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discokicks · 1 year

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BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.

PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.

word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)

chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)

author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags

PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)

Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.

While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.

She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.

“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.

You blink at her. “Hi.”

She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”

Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.

Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”

The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“It’s nothing—”

“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”

Well, okay. “Then why—”

Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”

You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.

“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”

“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”

As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.

Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”

Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.

“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”

“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”

“Mastered it?”

You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”

Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”

“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.

And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”

A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.

You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.

Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”

“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”

She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.

“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”

You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”

Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”

You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. “You know my college coaching stats?”

Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”

A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.

Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”

Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”

That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.

(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)

A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”

“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”

Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.

An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.

Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.

“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”

“But?” Rebecca questions.

The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”

It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”

Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”

You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”

Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.

“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.

When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.

But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.

“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”

You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”

“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.

It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”

It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”

The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.

You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.

She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.

You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.

“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”

This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”

The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.

“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”

Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”

A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”

Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”

“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”

The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.

She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.

So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”

There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.

“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”

Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.

“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”

Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”

Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”

The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”

“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.

“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”

“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”

“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”

“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”

“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”

The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”

Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”

Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.

Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”

“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”

“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”

Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”

“ROY FUCKING KENT!”

The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.

But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.

Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.

Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.

Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.

“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”

Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”

But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.

“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”

All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.

“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”

Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”

Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.

(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)

He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”

That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”

That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.

Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.

Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.

So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.

“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”

Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”

Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”

He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”

“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”

Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.

He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.

“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”

(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)

Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”

His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”

Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”

“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”

And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.

This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.

And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.

With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.

And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”

Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”

As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.

Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”

Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.

However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”

“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”

You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”

Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”

You push harder on the door.

Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”

While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…

The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”

“I just want to talk,” he replies.

You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”

It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.

“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”

You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.

Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.

The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.

He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.

(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)

The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.

However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.

Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.

So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.

And wait.

But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.

Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”

Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”

Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”

When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.

A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”

You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”

“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”

You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”

“And how long did you coach?”

He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”

That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”

Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”

“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”

Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”

“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”

As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.

So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.

Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”

The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.

A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”

“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.

You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.

But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.

(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)

You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”

Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.

“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”

This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.

“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”

Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”

You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.

However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.

That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”

For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.

But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.

He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."

You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.

But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.

“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”

Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”

You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”

His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.

“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”

He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.

You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”

If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”

“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”

Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”

Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”

“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.

That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”

Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.

“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”

The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.

You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.

But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.

And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.

You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.

You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”

Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”

“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”

Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.

You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”

That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.

Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”

Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”

He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”

You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.

This fucking week, man.

You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.

You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.

You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.

You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.

#roy kent #ted lasso #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent x you #ted lasso fanfiction #aatwe #the one who can't walk up stairs #aces

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ineffectualdemon · 1 year

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I genuinely do not know what I will do if Tumblr takes away curated dashboards with reverse chronological order

I cannot use a social media that has a jumbled feed with stuff I didn't choose to watch in a chronological order

It makes no sense to me, is confusing, and makes me not want to use the site

But if I don't have Tumblr I lose my only community

I am disabled to the point that I cannot leave my house unassisted. I don't have the physical means to go anywhere without help. My only other form of socialising outside of my house is a monthly meet up with a local queer group that I can't even always manage to attend

Most of my socialising and sense of community come from fandom spaces on Tumblr. And that may seem sad and pathetic to some of you but it has been a life-line for the last 7 years

I would have felt a lot more isolated and alone without Tumblr

And if Tumblr makes the drastic changes it's talking about with the dash it will make this website non-functional to me

I don't use Facebook or twitter or Instagram for this reason

I use tiktok sporadically but I don't have a feeling of community there at all and it's not good for my mental health

Reddit is also a no go on the current climate

The only option I can see a return of forums but I don't know how easy it will be to find each other on the current web

This is really worrying me because I don't want to feel alone and cut off from humanity any more than I already do

I really hope @staff @wip reconsider the changes. Some of them are good but not the changes to the dash

A tutorial on how to use the site on sign up and better search function and make the tags page better and tags better to use in general would do what they want without breaking functionality

#tumblr #tunglr.hell #blue hellsite #mental health #community #@staff #disabled #disability

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barachiki · 2 months

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I had a panic attack today about a burrito.

It started yesterday when my wife suggested we grab some on the way home. We went to a new place so we didn’t have to cross the highway. I order, then my wife orders half the toppings on hers before checking for cilantro, which she has an allergy. (We usually go to a cilantro free place so it was just a mistake). And of course there is some in the rice, and she panicked because the staff member looks like he was about to panic as well, so I say how about I just have that one for lunch tomorrow and she can start over.

