awake, but whatever excuse he had in mind, it fell dead on his lips.

You stretched with a groan, reaching one arm high above your head and rubbing your eyes with the other hand. A sleepy smile danced on your lips when you looked back at him with sparkles in your slightly puffy eyes, and Joel didn’t have any other word to describe you than ‘ethereal’.

“What are you doing?” you asked groggily, relaxing against the pillow and looking him up and down.

“Uhmm…” he hesitated, clutching the t-shirt that was in need of washing close to his chest. His gaze was drawn to the window. “Goin’ out, actually. I’ve got some work…”

“No, you don’t,” you interrupted him and swung off the covers from his side of the bed. “Get back here.”

Joel looked at you with surprise.

“What?”

“You heard me, Miller. Get your ass back on the bed.”

He crumpled the shirt in his hands, hesitating, but his eyes softened as soon as he looked back at you and your raised eyebrows – like you were challenging him to just try and refuse you.

But how could he, when you looked so pretty lying in his bed and demanding to have him close to you? How could he ever deny you anything?

With a defeated sigh, Joel started putting the t-shirt back on, but the sound of you humming in protest stopped him. Your face was grumpy when he glanced up.

“Nah. No shirt.” You extended your hand in his direction, making a grabbing motion. “Come here.”

Joel didn’t move. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes and dramatically flopped down onto the pillows, looking up at him with an adorable pout.

“Because it’s been a long time since I got a chance to admire my handsome, sexy man,” you answered with sincerity, and then grinned. “Now come here. If you ditch your shirt, I’ll consider ditching mine.”

He still didn’t move. You were patient, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to do anything, you sent him a small, sweet smile. “If you get cold again, I promise to do something about it, love.”

Joel physically felt his heart softening at your words and at the sight of you.

With a silent sigh – and only a split second of hesitation – he took off the t-shirt and quickly laid down on his back next to you. He felt a bile rise in his throat, though he had no idea why, and it became almost choking when you shifted closer to him, putting one hand on his chest.

“You’ve deprived me of this beautiful view for too long,” you whispered, kissing the place below his collarbone, and then going up to the base of his neck. “I missed seeing you like this.”

“There’s nothin’ to miss,” Joel muttered, not moving a single muscle. He had his hands entwined on his stomach and to look in your direction was the biggest effort anyone could demand from him now. “We sleep next to each other every night, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you breathed into his neck, leaving love bites wherever your lips strayed. “You’re going out so early these days. And you work late.”

“Patrols,” Joel grunted with gritted teeth, his muscles tense and breathing ragged as your warm palm caressed his waist. “Sorry.”

“You work too hard, love.” You sat up and swung one of your legs over his lap. Joel actually shivered when you took his hands in your own and placed them on your hips. “Let me help you relax.”

Oh, fuck.

Jesus fucking Christ, Joel was sure he was going to drop dead at any second now.

“Darlin’…” he began, but you made a noise in your throat and leaned in to kiss him deeply, pressing your body to his. Joel loved when you initiated those moments between you two, and you looked so fucking hot sitting on top of him – but for the life of him, he could not relax.

“It hits me every once in a while how lucky I am to have you,” you whispered in such a sweet, adoring voice, like you didn’t hear him. You pressed your lips against his stubble again, igniting every inch of his skin with your touch. “Let me enjoy you. I love you so much, you know that?”

“I…”

I love you, too.

Lord, he loved you so much. Why was it so hard to return your affections, then? Why did he feel like the biggest crook by letting you love him?

Joel let out a shuddering sigh he didn’t know he was holding when you pressed your lips to the edge of his jaw, before capturing his mouth in a kiss. It was sweet, but heated at the same time and, without even thinking about it, he found himself wrapping his strong arms around you, bringing you closer to his chest. You smiled against his lips and murmured something he didn’t quite catch.

A groan escaped him when you bit his lower lip lightly, your soft palm going down, from his chest, to his stomach, down…

He couldn’t do it.

Joel abruptly rose to the sitting position and grabbed your wrist, his eyes sad and painful.

“I’m sorry, baby” he said with furrowed brows, gently setting you aside and off his lap, before standing up quickly. “I’m so sorry, babygirl, I love you, I promise, but I can’t… I don’t feel good today. I’m sorry.”

“Joel…” you started, but he shook his head, putting his t-shirt back on and turning away from you not to let you see the absolute wrecked expression on his face and wetness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying, feeling like he’s about to throw up from the nerves and the burning shame. He cursed himself internally, wanting to turn around, to take your face in his hands and kiss you deeply, but he… he... “I’m so…”

All strength left him in a blink of an eye and suddenly he slumped on the bed, hiding his face in his hands. Joel desperately tried to get a grip on himself, but his chest felt so tight, and all the worry, all the guilt and fear, and self-loathing came crashing down on him all at once.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips trembling and that damn muscle in his cheek pulsing when he felt the mattress dipping and your tentative touch on his face.

“No, no, baby, it’s alright,” you started saying quietly, trying to take his cheeks in your hands, but he didn’t let you. “Oh, Joel… Come here.”

You gently pulled him into your arms, guiding his head to rest in the crook of your neck. Joel hid his face in your skin, realizing with dread that his own shoulders were shaking.

For God’s sake, he needed to stop, he needed to put himself together and not show any weakness–

But it was you. It was your warm embrace and your loving hands brushing his hair, and your quiet whispers while you held him. It was your kindness and understanding, and stubbornness coming from love. You weren’t someone he had to hide from.

So he let you in. He let you hold him.

“Joel, please. Talk to me,” you spoke up after some time, and though your tone was soft, it somehow sounded too loud in the silence of the room. “I need to know what’s going on with you, you’re worrying me.”

“Nothin’ is goin’ on,” he answered out of habit, not even moving a muscle. “I just… fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and talk to me.” Joel pursed his lips, while you massaged his back gently. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna get through it together, okay? It’s gonna be okay, love, I promise.”

He planned on telling you. He wanted to tell you and get it off his chest, but… he wasn’t ready. Not now. Not when he broke down in front of you, for fuck’s sake.

But you deserved to know. If not to help him, then at least to make you aware of what you’ve gotten yourself into. It wasn’t fair to keep you in the dark and at arm’s length because of his absurd fears.

He wetted his lips and inhaled softly, but no words came out.

You gently lifted his head and Joel immediately squeezed his eyes shut, knowing there was no way he’d be able to say anything if he looked at you.

“You can tell me, baby,” you whispered sadly, touching the side of his face. “Anything. I promise everything will be alright.”

Joel was silent for a couple of moments, before he swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to calm down his pounding heart.

“I don’t have any extra work,” he started very quietly, so his voice wouldn’t break. “I was lyin’ to you, and I… I’m so sorry about that. I don’t get sent on any patrols now, actually…”

He shook his head and sighed heavily, faltering. He knew that wasn’t the problem, and although lying to you was one of the things he was guilty of, it wasn’t what started all of it. And you must’ve known it, too, because you kept looking at him, not saying anything.

“The thin’ is, I… God dammit,” he murmured, turning his head away from you and hiding his face in his hands, still keeping his eyes closed. “I can’t… I don’t– I have a problem with myself,” he finally blurted out, not even caring now if you understood his muffled words. “I keep…”

Fuck, man, just say it.

“I’m… I’m not as fit as I used to be,” he murmured, not moving an inch in fear that you’ll spot the wetness on his eyelashes. “I don’t want to do you harm, darlin’, keepin’ you from… Jesus, I don’t know. From livin’ your life, happily and to the fullest.”

“Joel…” You whispered with pain in your voice. “Is this what it is about?”

Joel shook his head, letting out a shuddering breath, still as quietly as he could.

“I’m old,” he said with tiredness he didn’t know he had in himself. “And you… You’re so pretty and young, I…” He lowered his forehead onto his hand, rubbing his temple. “I would like nothin’ more than to spend the rest of my life with you, darlin’. But I’m afraid I’m not… not good for you. You could do so much better–”

“Hey. Hey, none of that.” You forced his hands away from his face by cradling it in your own palms. “There’s no one else I’d rather share my days with.”

Joel just shut his eyes tighter, trying to contain the tears that started to gather in them.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But in a couple of years I’ll be… God, I’ll be fuckin’ sixty, and you–”

“Do you really think I care about that?” you asked softly, brushing your thumbs under his eyes, but he shook his head, like you didn’t understand. “Joel, I love you more than anything in this world. And I know you love me.” He heard the faintest smile in your voice, and it made him feel so, so terrible with himself – that you were trying to make him feel better when you shouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have been another one of your worries… “So where’s the problem? I want to be with you. Only you.”

Joel pressed his lips together and before he could stop himself, he draped his arms over his lap, like he was trying to hide the evidence of his insecurities from you, even though his torso was already covered by the t-shirt.

“You’re young and beautiful,” he repeated, still unable to find strength in himself to look you in the eye. “And I’m anythin’ but. I just don’t wanna…”

Joel didn’t know what else to say.

He didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to spend another night apart from you. He didn’t want to push you away.

“Just don’t want you to be unhappy,” he finally murmured.

You let out something between a short chuckle and a stifled sob, and your fingers found Joel’s, still wrapped around his stomach.

“Do I look unhappy to you?” you asked, almost in disbelief. Joel finally willed himself to glance at you, if only to see for himself – which turned out to be a mistake. Your eyes were sad and teary, but not full of hurt or distaste like he feared, and you still had this faint smile on your face. He quickly turned his head away and you must’ve realized how you looked because your hold on his fingers tightened slightly. “Not right now. In general, did I ever do something to make you think I’m not happy with you?”

“No,” he answered quietly, not even having to think about it. “But it doesn’t…”

“I told you before, how can I even look at anyone else when I have you?” you spoke up when he faltered. “You’re beautiful to me, Joel, even if you don’t believe me right now. You’re amazing and kind, you’re fucking hot, and yeah, maybe you’re stubborn at times, but I love you so much, and every day I find another reason to fall for you all over again.”

Joel met your eyes again, looking for any hesitation or deceit – but he didn’t find any. As always, you were sincere in everything you said.

He realized, with another wave of tears threatening to roll down his cheeks, how much he missed your affection that he alone deprived himself from. How much he longed for this intimacy that once came so easily to him.

“M’sorry,” he muttered at last, lifting his hand to your face and trying to ignore those damn tears spilling from behind his eyelids. “Never doubted you, babygirl, but I just didn’t know how… how to tell you.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you nuzzled your cheek into his palm, planting a kiss on the inside of his hand. “It’s alright, c’mon here.”

Not letting go of his hand, you tugged him gently and leaned back on the pillows. With great effort he refrained from fighting you, and instead let you pull him down, laying his head on your chest.

And in an instant, everything was alright again. The moment Joel heard your heartbeat under his ear and felt your gentle hands on the nape of his neck and his back… it was like coming home. This feeling of warmth spreading across his limbs made him feel safe for the first time in weeks.

It was so long since he fully let you hold him.

Maybe that’s what he’s been missing.

“I adore you, Joel Miller,” you whispered into the top of his head, holding him close to your heart. “All of you, and just the way you are.”

Joel couldn’t help it – a small smile crept onto his lips.

“Called it,” he murmured. “You’re gettin’ sappy.”

You snorted and kissed his hairline. “I think you need it, handsome.”

“Maybe I do,” he conceded, not moving his head from your chest, and sighed tiredly. “Dammit, missed holdin’ you like this, babygirl. M’so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you countered, but he continued.

“I just didn’t know how to talk about it… How to tell you that I feel bad. About… the way I look.”

Joel felt your hands on his cheeks, and although he really didn’t want to move from the position he was in, he let you lift his head.

“I love the way you look,” you said quietly, in a tone that made Joel’s old heart flutter. “And our bodies change, there’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, I’m really happy that both of us can enjoy this kind of life.” You leaned in and nudged Joel’s nose with yours, closing your eyes. “Every change of our bodies is a sign that we’re finally safe after all we’ve been through. 

“But you look gorgeous as ever, sweet girl.”

“M’glad to hear it, Mr Miller,” you teased, but then your smile turned wistful. “But you know, I was insecure about my looks, too, not sure if you noticed. My stomach and thighs, and,” you rolled your eyes, “well, my butt.”

Normally Joel would throw a playful remark, or try to make you giggle, but this time he stayed silent. He just listened to your soft voice, drinking in your features.

“It worried me for some time. But you still put your hand on my leg when I was sitting with you, and you never shied away from telling and showing me,” you stressed this word, a teasing note in your tone, “how much you like my body.”

“‘Course I do,” he murmured quietly, lifting himself on his elbows and leaning over you despite your huffs and efforts to keep him in place.

“So I thought that maybe you didn’t care about this extra weight, or even didn’t–”

The rest of your words were swallowed by Joel’s lips when he kissed you deeply and hungrily. So many strong emotions were swirling inside his chest, he didn’t know anymore what to do with himself. At first you tried to continue your train of thought, but soon gave up, erupting into giggles when Joel latched his lips onto your neck and wrapped his arms around you in an attempt to bring you in even closer.

“I didn’t care,” he was whispering into your skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake. “I don’t.”

“Then you see– Joel, stop it!” You squealed when he carried on with his assault, not giving you a second to gather your thoughts.

“M’so lucky to have you,” he whispered while peppering your face in soft kisses. “Thank you, babygirl.”

You finally managed to free your arms, and you cupped his face in your hands with a huge grin that Joel decided he wanted to see every day. Another adorable giggle escaped you when he snuggled his scratchy cheek into your palm.

“I know it will take time,” you said gently, but firmly, looking deep into his eyes. “But no matter how long it’ll take, I will make you understand how incredibly attracted I am to you.” Joel hung his head low to hide a bashful snigger, and your smile grew. “Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah. Understood, ma’am.”

“Good.” You pulled him closer to plant a slow kiss on his lips, and asked seductively: “I can start right now, if you’d want to. I don’t want my handsome man to feel insecure about any part of him.”

God, he loved you so much.

Joel hid his face in the crook of your neck again, his heart squeezing with adoration and disbelief at how it came that he’d been blessed with someone like you.

“Y’know what, sweetheart? I think it’d do me good.”

[roosterforme]

Okay, but how about the first time Jake and Darling have a fight? How would that go?

I really like your stories bc while it is fiction, I feel like you show every aspect of a relationship, not only the good parts.

🩷

OMG, nonny. I'm swooning. I try to make my stories realistic (as much as they can be for fanfic). Nobody is happy and confident all the time. Everyone is stressed about something. Relationships are hard work, and dealing with someone else is sometimes weird and annoying. So thank you, I appreciate that so much.

Jake and Darlin' argue all the time about all the small things in life. They have different opinions on a lot of things, but it's never usually anything they remember by the next day. I think their first big fight would happen shortly after she moves in with him, just after she graduates from school and starts her new job. (angsty below).

"I had the longest day at work," you muttered, shoveling the last bite of the dinner Jake made into your mouth. You set your fork down and stretched as you stood. This whole week was dragging. You realized you were probably complaining more than usual, but you were just over it. "Let's go take a bath and just go to bed. I'll clean up tomorrow morning."

Jake looked at you, his lips pressed into a firm line. "Go ahead. I'll clean it up."

You reached for his hand, but he was already stacking the plates. "You cooked. I don't want you to clean up. I'll do it later," you reiterated.

"Just go get in the bath," he snapped, carrying everything back to the kitchen.

"I don't want to take a bath without you!"

Jake dumped everything into the sink and spun around. "You're not the only one who's working full-time, but you're certainly acting like it."

With narrowed eyes, you asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jake took a deep, practiced breath and let it out slowly. "I know you're tired, but it would be nice for you to acknowledge that I work longer hours than you do. So just go relax in the bath by yourself while I clean up."

"Well, now I don't want to!" You were suddenly so angry, you couldn't see straight, and you also wanted to cry. "You're treating me like a child!"

"You're acting like one."

His words hurt you more than a slap across your cheek would have, and your jaw dropped open. But then his next sentence made it even worse.

"In my house no less."

"Wow," you gasped, turning and running toward the bedroom as you started crying. It wasn't like you weren't paying to be here. You knew it wasn't much, but you had been insistant about giving Jake five hundred dollars per month. And for what? So he could act like you were an unwanted guest?

You ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you before you curled up on the tub mat on the floor and sobbed. Work wasn't like school. Trying to figure out how you fit in with your coworkers was exhausting, and you were still learning all the ropes. You drove back here every day mentally drained, and up until tonight, Jake was always the one who seemed willing to listen. You should have just cleaned up the kitchen, because now you felt like you didn't belong anywhere.

"Darlin'." Jake's voice was as sharp as his knock on the door. You tried to dry your tears, but it wasn't working, and maybe you really were a child compared to your boyfriend. "Darlin'!"

"It's not even locked!" you shouted, but it came out as weak as you felt. Jake opened the door, and in an instant, he was curled up on the floor with you, pulling you into his arms.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I acted like an asshole." You tried to wriggle away from him, but he wouldn't let you. "I think I'm more exhausted this week than I'd like to admit, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

In spite of the fact that you were on the floor crying, you mustered up the courage to whisper, "I'm not a child."

"You're an adult," he said firmly. "An adult who just started a very impressive job. You're holding it together better than I did when I was in flight school." He kissed your forehead. "And you're absolutely right. We should have just climbed in our bathtub and then gone right to our bed. The fucking dishes do not matter right now. They can sit in our kitchen sink until whenever the fuck we feel like cleaning up."

Jake rubbed slow, soothing circles against your lower back until you were all cried out. If you thought you were tired before, it was nothing compared to how wrung out you felt now. You wanted to put forth a peace offering and just get up and clean the kitchen, but his lips were on your damp cheek and his voice was in your ear. "I love you, Darlin'. It has been a long week for both of us. I would like nothing more than to climb in a hot bath with you, relax until the water gets cold, and then get in our bed and go to sleep."

You nodded and started the water while he got two towels ready, and then both of you undressed. Jake kissed your bare shoulder and held you while the tub filled. "You belong here," he whispered. "I don't want you anywhere other than our house."

[pyrodolls]

yandere kung lao I’m begginf,,,,

self aware! yandere kung lao x reader pt.1

warnings: mk1 story mode spoilers, obsessiveness, gender neutral reader, ooc kung lao, self aware kung lao

summary: kung lao is aware he is in a video game, and he just loves you so much. he just wishes he didn’t have to be behind a screen.

a/n: anon im so sorry it took me a bit to get to this, anyways i decided to mix it up and make kung lao self aware bc i thought my yandere hcs were getting too repetitive and i am also a diehard SAGAU fan. (also sorry for my mini break, finals week is crazy man.)

part 2

- kung lao *hated* being stuck behind a screen. behind a stupid wall. away from you.

- you were just a regular mortal kombat fan. when mortal kombat 1 was announced, you were just so excited to get your hands on the game.

- you watched playthroughs before you could buy the game, and you were so happy when you found out that you could play as kung lao in the first chapter of story mode.

- when you got your hands on the game, you noticed that every time he had a funny one-liner in the story mode, he would look at the camera and wink. that’s weird… he didn’t do that in the playthroughs you watched… but oh well, it’s probably nothing.

- in the final battle you even chose to play as kung lao out of all the fighters. he was surprisingly easy to use, and his moves seemed to hit even harder than usual and the fights would be over in a blink of an eye. maybe he was buffed just for the fights?

- and when you finished the story mode and checked out all the skins and rewards you got, you noticed that you somehow had all of kung lao’s stuff unlocked. all of his palettes, skins, brutalities, etc. everything. you owned all of it. even the ones that weren’t out yet.

- you thought it was just a glitch, so you shut your device down and restarted it. but when you opened it again, his stuff was still there.

- and it got even weirder. when you tried to practice, the game only let you use kung lao. for some reason, you couldn’t use any other fighter. you couldn’t even use any kameo other than kung lao.

- he was still your favorite character and all, but that was weird. you tried to exit out of the game and restart it again, but it wouldn’t shut down. the game stayed on. it was frozen on kung lao. and he seemed to just stare at you. as if he knew you were there.

- you were starting to get creeped out, so you completely powered off your device and decided to leave it disconnected overnight.

- but over that little period of time, even though it was only a few hours to you, it felt like an eternity for kung lao.

- he felt hurt. a bit betrayed, even. did you not like him anymore? was he not enough for you? he gave you everything he could. he did everything he could to show his love for you, since he cannot communicate any other way.

- without you playing the game, he felt nothing. he couldn’t feel your warmth. it was nothing but a cold, dark space. he needed you. he needed you to always be with him. even if he couldn’t communicate with you, he’d figure something out.