Fine. Good. Three burritos are purchased, one goes in the fridge. Only I was in meetings all day and didn’t get a lunch, so I mention casually that I have to have this extra burrito for dinner tonight because it won’t be good for lunch after another day.

Then it started. This wave of pressure, guilt and fear washes over me. I felt like I was going to die. This feeling of impending doom because I had my dinner planned and my wife would have to fend for herself.

Now, rational me knows that my wife is a grown-ass woman who can cook her own fucking dinner. But panic attack me thought of this as a wholly selfish thing to do. So I get up and go to make her something. Not for her sake at this point, but to make the anxiety I’m feeling go away. I get a few ingredients together, but the pan I wanted to use was in the dishwasher. I begin to cry at this point. I lay on the sofa shaking.

This is when my wife comes in from outside, unaware of the situation. I’m in tears, the kitchen is a disaster and I am babbling through the snot and crying about a stupid burrito.

She calmed me down a bit by talking to me, brings me my anxiety meds and we sit together til I am a bit more relaxed. I take some breaths and am eventually a bit better. She makes herself some food and I get the burrito. It wasn’t very good, and honestly, I had to throw half of it away because it wasn’t sitting well in me.

The thing here is, any of a number of things could have caused that panic attack. I got two and a half hours sleep last night. I am on some new meds that are affecting my hormones. I didn’t eat all day. I’m still recovering from being extremely ill. All of the above. But that just made everything feel so much worse because I felt so broken.

It was never about the burrito.

Writing this out now gives me an interesting perspective at it. Since now I am calm, I have my pyjamas on, I am in bed early, and I will put on a show or something to relax. But remembering those few minutes when I was feeling genuinely irrationally obsessed with a burrito is a reminder that I am struggling, and sometimes these struggles can come to a head and make me do (dare I say) crazy things.

I am bipolar, I have generalized anxiety disorder. And I have been medicated for my entire adult life. My doctor is new to managing my mental health meds because of some crap I don’t want to talk about. He wants me to take away some of the meds I am on, but increase the dose on the ones that work. I have been bumping into side effects and walls where I can’t even take cough syrup let alone prescribed meds without jumping head first with a drug interaction. So let’s clean up my meds.

It is hard to do. And my unbalanced self is poking through at my weak moments. I had a bunch of weak moments today and it culminated in this bit of mania and chunk of anxiety that makes me feel insane.

But here I am, an hour later, in my pyjamas and typing this into tumblr, seeing clearly that the burrito doesn’t matter.

I wish I could see this clearly all the time.

I think I will make an appointment with my shrink soon.

#tw mental health #just blabber

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jenchann · 1 year

Text

Paint 'em Red

Pairing: afab dom! Reader x sub! Renjun

Genre: Office AU, Office banging, SMUT SMUT SMUT.

Warnings: Usage of Noona, Mommy, Renjun is unstable and needy, Slapping, Slapping on Dick, Begging, Name calling, Office banging, Jealousy, Degradation, Reader being mean, Pain kink, Use of unnamed/unidentified rituals, Fwb situation, Blood.

Lemme know if I missed anything guys

It would help me so much if you could reblog guys💞Tumblr works based on reblogs so do reblog🙏

"It's not like you could please me well anyways"

You felt rage first. Then felt insulted, a genuine insult that went to your heart . Finally came the urge to clutch his throat and choke it, to make him kneel and buckle in submission was raging inside you. You didn’t respond, not with the company’s 15th Anniversary celebration starting in 10 minutes you couldn’t argue back, unlike Renjun who thought it was a good time to annoy you now. You remained unresponsive and cold, never acknowledged him nor show any reaction to your fellow employee. Taking the coffee tray filled with coffee cups you moved away consciously, slowly away from him, already killing him enough in your mind while you joined your other fellow employees outside the break cabin room. It was a brief celebration before the actual big events that would happen on the grounds.

Renjun and you had been fuck buddies for some time now and few days back he seemed on the edge and started to nitpick things for no reason. You both weren’t considerably close before this so you couldn’t really make him slip the stuff after some expressions of concern. So you gave him space and time, you already attended a company meeting abroad in the mean time which lasted around ten days and baam! He had to say that today when facing each other after a whole week. The job was very demanding but you both could agree on taking each other’s needs and opinions in consideration cause you worked in the same company- you knew how things were and how it could get in your life. So you were giving him space and conversed today causally to lighten the mood today. But he seemed to have a sharp tongue and a bad mood. You almost sarcastically wanted to say "Someone's on their periods" just to shut him up.

"Yes, yes, now! The time has come to announce the outstanding employee of the year for our department" Yuta announced, gathering the attention of the employees.

"Anyone have any guesses??" An employee curiously questioned.

"Come on guys, it's very obviously from our Team"

"Your Team? It's from our Team and more like me obviously" another guy chided.

“Guys guys, everyone did a spectacular job this year and I am so proud each and everyone of you. Unfortunately I cannot give this to everyone so only one staff is eligible to receive this. It was one tough decision! There were a lot of contenders for the award!” Yuta raised his voice appeasing all his staffs. A collective sigh emitted from different employees at that.

"Now, a huge applause for the new Ace of our department. It's Y/N, Congratulations Ms.YL/N!!"

Renjun scoffed lowly, eyes rolling as he sluggishly removed his hands from his pockets to applaud you for the award, along with the employees. The cheers were quite loud that he even tilted his head away from his friend who deliberately clapped loudly near his ear. You received the award from Yuta, your Manager a.k.a The Department Head and briefly expressed your thankful feelings clutching your achievement with pride. You did work day and night for this after all, in no sleep and even in sickness.

The fun games commenced and you had to say, the arrangements weren’t that bad this time, fun but not boring and not too competitive. Time passed and you could feel someone hanging around your vicinity all along the celebrations like a shadow but you brushed it off, at first. But a creepy feeling crept up making you paranoid, like someone was watching you.

“Y/N” Jaehyun called, snapping you to reality. You both resumed to focus on the game of dumb charades. They did seem to give away gift coupons so you were not going to lose on some free high quality self care.

The icky feeling crept up your skin and you couldn’t take it anymore after an hour and turned around to stare long and hard from the direction you felt the weird energy, y’know just in case. Even after many times of trying to locate anything, you found no answers so you resumed to playing the fun activities as you participated in few of the games. You finally brushed off the feeling as fatigue from the travel, making you unease for no reason. It’s broad daylight and you were surrounded by people, you are safe.

“I’m pretty sure our department is gonna win the best department of the current year” Yuta’s eyes sparkled as he talked when all the department celebrations ended. Travel never seemed to affect him, no- nada. Only you were tired and jetlagged. He did love his work very much, sometimes you wished you loved it as much as him. Maybe after a promotion you could actually enjoy it.

“Yess, yes, you have said this a thousand times before” you borderline complained to Yuta. But that never stopped him at all. There was no way to stop him when he got all excited like that. Did I say he loved his work and loved loved Money? Loved money so much he actually got a good lump of it, being the Head of the department and all. That’s a deadly combo but you were sure hardwork would take you places. Even just being around people who got that luck.

“NO, don’t you know what this means?? We will be getting a bonus!! A Bonus!”

“Of course, money’s got you all giddy. I will rest in the Dance room, don’t bother about me even if we win the award alright?”

“Without the ace of the year? It’ll be no fun”

You rolled your eyes hard at him at that.

“Better not lock that door , I might come to drag you away to celebrate our victory when we win”

“I’d like to see you try” you gave a mock salute to your superior before you left the area. You nonchalantly moped along the path to the room and dropped your belongings the second your set foot in the room. You switched the lights off and lied down on the plush-y soft sofa comfortably. And it hit you, you didn’t lock the door. You did not want to get dragged along to the most boring part of the celebrations by Yuta.

Knock, Knock.

Speak of the devil you mused.

You heard two raps against the door. You skeptically let out “Yuta?” to be met with no response. You could hear them clutching the door handle a click of the door handle, you scrawned behind the sofa and clutched a drumstick from the drumming set near you.

There was no reason to be scared, you were still in the office in broad daylight yet the icky feeling you had few minutes before managed to creep in again.

“Noona?”

You pondered over the voice and wearily asked “Renjun?”

The handle clicked open, door opening ajar revealing Renjun himself. He did look cute and handsome in the suit today, that’s what you been thinking until he had to talk that pretty in the morning.

"What do you want?"

He looked apologetic at your tone but you were not going to get soft on him, he does not get to get off this that easily.

"I-im Sorry, just…let me in”

You moved aside, letting him in and peered out to check if no one saw. Clicking the door locked, you looked at Renjun unimpressed, a lot of people saw you come in to this room and he dares to follow you now?