- that’s why he was changing the coding of the game. he had to always be on your screen, or at least give you hints that he was self aware. he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you weren’t looking at him. if you weren’t using him all the time.

- what do you mean you want to main johnny cage? or raiden? or even syzoth? what do they have that kung lao doesn’t?

- you liked the powerful fighters? no worries, he can just nerf everyone else and completely manipulate the coding of the game so he has the best damage.

- you thought the other fighters were more attractive than him? he’ll change the game so their designs were ruined and less pleasing to your eye.

- he would mend himself to your liking. he just needed you to use him. please make him feel important and useful. make him feel worthy of being your main. your favorite.

- if anyone became your favorite instead of him, he would go ballistic. he would rethink his entire existence. he’s so strong, and funny, and easy to use. so why would you choose anyone else? what’s wrong with him? is he not enough for you?

- if kung lao found out you wanted to start using a different fighter, he would erase them from the game. they would be nowhere to be found. their image in the game would be warped into a bunch of blurry pixels.

- if he has to erase the entire kast of fighters, he will. he needs your love. he needs your attention. if he isn’t your favorite, then what is the point of his existence in the game?

- kung lao needs you. and you need him too. why can’t you see that? he’s done everything he could to gain your approval. he was already so great, but he changed himself for you. accept him. please.

- the last thing he would resort to is bringing you in the game with him. what better way to stay by your side, than force you into the world of mortal kombat?

- at first, he didn’t exactly like the thought of taking away your freedom, but the more he thought about it the more he craved your company. why stay behind your screen when he can just bring you with him? now, you don’t have to turn your device on and off! he’s not going anywhere. and you aren’t either.

[starstruckmoony]

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

thank you for this request anon!! i am so so so sorry for taking longer than i should have but i've just been all over the place with requests and in just general this past week 😭 so yeah i am a little late but i hope you're feeling better and that this meets your expectations <333333

in between.

masterlist , requests

pairing - theodore nott x slytherin!reader

trope/tags - fluff

word count - 1.7k

warnings - descriptive period pains

waking up in time for class was always difficult for you. not even because you were lazy or didn't care about your grades enough, but mostly because theodore, your boyfriend and number one favourite person in the world, had an annoying little habit of staying inside of your room until pansy chased him out because she wanted her beauty sleep. most of the time, that would be somewhere around two in the morning. and you had to get up at six. four hours of sleep. wonderful. usually, you didn't mind. you didn't like getting out of bed, anyway.

but this morning, you very much minded. your eyes snapped open, you weren't entirely sure what had woken you up. you grunted, irritated, and disappeared under your two blankets to shield yourself from the cold of the dawn, sighing when your realised you that you'd have to get up in no less than ten minutes. with transfiguration as your first class, too. how you loved having to turn tables into chairs first thing in the morning.

but then you felt it. a terrible sensation in your abdomen, so harsh it felt like sharp knife was slicing through you. it took everything in you not release a pained moan. the discomfort spread almost all the way to your upper thighs, coming in constant strong waves. you groaned, hiding further under the covers and curling yourself up into a ball.

you wanted to cry. not only were you exhausted, but you were also in a tremendous amount of pain. you had got your period the night before, and it was going kind of smoothly... as smooth as they go... so you weren't really expecting to wake up with a dying wish to pass the hell away barely five hours later.

pansy's footsteps sounded throughout the room, and you heard the bathroom door shut. you didn't move a muscle. a few moments later, it opened again, and she paced around for a bit, shuffling through her trunk and then your own when she couldn't find a clean pair of socks. she was humming some tune as she got ready, seeming to be in an okay mood, but then she scoffed. her steps got louder as she neared your bed, pulling the covers off of you.

"bitch, you'll be la– oh merlin, are you alive?" she was a little startled seeing you resemble the appearance of an ill victorian child, but nevertheless took a seat at the edge of your mattress, "no." you dragged out, retrieving your precious blanket. you couldn't recall the last time you felt this bloody awful.

"period cramps, huh?" she made a sympathetic face at you, very familiar with that struggle. you only nodded. she hugged you and stayed like that for a bit, before standing up and walking over to her drawer. she dug out a few chocolate frogs and tossed them over to you.

you muttered a strained thank you, collecting them all. you placed them onto your night stand, grunting. you knew that they probably wouldn't help as much as you wished for them to, but you still appreciated your friend for trying. it was the least she could do in those circumstances.

she sighed, picking up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder, "i'll tell mcgonagall you won't be coming in today." you sat up immediately, getting a bit stressed, "don't tell theo."

"huh?" she deadpanned, eyeing you like you had gone mental.

"i don't want him to worry." you explained with a shrug, wincing when the cramps got stronger. you knew what your boyfriend was like, meaning you were aware that he'd come running right to you if pansy were to tell him about the dreadful state you were in. you didn't really want him to see you like that. your head was beginning to hurt, too.

she rolled her eyes, "as if he won't come looking for you the moment he sees you aren't with me." she bent down and picked up a dirty stocking, throwing it at you. and she was right. theodore loved you more than all of his friends combined, so you could already picture him bolting through the dungeons and straight through your door after seeing that you were missing. he wouldn't even have to be told why you weren't present.

pansy left then, leaving you to suffer all alone. you were barely able to get out of bed to clean yourself up. even moving around was hard. it took you about two minutes to drag yourself to the bathroom and and another fifteen to leave it. managing your hygiene had never been more exhausting.

just as you collapsed back into your bed, ready for a few more hours of torture, the door of your room opened. there went theodore, holding one of his hoodies, a bunch of period products you weren't sure how he acquired, and some chocolates he had stolen from lorenzo's drawer. your heart may have simply melted.

"hi." you peeked at him from beneath the covers, your voice small and tired.

"oh, love." his face twisted with concern as he took in the sight of you. he quietly shut the door and was next to your bed in a matter of seconds. he clumsily set all of the things he brought onto your nightstand, eager to have you in his arms as soon as possible. he shrugged off his robes, kicking his shoes away too. you tried to sit up, and once you did, he took the opportunity to take the shirt you had slept in off of you. he replaced it with his hoodie before settling down next to you. it smelled like him, which was also one of your favourite things in the world. you sighed, a warm feeling overwhelming you.

"tell me if you need anything and i'll get it for you, okay?" he brought the blankets all the way up to your neck, throwing an arm around you and pulling you close. he was willingly missing out on classes for you. could you just let that slide?

"theo–" he placed a finger against your lips to hush you, "i can take one day off, it's not like it's gonna kill me." he retrieved his hand.

"but–"

"no buts." he made you get closer, and you let out a startled giggle, momentarily forgetting about the pain you were in.

you laid there in silence for a little while. theo was rubbing comforting circles into your back, pressing a kiss to your forehead every now and then. it eased you a little bit, and you weren't feeling so terrible anymore. the pain was still there, but whatever he was doing made it a little easier to bear.

"is it really bad?" he questioned after seeing you had scrunched your face up. you hummed and he sat up, reaching under your bed. "where is it– oh." he pulled out the hot pack he knew you sometimes used in similar situations, heading for the bathroom to fill it up with warm water. he returned rather quickly and reclaimed his position on the bed. he adjusted your pillows and placed the hot pack against your stomach, throwing an arm around you again. it made it a little difficult for him to pull you completely against his chest, but your own comfort mattered more to him.

"thank you." you sighed. he gave you a look, not a particularly annoyed one, but one that told you that you didn't have to thank for him doing things like that. he pecked your nose, the urge was too difficult to resist. you exhaled comfortably, taking a hold of his hand and intertwining your fingers.

he began massaging your knuckles, and you shuffled closer, as close as it was possible, burying your face into his chest. he kissed your hand this time before releasing it, and tangled his fingers in your locks instead. you loved it when he played with your hair, and he loved it just as much, mostly because you were giving him a fantastic excuse to touch you.

"what explanation did you come up with for missing classes today?" you questioned, suddenly feeling curious. your cramps slightly reduced in their intensity, so you didn't mind talking or even getting up for a bit.

"i just told it as it is." he shrugged, continuing to play with your hair. he tucked a strand behind your ear, smiling at you.

"what?" you chuckled in surprise.

"i told mcgonagall my girlfriend wasn't feeling well and that i wanna take care of her." he was so, very causal about it. you were surprised he actually knew what to do to help you. you did assume he asked pansy, but it at least meant that he cared. and it made you that much more happy to have him there with you.

"really? what did she say?" you raised an eyebrow.

"she was a little annoyed but she understood what i was getting at," of course she did, she couldn't not, "and then she told the other boys to take notes," he grinned proudly, "draco especially."

you burst out laughing, "that did not happen."

"yes, it did," he snickered against your cheek before placing a big, loud kiss against it, "you can ask anyone." he pulled back, but did not move away. you were so close that your noses were touching.

"hm, i think i'll take your word for it." he smiled again, and you pecked his lips, another way to thank him for doing all of that for you, "i love you." you whispered.

"i love you more." he gave you a cheeky grin.

"wrong." you retorted playfully, poking at his chest.

"that's up for debate." he put his hand over yours, holding it in place.

"do not argue with me." you warned, not very seriously, though.

he snorted at your teasing reply, but didn't push the discussion any further. on a different day, he probably would have. that one adored getting on your nerves more than anyone else in the world, but he wasn't so stupid to do it when you were having such bad period pains. there were other things to be done. he said he'd give you cuddles, and kisses, and hugs, and snuggles, and even more kisses and everything in between. and he did just that. that one time, and all the other times.

[jenny-in-a-jar]

🖤💙 4 days until my Surgery 💙🖤

(Picture taken Dec 9th, 2023)

I'm very very excited for my surgery (it's my second gender affirming surgery but this one is more significant to me since it'll be top and bottom surgery) and I'm obviously counting the days until it and I thought some people might be interested in my trans journey 🏳️‍⚧️ So see part 7 below the cut.

Part 1 here

As the summer was ending, I got really lucky! A lesbian hairstylist (who helped organize the drag show I went in the last update) gave my name to this sales lady who sold accounting work to like companies and she needed help with researching CEO and CFO types. And she paid me out of pocket and honestly it was pretty easy internet research using Google. I felt like a little rat scurrying across the Internet 🐀 So, thank you lesbians 🙏🙏

(Picture taken Nov 6th, 2022)

Apparently I really impressed her so she got me hired full time as a sales admin for her company (I wouldn't have gotten with my lack of a college degree without her) and I've had that job since! And a lot of my transition wouldn't be possible without the pay and benefits of this job. Also this is my first job where I get gendered correctly and I'm slowly getting less anxious about going to the bathroom at work 🥰

She honestly mom'd up on me and bought me a bunch of new business casual clothes for the job. And here's an example of one of my new work outfits 😁

(Picture taken Nov 14, 2022)

Bc of the new job I was able to afford a lot more things for transitioning! Like voice training. I remember when I first cracked I tried to just teach myself using videos but I wasn't good at it 😅 Also a friend during the summer of 2022 helped me and I did make some progress with her help. But, I started making a lot more progress once I started seeing a speech therapist. But, there was a barrier since I could tell she hadn't worked too much with trans people. I went to a speech therapist bc it was covered by my insurance but she moved and then I couldn't find anyone for insurance covered speech therapy. So, I eventually just paid for lessons Your Lessons Now. And, honestly it's going a lot better! It's really nice to be able to talk about my frustrations with voice training with another transfem. The biggest thing I'm learning from here is how to break the bad habit of pitching up my voice by squeezing my vocal chords.

(Picture taken Sept 8th, 2023)

I had also switched to injections and I highly recommend it! A friend even made my first two vials into earrings 🔥

I also got a lot lazier with makeup 😅 I do eyeliner wings, mascara, and blush for when I go into the office. Which for a bunch of accountants means I do about as much makeup that is normal for the women in the office 🤷‍♀️

(Pictures taken October 31st and December 2nd of 2022)

These were two notable exceptions. I really love the makeup I did for the Halloween of 2022 bc I decided to go as a ghost-type trainer. And the one on the right is when I learned how to use concealer to cover my 'raccoon eyes' as my dad liked to call them 🦝

Also this would be a good time to mention something I probably should've mentioned earlier 😅 I never learned how to use foundation. I know it's easy but I have a weird mental block around it 🤷‍♀️ But, in the summer of 2021 I started doing twice daily skincare routine for my face. Which took me from a very acne heavy face to people being surprised I'm not wearing foundation. Also the routine is really nice. Would recommend to those who want to get rid of their acne (send an ask if you want to know specifics).

(Picture taken Aug 20, 2023)

Romance update since I've been doing that lol: Well, things ended with all the girlfriends I had so I am down to 1 partner. And I got caught in a romance scam for a few months 😭 However, I can't really complain because I got engaged!!! It was so sweet in cute. My partner and I had this date the night before Valentine's Day under a statue outside of a local art museum. We read sapphic poetry by candle light and then they popped the question 🥰🥰

But, I say another big part of this era was I made a lot more local trans friends. Went to a good amount of house parties which would've surprised pre-transition me! And I really love my community of queer people I've been building 🥺🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️💕

(Picture taken July 21st, 2023)

Oh yeah!! I also started laser hair removal at the beginning of 2021 as well. Which was before this era but time is a lie. But the new job definitely made it easier to afford.

The biggest step for my transition was getting my surgeries set up!! And my FFS (facial feminization surgery) marks the end of this era. Below was the last picture I took before my FFS.

(Picture taken Feb 17th, 2024)

So, in my next update, I'll be showing my post-op pictures once most of the swelling went down. See you tomorrow!! 😁✌️

Next Part Here

[discokicks]

WHISKEY, TANGO, FOXTROT - ROY KENT.

PART FOUR OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: it's your first game of the season at chelsea and rebecca’s got some press for you to do. however, thanks to rupert, the reporters will have some questions you’re not exactly ready for. the same could be said for 2012 roy kent, who’s abusing his new avoidance power to the fullest extent. but, as the two of you continue to work and get closer, you realize that there might just be something else there.

word count & rating: 15.4k (holy fuck this is why it took 6 months), R (language per usual) chapter warnings: swearing, references to sex, minor allusions to sexual harassment, mentions of alcohol, the beginnings of sexual tension (slow and steady wins the race), rupert is a dick, roy kent has got around and everyone knows it, keeley and rebecca are wine drinking pr besties, men are trash (but we know this) author's note: long time no see and happy olympics season! it felt fitting to post this now, so I got motivated to get my ass into gear and write. there's A LOT to this one, so buckle up. and make sure you stay until the end bc baby we're cooking with gas now. this took a lot out of me, so i hope you enjoy! love u tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You’re up 1-0 when you retreat into the locker room at halftime during your third game of the Olympic Tournament against North Korea.

Despite the fact that you’re winning, it was a terrible showing from each of you, except for Mel, who’d been your lone scorer of the night. She’d had a breakaway and had managed to single-handedly beat three defenders for a pretty impressive goal. You’d practically jumped into her arms during the celebration, glad that someone was able to break the sleepy curse that had seemed to be placed on your team.

Your captain Katie O’Connor stands tall at the front of the room, ready to rip you guys a new one. She was the more… passionate of your three captains, potentially coming off as abrasive when things weren’t going your way or if she felt that things could be better. It was only because she cared so much. You all did.

“We should be beating them by four at this point,” she says, pointing out the door. A mumbling of agreements goes through your team, knowing that it’s the truth. “We’re playing like it’s fucking high school out there. It’s the fucking Olympics, act like we belong here, for fuck’s sake.”

The amount of ‘fucks’ that Katie drops instantly has you thinking of someone else. God damn it, he was probably watching, wasn’t he? You could only imagine the things he was thinking, or saying, for that matter. 

You know you shouldn’t care as much as you do, but… as much as you hate to admit it, you want to impress him. Or at least make it look like these training sessions have been worth it. There was something about him that made you want to prove yourself. It wasn’t that he demanded you to do so or that he’d value you less if you didn’t, but you wanted to. Unfortunately, you cared about his opinion. How tragic was that?

Curiosity gets the best of you. Before your coach can come into the locker room, you fish through your bag and take a peek at your phone, just to see if he, or anyone else, has said anything.

Sure enough, you see that you’ve got two texts from Roy Kent that were sent five minutes ago, right when you finished the half.

What a fucking atrocious half. I fucking dare you to hit the post one more time.

A scowl pulls at your lips, but you know it’s true. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already thought yourself. He had an extraordinary talent for knowing how to be exactly the brand of jackass that pissed you off, though. It only became more apparent as you read the next message.

You could learn a thing or two about footwork from Rivera.

You scoff, glancing over at Mel, who, while she sat next to you, was staring blankly at the wall, undoubtedly in her own little world. Before she notices you looking, you’ve turned back to your phone and to his messages. “Asshole,” you mutter, but type out your response.

maybe i’ll get her to coach me then. she isn’t as much of a dick to me.

The response comes before you can put away your phone. Not your coach, he says, then sends another message. Relax out there. You’re somehow playing nervous and stiff at the same time. You’re a fucking anomaly. But before you can frown too hard at that, he says, You know how to see the field. So take a breath and fucking see it.

You throw your phone back in your bag with a huff, mind reeling as you attempt to think back to what the field looked like before the half. The last three possessions had you following Mel as she took the ball up the field. The defense had started favoring her side due to her dominance throughout the game, leaving… 

…Katie on the left side. And while they hadn’t left her open—

“Did you call me an asshole a second ago?” Mel asks from beside you, having broken out of her own trance. You flinch at the sound of her voice, instinctively flipping your phone over and against the bench you’re sitting on. 

She courteously spares you the weird look you know she’s holding back. “No,” you reply. You motion to your phone. “Roy’s texting me.”

Mel nods in understanding. “Gotcha. What’s Coach Kent have to say?”

“He’s being an asshole,” you repeat. “He says we’re ‘atrocious.’ Making fun of how much I’m hitting the post.” You turn to her. “He’s got good things to say about your footwork, though.”

Mel grins. “I knew I liked him.”

You scowl again at that. “He’s also telling me I need to see the field better.” Mel raises her brows at the look on your face, cueing you to go on. “I think Katie’s been open-ish for the last three possessions. They’re favoring your side.”

The two of you look back to your teammate once more as you consider this. “We could keep trying to draw the defense out,” Mel offers. “We scare them a little bit, hit her when she’s coming up.”

“She can beat that fullback in a heartbeat,” you agree.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t play any shittier than we already are.”

You nod at Mel with faux enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit.”

And that’s exactly what you decide. Mel jumps to her feet and explains your plan to Katie and the team, drawing up the X’s and O’s on the locker room whiteboard. You glance around the room cautiously, forcing yourself not to read into your teammates' expressions too deeply. 

But it’s hard. Especially when you’re an overthinker.

It’s a title you’ve resigned yourself to, much to Roy’s pleasure. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, it was the truth. And while you were still working to get out of that lifelong mindset, it didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

But your over-analyzing leads you to a result you like: all of your teammates seem to be on board with your ideas. You can’t deny that that feels good.

You especially can’t deny it when your coach walks into the locker room to see Mel’s play on the baker and says, “Well, you ladies are way ahead of me.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to draw up.

That feeling has you giddily awaiting the moment you can grab your phone before you head back out to the field to send a text to your newfound trainer. 

i’ll have a shot on net in the first ten minutes, you type to him, confidence radiating through the text. and it’s not gonna hit the post this time.

Your message reaches Roy when he returns to his phone at the beginning of the second half. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he settles back into his couch, shaking his head when he glances up at the massive TV in his sitting room, the broadcast showing a close-up of you with a new sort of fire in your eyes. It’s a look that illuminates his dim and quiet flat, one that he can’t seem to part with until they cut away from you.

Within four minutes and fifty-five seconds, you draw the defense over to you and Mel, who wails the ball over to Katie’s side of the field. Katie has possession of it for five seconds before she catches her defender off-guard and sends it in between her legs to you. 

Five minutes in, you live up to your promise and send the ball into the corner of the net, the crowd roaring as Katie shakes you back and forth in excitement and Mel jumps on your back. One of the cameramen runs up to you to catch your celebration, and you stare down the lens with a satisfied smile and point in a way that tells Roy that you’re looking directly at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning even if he wanted to. With yet another shake of his head, Roy reaches out for the phone he’d thrown onto the couch cushion next to him.

I told you. Fucking anomaly you are, you stupid fucking Yank, he writes. Stay pissed off. It’s a good look on you, Fourteen.

When Roy sends that text, he keeps his phone closer to him this time, and somehow, his dim and quiet flat feels just a bit lighter, even if for a brief moment.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Before you can leave the Richmond facilities post-Saturday afternoon practice, you’re suddenly called into Rebecca Walton’s office.

It’s a day before your first game of the season and after your rather animated talk with Roy in the Boot Room yesterday, you’re feeling a bit lighter. You slept better last night (though you don’t see yourself hitting REM any time soon) and don’t feel like you’re being dragged down by the massive weight of… well, everything. It’s a feeling you’re taking in stride and one you’re welcoming with open arms. 

Practices before game days were typically a bit easier-going, and you and your fellow coaches had decided to make sure the team was up to date and understood the best plays to run against Chelsea tomorrow. They knew who to stop, what defenses to watch out for, and what trick plays to expect. While you hadn’t lent your voice to the conversation as much as you probably should have, especially after being yelled at for it yesterday, you spoke more than usual. While that still wasn’t a lot, it was enough. And that made you feel good, above all else.

That feeling goes away the second you walk into your boss’s office to see her and an incredibly familiar face staring at you from the couch area. Your lips part the second you see her, hand unsubtly slamming against the doorframe, not just to stabilize yourself, but to keep you from dramatically heel-turning out of the room, to never return.

By the way that Keeley Jones is looking at you, you can tell she’s just about on the same page. You suppose she’s got the better end of this deal, simply because your arrival doesn’t seem to be a surprise for her. At least she had a warning about the foreboding awkwardness of this situation. Your boss didn’t exactly grant you that luxury.

Then again, you figure Rebecca had no real way of knowing just how strange this might be for you. She didn’t know the extent of your history with Roy, and the only person who may was sitting right next to her, probably having shared more of that history than either of you cared to admit.

However, what you’re not expecting from Keeley, is the way she gapes at you, then turns to Rebecca to whisper, “Fucking hell, you didn’t say she was hotter in person.”

The shock and confusion flowing through your body makes you blink slowly at them to readjust, and you lean back on your back foot. You manage to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back--”

“No, no,” Rebecca says, beckoning you in after she finishes rolling her eyes at Keeley, “come on in and join us! We just opened a bottle.”

Join them? You glance at the open bottle of wine on the coffee table, then back to them. Is this why you were called here? To indulge in some post-work girl talk with your boss and Roy’s first real, and only public girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, you remembered, but still.

You’re sure the discomfort you feel is broadcasted on your face, and that becomes especially apparent when Keeley offers you a small, kind smile. However, the action is sweet and it makes your over-anxious mind ease slightly. If she’s not going to be weird about it, you certainly aren’t either.

Besides, you have no idea what she actually knows about you and Roy. He would be the type to tell her nothing. He was the type to tell her nothing.

However, something about Keeley’s demeanor tells you that’s probably not the case.

When you realize that you’ve been standing like a freak in the doorway for just a moment too long, you snap out of your haze and return the smile, nodding gratefully as you enter Rebecca’s office.

“We were just discussing the game tomorrow,” Rebecca tells you as she reaches for the spare wine glass on the table. She eyes you with a wry grin. “I’d ask if you drank, but that bar cart I saw in your apartment gave you away.”

A surprised laugh escapes you at the rather forward comment, but it helps you relax slightly as you make your way to them. “Yeah, well. It was probably looking pretty sparse when you saw it.” You reach your hand out to Keeley, continuing to smile softly as you introduce yourself.

“Keeley Jones,” she says to you, though there’s a mutual understanding that this is just a formality. You both know who the other is. “Bad week, yeah?” she asks.

You reach for the wine glass Rebecca offers you and send a look of confirmation to Keeley. “You have no idea.” Your smile stretches as you look over at Rebecca and sit down. “These last couple of days have made up for it, though.”

Rebecca returns it. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“I can imagine it’s been a little different than West Ham,” Keeley says. “We know what Rupert likes to pull. All that shit he’s been saying about you leaving?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how people aren’t seeing through him.”

The smile you wear falters slightly. “I, uh… haven’t really been keeping up with any of that,” you tell her. “Figured it wouldn’t be great to hear anything that anybody’s saying about me, y’know?”

“Totally get that,” she replies kindly. However, she hesitates. “...But you… haven’t seen anything that’s been going around?”

“Um…” you trail off, shifting in your chair. “No? Why? Is it really that bad?”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange a look. “It’s just—” Rebecca cuts herself off, looking back at you. “Remember how I said you wouldn’t have to do any press if you didn’t want to?”

Any remnants of the demeanor you had when you sat down completely drain from your expression. “Oh, my God. It is that bad, isn’t it?”

Keeley shakes her head, holding out her hands. “No, no, it’s really not. It could be so much worse,” she assures. “I mean, it is that bad with those weird little shits online who always have a problem with successful women in sports, but what else is new—”

“This is the worst of it,” Rebecca interjects, putting a hand on her friend's arm. She passes you a tablet as Keeley goes quiet and you take it cautiously. 

It’s a video of Rupert at a press conference, one you presume was taken this morning. The season kicked off tomorrow and Ted, Rebecca, and the rest of the team had been stuck doing interviews all day, something of which you weren’t sad to have missed out on.

You press the play button in the center of the screen to watch Rupert point at someone off-camera. “Yes,” he says. “Daniel, what have you got?”

Daniel, presumably, asks, “I was just curious how the team’s feeling with that coaching shake-up so close to Opening Day?” You hear a murmur go through the audience of reporters. “Losing someone like that and then watching her get picked up by Richmond must be tough on you guys, no?”

Rupert seems to take this in and sit with it, nodding slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Daniel,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t happy with the note that we ended on. She had concerns toward the end of her tenure about her role on the team and with certain aspects of AFC culture. She knows just how talented I think she is, and how excited we were to have her working with us. And we had a wonderful couple of months working with her. But, unfortunately…” He shakes his head scornfully, like all of this was genuinely upsetting him. “...there were just some differences we couldn’t get past. The team was remarkably sad to see her go, but I don’t believe it’ll affect our performance this season.” 

He lets his answer hang there for a moment, but tragically, he’s not done. “Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps their values align more with what she wanted out of her AFC career.” And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he adds, “Perhaps she just wanted to coach with her old friend Roy Kent.” Your lips part at that, brow furrowing in disbelief as the reporters chuckle. “Who knows? I wish her the best and I wish Richmond good luck. I hope they’re a better fit for her.”

The clip cuts off there and you glance up at Rebecca and Keeley who are both bracing for impact. “What the fuck?” 

If either of them find your words unprofessional, they do nothing to indicate it. However, there’s something about them that tells you they’re more than comfortable with that kind of language in the workplace. “Yeah,” Keeley says. “So, like I said. It could be so much worse.”

“He was the one who was unhappy with how it ended?” you quote. “He’s upset about the differences we couldn’t work past? How about you address my concerns with AFC culture and get upset with your—”

You cut yourself off before you can say too much, focusing your attention on the plant in the corner of Rebecca’s office to stabilize yourself. What a fucking asshole. What a self-serving, lying, fucking asshole. He’s not worth the tears. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

You understand why you were called in now, why Rebecca prefaced the video with that question. You’d neglected to personally get ahead of Rupert and make a real statement on your choice to part with West Ham and sign with Richmond. Now you were paying that price— the price of being afraid.

“What—” Your voice cracks as you attempt to speak, and you clear your throat. “What type of press do I have to do?”

Rebecca’s sigh is empathetic. “We think it’d be smart to send you out with Ted tomorrow after the game. Make a statement, answer a few questions,” she says. “That is, if you’re open to it.”

Your brow raises skeptically. “I can say no to that?”

Rebecca chuckles. “You can say no to anything,” she tells you. “Roy refuses to do any sort of press and he’s managed to be completely fine. Labeled as a bitter, old recluse, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Typical. But then, she adds, “We do think it’s your best move, though.”

You know it’s your best move. You know it’s what you should have done at the beginning of all of this. You know that there’s nothing that you want to do less. But somehow, having that small, offhanded-out Rebecca offered makes it all sit a bit easier with you.

“I think so too,” you finally agree, sighing shakily. Rebecca and Keeley grin at you encouragingly, watching as you reach out to take a hearty sip of your wine. “So, what’s the plan?” You look over at Keeley. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Keeley’s face lights up. “Exactly why I’m here,” she replies. “We’re gonna PR this shit so fucking hard nobody is going to know what hit them.”

Her enthusiasm makes the corners of your mouth rise despite everything else. “Can’t say I’m great in front of a crowd,” you warn.

“It’s rare to find people who are,” Keeley responds easily, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off your comment. “That’s why we’re going to make this as simple as possible.”

You nod. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Okay, three things you’re going to want to address,” she begins, tapping on her fingers. “The first is clarifying the ‘note that you ended on’ and those differences with the team. You don’t need to get into specifics if you don’t want to—”

“I really do not,” you tell her.

“Got it,” she says, and the look on her face tells you she really does get it. “Don’t get into specifics. Just say that you’re also upset things didn’t work out, but that it was nothing personal. Truly just leadership differences, like was first said. Even if it wasn’t.”

Your eyes narrow in question. “So, just lie?”

“Welcome to PR, babe,” she replies, and her grin gets more genuine when she sees you chuckle. “Alright, second; we’ve gotta say something about why you chose Richmond. Something that goes beyond our stale press release statement.”

“I didn’t think it was stale,” you offer.

“Aw, thank you!” The smile drops from her face. “But it was. All press releases are. They’re just words on a page, which is so fucking boring. And they get no feeling across. Which is what we need from you,” she says with a point. “You just need to actually say what we’ve already said.”

Once again, you nod. “So, you need it once more, with feeling?”

Keeley blinks back at you, then glances at Rebecca. “My god, I fucking love her.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary and smaller than the encouraging one that appears on Rebecca’s. “I told you that you would,” she says softly to her, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear. She then turns to you once more. “He brought up AFC culture and our values, but don’t even touch that.”

“'Values' is a loaded word,” Keeley says. “He used it for a reason, but if we’re looking to ignore all this, we shouldn’t be using those types of words.”

“Right,” continues Rebecca. “We’re not looking for a fight here. You don’t want to engage, we don’t want to engage. I think we can all agree we’re looking for this to be over and done with and forgotten about, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“So, just agree with his comments. Leave it neutral. Non-confrontational,” Rebecca says. “Make it easy. Even if you’re not disappointed to have left the club, say that you are. If you want to touch on ‘culture’ reference AFC culture as a whole. The culture shock of transitioning from womens to mens sports.”

Neutral, you think. Non-confrontational. Easy. You can do that.

After a moment, you nod in confirmation at Rebecca. Then, you refocus on Keeley. “What’s the third thing we need to address?”

Keeley folds her hands awkwardly. “That would be… uh, your friendship with Roy.”

Your face goes hot almost instantaneously. “Oh,” you say softly. You scratch the inside of your wrist, finding it increasingly hard to keep Keeley’s gaze, especially as she continues to sit in that tension with you. “Do I have to? Address that, I mean? We were just friends. A ton of people in the football world are friends with each other. I don’t…” The lie sours your tongue and you glance over at Rebecca, hoping for her to throw some kind of life preserver to you over here. “I didn’t think anyone knew about that. It wasn’t like we were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck or whatever. Our friendship wasn’t mainstream news.”

“Some intern at The Sun found some photos of you two after the 2012 Olympics at a club,” Rebecca explains. Your entire body flushes as you remember that night. “They resurfaced and became relevant after your move to Richmond.”

“Okay, but, if it’s the night I think they’re referring to, we were out with our teams,” you attempt to reason. “There’s no reason other than media speculation that people would think we were… what was implied.”

Keeley points at you. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to say if you’re asked about it.” Then, with a good-humored shrug, she says, “If you want to be petty, you can talk about how this speculation wouldn’t be happening if you were a man.”

Rebecca looks at her friend. “That’s actually not bad. Because it wouldn’t be.”

“None of this would be,” you say to the two women in front of you. The tone you’ve taken is scornful, and while they may not know all the reasons why… they get it.

Keeley reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine at in the center of the coffee table and tilts it to offer it to you. You nod almost immediately, mustering up a small smile as she pours. “So, our plan is to send you in with Ted after tomorrow’s game. They’ll probably, mainly, have questions for you because that’s the drama right now, so I’ve written up something that we can practice and workshop.”

“Ted’s won the press over and is practically on a first-name basis with all of them,” Rebecca continues. “So, he’ll be a lifeline if you need him at any time.”

Keeley nods at the glass she just poured for you. “So, drink up. Because we’re going to run through this shit and roleplay.” She pauses for a moment, catching herself. “The press conference, I mean. Not the sexy kind.”

“Probably better for HR reasons,” you reply.

As that joke slips out of your mouth, you can feel your comfort level with them rising. Something about them is just so… welcoming. You’re in a room with your boss and Roy’s ex-girlfriend. You should be guarded. You should be censoring yourself. But as you continue to sit here, you can’t see yourself doing so.

Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps you were right, you fucking prick.

Keeley snorts softly and nods in agreement and you notice the smile that grows on Rebecca’s face. “I’ve heard the HR is rather easily swayed, so we might be able to get away with it,” Keeley responds, grinning as she sees you laugh.

Rebecca claps her hands together. “So. Non-sexy press conference roleplay?”

They both turn to you, and after a hearty gulp of your wine, you sigh. “Let’s get to it.”

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You finish the game against North Korea with another win under your belt and return to utter chaos when you get back to the dorms.

While you were the only scorer of the last half, everyone stepped up their game in the ways that they had to. Things still weren’t perfect and there was plenty for all of you to work on going forward, but you were proud of the way your team had turned things around. 

When you return, it’s just past midnight, and all you want to do is go to bed. The game had drained you completely dry, and there was nothing more appealing than the idea of tucking into your horrendously uncomfortable dorm bed. Luckily, unlike last time, Mel’s on the same page as you.

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride back for about an hour and spent the other three complaining that you weren’t paying attention to her. And why weren’t you paying attention?

Because Roy fucking Kent wouldn’t stop texting you. After you’d read over the text he’d sent to you during the second half (and ignored the weird feeling in your stomach and heat on your cheeks at him calling you an anomaly, God, why did that word land with you so well?), you’d returned to gloat. Hit the post again, he’d said. You hadn’t.

Things had gotten carried away from there. What had started as a slightly antagonistic and taunting back and forth had devolved into a conversation about the sleeping accommodations in the dorms (big-time footballer in his posh london flat doesn’t even have the decency to drop off a mattress topper and some extra pillows? you’d complained to him), then to about which countries you wanted to visit (Australia. For no other reason than to meet a quokka, he’d told you), then to what the fuck a quokka is and why he knew about them (that’s the stupidest looking animal i’ve seen in my life. i want 10 of them, you’d said), to whatever you’d landed on next.

You’d put your phone in your pocket the second you’d pulled back into the Village, helping the team unload everyone’s stuff. Everyone seemed completely dead, something of which you celebrated, simply because it meant there was no team bonding preventing you from going to sleep as soon as possible. The only thing that was doing that for you was Mel’s incessant questions about Roy.

“I really think you’re lying to me about this being a weird sex thing,” she says, readjusting her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. “Because there’s no other reason that you two should be talking as much as you are.”

You make a face at her. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” you say for what feels like the seventeenth time that night. “We’re just friends. Or, you know, whatever the closest thing to a friend Roy has is.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mel replies. Her voice echoes through the quiet night air surrounding the dorm’s courtyard. “Roy doesn’t do friends. He hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. And I say that’s because he won’t let me get to know him. Because he doesn’t do friends.” She shrugs. “I mean, ask Jack or anyone who’s played with him. They’ll say the same.”

When you approach the doors of your dorm building, you make a teasingly innocent face at Mel. “Maybe I’m just different.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Or he wants to fuck you.”

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?” you whine as you open the door. “I’m actually, like, kind of having fun with him and this training thing we’re doing. He’s a good guy.” 

Mel shoots you a blank-faced stare. “You were calling him an asshole less than six hours ago.”

“Because he is. But he’s a good guy too,” you respond. “He’s like… I don’t know. Like Ron Swanson or Harrison Ford. Total curmudgeon but in a fun way.”

Mel’s lips purse. “Well, now I can’t stop picturing him with the Ron Swanson mustache.”

You grin, sidestepping fellow Olympians who hang around in the lobby of the dorm. “Have fun sleeping tonight.”

A heavy, exaggerated, long sigh leaves her as you approach the elevator. “Just be careful,” she says, putting her hands up in surrender as you look at her incredulously. “Even if you are just friends. And even if you’re not. As your actual friend, I have to tell you to be careful. All men suck, but athletes tend to suck ten times more.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply in a sing-song fashion. The elevator doors open and you and Mel step in. “I appreciate you, though.”

“You better,” Mel scoffs. “I’m getting gray hairs thinking you’re doing weird sex shit with Chelsea’s Finest on a random pitch in the middle of London.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, my God, can these things close any slow--”

“Hold the door!” shouts a voice from the lobby. On instinct, you reach out to stop the doors that were finally closing, feeling Mel’s elbow in your side. The voice gets louder as it gets closer. “Thank you. Did not feel like waiting for this thing again.”

Into the elevator walks (quite possibly) the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the quintessential surfer look to him, but in a way that works. He’s blonde (while you’re definitely more into dark hair, you can’t deny just how good he looks), at least six-three, and is built like a lean brick house. His curls fall into his eyes that squint into a smile as he looks at you and Mel.

“Oh,” he says as he walks in. “Congratulations on the win today.”

You and Mel stare at him in awe, snapping out of it as you realize that you’re gawking. “Thank you,” you manage to get out. You try to place his accent and what sport he could possibly specialize in, but your brain malfunctions. “I would say the same to you but I’m… uh--”

Luckily, he seems to catch on and saves you from your misery. “I’m Luca,” he says, holding out his hand for you and Mel to shake. “France. Swim team.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Mel says, finally recovering from her trance. “You have any events today?”

“We did,” he says, though he seems to be talking more to you than to Mel. “Placed silver, so we can’t complain.” When you two congratulate him, he nearly brushes you off. “I have heard your team is looking like you’re going to go all the way this year. It is fun to watch.”

“We’re having a good run,” you respond, and he nods at you with that same breathtaking smile. “We’ll see what happens though.”

“Yeah, you are good.” Luca pauses for a moment, then shrugs coyly. “You’re American, so you are not as good as France, but you are up there.”

You see Mel’s head tilt out of the corner of your eye. “Easy now,” she warns with a light-hearted smile. “We beat them by two in our first match.”

Luca throws his hands up, grin turning teasing. “Just telling the truth. I must support my own.”

“Well,” you say, brow furrowed. “We’ll see when we get to the finals.”

“Oui. I believe that we will,” he responds. You notice that he’s leaned in closer than you had previously anticipated and the realization makes your face heat. “We should put a wager on it.”

“You want me to bet on my own team?” you ask rather bluntly, hearing Mel cough to cover a laugh.

“I suppose, yes,” Luca answers. The elevator stops at his floor and his eyes flick to the number on the small screen. “If France wins in your little tournament, you must purchase me a drink when these games are over. But if you win…” He trails off with a shrug as the doors open. “I’ll buy you one. It is only fair, no?”

You blink at him, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is he flirting with you? Setting a friendly bet to get a drink? Just trying to be a jerk by referring to your Olympic Games as a ‘little tournament’? Then again, he was French, so many that’s just the way he spoke.

Yet another nudge from Mel finally has you answering. “I’m the one playing,” you say slowly, cautiously trying to read him. “I feel like I should have a better prize for winning.”

Luca seems to consider this but shrugs once more. “Those are my terms. Even I cannot make exceptions for beautiful women. Do you accept?”

Okay, so maybe he is flirting with you. This beautiful, French, god of a man is potentially flirting with you. You wish he’d upped the stakes by asking you to dinner or something to offer something more direct, but this is what you’re getting. As he exits the elevator, he puts a hand on the door while he awaits your answer. 

But, you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know if you’ll want him as a prize if you win, or as a consolation if you lose. But, you figure, it’s just fun. And he’s hot. So why not.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, mirroring that grin of his.

Luca nods at you, motioning to the hallway behind him. “The deal expires soon. And now you know where to find me.” The smile returns. “So find me if you’re interested.”

And with that, your movie-star-looking, strange Frenchman saunters off down the hall, leaving you with a million questions and an American soccer player who’s gaping at you.

“That was the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mel says, staring at the now-closed doors. “I’m not even into that and… And he… And you said you’d consider getting a drink with him?”

“He made a bet with me,” you argue. “He didn’t ask me out. And even if he did, I didn’t say no.”

Mel looks at you like you’re both insane and the dumbest person alive. “I think we need to get you checked for a fucking concussion, because… what?”

“He didn’t!” you insist, suddenly doubting your own instincts. “Did he?”