“What?”

“Eh, About the thing in the morning….”

“It was a very pleasant greeting by the way!”

He didn’t reply and instead hung his head low.

“I don’t think there is any reason for us to meet or converse anything other than about work Mr.Huang” you were not going to let this slip and so you wanted to give the ending to what he started.

"What?! No!” he said in bewilderment.

“Pray tell what do we have to talk about anymore?”

“About today morning…” bunny teeth digged into his lower lips.

“What made you think you could say that to me?”

“I’m sorry Noona! I wasn’t thinking straight. I know I shouldn’t have said that, especially after a long week. You were gone…”

"Are you joking?"

At that he came forward and hugged you, so tight that you could not breath after few seconds.

“Can’t. Breathe.”

“Oh!” he released you immediately, looked at your face to see if you were alright and then hugged again now buying his face in your neck.

“I missed you so much” his muffled low voice sent shivers on your spine and you tightened your thighs unconsciously. You weren’t sure if he knew it affected you, but he took another deep inhale as if he was calming himself, hands draped over your back comfortably.

It actually felt cute but then…

“Are you fucking serious right now??!!” you pushed him away at his audacity.

He had his puppy eyes on, bottom lip tucked between his teeth he looked at your expectantly. That look might’ve worked before but not today.

So he came forward and clutched your hands to grab him through his pant as he shakily exhaled, visibly shaking in your hold. You looked up at him and snatched your hands away from his clutches, away from his semi-solid dick.

“Please”

"And...why are you saying this to me? I thought I didn’t please you well, as said by yourself! If I didn’t please you why are you missing me?”

His face fell and eyes watered "I'm sorry I was just frustrated"

"So you say mean stuff to me even when I take care of you the best I can? I mean... I can't read minds, can I? How would I know if you never found me satsifying, when all I remember was you fucked out and exhausted that you slept too well? Was that not being satisfied? And you say I’m not satisfying you?" You talked cold at him as you clutched his jaw forcing him to look at you.

"I'm sorry, I take it back" he eyes were positively watering now.

"I'm afraid I can do nothing for you Mr.Huang"

He hung his head low and whispered "It hurts"

"Did you not hear me now?" You walked towards the door and turned on the knob to leave the room.

"I said I'm sorry!! I didn't mean to! Please....Forgive me and I thought…." his voice sounded strained and you turned around. Something about the voice and the single shake of it, he’d never been like this before.

"Thought what?"

You sighed and locked the door again this time but he didn’t continue.

"Mommy" he was now kneeling down, voice completely different now. Your pussy coming alive at the familiar tone of his voice, all soft and warm.

His eyes all glossed, lips all wet and red from biting them in embarrassment while talking to you. Oh he's horny and wet af. And shameless.

You moved towards his body and did something unthinkable. You slapped him. His chest heaved as you could hear a low groan from him, cheeks blooming with your hand imprint. “Fuck” he cursed.

There was a weird tension between you two now, for the next step.

You could just walk away from him and leave him like that. Just like how he insulted you. Leave him vulnerable and needy. For you. Just leave him how he is now, to prove he lied through his teeth today morning. Why would he come back if he didn’t like the things you both did?

“Please mommy” he begged again as he pushed his hips forward crudely. He liked it?

“Such a whore” something surged in you and the need to humiliate and dominate him was much bigger now, stemming from you hurt, your anger. He seemed to not mind nevertheless.

"You never say those words to me again alright? You talk to me what you like and don’t like properly without acting like a pathetic little pussy”

"Yes...I'm sorry, please just, I didn't mean it at all..."He teared up now, face flushed pink and lips red and eyes glistened. Few other tears escaping as he tried to look at you clearly, lashes stuck together with excess tears.

Oh fuck.

“What do you want baby?” you caressed his face tracing the lines through his tears.

"Touch me, please” he said breathlessly.

He bit his lips again and undid himself as he stood up, the heavy shirt and pant fabric falling down in a thud. He stood there in his panties, now too tight with his excited dick.

“Lemme see what the fuss was all about, won’t you?” At your wish he gingerly removed the panties and his length sprung out, all red at the tip while the rest looked painfully stiff.

You glanced up at him and circled his tip slowly and he whimpered, more precum exiting the small slit. Already wet. So wet.

"Ah-hn-nng" his hips thrusted forward ever so slightly.

A slap landed right on the side of his leaking red tip, the owner's body jumping at the harsh contact, the never ending precum drenched his staff whole.