The elevator stops and Mel makes a break for the doors. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

You watch helplessly as Mel walks toward your dorm, muttering things about you under her breath that you can barely hear. The second you step off the elevator to follow, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

Get some sleep, Fourteen. You’ve earned it. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

You find yourself smiling down at your phone, and for a moment, all thoughts of missed signs and Mel’s words go quiet. you too, you reply. big game tomorrow. and you know i’ll be harassing you like you did to me, so you better bring your a-game.

Before you can open your door to tuck in for the night, you get a response. I’m counting on it.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Returning to Chelsea is like having one foot stuck in a dream and the other in a nightmare.

On one hand, it’s nostalgic. It’s loud and boisterous and you can’t escape the blue even if you tried. The field’s in the same pristine condition as you remember and the liveliness of it all engulfs you completely. It makes you think about everything that happened here and how easy it used to be.

But, on the other hand… it makes you think about everything. Those aforementioned easier times were a precursor to your downfall, and it all started here. It was the catalyst. Somehow, this place that had been in your life for an inordinately short period of time still had the same effect on you as it did eight years ago. And when you stare out at the field, you can't help but wonder what if.

As those memories start to creep into your head, you suddenly begin to feel very hot and incredibly overwhelmed. The tunnel you’re standing in is quickly going from something familiar to something more liminal. You swear it’s getting smaller too.

But on a day like today, you know you really can’t be panicking about the past. Your team’s on the field and your coaches are waiting for you to join them. There were more pressing things that were worthy of a panic attack.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to the light emanating from the field at the end of the tunnel. You’d never talked yourself out of a panic attack at the prospect of more important panic, but at this point, you’d take what you could get. Focus on the clamminess of your hands. Focus on how bright the field is and how much it’s hurting your eyes. Focus on running through the new plays you now know like the back of your hand. 

As you walk down the tunnel and go through your maniacal little sense check, you decide to focus on something that you hear. And what you hear snaps you out of whatever state you’re in and makes it all quiet down a little bit. Because as you realize what it is you’re hearing, a very different feeling of… something takes over. 

“—HERE! HE’S THERE! HE’S EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, ROY KENT! ROY KENT! HE’S—”

It’s nostalgia. It’s dread. It’s pride. It’s irritation. It’s… so many fucking things all at once and you can’t possibly stop yourself from smiling at it. The twinge you feel pulling in your stomach stays with you as you suppress that urge. Damn it.

Despite his final years being spent at Richmond and despite his new coaching status, they still adore him. You’d jokingly called him a “Chelsea Legend” more times than you could count, but it was true. It’s what he was. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

By the time you make it to the field, Roy’s standing up from the coaches’ bench to show his thanks to the stadium. The cheer is resounding, the song continuing amongst it and you swear under your breath as that feeling lingers. 

It doesn’t go away as he turns to sit back down and meets your gaze instead. And, in typical Roy fashion, while he refused to show any emotion when thanking the city that supported him for years, a fraction of a smile makes its way onto his face when he sees you. 

(God, you hate yourself for noticing.) 

Looking away, you take another steadying breath and make your way to him and the rest of your team. The Richmond pullover you’re sporting rubs against your neck uncomfortably, but before you can fix it, you realize something: the cheers are getting louder. Confused, you look up at the jumbotron, knowing that that type of volume couldn’t possibly be for you. 

Lo and behold, it’s so not for you. It’s for Zava in the owner’s box, who’s staring at the camera like a professional wrestler, egging the crowd on. Right. Of course. Fucking Zava. You take a seat next to Roy as you stare up at the screen. 

“You think we have a chance?” you ask him, and you see him turn to you from the corner of your eye. “I’ve heard Rupert’s been putting in work there.”

Roy huffs. “Fucking twat puts in work everywhere but the things that matter,” he mutters, looking back to Zava. Your brows shoot up in agreement. “Let’s hope Zava’s not stupid enough to fucking fall for it.”

“Rupert knows how to stroke an ego,” you reply, glancing over to Jamie, who was warming up on the field, unsubtly making a very conscious effort to not look up at the screen. “He knows how to get what he wants. Speaking from experience.”

Roy scowls, and it’s a bit deeper than you were expecting. But, before you can dwell on that, he’s moving on. “You alright?” he asks. 

You know it’s meant to be casual on his part, but there’s an undertone of concern that you try to ignore. “Yeah,” you say through a sigh, hesitantly meeting his stare as you feel it boring into your cheek. You sigh again. “I’m good.” There’s a bit more conviction behind your voice this time, and it seems to satisfy him enough. “I’m nervous, but y’know. It’s a game. I’m always nervous before games.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’ve been waiting for you to throw up.”

It’s your turn to scowl now. “I only do that for big games. This is basically summer league.”

(While your sarcasm was flat, it didn’t go unnoticed. This was, in fact, a big game. Perhaps one of the biggest of your life. You’d thrown up twice today. But he didn’t need to know that.)

Roy looks unconvinced, but you’re thankful when he doesn’t press you further. “You know what to do today,” he tells you, and the assurance in his voice is palpable. 

You do know what to do today. You’ve got to prove why you were hired. Be the coach you know you can be. Get over that crippling anxiety that’s eating you alive. But instead of getting back into that, you say, “I know.”

“Fucking shook on it, too. Means you have to do it.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and slump back into your chair. “Yeah, Roy, I know. I made that rule up. I got it.” With another sigh, you say quietly, “Just let me get there.”

His eyes remain on you. You think he’s going to say something else, but before he can, Ted whistles, calling everyone to attention. As the team rounds up, you and Roy stand.

Instead of saying whatever he was about to, he offers you a nod. 

You got this, he tells you silently. 

And despite the weird, horrendous, painful nether space your relationship currently exists in, the action does make you breathe a little easier. 

You send him one back in thanks.

What doesn’t make you breathe easier, however, is the score at the end of the half. What makes it even worse, is the unprofessional, pedantic Kent Rule that Roy has placed on the team that doesn’t allow anyone to speak in front of Trent Crimm.

Roy’s arms cross over his chest as soon as the writer enters the room, your players quieting down in suit. Your head tips back in annoyance, bracing for whatever’s about to come.

But nothing happens. The team remains quiet and wildly awkward and Trent aptly reads the room. Before he can leave, however, Ted’s calling for him to stay and is asking for Roy to chat.

Roy sends you a glance, then follows his head coach to the back of the room. While the players continue their talks in hushed tones, Beard inches over to where you stand. 

“Did I see a playbook in your bag earlier?” he asks quietly, making you flinch in surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were listening in to their conversation.”

You shoot Beard a look. “I was not,” you say, even though you so totally were. “And yeah? I, uh, take that with me everywhere.”

Beard nods. “Are they your plays?”

“Most of them,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably. You hadn’t talked about that book with anyone since you coached your college girls, and anyone you had shown it to over at West Ham hadn’t given it the time of day. “Why?”

“I want to see them,” he says, shrugging at your surprised expression. “If you want to show them to someone, that is.”

A small smile pulls at your parted lips, and you nod back at him. “That’d be—”

“CRIMM!”

Roy’s voice startles you again, and this time, it gets Beard too. You both turn to see Roy walking back toward the showers, Trent hesitantly following in tow. Ted offers a small smile to both you and Beard as he returns.

“That’d be great,” you whisper to Beard, finishing your sentence. “Thank you.”

The next few minutes are just as awkward as the previous ones. No one knows exactly what to do, or how the conversation behind you is going to play out. You know how hard it is for Roy to let go of things. Forgiveness was never something he excelled at, especially when it came to more personal topics. Not that you were any better at it.

You look around the locker room, watching each of your players whisper animatedly amongst each other. You were down by one and there were no signs of giving up. Each of them knew they were still in this. Even more so, you hadn’t heard any unkind or unsupportive words spoken since you got into the room. 

Your mind takes you back to the second summer scrimmage you coached at West Ham. You were also down by one at the half, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Blame was being shoved down everyone’s throat, clinging wherever it would stick. Nathan Shelley had reprimanded three players within a minute and all of this was for a scrimmage. Nothing about that game mattered or counted. This, of course, was remedied the second you started winning, and the locker room was a wildly different place when you ended up winning by three.

While West Ham seemed to like each other, there was no sense of camaraderie there. It was nice, but nothing was kind. Richmond seemed like a family. You were starting to see that now. 

It wasn’t something you were able to embrace right now, but there was a growing piece of you that was… hopeful that you’d be able to at some point.

At that realization, you feel your body relax for a moment. Only for it to tense back up again as you’re scared for a third time, by Roy and Trent coming back to the group. As soon as he gives the green light to the team that Trent’s safe, the locker room erupts into relieved chaos.

Jamie starts shouting about the passing lanes. Sam yells out something about Chelsea’s lack of defense. More and more voices begin to speak up to offer their insight, and while they’re all on the right path, nobody’s said the right thing yet.

You can feel the words rising in your throat. Your mind continues to spin. Every thought you’d held on to, every tip you wanted to say, every nerve you had about saying the wrong thing was bubbling within you and you could feel yourself about to burst. 

No more being quiet. No more being afraid. No more being passive.

I know that you know them on the field. But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.

You can feel your hands begin to shake back and forth in anticipation of whatever it is you’re about to say. However, you don’t realize that someone’s been watching you until they step beside you.

“C’mon,” they chide, making you jump, “Fucking say it.”

You don’t have to look to know that it’s Roy, but you still turn your head. His eyes fall from yours, to your hands, then back to your face. He’s familiar enough with your tells to know what’s going on. One part of you is grateful to have that. The other part wants to kill him.

The expression you wear reads hesitance, and you’ve only got about three minutes before the team needs to head back out.

As he continues to stare at you, you can hear his voice in your head. This is your job. You signed up for this. You’re a coach. So fucking coach. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath and ball up your fists to stop the shaking. Fucking say it.

So, amidst the noise and the yelling and the bickering, you do.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The silence that takes over the locker room is immediate and deafening. Every single person stares at you in shock, jaws agape and eyes wide as if they couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. 

Every person but one. And if you were to turn and shake the sudden anxiety of having all attention on you, you’d see him smiling softly to himself, something like pride gracing his typically stoic expression.

It takes a moment before you realize they’re all waiting for you to say something. You glance over at Ted, who, while still a bit taken aback, nods at you encouragingly. 

You’ve got the floor, Coach. Let’s do it.

“You’re all right,” you begin, motioning to each of them as you speak. “Yes, Jamie, they’re blocking the passing lanes. It’s a straight-up wall once you get into the midfield. And yeah, Sam they’re not marking you guys. Because they don’t have to. You’re all just…” You search for the word, throwing a hand up when you land on, “...running around aimlessly out there because you’re trying to see what’s going to work. But you know what will?” 

They all just continue to stare at you. Whether or not it’s because nobody has an answer or because they can’t believe you’re actually talking like this, you don’t care. Because you answer for them. “You make them mark you. Force them to break down that wall. Draw them out, and then pass through the cracks,” you tell them, offering a small grin as you continue. “I know you guys. And I know it hasn’t seemed like it because I’ve been… quieter. But I know the type of team you are, and each of you are so, incredibly good at what you do. You’re way better than what you’re doing out there. Like, way better.”

Your team remains quiet, but you know they’ve snapped out of their surprised trance because they’re smiling at you. And they look on board. Your grin grows as you notice. “So, let’s go out there and start this season off right, huh?”

That gets them up and out of their seats. The boys erupt in a cheer, clapping as they gather around in a circle, each of them putting their hands in the middle. Dani’s voice echoes through the locker room as he yells, “For Coach’s first game!”

Another round of cheers follows before Ted looks over at you. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he tells you, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. “Alright. I second everything she said. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of. Okay, four on three!”

Hands go up after their chant, and the team runs out of the room with a type of energy that you’re not sure you’ve seen before. You hang back for a moment to take a breath.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you turn to see Ted smiling at you. “Nice to hear your voice, Ace,” he says, squeezing it softly. “I hope we’ll hear it some more.”

You send him a thankful smile, nodding in affirmation. “You will.”

Ted squeezes your shoulder once more, heading out behind the team. Beard nods in your direction, looking vaguely impressed in the way that only he can, before following suit. 

That leaves you and Roy in the locker room, and somehow, for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, chest heaving down as you do so. You hear Roy huff when he moves to stand next to you. 

“Well,” he says. “That was one fucking way to do it.”

“I have no idea what I said,” you tell him. “I blacked out after I yelled at everyone to shut up.”

You get a huff of a laugh out of Roy for that one. “You did fine.” He doesn’t miss your dubious look. “I’m serious. You did well.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

Roy nods, expression turning a bit more earnest. “Yeah, Fourteen. You did well.”

The nickname makes a lump form in your throat, and it takes everything in you to ignore it. It’d been a while since you’d heard that one like this. It settles like cement in your stomach and you wish you could shake the feeling. He keeps his gaze on yours until you blink away, focusing on anything but him.

“Thanks,” you manage. Again, because he’s being nice, you suppose you can be too. “And, uh… thanks for pushing me. To do that, I mean.”

Roy nods, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” you say again. You hold his stare for one more second before returning his nod, the tension in the air easing within the moment. “Let’s go win a game, Coach.”

You don’t see the way Roy hides a smile as you turn to exit, the reflexive words of ‘not your coach’ on his tongue. But, he bites them back because, well… he is a coach. And so are you.

And as strange as all of this has been for the last week, it hasn't actually felt real to him until now. You’re here. You’re here and working with him and you’re not going anywhere.

The idea of it doesn’t make Roy panic as much as he thought it would.

(Though, unfortunately, that idea is what gets Roy to freak out. But he figures he’s got a bit of time to work that one out.)

LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.

“You ever date a swimmer?”

It’s a question you pose to Roy seemingly out of the blue in the middle of one of your many footwork drills of the night. It was all he’d wanted to focus on for tonight’s training session, especially with your quarter-final game against New Zealand on Friday. While the idea of practicing again tomorrow was still up in the air, Roy had insisted on this practice being solely about fixing up what he viewed as your one weakness.

Roy looks up from your feet in confusion. “What?”

“Have you ever dated a swimmer?” you repeat, enunciating your words in a mildly obnoxious manner. “Perhaps a French person? But any swimmer will do.”

He’s still staring at you like you have three heads. “The fuck are you on about?”

You throw your hands up in a shrug. “I’m just asking. I find it hard to believe that amongst the slew of hook-ups I’ve read about, you haven’t slept with a swimmer.”

Those furrowed brows raise in interest at your statement. “Oh, you’ve read about those?”

Your eyes roll. “So not the point of what I was saying. Answer my question.”

“Foxtrot,” he says, watching you look at him in surprise. “Now shut the fuck up and finish your drills.”

“You really want to use our newly-established one Foxtrot of the hour on a simple topic like this?” you question.

Apparently, he doesn’t. “No, I haven’t dated a swimmer,” he finally tells you, exasperated. He glances down at your feet. “Stay on your toes. That fucking left foot of yours is always fucking flat.” Still staring at your feet and ignoring the way you roll your eyes, he inquires, “Why the fuck are you asking? And why do they have to be French?”

“I think I got asked out by one yesterday,” you say. Roy’s gaze meets yours with a speed that nearly makes you stumble in the middle of your drill. “But I can’t tell if he was being a weird little jerk or if he’s just French.”

While his lips twitch up at the last part of your statement, he seems more stuck on the first. “You think you were asked out?”

“Okay, it was strange,” you reply, sounding a tad defensive and slightly breathless. “He was kind of like, negging me? Which, you know, I’m now used to because I started hanging out with you.” Roy shoots you a look, but you carry on anyway. “But he was all, ‘oh yeah, you’re good. But not as good as the French team.’ And then he was like, ‘how about this, if France beats you guys, you have to buy me a drink. But if you win, I’ll buy you one.’ So, I’m kind of confused.” You stop your footwork as Roy’s stopwatch goes off and you take a moment to catch your breath. “And I’m honest enough to admit that I was only entertaining it because he was hot, but I truly can’t tell if he’s flirting with me and asking me out because he thinks we’ll win, or if he’s trying to get free drinks out of me because he thinks we’ll lose.”

“He was asking you out,” Roy says bluntly, continuing to look unimpressed. “He did a fucking horrendous job of it, but yeah. He’s interested.”

You nod, absorbing this for a second before throwing your hands up. “Why do guys do that?” 

“Do what?” he asks. “Ask girls out?”

Your expression quickly matches his. “Yes, exactly. I’d love for you to explain what happens when a man loves a woman, Roy,” you deadpan, biting back a smile as you see one grow on his lips. “No, dickhead. Why do guys think that… that’s the way to ask someone out? Like, I love a little banter as much as the next girl, but you gotta be good at it. And if you’re not good at it…” You shrug. “I don’t know. If you’re bad at flirting, you’re bad at flirting. That’s okay. That just means you’ve just gotta be direct with how you’re feeling.”

There’s a brief moment where Roy seems to consider this, but shakes his head soon after. “Some don’t know how.”

“Well, they should take classes from you or something,” you reply. “Because you’re the most direct guy I know.”

Roy’s scowl deepens. “Thanks.”

“That’s a compliment,” you say, pointing at him. His expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious. I appreciate it. You’re never afraid to tell me shit. It’s admirable.” A wry grin spreads across your face. “Flirting with you must be a three-sentence interaction.”

He casts his eyes up to the night sky. “Fuck’s sake, you’re on one tonight.”

“No, I’m curious. How do you do it?” you press with raised brows. “You told me when we met that if you were trying to ‘chat me up,’ I’d know it. So, c’mon. How does the magic happen?”

Though you were sure that it was impossible, Roy somehow looks even less impressed. “Foxtrot,” he all but snaps at you, making a low noise at the way you crush your lips together to hold back a laugh. “And I’m fucking serious about it this time. Using my one for the hour, or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, honoring your established rule with a surrender. “You don’t want to waste your succinct flirting charms on me, I get it. I won’t push you.”

Roy scoffs under his breath, fidgeting with his stopwatch. “They wouldn’t be.”

The words make you pause. “What?”

The stopwatch in his hand beeps as he finishes fiddling with the buttons. “You said they’d be wasted on you.” His eyes flick up to catch yours. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t be a waste.”

He speaks so casually that you almost don’t know what to do. You can’t tell what he means. Would his efforts not be a waste because he… likes you? That he wouldn’t even try if he wasn’t interested? Or is he just so confident in his abilities that he thinks he could get you that easily? That he could turn it on within minutes and make you rethink your entire, weird little friendship that you’ve started over this week? Because, to your knowledge, Roy hasn’t shown any sort of sign that he’s interested in you.

Or has he? Was Mel right again? Have you been reading this situation wrong? Was his bickering and negging his strange way of trying to flirt with you? Getting in your ear during drills? Texting you during games? Calling you an anomaly?

You nearly shake the thought out of your head. He’s Roy Kent. He’s quite literally known for being stoic, for his confrontational personality, and for his hotheaded tendencies. You’ve seen all of those traits since you started training together and nothing’s tipped you off that it could be anything more than friendly. Or whatever his version of friendly is.

You’ve also seen the kinds of women he dates. They’re actresses, singers, models, heiresses-- rich London elite. The shitty little one-bedroom you’ve got back home cries out in shame in the back of your mind. The Team USA Nike campaign that you were barely a part of for the World Cup taunts you. Actress, singer, model, and heiress you were not.

You’re not sure if he sees the look of confusion on your face, but you turn away before you can confirm anything. “Right,” you say, drawing the word out slightly. You kick the ball you’d almost forgotten about toward him. “Anyway. I’m bored of these drills. I need to do something else or I’ll go insane.”

Roy receives your pass, placing his foot on top of the ball with a quirked brow. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he attempts to gauge your reaction, momentarily throwing you off. “When have you ever had a say about what goes on in these sessions?”

“Well, never. But I think that says more about your coaching style than it does about anything else, despot.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. He’s found that it’s something he tends to do frequently when you’re around. “I told you that footwork’s the only thing we’re working on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored,” you repeat. “Don’t you have like… I don’t know. Games we can play?”

“Games?” he parrots. He almost sounds offended. “What, are you five years old?”

You completely ignore his comment and gasp, pointing at him. “Let’s play knockout.”

“Again, I ask, are you fucking five years old?”

You look at him, pouting as you slouch over. “C’mon,” you practically whine. “It’s totally a footwork drill. But it’s fun. And it’s better than you just standing there menacingly with a stopwatch like you’re Frankie Dunn.”

Roy looks at you, then hesitates. “You’re a terrible fucking negotiator.”

That moment of hesitation lets you know that you’ve almost got him. While you may be a terrible negotiator, you’re something else: observant. The thing you’ve learned about Roy is that he physically can’t back down from a challenge. You know that there’s something ironic in that, but you figure that’s why you two have worked together so well so far.

So, your eyes narrow and you allow yourself to step forward to do just that; challenge him. “And you’ve got South Korea in a couple days. From what I saw last night, you need the practice.”

Roy’s head tilts, the beginnings of a dangerous smile twisting the corners of his lips. “Is that right?”

“I recall a lost possession toward the end of the first half that easily could have been avoided,” you say, sticking your leg out to kick the ball out from beneath his foot. The faux passive tone you’ve taken on nearly dissolves at the way his eyes darken. “For the amount that Chelsea's Finest goes on and on about footwork, you’d think he’d be better at it.”

Something between you two shifts the second those words leave your mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you (or continues to look at you, God, you don’t think he’s blinked yet) or if it’s your new proximity, but things feel completely different from when you started. The stare you’re holding is charged. It’s not just a challenge anymore— there’s something else there. It makes your mind whirl.

Roy’s voice is low when he asks, “What would you have done differently?”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it offers you a reason to look away from his piercing gaze, take a breath, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “Crossed my mark up a little. Probably would have sent it up the field. Your striker was practically begging to be passed to.” You glance back up at him, with a smile that borders on teasing. “Definitely wouldn’t have hit my mark as hard as you did when you lost the ball.”

“He fucking dove,” is his response, sounding only slightly annoyed. But, when he sees you chuckle, he comes back to, “Who was open upfield?”

His question is genuine, like he’s actually interested in hearing your answer. “I don’t know. Didn’t recognize him. I think he’s a rookie,” you reply with yet another shrug. “But if you led him a little bit, he would have been open.” Roy’s brow draws as he hums something affirmative. When you realize he’s actually thinking about the play, considering what you’re saying, you can’t help but throw in, “Plays like that happen when you’re thinking ahead, Coach.”

Your tone has Roy glaring down at you, and you can feel the look sear through you. “And the goal that happened immediately after that was all instinct.”

“Maybe,” you say noncomittally. "But it could have been better if you all had thought ahead."

That tension between you shifts again, but this time, it’s in a way you’re really not expecting. When Roy looks back at you, there’s something disbelieving in his eyes. As if he can’t figure you out. But it’s also something almost… fond. “You really watched the game last night.”

It’s a question that comes out sounding like a statement. You’re not sure why he looks so surprised or why the emotional state of this conversation keeps going back and forth, but you say the only thing you can think to: the truth.

“You watch mine,” you reply as if the answer was obvious. “And believe it or not, I like watching you play.” Roy blinks at you, obviously not expecting that. For good measure, you add, “Being on the field actually gives you a reason to be a dick, so.”

That same searing stare returns, and it fixates on you long enough to make you itch. You don’t break it, but you rock back and forth on your heels, thinking for a second, maybe you said the wrong thing. Maybe it was a little too real, or a little too friendly.

But before you can sweat it too much, Roy dips his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, fine. One round of knockout, you fucking child.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Yeah. Get the ball. Let’s go.”

You beam at him, running to go grab the ball you’d kicked away from him previously. When you turn back, you find he’s moving to get his own. “If I’d known you’re this easily swayed by flattery, I would have started being way nicer to you earlier.”

“Don’t push it,” he calls out. Despite the fact he’s not facing you, you can picture the look on his face. “And don’t be fucking nice to me. I want to see you pissed.”

“But we’re playing knockout,” you say, as he turns and kicks his football in your direction. “How can I be pissed?”

Roy smirks. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can too. But why do you want me pissed?”

“Because you play better when you’ve got something to prove,” he tells you. Then, he shrugs. “That, and… well, I wasn’t lying.” 

You scrunch your brow. “About what?”

“It’s a good fucking look on you,” he says, meeting your gaze once more. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

Oh. Right, right, right. Totally. Ignoring the way that that makes your cheeks go warm, you reply, “Well, like you said. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

That’s when Roy smiles at you. It’s accompanied by a chuckle and while it’s not a full grin, it’s something warm and mildly sweet. However, for the first time, you’re stuck by how good he looks. You’d always thought he was good-looking, but you’d never been attracted to him. But for some reason, right here, right now, some switch has flipped. 

The realization churns your stomach and makes you physically look away from him. “C’mon, let’s play,” you say, hoping your forced nonchalance hides anything you’re currently feeling. “I like watching you lose.”

Roy huffs, sounding just a bit incredulous. “Whatever you say.”

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

You walk away from the Chelsea pitch with a tie. And frankly, you’ll take it.

You’ve never seen a team more excited about a draw. They’re rowdy as they gather back into the locker room, and you feel a hint of a grin rising as you watch them from the hall. The petty part of your brain again has you comparing what this would have been like if you still worked at West Ham. Shelley would have berated your players (and likely his coaching staff) about how pathetic a draw was. West Ham was the superior team of the league, after all. Their record had to show for it.

It’s then that a sudden realization comes crashing down on you. Fuck. West Ham. PR. You have to do press with Ted.

As if he could hear his name rattling around in your mind, your head coach steps in beside you. He nudges your elbow with his. “You alright there, Ace?”

You nod quickly, like that’ll hide the panic you know is written across your face. “Yeah, Coach. I’m alright.”

When he folds his hands behind his back, you know he isn’t buying what you’re selling. “You still okay to do this with me?” he asks, motioning to the press room down the hall.

“I’ve done press before,” you reply, though your mildly defensive tone tells him that you’re not certain if you’re assuring him or yourself. At the way he dips his head, you sigh in defeat. “I’ve done this before. Just… never at this level. Or for these reasons.”

Ted nods in understanding. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“And I’ll be there beside you the whole time. I can take over whenever you need me to.” He nudges you again. “I ain’t too bad with all this press stuff. And I’m more than happy to make a fool of myself if it gets too tough. Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

That gets you to look up at him wearily. “I’m scared to know what that means.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t think we’ll get there,” he says, earning a chuckle from you in response. A beat passes before he looks at you again. “You ready?”

A long, sharp sigh exits your body. When you inhale, you turn back to him. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Let’s go quiet ‘em all down.”

You surprise yourself with an involuntary smile, but it gives you the confidence to follow him.

The press room is abuzz as you approach it and they get even more lively when you enter. You can hear your name being said from every direction and the chaos makes your hands shake. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. You used to be good at these. It’s part of being a coach. You wanted this. You know how to do this.

Ted, who’s been leading the way, steps out to allow you to go up the stairs first. You clasp your hands together as you walk up, praying that this isn’t the moment your feet choose to fail you and make you trip. Luckily, you avoid disaster and make your way to the further of the two chairs on stage.

You look out into the sea of reporters, eye each of the cameras, and continue to play with your fingers as if it’s the answer to calming your nerves. You don’t realize things have gotten started until you hear Ted’s voice.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he greets the room, and you can’t help but envy how easily the words come out. “Afternoon everyone. What have you got for us today?” All hands in the room immediately go up, each reporter’s eyes shifting from you, to Ted, then back to you. Everyone’s got the same question on their minds. Everyone, except the guy that Ted picks, apparently. “Yeah, Alec. What do you got for us?”

Alec The Reporter stands. “How are we feeling about starting the season with a draw, Coach?”

Thank you, Alec, for starting with the easy question. “Well, I mean, I think we both would have liked a win,” Ted replies, looking over at you. You try your best at a smile and nod along. “But we’re proud of our boys. They turned it around after that first half, due mostly to the insight of our new coach over here. So, I think we’re feeling good about this start.” 

Alec sits down, satisfied with the answer. Before Ted calls on the next reporter, he glances at you. You nod once. You’re ready.

Ted points at a blonde woman toward the back of the room. “Sarah, how are we doing?”

Sarah The Reporter stands now. “Very well, thank you.” Her attention is immediately on you. “Coach,” she says, addressing you. “How was your first game with Richmond?”

Easing it into it, are we? You clear your throat and keep that smile plastered on your face. You can practically hear Roy yelling from the locker room for you to loosen up. “Not echo Coach Lasso, but I’m feeling good. Definitely would have liked a win, but it’s not a loss.”

You don’t think you could have given a more generic, neutral answer if you had tried. Maybe simply answering with ‘good’ would have been worse, but you doubt it. Sarah’s not done with you. “I was more referencing the dynamics of the team in your first game. The culture, if you will.”

Then come right out and say that then, don’t be weird and coy. You fight back a scowl and in doing so, your grin cracks slightly. The phrasing isn’t lost on you. Dynamics. Culture. They’re all words Rupert used just days ago. Stick to the script. Talking points. Don’t let them bait you.

“The Richmond culture’s definitely different,” you reply, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word. To save yourself, you add, “But I think that’s to be expected when coaching Men's sports. Bit of a different world over here.” You offer a shrug, hoping your smile returns to what it was. “I’m very grateful to the Richmond team and staff for welcoming me with open arms into the warm environment they’ve created.”

You hope Rebecca and Keeley are somewhere cheering you on. That was sweet, neutral, and non-confrontational. Everything you wanted to be. Everything you should be in this line of questioning.

Ted nods at Sarah, cueing her to sit down. He points to a reporter in the front. “Marcus, yeah.”

It’s Marcus The Reporter’s turn to stand. And he comes out swinging. “No use in beating around the bush,” he says, eyes on you. “Do you have any response to Rupert Mannion’s comments about you and your tenure at West Ham?”

This is it. You feel Ted’s foot nudge yours encouragingly as you nod at Marcus and take a breath. Just as rehearsed. You got this.

“There’s not much to say that Mr. Mannion hasn’t already,” you answer slowly. “Unfortunately, some things like that just don’t work out. I too was not happy with the note that we ended on and wish it could have worked out our differences. But that’s all it was. Differences. There aren’t any hard feelings or any sort of bad blood between us. West Ham is a great team that I was honored to be a part of for the time that I was allowed. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic season and can’t wait to meet them in a couple of weeks.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when you finish, thankful that that’s fucking done. The lies don’t sit right on your tongue and feel as though they’re rotting your teeth, but you don’t care. You got it all out, didn’t slip up or trip up, and can hopefully put this to bed.

However, unfortunately for you, Marcus doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Because he’s got a follow-up question you’re not at all prepared for. “And what of Tom MacDonald’s recent comments?”

The world stops. It comes to a complete, emergency-braked fucking halt and you feel as though someone’s punched you in the stomach. You feel like you’ve been ambushed, but you know that if you could have been prepared for this, you would have been. This must have happened today. Perhaps, even moments before this. You can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of your face almost immediately.

He… made comments? He spoke about you?

You can feel your throat constricting, but manage to get a couple words out in a relatively neutral-sounding tone. “I’m not sure what comments you’re referring to.”

“In his post-game interview about a half-hour ago,” Marcus says, glancing down at his notes to read. “He said, quote, ‘My best wishes are to Miss USA and her new Richmond team. I hope she finds her place with them, as I don’t think she ever really found hers here. But, you know, I guess you can’t really know until you really try to get to know the lads in the locker room and in the Coaches' Offices, huh?’”

Your breath’s been stolen from you. You can feel your nose and eyes start to burn as you stare Marcus down, steeling the look on your face. Refusing to show any type of emotion or reaction to that, you gather yourself.

What a fucking prick. What an absolute, horrendously evil, fucking asshole he is. You can imagine the look on his face when he said that. The smarmy fucking smile that accompanied it, the casual nonchalance of which he spewed that last part out with. You want to burn him. You want to destroy his life, his career, everything. The audacity he was to even bring up the locker room and the… 

You feel physically ill. You could throw up on the spot, but there’s something in you that’s keeping you from doing so. As the silence in the room festers, you feel Ted’s foot tap against yours again.

Do you need me to make a fool of myself? His eyes ask as you meet them. 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can do this. You’ve done this before. You used to be good at these. Don’t let him get to you like this. Don’t let either of them win.

You know you won’t come forward with what happened. You can’t. But you weren’t going to sit on your hands anymore. You wouldn’t be neutral anymore. Neutral. That was the word of the day. 

Fuck the word.

You allow another moment of silence to pass before you blink and refocus on Marcus. “I…” you begin, collecting yourself. You can feel the anger rise within you and you know it shows in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that. “I do, actually.”

(Somewhere in the Chelsea facilities, Rebecca Walton and Roy Kent are glued to different TVs broadcasting your conference. Rebecca’s unsure if she should be praying that you’ll tear West Ham apart or writhing in fear at the idea of what’s about to come out of your mouth. Roy, however, clocked the look in your eye immediately and can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this big.)

“As I said previously,” you start, straightening your back with a new, harder, more confident tone, “I’m also disappointed with the way that things ended between me and my former team. I also wish things could have been different and that I could have found my place. However, Mr. Mannion was correct when he assumed that I experienced a bit of a culture shock when I joined the club. However, I can’t blame anyone or anything for that but my own expectations for what I assumed AFC Football was going to be.” You offer a smaller, slightly more pleasant grin to the reporters and cameras. “But I can confirm that Richmond has met all of those aforementioned expectations within my first week. I’m excited to continue my journey with them and can’t wait to see where we go this season.”

Hands immediately fly up in response to your answer, follow-up questions galore. You glance over at Ted for a moment (who looks like he’s unsure whether he should be proud of you or sweating this), then suddenly find that a group of people are being ushered into the press room. You eyes lock with the man in the center, and he stares right back at you with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve seen before. Zava.

“And on that note,” you say, quieting everyone down. Relief washes over you now that you have an excuse to leave the room, “I think we’ve run out of time for questions concerning me. We’ve got something much more important to cover.”

When they all see that you’re referring to Zava, the room erupts into even more chaos. You couldn’t possibly be out of your chair faster, ready to make a break for it, and run to the bathroom. Ted’s on your heels as you exit, running in front of you to stop you as you make it to the hall.

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” he says with a soft laugh. “Runnin’ out of there faster than Tom Cruise in— well, any of the Mission Impossible movies, I guess.” You don’t meet his eye, or offer him any sort of pity laugh, something he catches immediately. “You alright, Ace?”

“Yeah,” you say shortly. God, you don’t want to cry in front of your head coach. “I’m good.”

He sees right through you. God, why is everyone at Richmond so fucking in touch with other people’s emotions? “Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe something I should know about—”

“No.” It’s a conversation ender and Ted steps back from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing less than to deal with this right now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” With a deep breath, you move away from him. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your help in there, Coach. And thank you for a wonderful first week.”

You even don’t hear what Ted has to say in response to that before you’re beelining for the bathroom and locking yourself in a stall, finally allowing the tears that had been welling in your eyes to fall.

Zava announces that he'll be joining Richmond and thirty minutes, later you find yourself in a 'Coaches Group Chat' reading a message from Ted.

After you'd collected yourself, you had the full intention of pretending like everything was normal. You refused to let him win or get the better of your emotions, or fucking... whatever. So, the second you received that text, you immediately signed yourself up for whatever Ted wanted you to do. 

Coaches’ Celebration at Crown and Anchor, the text from him reads. Be there or be square.

However, apparently, you’re the only one who’s concerned with being square, because none of your fellow coaches have shown up yet. There’s a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner, yelling things at the screen every few minutes. You see a couple who are throwing darts at the end of the bar. There’s a lone man with a pint at the hightop by the door, texting away on his phone. But Ted, Beard, and Roy were nowhere to be found.

The bartop’s nearly abandoned, so you choose a seat in the middle, making sure to reserve three extras. When the woman behind the bar turns to serve you, you can tell she immediately recognizes you, and the smile she offers is warm.

“Good showing today,” she tells you. Then, she shrugs. “Would have liked a win.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You and me both.”

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door. “Um, I’m meeting people here. I—”

“Oh. Right. That’s tonight,” she says, with a knowing look in her eye. Your brow scrunches. “When he gets here, call me over. My name’s Mae.”

Before you can question that cryptic fucking sentence or correct her and let her know that you’re meeting people (plural) here, the pub door opens. Roy walks through, nodding once he sees you.

He grabs the stool to your left. “Nice press conference today,” he says in greeting, taking a seat. 

The teasing note in his voice makes you scowl. “Shut up. I was nervous.”

“I liked the part where you called Rupert a lying prick who needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s not even close to what I said.”

Roy chuckles. “You might as well have. That was a media-trained ‘fuck you’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

God, you could really use that drink now. “I wasn’t even trained for that one,” you admit sheepishly. ”I literally don’t know where that came from. I was like, possessed by some bitchy politician or something.”

“She’d have my vote.”

“She shouldn’t. She’d start a global thermonuclear war because someone implied that she was difficult to work with.” You make a face at Roy as he chuckles. “Besides, I don’t think a Roy Kent endorsement would do her any favors.”

“Probably not,” Roy agrees. “Only person I’ve ever endorsed was you, and look where we are.”

You roll your eyes, casting them to the door. “Oh, my God. Okay, where are Ted and Beard?”

“They’re not coming,” a voice says as they round the bar. Mae stands before you once more, wiping her hands on a rag. 

You and Roy stare at her. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” you ask.

“I mean, they’re not coming,” Mae repeats matter-of-factly. Confusion takes over your expression. “They lured you two here and I’ve been given a ridiculous amount of money to keep you here until the two of you…” She glances down at her phone. “Fix your issues and…” Mae squints at the text she’s reading from. “...’Have whatever conversation you’ve been tiptoeing around.’”

By the time Mae looks up, you’re gaping at her and Roy’s already out of his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” you say faintly, praying that she’ll answer yes.

You have no such luck. “I’m not.”

“Fuck this,” Roy mutters. “I’m not getting fucking trapped at a fucking pub with you on a Sunday night because our stupid fucking team doesn’t understand fucking boundaries.”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction he’s looking to leave. “I second that. No offense, you seem lovely,” you tell Mae, “but I’m not staying here.”

“Unfortunately, you are,” Mae responds, nodding to the man who was sitting alone at the hightop, who stands up to block the door. He’s got to be the tallest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s built. You have no idea where he came from, but the sight of him alone gives you pause.

Roy’s on that same wavelength because he stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “This is fucking insane,” he says, looking back over to Mae.

“I agree,” she says, then nods to the window. “Take it up with them.”

You follow Mae’s line of sight to see Ted and Beard, sharing a pair of binoculars to stare at the two of you When they realize they’ve been spotted, Beard slowly removes the binoculars from his eyes and glares at Roy. Ted at least offers the dignity of a pity wave.

“Whatever they’re paying you,” you begin. “Roy will double it.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I will?”

“Yes. You will.”

“Why the fuck am I the one paying? We’ve got the same fucking salary now.”

You whip around in your seat to glare at him, exasperation in your voice as you say, “Oh, my God, you played in the AFC for twenty years. I was in women’s sports for thirteen. We’re not even close to the same tax bracket.”

Roy considers this for approximately two seconds, then turns back to Mae. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll fucking double it.”

Mae shrugs, clearly not budging. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Kent,” she replies. Then, she motions to the clock on the wall. “I’ve promised to keep you here for at least an hour. What you do after that is none of my business.”

As Mae walks away, you stare at the bartop, truly unable to accept that this is happening in your present reality. There’s no way you’re doing this— no way that Roy’s doing this. This is fucking ridiculous, it’s wildly unprofessional, and—

—And Roy’s sitting down. You slowly raise your head to watch him pull out the barstool, slump into the chair, and put his face in his hands as if he can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. 

He’s giving in. He’s not putting up a fight. He’s obeying the wishes of his friends, he’s resigned to the cause, he’s… he’s putting himself in a position to have the conversation you two have been dreading since you began at Richmond.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is really happening.

You glance back over to the window where Beard stands, and he lowers his binoculars when he sees you looking. He sends you a simple, affirmative nod, raising the device to his eyes once more. 

“I assume you’ll be needing those drinks now,” Mae says from the end of the bar, two pint glasses in her hands.

You don’t think you or Roy have ever said ‘yes’ faster.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington, @jamieolivia27, @seatbacksandtraytables, @luvr-bunnyy

[dreamingstraykids]

can i request? maybe lee! lee know and ler! hyunjin? something alongside the lines of soft tickles or smt bc lee k ow always gets rough treatment cuz he’s older ?x

A SOFT REMEDY

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This is a tickle fic. If u’re uncomfortable, keep scrolling.

t/w: soft tickle, brotherhood love

Lee: Lee know 🐰

Ler!: Hyunjin 🥟

thanks @skzdiary for the request. I hope u like it 🫶🏻

Note: this is my first fic ever. Be kind with me pls.

(also english is not my first language, so maybe there will be some mistakes. sorry )

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The lead-up to a comeback was always intense, but this time, it felt even more overwhelming for Lee Know. The choreography was intricate, the schedules were packed, and as the main dancer, he bore a weight that the others didn’t fully understand.