"Ahh-hn please" his soft fingers sneaked to base of his red cock, hands sloppily gripping and stroking them as his abdomen tensed.

"You think your deserve this from me?"

No response.

"You look like a pathetic slut right now, you know that? In broad daylight getting you dick wet? You still want me?! To help you? After the shit you spewed?"

"Please-"

"Then beg properly"

"Please touch my dick, please mommy. I’m so sorry, fuck me good please-Agh-hnng"

A sharp slap on his leaking dick again. And followed by another.

"Aahh-please! I'll be a good slut for you please, it’s too much please"

"Spread there" he looked in the direction you pointed and saw a table, cleaning up the table by placing the objects on the sofa nearby. The max you both had done in the office was a heated makeout session but nothing more. And today seemed to be the day you would break the limits.

And he mounted on it and spread looking at you.

"The other way, face away from me" you commanded "spread wide, on all fours”

The position you were directing him was so open and shameful, it was a sight to behold in the office space, all naked without a single bit of clothing.

"O-okay" he shakily replied. He pushed his hips out in front of you, silently asking you to do anything as he bent his torso down on the table as he spread his ass further on the air, legs moving away to accommodate the action, dick hanging between his thighs, red and swollen. You loved how pliant and needy he was today.

You smacked the soft globes of his ass watching the soft curve dipping towards the table as he pushed his hips out in reaction. You teased his rim with butterfly touches, but you knew he was already so sensitive and ready for you.

Your fingertips constantly circled the puckering hole, enticing moans from the owner which were a blessing to hear. Another sharp slap on the milky butt had him gripping the table, so you quickly took the chance of him relieving the pain to slip your saliva coated fingers in him.

A satisfied moan escaped his red lips “Mommy”

“Fuck yourself on me like a good boy, come on”

He obeyed just like a good boy, rocked his hips gently back and forth with a sloppy pace, still getting used to you. You pushed his lower back down, curving his back to ensure the flexibility of his movements while you thrusted deep. Meanwhile your other hand fondled his balls.

“AH-That’s-“ he shimmied away from your ministrations helplessly which only made you lean forward and lick his seed sac.

“-too much-ah” and you felt him spill all over you left hand making a horrible mess everywhere.

“Already?” You concendingly taunted him, as you pumped his shaft top, riding him through the high.

“Tsk tsk tsk, what a mess! Look at the mess you’ve made baby! Never been the one to come this fast, what’s gotten into you?”

“It’s been a long time since we did anything…”

You paused. Even then… and it clicked.

“Renjun, did you edge yourself while I was away?”

He turned around , back facing you as his torso twisted to look at you, the best he can by adjusting the angles of his body. Fuck he looked so ravishing and enchanting like that. The soft window light creating a back cast but nevertheless his plump lips coated with saliva with all the biting were visible, abused ass hiding his cock but not the cum soiled all over the table.

“I..i missed you so much” you could swear his eyes were twinkling, lips glistening, chest rising and waning softly as he looked at you-skin tinted pink and hair all messy. He looked inviting and ravishing.

“What do your want baby?” your voice sweet with want, just for him.

“Fuck me, please fuck me” You always loved how needy he got for you.

You straddled on his thighs, instructing him to hold on to the table so it doesn’t shake, you know just in case. You slowly bounced on him while you watched his shoulder and head fall down graceful from the table from the lack of space. Mouth open as silent pleasure coursed through him. His fingers fiddled with his hardened nipples, softly caressing and tugging them when you bottomed out on him again and again.

“Fuck, I’m gon-cum again” voice strained and incoherent from all the blood rushing to his brain-from both pleasure and gravity. But you didn’t stop, you were frustrated and you wanted to reach that high too. You grinded and bounced alternating while you leaned back against his legs.

“Fuck yeah-shh-Mommy- I” you leaned forward and slapped him softly and he convulsed as his dick pivoted deeper into you, pulsing against your walls as he came.

“Come for me, yes, just like that”

He caught his breath for longer seconds and rolled over so you could lie down as well. His head on the crook of your neck, you played with his fluffy hair, sticking in all directions cause of sweat.

“Did you miss me that much?” you mumbled.

“Hmm?” Eyes hazy as he tried to focus on you, he blinked slowly.

“You were extra sensitive today, no?”

“Hmm…yes”he agreed as he purred under your care. “How was your trip?”