Minho had always been good at hiding his stress—at least, he thought so. He pushed himself harder during practice, stayed up late perfecting every movement, and smiled as if everything was fine. But Hyunjin wasn’t fooled. He had noticed the dark circles under Minho’s eyes, the way his movements became sharper but less fluid, and how he retreated to his room as soon as practice ended.

That afternoon, Hyunjin decided to check on him. The dorm was quiet, most of the members out running errands or resting in their rooms. He knocked softly on Minho’s door, but there was no response. Concerned, he turned the knob and peeked inside.

Minho was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head buried in his hands. His shoulders shook, and it only took a moment for Hyunjin to realize that he was crying.

“Hyung…” Hyunjin said gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Minho stiffened, quickly wiping his face and turning away. “I’m fine, Hyunjin. Just tired.”

But Hyunjin wasn’t buying it. He walked over and sat beside him, pulling him into a side hug. Minho resisted at first, but eventually melted into his touch, his quiet sobs breaking Hyunjin’s heart.

“You’ve been working too hard,” Hyunjin murmured, running a hand up and down Minho’s back. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”

Minho sniffled, his voice barely a whisper. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Hyunjin assured him. “But not if you destroy yourself in the process.”

Hyunjin wanted to do more than just comfort him—he wanted to make him smile, to remind him that there was still lightness in the world even amidst the pressure. A playful idea sparked in his mind, and a small grin tugged at his lips.

“Hyung,” he said, his voice soft but teasing, “you know what happens when you don’t take care of yourself, right?”

Minho glanced at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer. Instead, he gently pushed Minho back onto the bed, straddling his hips.

“Hyunjin, what are you—” Minho’s eyes widened as Hyunjin’s fingers hovered near his sides. “NO. DON’T. YOU. DARE..”

“Oh, I dare,” Hyunjin said with a mischievous smirk.

Before Minho could protest further, Hyunjin’s fingers began to gently spider along his sides, just above his hips. The reaction was immediate—Minho squirmed, a reluctant giggle escaping his lips.

“HYUNJIN-HA STOP!!!” he protested, though the laughter in his voice betrayed him.

“Nope,” Hyunjin replied, his tone light and sing-song. “You’ve been too stressed, and this is the best way to fix it.”

His fingers danced up to Minho’s armpits, barely grazing the sensitive skin there. Minho let out a squeal, his arms instinctively clamping down. Then he starts tracing his V-line, probably his worst spot, and his hips, sometimes wiggling light his fingers.

Meanwhile he tickle kiss/ nibble his belly button.

“HYUNJIN! I—AH! STOP! AHAH! I C-CAN’T! AHAHAHA!

“Not until you’re smiling for real,” Hyunjin said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Minho’s neck. “You’ve been hiding too much, hyung. Let it out.”

Minho’s laughter grew louder as Hyunjin’s fingers found his thighs, squeezing gently. His legs kicked out, but Hyunjin held firm, his grin widening.

“Hyunjin, I’m—ah!OKAY AHHH AHAHAH!” Minho pleaded through his giggles, his face red from laughing so much.

But Hyunjin wasn’t done yet. He shifted down, grabbing one of Minho’s feet and tracing his fingers along the sole. Minho practically screamed, thrashing helplessly as Hyunjin chuckled.

“Your feet are so ticklish, hyung,” Hyunjin teased, wiggling softly and light his fingers in the sentitive spaces between his toes.

“HYUNJIN! AHAHAHA! I SWEAR! AHH—” Minho tried to sound threatening, but it was hard to be intimidating while laughing uncontrollably.

After a few more minutes of soft but relentless tickles, Hyunjin finally relented. He flopped down beside Minho, pulling him into a tight hug. Minho was still catching his breath, his cheeks flushed, but there was a small, genuine smile on his face.

“There it is,” Hyunjin said softly, brushing Minho’s hair out of his eyes. “That’s the smile I wanted to see.”

Minho sighed, leaning into Hyunjin’s embrace. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered, though there was no malice in his tone.

“And you love me for it,” Hyunjin teased, pressing a kiss to Minho’s forehead.

For a while, they just lay there, wrapped up in each other’s warmth.

“Thank you,” Minho said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“Anytime, hyung,” Hyunjin replied, holding him a little tighter. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in weeks, Minho felt the weight on his shoulders lighten, replaced by the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[hughes86-43]

Can you write for Nico with the prompt "i thought that if i did all of this and came all this way, it would finally click for you." I’m thinking the reader flew all the way to Switzerland to see him when it wasn’t super convenient for her bc she’s so in love with him and he’s just so oblivious

“I thought that if I did all of this and came all this way, it would finally click for you.”

-

Two things. One. You should’ve told him you were going to Switzerland. Two. You should’ve told him that you were going to Switzerland. Now that you’re here on his doorstep, right in front of him, you knew that you should’ve told him so that it wouldn’t be a surprise to him, and that you wouldn’t be looking like fool.

“Y/N?” You hear Nico ask as it brings you out of your thoughts. “What are you doing here? Oh, wait, did we plan this?” Nico’s trying his best to remember if they had something planned but he was coming up with nothing.

You, still on his doorstep, shake your head no. “No, we didn’t have anything planned.” You’re trying hard to not regret coming here, but that’s hard to do right now. Especially with the way Nico was looking at you completely confused.

“Oh, okay, then why are you here?” Nico asks again. Yep, shouldn’t have came, you think.

“Well, I’m not sure.” You’re stalling, you do know that. Truthfully, you came here to tell him how you felt. You took off work, even though it was a busy, and you packed your bag and took the next plane here. Now, you’re fully regretting it, but you had to tell him how you felt. It was driving you crazy.

“You’re not sure? How can you not be sure?” Nico’s looking at you in bewilderment, probably thinking you’ve gone crazy. Truly, you probably were.

“Okay, well I do know why I came here, but can we at least go inside or something? We’ve been standing here in the doorway for fifteen minutes.” Nico nods and opens the door for you follow him in. Any other time, you would look around at your surroundings and take in his house, but you’re not in the mood right now.

“Here, we can go to the living room.” You follow him down the hallway to the living room. He takes a seat in the chair, as you take the seat on the couch.

“Okay, if you know why you came here now, why don’t you tell me?”

You swallow before letting the words out. “I thought that if I did all of this and came all this way, it would finally click for you.” The words wasn’t what you prepared on the long plane ride, but they just spilled on out.

Nico, once again, looks at you confused. “What do you mean ‘it would finally click for me’? What would?”

Welp, you’re going to have to just let it out, no beating around the bush. “I thought it would finally click how much I like you and how much I wish we were together.” You try to find anywhere but his face to look at.

He must sense that, because he’s calling your name. “Y/N?”

You finally turn your head to look at him again, “Hm, what?”

“You like me? How long have you liked me?”

Gosh, you were wishing this would just end. “Um, probably two years give or take, maybe more, maybe less, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure when you started liking me, but you’re sure it’s been two years? And you decided to fly all the way here and tell me right now?”

“Okay, now that I thought it over, it’s probably not the best idea I ever had or the best idea to wait that long to tell you.”

Nico rubs his hands up and down his legs. “Nope, probably not.”

Deciding now was the best time to end it, you get up from the couch. “Okay, well you don’t like me back it seems, so forget I ever said anything, forget I came here. Honestly, forget me at this point,” you let out a nervous laugh, while you pull on your backpack.

“Y/N,” Nico says from behind you, “Wait, I never said—”

Just as he is about to say what he was going to say, a blonde woman walks down the steps from upstairs in a satin nightgown. “Nico, is everything alright?”

You whip around to look at Nico, trying so hard to keep your emotions intact. “Okay, you’re busy, I’m going to go! Great that we had this discussion, you can go back to whatever you were doing! Oh, not like that! Unless… anyway, no, bye!” You stumble over your words as you bolt from the living room down to the front door. As you reach for the doorknob, Nico is calling you from behind.

“Y/N! Wait!” It’s no use, as your halfway down the driveway going to who knows where, trying your best to not look at him behind you as you do.

[pinkaditty]

Hi, hi!

I loved your perverted obey me brothers and you catching them with your underwear. Will you make a part 2 with the other dateables?

If not, no worries!!

I love your work and I hope you have a nice day!

anon. did u know that ur my first ask? did u know that anon? ily. i've been thinking abt this ask since i saw i first got it. i never knew getting an ask could be so euphoric.

anyways

Pervert (Obey Me: Shall We Date) Part 2!

summary: you are suspecting that someone is stealing your underwear. it will go missing and randomly reappear like it was never gone. you pretend not to notice, but set a little trap for the culprit… and catch them red handed.

a/n: folks. wow. i did not expect part 1 to be soso popular omg!! ily guys thanks so much for enjoying my stuff waaaah! sorry this second part took so fucking long man so much shit happened. like sooo much im so tired. anyways. here. this part includes the royals, angel, and human. ill be back with the others (thirteen, mephisto, and raphael) soon! they may be slightly ooc bc im unfamiliar with them but ill do my best! also im like literally praying that the characters i wrote here aren't ooc. I tried SO hard please lmk if they are. &lt;;/3

content warning: as usual fem!mc unless you like to imagine yours as a crossdresser (mc's physical attributes are not mentioned but fem undergarments are), and suggestive nsfw content! lmk if there's anything i missed :(

read part 1 here!

AS USUAL MINORS DNI PLEASE! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARY! THANK YOU!

Intro:

For a short while, you had been reassigned to stay at Purgatory Hall/The Demon Lord’s Castle/wherever else the Dateables are due to Satan having accidentally destroyed your section of the House of Lamentation. No big deal, but all of the brothers were less than happy to see you go. It’s okay, though. You’ll be fine among the others…

The story is the same, of course. You think someone has been nicking your intimates in their spare time. Which is, of course, strange but simultaneously exciting. 

You decide to set a trap to find out who they are, leaving your hamper full of clothes in the washroom before leaving to grab some scent beads. When you return, as expected, you can hear someone rifling through your intimates, but it’s not rushed. Rather, it’s calm and calculated, as though said person was desperate to not be heard. You decide to wait outside the door for them. Once they collect the spoils of their work, they quietly slip through the door, only to find you leaning against the wall outside, looking at them expectantly. Your arms are crossed and you’re tapping your fingers on your arm. You raise an eyebrow at them, stifling the urge to cackle at their panicked expression.

“Explain yourself, pervert.” 

Diavolo:

You know, simultaneously, you expected him and didn’t expect him at all - at the same time. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Dia was fascinated with humans, especially with you, but… To such lengths? Really? If only Barbatos could see him now. 

For a man that loves to talk… He sure is speechless now.

He’s frozen. The panicked expression remains on his face, his eyes flickering from the surrounding hallways and walls to you, to the floor, and back to the hallways. If there was a way out, he couldn’t find it. Before long, he deflated, resigning to looking down, a pitiful pout on his face. You got the feeling it was partially for show, though.

He whimpered like a hurt puppy before muttering a very formal apology. Keeping his head down, he held out the panties towards you. As you watch him, you realize this man has probably rarely ever felt shame before. It's almost entertaining - watching his eyes spin as he tries to adjust to feeling this way. Though he tries to hide it, you can hear his heaving breaths from here. He was ashamed. You could tell he wasn't ashamed for his actions; rather, he was ashamed because he was caught.

The thought makes you want to laugh, and you do, snatching the panties from his waiting hand. He looks up as you laugh, confused, his lips in a soft pout. His eyes almost look teary, as though he's that sad that you're laughing at him. You stifle your laughter with a hand and wave it off, walking past him into the laundry room to put your panties back in the hamper. Once your laughter dies out, you don't face him, but you do speak to him, knowing he is listening.

"Dia, the next time you find yourself fascinated with me, you can just ask. I'll be happy to spare a worn pair for your sake." 

You hear a surprised gasp, a shuffling of feet, and a relieved exhale. You turn to him, finally, to see him bowing his head in thanks. He's biting his lip and his face is bright red. Probably too embarrassed to make eye contact. He covers his mouth with his hand, muffling his words before speaking.

"Thank you, MC, for letting this slide… And please, don't tell Barbatos…" His face burns red at his final words, and you smile, amused.

"Don't worry, I won't tell." You wink at him before returning to your laundry, hearing his hesitant steps as he walked away.

Barbatos:

He's frozen. Mortified. He stands there, rooted to the spot like a statue of stone. He stammers out your name in surprise, nervously shifting his gaze from you to your surroundings. He clears his throat, holding a hand up to his lips, and keeps it there, as though attempting to hide his growing blush. "I-I deeply apologize, MC. I should not have been here… You were not meant to see me… " He sounds out of breath, his words light and mumbled.

He turns away from you at an angle, shutting his eyes tight and keeping his hand in front of his face. You watch him take deep breaths and attempt to steady himself and regain his composure. You had to admit, watching him fumble through such an embarrassment was awfully entertaining. His chest visibly rose and fell with each audible breath. He gently teetered on his feet, as though he could fall over if he couldn't keep up. What a sight to behold, Barbatos at a loss for words and composure. 

You approach him quietly, walking slowly to prevent the click of your shoes from being heard. You know that while he can't hear you, he can feel you, and he knows you're close. He shuffles backwards shyly, attempting to replace the distance you remove with every step. Ultimately, however, he is too slow, and you manage to get close enough to him, cornering him against a wall inside the laundry room. You make no effort to cage him in, but simply watch as he continues to attempt to get ahold of himself. He swallows thickly and slowly opens his eyes, calming down. He lowers his hand back to his side, and looks at you levelly, his expression still embarrassed but not mortified any longer. You smile, raising an eyebrow.

"I'd like my panties now, thanks." You hold out a hand expectantly, and Barbatos obliges, pulling the panties from his coat pocket and placing them in your waiting hand, all signs of embarrassment gone from his face, replaced by his trademark smile instead. His ears however, were a dead giveaway, as the tips of them remained red. You simply chuckle and lean away from him, humming in thanks and placing them back into the hamper. He moves to assist you with your clothes, and does so efficiently, though you watch him carefully to ensure his nimble fingers don’t grab hold of anything else without your permission. When the task is finished, he bows respectfully.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, MC?” 

You shake your head, smiling. “No, but thank you, Barbatos.”

With that done, his ears still burning red and his smile faltering slightly, he moves to leave. You stop him, grabbing his arm as he passes you. He looks back at you curiously, embarrassment still painted on his face. “And, please, ask me next time.” You smile, your eyes filling with mirth. “I’d be happy to give you a pair later as thanks for your assistance.”

He swallows thickly and his eyes widen. He bites his lip before nodding, thanking you briskly, and walking away hurriedly, his face red.

You think you see a flash of lace in his back pocket as he leaves, but maybe you’re imagining it...

Simeon:

Now, this was a surprise. The angel? Really?

He yelps in surprise, fumbling with the panties and dropping them on the ground, hiding his face in his hands and backing into a wall. He’s visibly shaking, his hands trembling as he hides behind them, not even peeking out to observe your reaction. His knees wobbled and he began to shrink in on himself, eventually kneeling on the floor. You watch him wordlessly, amused. He’s unexpectedly quite dramatic. 

After a few moments, you hear him mumbling to himself. Confused, you tentatively approach him, listening carefully. You catch little bits of what he’s saying before kneeling down, to which he shrinks further and his mumbling speed increases. Then it hits you. He’s… praying.

He’s literally fucking praying. 

You are so thoroughly amused at this that you want to laugh, but you wonder if being a victim of the wrath of Simeon or the almighty was worth it, so you decide against it. You stifle and disguise your laugh as clearing your throat, doing a comically loud “Ahem” to get Simeon’s attention.

Not one to be disobedient, he stops his muttering and slowly lifts his head to look at you. You smile smugly at him, your eyes narrowing with mirth. You reach out towards him and gently touch his chin. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away, looking between your fingers and your face curiously. You hold his chin and lift it upwards, and he follows your movements, adjusting himself so it’s easier to peer upwards at you. You smile wider, even more amused than before. 

“I don’t think that’ll work down here, Simeon.” Your voice is low and taunting, and Simeon gulps, his eyes still not leaving yours. He still doesn’t say anything, merely trembles, as though he were being judged.

Maybe he was, a little bit, but favorably so. It’s not everyday you’d find an angel ballsy enough to do this, right?

You tut at him, clicking your tongue and shaking your head disapprovingly. “Oh, Simeon…” You put on a fake pout, looking at him with pity in your eyes. “Don’t you know better than to do this?”

“Ugh…” Simeon bites his lip. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth creases downwards into a pathetic expression. You continued to stifle your laughter by biting the inside of your cheek. However, you are ultimately unsuccessful and end up bursting into an amused smile and a few breathy chuckles at him. 

When your laughter dies down, you look at him, still holding his chin. “Come now, Simeon.” You smile, winking at him. “All you have to do is ask… If you‘d like another pair.”

Simeon sucks in a breath in shock, and his eyes widen as he looks at you. He suddenly scrambles to his feet, straightening up, his head still bent forward in embarrassment. 

“I-I’m sorry, MC! It won’t happen again!” He swiftly walks past you, not looking at you and barely opening his eyes enough to see, narrowly missing the wall in his rush to leave. You listen to his retreating footsteps and only laugh. Maybe you’d drop by his room later and give him a gift.

Solomon: 

Shameless. But he’s old and barely human. He’s also the worst.

He doesn’t react much besides his initial panicked reaction, which soon melts into mirth, a smug smile appearing on his face. He’s confident, but not that confident. His exaggerated smug smile twitches at the corners and his face remains flushed a deep red. He dramatically clears his throat and smiles coyly, the picture of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Ah…” He starts, shrugging his shoulders, still smiling, the corners of his lips still twitching. His voice shakes just slightly. “You got me!”

Your face can’t seem to decide if it wants to fall into a disappointed expression at his brazen admission or burst into a fit of laughter at his obvious fear. Instead, it seems to settle on a pitying smirk, and you have to stop it from turning into a full on grin. You sigh and shake your head, not super surprised. 

You approach him, and he visibly stiffens, but his arrogance forces him to stay in place, his confidence crumbling at your certainty. When you stand just in front of him, you hold out your hand, a smug look on your face. “I’ve got you indeed! Hand them over.” Your words are quick and terse, smug smile and knowing look still on your face. Solomon swallows, and looks to the side, gently dropping the panties into your hands. He makes no move to look at you again after that, still facing you but looking away. 

You scoff as you watch him simply stand there. You find it amusing, but you are also dissatisfied at his lack of retorts. You put your hands on your hips and smirk, attempting to provoke him. “Hm. I’d expect a panty thief to be more ballsy. What, cat got your tongue?” Your smug smile only grows and your eyes narrow with mirth. His confidence almost seems to fully crumble under your gaze, and he relents, his blush spreading all across his face. Yet still, he remains silent.

You approach further, your steps slow and deliberately intimidating. He’s rooted to the spot, unable to move, still frantically finding anything to gaze at instead of you. Eventually you stand mere centimeters from him, your body just barely touching his. You smirk at him and lean your head forward, blowing on him before pulling back. He flinches immediately, startled, and bumps into the wall behind him. You giggle at him, thoroughly amused at his frantic nerves. He looks at you pathetically, lips red from worrying at them with his teeth, pupils blown wide, red blush from his forehead to his neck. 

“Aw, don’t look at me like that~!” You tease him, pressing your finger into his cheek. He watches you warily, seemingly at a loss for words. Your lips pull into a wicked smile. “How long has it been, hm?”

Immediately his eyes widen and he stammers out some indignant words, trying to deflect and explain himself. You only laugh at his stammered words, and he eventually stops, worrying at his lips again with his teeth. “Oh, don’t worry, I imagine you have plenty of escapades. But why couldn’t you just ask me?” You tilt your head at him, looking at him with hooded eyes. “Hm? It couldn’t have been that hard to just ask.”

Surprisingly, he only sighs and shakes his head, blush still present. “My dear apprentice, I am only human. Even I still don’t know how to properly act in the face of attraction.” A small, wobbly smile pulls at his lips before he purses his lips again, biting down to stifle any further words. His answer was straightforward, but you can tell he is still nervous. His breathing remains heavy, his eyes are still wide, and he’s still covered in a crimson blush. You laugh again.

Instead of teasing him further, though you really want to, you smile. “Well, now you know. Simply ask, Solomon. I am willing to help you… if you want me to.” You smile before turning away, dropping the panties into your clothes hamper, and starting the wash. It takes Solomon a moment to snap out of it and leave, but he does. You could feel his eyes on you and his magic still lingers in the air.

a/n: *super saiyan yells* thank you for reading waaaaaah! i did my best and im soso sorry if any of these characs are ooc... if they are too ooc i might actually rewrite it fr im so scared :(

anyways as usual feedback is always appreciated, and so are comments, likes, reblogs and asks! (especially asks) please show me your appreciation! i love to know i've done a good job.

@ikevampharem asked to be tagged :3!

[danothan]

yoshikage kira headcanon list:

1. his finger-chewing tendencies existed even before he could form memories, so his mother bought him baby mitts to knock the habit early. the lack of grip led him to slip and fall often, which gave kiramom quite the scare, but seeing as the mittens were a necessary evil, she took it upon herself to do for him what he couldn’t. read into that what you will.

1.2. by the time it was no longer an appropriate age for him to wear baby mittens, he was still indulging the habit like nothing had changed at all. i imagine it started off as mostly a habitual comfort early on, and developed into self-harm when he felt the need for control.

1.3. jumping off of izzy’s hc that he has a low pain tolerance, i think that the sensation of pain is very sobering to kira, hence the development from thumb-sucking to finger-chewing, as noted by f0r. as unbearable as pain is for him, i think it’s also grounding, esp in moments of anxiety. low pain threshold, low pain tolerance, but a high secret third thing (bad coping mechanisms).

2. this one isn’t canon compliant, but i like to think that kira’s nails don’t actually grow supernaturally fast and are more of a reflection of his state of mind. i think they def grow faster than the average person’s, but it’s a mix of genetics, routine nail care stimulating the growth, and perception bias. he only “notices” it when he’s aroused or stressed bc it’s harder to ignore, and let’s be honest, arousal and stress go hand-in-hand for the guy (ha. hand-in-hand).

3. kira doesn’t just hate body hair on women but also on himself, tho probably for different reasons (aesthetic vs sensory, respectively). this wasn’t much of an issue before taking on kosaku’s face seeing as he doesn’t grow much of it himself, but he would still shave all the same, and always smooth. this is evidenced by the fact that he reached for the blade razor rather than kosaku’s electric one (blades are known for a closer shave, while kosaku used an electric razor since “regular razors usually give you burns,” implying that he uses a guard which is a less close shave). living as kosaku was hell too since he had to shave more frequently and the stubble was a lot scratchier.

4. bouncing off of f0r’s selective hygiene hc, his idea of cleanliness is very contradictory and more aligned w perceived contamination than actual germs. may i remind you of when he licked blood off of his hands during the fight w shigechi as to not stain his clothes. granted, it was his own blood, but considering his self-report abt masturbating, i wouldn’t say it’s far fetched to believe he’s not all that concerned abt washing his own hands.

4.1. speaking of self-report masturbation habits, kira believes himself to be above masturbation despite probably being a virgin, but the difference between him and those “sweaty unwashed guys” is that he never uses his own hand anymore. 😥

5. kira is attentive to detail but only to the extent that he’s aware. he has an appreciation for specific types of hands, but it’s all very superficial. for example, he’ll paint some nails pretty, but he wouldn’t think to push back the cuticles. like what is this:

right over the cuticle… you know that polish is chipping, and he’s sucking it right down 😭

6. kira uses this exact cologne:

6.1. i appreciate that his cologne is unisex since he prob wants a feminine scent for his gfs but nothing so flagrantly womanly that it reflects poorly on him, which leads me to believe that he never went out of his way to buy nail polish (suspicious for a man!) but instead stole it from one of his victims, perhaps if she was carrying it in her purse.

7. he’s a serial killer dater, but he’s no cheater. he might be looking at other hands while he’s in a “relationship,” but at least he’s monogamous abt it; he’ll break up w his current gf before moving on! i mean, why not just take both hands? simple, he can only handle one lady at a time 😌

8. he’s a stickler for routine, and this applies to his diet. these are 2 separate breakfasts he made from eps 1 & 21:

the exact same, even down to the placement of each dish and utensil. maybe he adds a little measured variety in his lunch and dinner choices, but i’d like to think this is how he makes breakfast every morning, and he never gets sick of it. shinobu occasionally cooking up dif breakfasts for him was probably a shock to the system.

8.1. if he was cooking in someone else’s house and they didn’t have a butter knife or, god forbid, had orange juice w PULP, he’d genuinely get offended. no decorum or taste whatsoever, tsk tsk. it’s a good thing he’s there to “set her soul right.”

8.2. maybe further down the line in the kawajiri household, shinobu would’ve commented on his repetitive breakfast choices, and he’d have to force himself to make an omelette or smth to appease her wildly sporadic (normal) appetite. maybe she’d learn how to make breakfast the way he usually does, just to show that she cares ☺️ but unfortunately she overcooked the eggs, and the knife is in the butter the wrong way, and the toast errs on the side of burnt, and… well, no matter. he’s more than okay being the cook every morning from now on.

9. kosaku styles his hair flat and slick, but kira has no experience w the heavy duty gel that he uses, so it ended up in spikes so he could keep his signature little noodle bangs. old habits die hard.

and seeing as how shinobu made no comment on kira’s hair turning white, i’m gonna add a bonus kosaku hc that he’s always changing up his hair in some kind of early mid-life crisis. (“there goes my stupid insecure husband doing his hair differently again, as if that’ll change the fact that he’s already graying. 😒”)

10. rounding us off w my handcanons from a while back, kira’s hands aren’t smth he cares to keep prim and pretty the way he would for someone else’s, but he does have his own routine that puts them above average. although he picks at them during bouts of stress, they tend to heal quickly, as hands do (aided by his saliva bc you know even if he wasn’t chewing on them, he’s sucking on his thumb after peeling the hangnails). the lack of scarring all his life enabled his bad habits, only tempered by the impoliteness of it drilled into his mind as a child.

[minustwofingers]

exoplanet p.3

pairing: ellie williams x fem! reader (ur a girly girl in this one!!) (she/her pronouns)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: (PLEASE READ!) explicit language, violence, description of a medical procedure sans anesthesia, recreational drug use (idk how else to put it ellie gets absolutely zonked in the beginning), reader overthinks asf and is a little neurotic but that's why we love her x

a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for the wait! it's been genuinely insane how sweet and incredible all of you are. i've never felt so appreciated for my writing!! also, some notes: this chapter is heavily inspired by my last relationship. sorry if it's not as immersive bc of it! and also i don't have ANY medical knowledge so...cast a blind eye when u get to that scene

part 1

part 2

tags: @prettyplant0 @666findgod​ @sawaagyapong​ @rystarkov​ @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @parkersmyth @pinkazelma

wc: 6.6k

enjoy x

“One more time.”

You gave Ellie a withering look from where you were sitting at the end of her bed.

“Please,” she said, drawing out the s. “Just once more. I promise.” 

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes—a habit of hers that you were quickly picking up—and took in a deep breath. “Fuck.” 

Ellie lost it, peals of laughter bouncing off the walls. “Another one. Say something else.”

“I don’t understand why you think this is so funny,” you said.

“You say it so weird.”

“I enunciate,” you clarified. “I don’t ‘sound weird’. It’s called pronouncing every letter in the word and not having a lazy mouth.” 

“Please,” she gasped. “At least say bitch. You haven’t said that one yet.”

You looked her dead in the eye. “Bitch.”

If you weren’t already certain that Ellie was high out of her mind by the smell of her room and the general haze in the air, the way she howled with laughter and fell back on her bed would’ve made you entirely positive.

This was new. You’d begun to hang out with her in her room after dinner—that was normal—but when she’d knocked on your door smelling heavily of weed once you’d said goodnight to Joel, you were nothing less than shocked. Of course, she had none left for you. Which was probably good, because only a sober mind could navigate a night sitting on Ellie’s bed without doing something really, really stupid. 

“I can’t believe you call me weird,” you said, tucking your feet under her and giving her a pointed look. 

“You’re so lucky you didn’t grow up where I did,” Ellie said, wiping a tear away from her cheek as she tried (unsuccessfully) to rein in her giggles. “You would’ve been eaten alive, good lord.”

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, resting your chin on your knees. 

She considered for a moment, growing more somber. “Um…I don’t know if you would’ve liked me very much.”

“What do you mean? Of course I would’ve liked you.” 

“No,” she said, swiping at her face so she pushed a strand of hair away. “I don’t think you would have.”

“Why not?”

“I was…” She paused, picking at her cuticles. “Back then I didn’t have anyone. I was an orphan, you know. My parents were never in the picture, so I was the only one I could count on.  I was really rough around the edges and could be nasty. But I probably would’ve ignored you like I did everyone else. “

“Everyone? You didn’t have anyone? No friends at all?”

Ellie blinked, and her gaze remained fixed on her hands. “Basically, yeah. I mean, there was one girl, but that’s…I don’t want to talk about that right now, actually.” 

“That’s okay,” you said, reaching forward to touch her knee. She flinched at the contact but didn’t brush you away. The image of a young, scared Ellie living somewhere alone made your chest ache. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“What were you like?” she asked, tilting her head and meeting your eyes. 

“Hmmm…” Mirth crept into your tone. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Ellie echoed, her eyes cloudy as she thought. Then a small smirk formed on her face. “Oh god, were you one of those spoiled brats? Were you a mean girl?” 

“God, no,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Not mean.”

“Then what?”

You paused. “I was really shy, I guess. And quiet, too. I didn’t do much but read for a good 10 years of my life. I used to have awful pronunciation because I would spend more time reading than talking to anyone. But I think I would’ve liked you.”

Ellie shook her head.

“Yes,” you said. “Maybe I would’ve been a little scared of you. I probably would’ve never had the courage to talk to you. But I would’ve liked you, I think.”

“Scared of me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? I was a kid.”

“I was mostly going off of how I felt when I actually first met you,” you said, shrugging. 

She gasped theatrically. “You’re scared of me?”

“No!” you said, smacking her knee. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just really intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” She looked at you incredulously. 

“You’re so tough,” you explained, feeling heat grow in your cheeks. “You seem just—I don’t know, just so capable. There’s nothing you’re too afraid to face, nothing you’re too afraid to say.”

“That’s not true,” she said lightly. 

“Well, of course I’m sure there are things that you’re afraid of,” you amended. “But you hide it so well. You just seem so…fearless.”

“Hm,” Ellie said, letting her head rest against the headboard. “I think you would’ve made me a nervous wreck. If we’d met when we were kids, I mean.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. You’re just so untouched.” She winced. “God, no. That sounds gross. I just mean…I dunno. I wouldn’t have known how to act around you. You haven’t had to harden up like everyone else I know.”

“Are you saying I should develop trust issues or something?” you asked, your voice a teasing lilt.

“You know,” she said, nodding seriously, “That is part of it. It was really off-putting how quickly you trusted me. But I guess that’s just a product of where you grew up.” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wonder how I would’ve turned out if I’d grown up like you.”

“Can I be honest?” Ellie asked. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think you’d still be here if you were me,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “No offense. You just have zero survival skills. I swear that shit has to be genetic. I’ve never met someone more averse to violence in my life.”

You sighed, pressed your hands deep into Ellie’s comforter as a thought hit you. “I think if you’d been born in my position, you would’ve been greater than anything either of us could ever dream of. Much greater than me.”

“Definitely not,” said Ellie. “There’s no fucking way I’m studying the way you apparently do. I honestly think I’d take being an orphan over the study schedule I saw in your bag.” 

She was of course referencing the time table you’d roughly sketched up the morning before you’d ended up in Jackson. It was blocked to the minute, citing the study content and the location of said study session. She’d been beyond horrified to see it. 

You laughed, nudging her socked food with yours. 

“Is there music? In Terranova?”

“Oh,” you said, startled at the abrupt change of subject. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I listened to it all the time.” 

“I used to have a Walkman,” she said, leaning back as she reminisced. She was lying flat on her back now. “It ended up breaking a while ago, but it was like my child.” 

“Have you ever seen a movie before?” you asked, sitting up rigid straight as the thought occurred to you.

“Duh,” she said, giving you a weird look. “Do you think I live under a rock?”

“How many?”

“Hm.” Ellie began counting, ending on her second hand. “I think 6?”

“You’ve seen a total of 6 movies in your life?” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to see more?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess. It’s just tough to find CDs that are still functional after so long.”

“Hold that thought,” you said, holding a finger in her direction as you stood up.

“Hey!” she called as you bolted out the door. “Where are you going?”

You came bounding back to her room in a matter of seconds, your laptop in your hands. 

“What the fuck?” she said. “Isn’t that your homework thing?”

“Yes,” you said, feeling around for an outlet, “But I also have a ridiculous amount of movies downloaded on this. Our dorm wi-fi is shit and I have way too much storage on this thing, so I just download, like, every movie I’ve ever wanted to watch.”

“Your dorm what?”

You waved your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was explain to her how the 802.11 standard allowed wireless connections a few years after the outbreak. “Not important. Here, come look at this.”

Your laptop roared to light with the help of your charging cord. Quickly, you typed your password in and opened your downloads. Ellie hovered over your shoulder, squinting at the screen with confusion. 

“Here,” you said, opening up the album that had everything you had seen for your entire university career and passing the laptop to Ellie. “Use the touchpad—there, yeah—to navigate. Press to click. These are all movie files that I’ve seen. We can watch them on my laptop. Some of them were filmed in Terranova, too, so they’re post-apocalypse.”

She perused the selection you had for quite some time, the glow of the screen lighting up her face against the dim room. “Okay. This one.”

And thus began a tradition. Each night after you’d finished showering and Joel retired to his room, Ellie would come knock on your door and ask if you wanted to come over. You’d talk for a while, then open your laptop and pick something out to watch. Ellie was never high after the first time, which was unsurprising considering that there definitely wasn’t a way to get any in Jackson. Where she found any the first time was still a mystery to you. 

~

A week or so after your first patrol with Ellie, Joel had taken it upon himself to teach you how to shoot. You were surprisingly not as bad as you’d expected, but the rebound was tough to get used to, and you were still hung up over the whole “killing living things” part. 

Your first patrol—first real one—came quickly, and before you knew it, Ellie was handing you the same gun you’d dropped the first time with a suspicious look. 

“Don’t kill one of us with that thing,” she warned. “Be smart, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss,” you said to her, mock saluting as best you could while you were leading Japan to the mounting block.

She rolled her eyes. “Please act normal or I’ll make you carry around that glorified pocket knife instead again.” 

The patrol began as usual, Ellie leading you down the same path you went last time. It was a beautiful day out, with the early spring sun filtering through the evergreen trees that populated the woods and birdsong filling the air. 

Though conversations with Ellie were getting easier (given that it actually seemed like she wanted to talk to you now), you were still starstruck. Nothing that you did and nothing that you thought could get you to stop seeing her the way you did. You were routinely distracted by everything about her. It was a wonder that you could even function as a normal person around her, much less handle a weapon and a horse. 

You two had nearly made the full rotation when your surroundings exploded in action. 

“Fuck,” Ellie hissed as someone behind you two fired a shot that narrowly missed Shimmer. 

You whipped around, gun in hand, to see two men—two normal men who weren’t infected. One held a bow, the other a gun. 

The one who had fired the first shot never even stood a chance. He was down on the ground seconds after you’d seen him, Ellie’s aim taking him out before you could even ready your gun. 

The second man notched an arrow and managed to draw it back and release into the air right as Ellie’s bullet struck him, sending him falling back. 

“I don’t think there’s any more,” said Ellie, slightly breathless as she scanned the forest. “Sometimes outsiders pull this shit—try to kill us for our supplies. I’ve never seen them this close to the wall, though. I’ll have to tell Maria and Tommy.”

Normally, you would’ve felt up to making some sort of sarcastic comment about how that was a really unconcerning thing for her to tell you and that you actually felt so much more comfortable going on patrol knowing that there were also just run-of-the-mill people trying to kill you, but a twinge in your lower body distracted you. 

Slowly, nervously, you looked down. Air immediately left your lungs. 

“At least we’re done,” Ellie was saying, wiping her hands off on her thighs and slinging the gun over her shoulder. “What a crazy end for your first actual patrol, huh?”

When you didn’t answer, she turned to you and saw the arrow sticking out of your side, 

“Shit,” said Ellie, jumping off Shimmer and reaching you in seconds. “Shit, shit, shit. Oh god.” 

“Am I going to die?” you asked, staring starstruck at the blood escaping the outline of the arrowhead. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. Were you in shock?

“No,” said Ellie firmly. “Absolutely not. Do you need help getting off?”

Before you could answer, she was already helping you down, carefully avoiding the protruding arrow. 

“Listen,” she said, back to being her unwavering self, “We’re right by the wall. I’m going to help you walk in, and then I’ll grab some supplies, okay? Don’t try to pull the arrow out. You hear me? Don’t.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. She helped you walk the few steps to be carefully concealed by the wall, then grabbed the two horses and darted past you, making a break for Maria and Tommy’s cabin. 

In a haze of confusion, you could see Maria running out, holding a box out to Ellie in exchange for the reins of the horses. Ellie said something that made Maria point towards you. She nodded, then ran back to you.

By the time that she’d reached you, the shock had begun to wear off, replaced by the stinging pain from the object that had impaled you. It was worse than anything you’d ever felt before in your life, and it took all you had not to keel over. 

“Hey,” she said, reaching out to grab your face so you had to look at her. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve done this before, okay? I’m, like, the master. It’s going to be alright.” 

“Done what before?” you managed to grind out. 

Ellie let go of your face to dig through the box Maria had given her, producing a needle, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and what looked like a spool of thin thread. 

Horror slowly trickled through you as you realized what was about to happen. 

“It doesn’t look all that deep,” Ellie was saying as she examined the arrow. “So I don’t think it’s hit anything. It’s just going to be a nasty hole. I’m going to pull it out now, okay?”

You let out a strangled scream as she grasped the arrow’s end and yanked it out without warning.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Ellie repeated. She threw the arrow over her shoulder and knelt so she was hovering over you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you gasped. You were most certainly not. You couldn’t quite get your eyes to focus, and your heart was beating out of your chest. 

“Alright,” she said firmly, grasping your shoulders and pulling you up so you were slumped against the wall. “Sit up straight, alright? Also, this is going to hurt.” 

At first there were just snipping sounds as she cut part of your shirt away—then something cool and wet pressed to your wound. You cried out again as a fresh white hot pain bloomed in your middle. 

“I know, I know.” Ellie’s voice was consoling as she reached up to brush away the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. “Just a few more seconds.” 

“Fuck—off—” you gritted out from your teeth. 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Just this once.” 

She released the alcohol-saturated cotton pad, throwing it aside and fussing with the thread and needle until she was satisfied. 

By the time her fingers were ghosting over your abdomen again, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the puncture wound and the needle she was wielding. 

“Don’t look,” said Ellie. “Pick something else. You don’t need to watch.” 

“I hate needles,” you whispered, choosing the air over her shoulder to be your focal point. 

There was a prodding at the top of your wound, and you hissed. 

“I can’t say I’m a fan myself.” 

Something pierced through your skin, and your midriff exploded in pain. 

The edges of your sight went fuzzy, stars forming in the corners of your vision. Someone that sounded suspiciously like you cried out. Your cheek rammed up against something solid and warm. 

Once the initial sting had faded, you realized that you’d slumped into Ellie, your face buried into her neck. She didn’t make any move to push you off, instead just taking one hand to brush up and down your arm with a feather light touch. 

“You're fine," she said firmly. "Everything's going to be fine."

Your fingers curled around the hem of her shirt as the needle exited through the other end of your wound, pulling another whine from your throat. It was easier to not feel like you were about to pass out when you were crushed into Ellie, clinging onto her and just focusing on the way she felt against you. 

“Hang on, I'm almost there,” she muttered a few stitches later. You’d quieted down, only letting out the occasional gasp as she pulled the thread through. “You're doing so well. Just one more.”

Now that you were more conscious, you had no idea how she was managing to stitch your side while you were nearly on her lap, but she continued to weave her needle through your skin, pulling it taut. 

“And done,” said Ellie. You felt her take another cotton square to swipe against your skin. 

You laid against her for a few more moments, panting as the shock slowly began to fade. She shifted, and for a moment you were sure that she was going to shove you away, but then the hand she’d lifted hesitantly rested on your head, her fingers parting to card through your hair. 

“How did you learn how to do that?” you asked, your voice muffled from where you were pressed against her. 

“Trial and error.” 

Her joke was enough for you to finally let go, sitting back against the wall. Her hand slithered out of your hair, resting back in her lap. 

“Shut up,” you said. “That’s awful.” 

Ellie shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling the bumpiness of the stony wall press into your back. “I have a really low pain tolerance.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Ellie, the side of her mouth quirking. 