“The business trip? It was good, it was actually fun I never actually expected that” your eyes lit up as memories screened your mind.

“Really?” you looked at him at the question, he looked at you expectantly but you missed a grey glint in his eyes.

“Yes, it was so fun and everyone got along well. I was too knocked out to even rest properly with things happening everyday”

“Then let me take good care of you now” you heard him whisper, barely catching it.

You didn’t notice a metal clank against the table, not him slicing his palm open and fisted his dick to coat it with the fluid. Pumping himself hot and hard in few strokes, he positioned at your entrance, slowly pushing inside your cunt.

You groaned at the delicious intrusion, not noticing anything happening around you. All you know was both your moans hot and heavy on the room, tongue lazily sucking on each other open mouthed lewdly and him saying he wanted to keep fucking you all day, again and again even after having uncountable orgasms.

He ploughed in your pussy, against the warm juicy canal in a blissful rhythm and another orgasm was building up and he knew.

“Fuck, come with me, come with me please Y/N” He uttered staining his voice amidst the pleasure.

But your mind was too fixed on the orgasmic high you actually didn’t pay any mind to him. After a few seconds your felt weird in your stomach, not just the orgasm, like you felt you were floating away from your own body. You couldn’t feel your own body. As soon as you felt it, it was gone and you hit your orgasm and you while body spasm-ed, thighs clenching and unclenching around his waist rapidly with the vibrations.

“Oh, fuck”

You moaned his name so loud you were sure anyone outside would have heard it a hundred percent.

“Fuck yeah” a crazed glint you caught in his eyes as you stared up at him from your post orgasmic lidded eyes.

“Mine, all mine, MINE” he uttered lowly, not paying mind to you as he stared at where you both were connected.

“Renjun?”

He glanced up and the smile dropped. His eyes cleared up like he was taken out of a haze. The smile returned, now looking much more pleasant. Descending on your body he kissed you searingly. His hands cradled you helping your body up as you both kissed. You smiled at him between kisses but as you opened your eyes you saw dots of red on your peripheral vision. Red painted on both your lower body, bigger spots of it visibly trailing along both your abdomen.

“What…”

His hands, it was his hands slashed deep that the crimson bled thick every second. You couldn’t ignore another peripheral item that seemed to be dunked in red that also seemed to move. It was…

You looked down at yourself, the cum and blood mixed dripped from your cunt crudely, all around your thighs too. You eyes engorged in shock, you looked up at his innocent face, hair all fluffy framing like a halo. So in contrast with the action that transpired few seconds ago.

“What have you done?”

An eerie zoned out look passed Renjun' eyes again followed by an unsettling slow smile, baring teeth as much as possible with the skin scrunching up painfully full.

"A Blood ritual"

But two knocks on the door interrupted your shock.

Taglist: @she-is-dreaming

#nct smut #nct scenarios #nct renjun #renjun smut #nct renjun smut #sub renjun #kpop smut #dom reader #nct yuta #nct jaehyun #nct fanfic #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #nct dream #nct dream smut #sub idol #hwang renjun #fem!reader #dom!reader

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Note

Aaaaa, thank you to the anon! ❤️❤️❤️

I know right, where are the Childhood Friend fics with Doffy? Every other char has them usually in the fandom, no? But Doffy is alone 😭 just because he's an angry boy doesn't mean he doesn't deserve a friend!

The anon's ask made me so happy, I'm glad someone is enjoying it. I have only published one OP fic on my AO3 username and it was about the Donquixote Brothers meeting. It was a very fluffy fic I was very happy with it even if it was short!

I'm still like getting used to writing x reader stories but the community has been so welcoming overall and all the writers are so wonderful and have such wonderful stories, Snail included! I've not yet published any x Reader story cus aaaa, I'm scared!

Myb I just make another tumblr main blog for my One Piece writing cus my blog has another fandom writing but I am also thinking “hey, you followed me, get ready for shenanigans that comes with following me” 🤣

Yeah, I really need to write this Childhood Friends as a fic. It's been on my brain... A while, but never too detailed, but this makes me want to dive into detailed storytelling for it.

Some more ideas starring the restaurant

- all the birthday parties for the crew are held there

- marines are not allowed, it's an unspoken rule, if any marine comes in, or god forbid, dares to bother Reader, they're dead the next day

- Pica expanded the building to have balconies; the largest balcony with a view of the town is usually where the Donquixote crew eats, but they also sometimes party in the main floor ie the ground floor

- Reader has full free protection by Doflamingo. He calls it Best Friend Discount.