“I’ve never been hurt before,” you heard yourself saying. “Like, beyond the occasional splinter or bee sting or accidental scrape or ankle sprain. It’s just not something that happens.” 

“Must be nice.”  

You smiled sadly. “Yeah. It’s not nice being weak, though.” 

Ellie looked away from you then, silent as she packed up the first-aid kit. Then: “I don’t think that’s true.” 

She’d said it lightly, like it was meant to be an offhand comment, a throwaway addition that wouldn’t be remembered by either of you. But the sentiment still struck you, twisting your heart.

You were less capable because your survival had never required anything more. You were weak because you could be. 

Her voice from the night she’d been high floated back to you. You haven't had to harden up like everyone else I know. 

Out here, weakness was a luxury few could afford. 

“Not so untouched anymore, huh?” you said, since you didn’t know how else to respond.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” quipped Ellie. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. I still consider needing to be held to get 4 stitches as being soft. You haven’t changed a bit. No offense.” 

Your cheeks burned bright red. “I—”

“I’m teasing,” she said before you could defend yourself. “Arrow wounds suck. I get it.” 

“Right.” You turned away, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the ground beside you. With feeling more yourself came the inevitable shame at what you’d just done. What had you been thinking, touching her like that? Grabbing onto her like that?

This was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. 

“Don’t make that face,” said Ellie. “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It really is fine.” 

It was not fine. It would never be fine. You wanted the thugs to come back to life and finish you off, and then have the earth open up and swallow you for good measure. 

Ellie probably thought of you as an overgrown child. You doubted that there was ever a point where she could see you as anything equal. If she ever knew how often she appeared in your imagination, she’d probably be disgusted.

She called you pretty a contrarian voice in your head reminded you. Don't you remember?

But maybe she hadn’t meant it. She hadn’t said it explicitly: “Y/N, I think you’re pretty.” She just hadn’t argued when you’d pointed it out. Maybe because she was being nice, or maybe because she was actually being sarcastic. 

“You were really brave, okay?” said Ellie. “Your first armed confrontation and you did well.”

“I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“It could have gone worse,” said Ellie. “You could’ve accidentally shot me. Or died. And neither of those things happened, so that’s successful in my book.” 

“That’s very glass half-full of you.”

“That’s me. Ever the optimist.” 

You snorted.

~

That night, Ellie knocked on your door and asked you if you were up for another movie. You found yourself sitting on her comforter, plugging in your computer and booting it up minutes later.

Physically speaking, it had always been a little awkward to fit two people on her twin bed if they weren’t right next to each other, given that your laptop screen was a very unimpressive size. When you’d first started watching with her, Ellie would rest against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of you while you would sit with your legs crossed, positioned sideways so you weren’t accidentally pushing her legs off. 

But after the day you had had, your back was sore and your whole body ached. Sitting on something soft without any back support as you angled yourself to look at the screen was quickly proving unsustainable. 

“Pause,” said Ellie about ten minutes in. You’d been watching an older sci-fi flick—Ellie’s choice. 

You complied, leaning forward and pressing the spacebar. “What’s up?”

“Are you even comfortable sitting like that?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Liar,” accused Ellie, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t think I don’t see you ‘discreetly’ cracking your back every 2 minutes. It’s ruining the movie.” 

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head and smiling in exasperation. “It’s from all the years I spent hunched over a textbook.” 

“You know, you can sit up here,” she said, patting the space beside her. “I don’t bite.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” you said, though by the time Ellie let out a laugh you were already unfolding your legs and moving so you were next to her. 

She leaned forward, grabbing the bottom half of the laptop and lifting it. “Hey, do you want a blanket?”

“Sure.” 

Ellie’s other hand grabbed the edge of her comforter and held it up. 

Hesitantly, you slid your legs under and watched as Ellie did the same, awkwardly holding the laptop in the air before you were both settled enough to rest it on your covered right thigh and her left.  “Better?”

When you nodded, she reached her tattooed arm out and pressed play. The audio picked back up, but you couldn’t for the life of you focus on the movie.

When Ellie had asked if you’d wanted a blanket, you were expecting her to toss the throw blanket that would really only fit one person at you, not invite you to get under the blankets with her. That was significantly more intimate.

You two were sitting close enough that your sides were touching, from shoulder to thigh. You could feel her chest lift with each breath, feel the heat coming off of her.

After a while, Ellie properly laid down, taking the laptop and hoisting it up so it rested on her lower abdomen as she settled into her pillow.

You gulped, your eyes flickering between her face and the screen. Ellie’s gaze was fixed intently on the screen, her eyes half lidded with exhaustion.

You could be tired too. You weren’t, of course—your heart was racing a thousand miles an hour. But she didn’t know that. It was normal to lay down next to her, right? You’d done that with Irena more times than you could count, and it was never weird. Yeah, you could do that. 

Also, if you were totally horizontal, you would stop getting distracted by the sliver of her skin that her crooked shirt showed of her chest. 

In a moment of blind courage, you scooted down so your head was lying right next to Ellie’s. She didn’t seem to react, just extending her hand from under the covers to steady the laptop as it wobbled from the movement. 

Her sheets smelled like the soap that you used to wash your hair—a cottony freshness that had the slightest hint of lavender. 

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” asked Ellie after a while, her voice nothing more than a whisper. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you responded, equally quiet. Then, because you hadn’t made enough rash decisions for the night, you angled your head so it rested in the space right above her shoulder. 

She inhaled sharply but didn’t move. On her next exhale a piece of her auburn hair tickled your forehead. 

“How’re your stitches?” she asked suddenly, like she'd just remembered.

“They’re okay. I think. As stitches go.”

“After this is over, I’ll check on them,” she said. “Don’t let me forget, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly feeling shy. It was one thing for her to cut off your shirt and see your skin when she was trying to save your life while you were mentally gone. It was another thing altogether to pull up your shirt without adrenaline coursing through you.

You didn’t pay any attention to the rest of the movie, instead hyperfocused on the rhythm of Ellie’s breathing and the fact that if you moved just a little your chin would be on her shoulder. 

Her mention of the stitches wasn’t helping at all, either. Now all you could think about was the embarrassing way you’d basically tried to crawl under her skin, burying your face into her and clutching at her clothes like you were a child.

A part of you was disappointed that you hadn’t been more lucid at the time. If you had, you would’ve been able to clearly remember the softness of her skin against yours. You would’ve been able to enjoy it for what it was—the only time you’d be able to touch her like that.

Because you couldn’t go around just grabbing onto her shirt and getting into her lap. That was a one-off, the only time that the rules were waived. You couldn’t touch her like that now, now that you didn’t have any excuse. It wasn’t allowed.

But sometimes you wanted to so badly that it hurt. 

The movie ended abruptly, wrenching you out of your thoughts. 

“Hey,” whispered Ellie. “Sit up so I can see.”

Reluctantly, you pressed yourself up from your back and began rolling up the hem of your shirt. Ellie twisted to face backwards, her thin top riding up and showing part of her back as she reached for the lamp.

Once golden light returned to the room, Ellie turned back and bumped your hands away. She bent over, tilting her head so that she was looking at the stitches straight on.

They didn’t look bad, you had to admit. Though you wouldn’t consider the actual experience of getting the stitches a 5-star experience, Ellie had clearly known what she was doing. The surrounding flesh didn’t look angry or irritated, and she’d pulled the stitches just tight enough without it puckering. 

She prodded at the side, then gave a satisfied nod. “Looks good. What did I tell you? I’m really good at this sort of stuff.”

“I think you would’ve made a really good doctor,” you said once she’d sat up straight again. “Under different circumstances.”

“Is this you telling me that you don’t think I’m a good doctor now?” she teased. 

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” you offered.

Ellie laughed then, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, yeah. You lived. You'll get over it.” 

“Did you go to school?” you found yourself asking, hung up on the thought of Ellie as a potential medical student. If she’d been in one of your intro biology classes, you never would’ve been able to pay attention. That was a fantasy you could shelve away for later. 

“Sort of,” said Ellie, looking down at her arms. “I went to a military prep school run by FEDRA. I didn’t graduate though—obviously. I was long gone by then.” 

“Right,” you said, remembering that she’d mentioned that she’d been 14 when she’d left Boston. “And what was it like?” 

She paused, opening her mouth before closing it. “It was—unkind. Joel's told me about schools before the outbreak. It was nothing like that. There were some normal classes, but most of it was meant to prepare us to be soldiers.” 

“Is that where you learned how to do sutures?” 

“Among other things.”

Terranova had no military academies, given that there was hardly any military presence. The founder of Terranova had bodyguards and there was a police force that controlled the borders, but it was nothing like Ellie described. With invisible borders and a social order that valued peace and tranquility over all else, there was no real danger posed to any of the citizens. 

But from what you had learned from movies and books and comments from older people, you had gathered a very dim picture of what a military academy looked like—harsh, strict, and cruel. 

“I’m sorry you had to grow up like that,” you said. 

“It’s okay.”

“Is there anything you would want to study? If you could?” 

Ellie’s eyes closed. “Yeah. There are a couple things.” 

She did not elaborate. 

~

It didn’t take long for you two to settle back into your routine of meeting in her room each evening and watching one of your downloaded movies. Following the night after you’d gotten your stitches, you wouldn’t even have to ask—Ellie would pull up her comforter and let you slide in next to her without giving you a second glance.

You’d also gotten over the fear of touching her. Now, when you flopped back so your head was on her pillow, you’d adjust until you were nestled into the crook of her neck. She never once reacted to it, remaining perfectly still unless she was adjusting the laptop or messing with the sound. 

Because it was normal, of course. You and Irena would rest your head on each other’s shoulders sometimes. That was something that friends did. 

One night a week or so into April, you and Ellie made a harrowing discovery: there was only one movie left in your collection that you two hadn’t seen together. 

“Damn,” said Ellie, furrowing her brow. “And there’s no way to get more on here?”

“I’m afraid not,” you said, frowning. “To download more or stream one, I’d need either an Ethernet cable or a wi-fi connection. Neither of which function out here anymore without cell towers and maintained cables.” 

“Right,” said Ellie, though her face told you that she didn’t understand a word that had come out of your mouth. “So—this is it?”

“Yeah.” Your finger hovered over the play button. “Savor it, I guess.” 

When you settled back and into her side, the heavy weight of dread settled into your stomach. Now that you’d finished showing her your entire collection, it’s not like she’d have a reason to invite you over every night. And there was especially no reason for you two to lie so closely together unless you were both trying to watch something on a small screen.

Once again, your excuse to touch her was gone.

You pressed closer to her as your mind raced. There was no way that Ellie didn’t see what you were doing as platonic, right? Was it possible that she was creeped out by how touchy you were but just tolerated it to be nice? 

Maybe. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen. Ellie didn’t see you like…like that. She spoke to you like you were an obligation, a burden. Because you always had been. You’d been a responsibility thrust on her by a father figure who felt like he was indebted to you from that stupid bag of coffee you were lucky enough to bring. 

Oh, god. Had Joel told her to befriend you? Had he asked for Ellie to pretend like she enjoyed spending time with you and to put up with your privileged, soft-hearted nonsense? 

The knowledge that you were spiraling wasn’t enough to stop you. You did the best that you could—tried to remind yourself that it’d been a while since she’d looked disgusted with you, recall that she was outspoken enough to tell you to fuck off if you did something she didn’t like—but it was to no avail.

Ellie reached forward and hit pause on the movie, thrusting you both into silence. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked after a moment. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“I can feel your heart going, like, crazy fast.” 

You froze. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I was just thinking.” 

Ellie pushed the laptop off of her, sitting up to give you an odd look. “About a near death experience or something? You running a marathon up there? That shit’s not normal.” 

You laughed nervously. “It’s really nothing. Just an, uh, suspenseful movie.” 

Which was actually really stupid of you to say, because you were watching some obscure Tarkovsky film that did nothing but pan over burning buildings and pensive men. For the past 5 minutes, there had been nothing on screen but the back of a car driving through traffic with minimal sound. Also, it was in Russian, and the English subtitles made zero sense.

There was a reason why this was the last movie you chose.

“This is the most boring fucking movie I’ve ever watched in my life, so you’re a dirty fucking liar,” said Ellie. Then her face pinched in worry. “Wait. Have you taken a look at your stitches lately?” 

Before you could answer, she was grabbing a flashlight off her nightstand and yanking the comforter off you. She was pulling your shirt up when you finally found your voice.

“Wait!” you said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and yanking it back in place. “It’s not—I don’t have an infection, okay? There’s nothing wrong with me. I really was just thinking, okay?”

“About what?” She reached back to place her flashlight back on the stand without taking her eyes off you. 

“It’s nothing important.”

“If you say so.” 

She picked the laptop up and placed it back on her thighs, lying back down. You followed suit, but this time you didn’t touch her, opting to keep as much distance as you could so she wouldn’t hear the stuttering of your heart. 

Not even 5 minutes had passed before Ellie sat up to pause the video again.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Why?” 

“You’re acting weird,” she accused, but there wasn’t much conviction behind her voice. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that you’re acting weird,” she repeated, shutting your laptop off and moving it to the bottom of her bed, despite the protests that left your lips. 

“I don’t understand,” you said. “I’m just watching the movie. I’m not doing anything. “

“You’re not watching the movie,” she said. “You weren’t even looking at the screen. What’s got you so bothered? Did I do something?” 

“Of course not.” You pulled your legs under you so your legs were crossed and your back was against the wall. “You don’t need to worry. It’s honestly fine. I’m sorry if I’ve done something to imply otherwise.” 

Ellie rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. “You stress me out. You can just tell me, you know? No need to be so cagey. I promise I’ve heard worse.” 

“Don’t be so quick to say that.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me,” she said. “I’m never going to know peace again with a hook like that.” 

You were about to open your mouth to tell her that it was stupid and that it didn’t matter, but something stopped you. 

That was the coward’s way out. That’s what you’d always done—hid your feelings and concealed your emotions. That’s how you’d been raised. That’s how you thought everyone was. But now that you’d spent 2 months in Jackson, you’d realized that some people actually just said what they thought. And that, in the grand scheme of things, it was a better system than the Terranovian culture of superficiality.  

Just because the you 2 months ago would have shook her head and changed the subject didn’t mean the you now had to. 

Maybe this you could be different. Maybe, for once, this you could be brave. 

“I really—” You stopped yourself. Saying I really like you didn’t even begin to encompass what you felt for the girl sitting across from you. To distill the sheer magnitude of your feelings down to four words felt criminal. The swell in your chest that never went away whenever you were near her could never and would never be adequately represented in the puny offerings of the Latin alphabet and the English language, and if you were going to do this, you were going to do it right. 

You dared to look up at her for a moment. She was completely still, her green eyes reflecting the dim moonlight from outside. Once you met her gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull it away.

“I’m really sorry that I’m putting you in an uncomfortable position for saying this,” you began (because old habits ran deep, and you would rather die than be impolite), “And I totally understand if you don’t want to talk to me after this. And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.”

“As much as I’m sure that this is some sort of cultural cornerstone for you, please spare me the 6 foot long disclaimer script,” Ellie drawled.

“Right.” You gulped. “Anyway. As I was saying.”

“Any day now.” 

At that moment, she had never looked more perfect. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark lighting, so the weak moonlight that spilled in from the window above her created a halo around her head. 

“It’s you.” Your voice came out tiny. “You’re all that I can think about, and I don’t know what to do.”

There. It was off your chest.

For a moment, it was as if you’d suspended time, stopping Earth on its axis as you both held your breaths. There was nothing but silence and the occasional wooden creak of the old house’s foundation in the wind. 

Ellie’s face betrayed nothing, save for something in her eyes and the disappearance of the smirk that had been on her lips moments before. 

Then she spoke, her response whispered.

“Come here, then.” 

final a/n: NOW HOLD ON before you show up outside my dorm with pitchforks and torches 🗣️🗣️🗣️ i'm so sorry but this was a necessary evil as this was going to a massive scene without the chapter break. also a disproportionately massive chapter compared to the other ones coming out. i write very quickly and should get the following part out in a timeframe similar to the first 3 parts. thank u for reading ! tell me what you think abt this chapter while you wait x

[princessbrunette]

boarding school by ldr is sooo rafe 💗

kook!reader who just moved back to the obx after her parents moved bc of work, not remembering the Camerons too well but all of her friends are like “rafe this, rafe that..” so ofc she has to see what the hypes all about !!

but!!! getting sososoo disappointed when she’s at a party and he’s all pissy and rude to everyone ! rafe is all heart eyes for her, but she keeps shrugging him off 🙈🫶🏽

cute! 🌸

just watching him in action, seeing the way he interacts with others was enough for you. you’d come to this party to sit back and observe, figure out what all the hype was about — but it seemed all the buzz had been generated over just another stuck up Kook. it was guys like him that gave you all a bad name.

he was rude, not just to guys but to girls too— shrugging them off and sipping his drink when they tried to make a move. it was odd, really. he was gorgeous, you had to admit. but his personality was less than favourable, and your curiosity quickly faded, deciding to just enjoy your night with your friends instead.

you felt his presence next to you before you saw him, saw the colour of his shirt in your peripheral vision looming over you as you pour yourself another drink at the drinks table, eyes lasered in on the red solo cup in your hand making sure not to spill any liquor from the bottle. you mentally prepare yourself to remain composed and dignified, waiting for him to tell you to get the hell out of his way like he did the last person who dared stand where he wanted to stand.

“hi.” he calls over the music instead. you think you must have misheard him, so you ignore it all together. but he leans forward and speaks again. “i feel like i know you from somewhere.”

you turn and look up at him, heart thumping a little and he’s smiling. years are taken off his face when he grins, maybe that’s why he doesn’t do it much— less manly and more boyish. it’s almost sweet, and you would have probably fell for it if you hadn’t been watching him earlier.

“me?” you ask, all wide eyed and it makes him chuckle, nodding. god, he really had an intense stare— like seriously, his eyes haven’t moved from your face since the beginning of this interaction.

“yeah. you.” he surveys you for a moment. “what are you drinking?”

you ignore his question and raise an eyebrow, observing him right back. “you said you know me from somewhere?”

he shifts on his feet, eager and almost skittish like he wants to reach out and touch you or something. rafe briefly stuffs his hands in his pockets instead, so different from the guy you’d been watching all night to the point where you were starting to wonder if he had a twin.

“well yeah. ‘remember faces, y’know?” his lightly brings his finger to his temple in gesture. “uh i— aha,” he cuts himself off with a chuckle, leaning in a little. “i don’t forget the pretty ones.”

you panic a little, because well — it’s rafe cameron, coming onto you, and quite frankly he scares you. so you stare up at him a little dumbly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth before clasping your cup in both hands nervously.

“i dont — i uh— have to go back to my friends now.” you’re meek and it pains you, but you scurry off anyway, barely glancing back. you’d think that would have totally weirded him out, and hoped maybe it was enough to get him to leave you alone — but you couldn’t be more wrong, if anything he was encouraged.

you were constantly reminded of his poor treatment towards others because he stayed near you the whole night, mouthing off about pogues or telling randoms to ‘get the fuck out of his way’ all whilst following you around like a dumb, lovesick puppy. you ignored him at best, brushed him off when he gently took your arm and offered to join a game of suck and blow with you, or even beer pong. each time you rejected him, the more determined he was.

a while later, he gently grabs your arm again and you sigh loudly — sick of his chasing.

“hey i— i just wanna get to know you, a’ight? i’m not a bad guy.” his eyes are a little wide, watery from drinks and whatever else. it rings alarm bells in your head but you stare up at him regardless. maybe it was the drink that had you moving slower.

“you… you are a bad guy! you’re not nice!” it comes out childishly and you hate that for you, even pouting in frustration which makes the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. he thought you were the cutest thing ever, and he had to have you.

“so you’re tellin’ me… all i gotta do is start treating these nobodies nice and you’ll give me a chance?” he raises his eyebrows, ducking his head a little hopefully. you wanna slap him, tell him no and that you see through his little act. but… there’s something charming about him. something that’s drawing you in. what was it about rafe cameron that had everyone up in arms?

“its… definitely a start.” you cross your arms over yourself, sulking. he huffs out a relieved smile, running his fingers over his chin as he stares off, nodding.

“yeah i… i can do that.” he agrees and you stare at him expectedly, putting your wall back up.

“okay… are we done now? can i enjoy my night?” you sass, and he nods, holding his arm out to gesture to the doorway to the room everyone else was in.

“after you.” he drawls, watching you pass him. his eyes don’t leave the back of you, deadset on winning you over— and rafe always gets what he wants.