Reader's restaurant gets set on fire and destroyed by an enemy pirate crew and both Doflamingo and Rosinante are out for blood. Rosinante has never been visibly pissed, but it is the first and last time he is genuinely murderous and will take pleasure in killing the bastards who did it. The newcomer Law actually goes full on murder spree. That restaurant had the best rice balls and Reader made him his favourite cake for his birthday a week after he joined the DQ Pirates, how dare those bastards - he stabs so many of them. Baby 5's aim has never been better. Gladius blows them up.

In short, entire DQ Family is PISSED. They set sail immediately after locating the enemy crew's headquarters. Full Birdcage, full annihilation. Explosions and fire everywhere. Then they return but they don't feel good because they usually go celebrate at Reader's restaurant and now they don't have there to celebrate and everyone is sad (Doflamingo doesn't show it for obvious reasons but he is sad too) but then Reader and the restaurant staff surprise them by making outside tables all filled with food.

Corazon actually cries. He falls to the floor, hugs Reader around the legs and weeps. So does Baby 5.

Sending love to you, Snail, and to the anon ❤️❤️❤️

AND WHERE IS THE FLUFFY FIC, YANDERE DOFFY ANON???

Oh my gosh: best friend discount. Y E S.

THE CARNAGE AFTER THE RESTAURANT BURNS DOWN AAAAAAAAAAA.

Okay, I need it. You're gonna have to make a side blog, my love. It's gonna be absolutely gorgeous, I can already tell 😭🥹🥹

#ask snail #snail answers #doflamingo #yandere doffy anon #Donquixote Doflamingo #one piece #x reader #doflamingo x reader #i think i need to go to bed now #ive done that thing again where its accidentally past midnight #and i wake up every day around 5am because AAAAAAAAAAAA #good night and i love you.

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maplerosekisses · 3 months

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I was reading your tags on that post and WHAT THE HECK, YOU WERE AT DASHCON??

pls tell me everything

Lol, you're probably going to be disappointed, I'm afraid. I don't have the juicy stories for you.

Dashcon is one of my favorite memories and one of the best convention experiences of my life. Here's a post I made about it at the time.

I was around for the Friday night donation thing but I stayed outside the room with my friend Jenn, standing there in our dresses because that was supposed to be the formal dance, wondering what we should do, and eventually going to check that our hotel room was guaranteed regardless. I don't know what was said inside, because we both felt that going in wasn't a good idea.

I was also in the panel room waiting for Nightvale for over an hour while the cast was arguing with staff about payment, which was not properly explained to us when the staff member finally told us that the show was cancelled.

Those were disasters, but I've had more annoying-in-the-moment experiences at my own local con (not bigger actual administrative disasters, just things that were more frustrating to me as an attendee)

I don't know anything about the person who peed in the ball pit but I do know a lot of the rumors about panel topics and content were lies. I know some invited guests had bad experiences with travel compensation and some people only bought a badge (an expensive badge) for the Night Vale show and were left with nothing. I also remember on Sunday morning I was approached by a very sweet Cecil cosplayer who liked my wtnv shirt and wanted to let me know they were putting together a fan panel to replace what was supposed to be a cast q&a shortly. I didn't attend because there was another panel I wanted to go to, but I kind of wish I had.

I got to meet up with one of the best friends I had made on Tumblr and we had the cutest emotional airport meeting hug. I was first introduced to @my-graceless-heart during a panel hosted by the same friend and I would not have survived the fall of 2015 without them. I have one of their books on my shelf now, and on my purse at this moment I have a pin that a con buddy gifted me when I lost my favorite Sam Wilson pin on Sunday of the con. I bought more art at Dashcon than I had at any previous conventions combined.

The panels I remember most vividly happened later in the evening, and the lighting in the panel rooms wasn't great, so those memories are soft and almost cozy. There actually weren't that many people at dashcon, so the panel rooms weren't overfull and conversations were easy to participate in. Every panel I attended was fun — I've never had that experience at another con.

My local convention, which I do love, is technically an anime convention. And every year (I haven't attended since 2019) I encountered people I find extremely uncomfortable to interact with, who I might even feel unsafe with in a less public place. Every person I talked to at Dashcon was kind and fun and I felt at home around them.

Dashcon had some of the worst administration of any fan convention, probably ever, and a lot of people had terrible experiences that I don't want to invalidate. But it also had some of the best panels, best artists to buy from, and best attendee behavior of any convention I've ever been to. Those memories are precious to me and if I had a choice to go back and do it differently, I would not change into my prom dress on Friday night, I would stay out of the dashcon tag on my phone, and I would guard that Sam Wilson button with my life, but I would absolutely choose to do the rest all over again.

#i also unfollowed a good friend for posting about it on Sunday night because i was mad at him #we hung out two weeks ago but i still never refollowed him

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historicallyaccuratecheese · 8 months

Text

Well, I guess I’m continuing to make these now! Here’s the next part of my thoughts on every Magnus Archives episode! Now, last time I said that I was planning to write about episodes 21-40 in the next post, but as it turns out, the hyperfixation has set in and my thoughts are a LOT longer (so buckle up if you want to read this), and I also reached the tag limit. So, I’m only going to be covering episodes 21-30 here, and then I’ll write about episodes 31-40, and this 10 episode trend will probably continue for the rest of the posts, but that just means I’ll be able to put them out faster.

Also, unlike my first post, where I wrote all of my thoughts after finishing episode 20, all of these ones were written right after I finished the specific episode I talked about, so my thoughts are a lot more clearly documented. Finally, there’s a link to my masterpost, which will contain all the post’s detailing my thoughts on every episode before and after these ones.

Once again, no spoilers for future episodes please, and for anyone who hasn’t watched up to episode 30, spoilers are under the cut, so I recommend turning away until you’ve caught up. :)

- Episode 21, Freefall 🪂

Statement of Moira Kelly, regarding the disappearance of her son Robert.

WHAT THE FUCK??!! MARTIN??!! DAMN, I guess the horrors did get to him! Well, it’s nice to finally meet him, even if his first line was dropping shit on the ground. Either way, I get the vibe I’m in for a wild ride for this second half. ….What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the actual statement. Anyways this one upset me. Not only did it bring out my fear of heights pretty well, but the portrayal of a grieving mother who can’t comprehend what happened to her son was really heartbreaking. The line “The sky ate him” was kind of comedic at first, especially with Jon’s following reaction (love this guy btw, he’s such a loser), but then it became really horrific when I realized how it was just Moira desperately trying to make sense of the impossible horrors she just witnessed. The plot thread set up with Simon and Harriet Fairchild is also very interesting, and the whole sky thing kind of reminded me of Dominic’s visions in Ep. 4. Overall another one of many fantastic episodes, but HOLY SHIT I’M SCARED.

- Episode 22, Colony 🔦

Statement of Martin Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a close encounter with something he believes to have once been Jane Prentiss. Statement taken direct from subject.

….aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! Ok let’s start from the top. Firstly, I’m really happy we finally got to meet Martin in this episode, and he’s great! Honestly he comes off as more dorky than stupid, and just comes off as a real sweetheart, so Jon’s distaste for him (outside of very different personalities), gets more mysterious. Though all things considered, after what he experienced, I don’t think that the bullying is his biggest worry anymore… Alexander J. Newall does a fantastic delivery, as much as I love Jon’s readings, you can really feel how terrified Martin is here (also “Blackwood” is a sick as fuck last name, and I related to him trailing off about spiders…) Outside of Martin himself, we have Jane Prentiss (or what remains of her) and…well, let’s just say that I don’t find the sex worms nearly as funny anymore. Jane and the worms inside her are absolutely terrifying, and while I would say I’m excited to learn more about her, I wouldn’t be complaining if the institute staff never had to deal with her again. Also the text episode made me, if you’ll excuse my language…squirm. Honestly, this might just be my favorite episode so far. The way that the plot threads from previous episodes connected here was extremely satisfying, and needless to say, I’m very excited and horrified to see where the show goes from here.

- Episode 23, Schwartzwald 🇩🇪

Statement of Albrecht von Closen, regarding a discovered tomb near his estate in the Black Forest.

Worst episode ever because Jon didn’t do a German accent, smh. Ok but in all seriousness, I really liked this one! It wasn’t the strongest in terms of complex themes in my opinion, but it had a great vibe, and was still very interesting, entertaining, and decently creepy. Having a “statement” written before the archives was founded is a really cool idea that’s executed perfectly here, and while we didn’t learn that much about Jonah Magnus, I still found it cool to get a first glimpse of the archives’ history. (Also, given the eye imagery that appears both in here and in other episodes, I can’t help but feel like Albrecht’s wording of Jonah having “good eyes” or something like that is a little weird…) And…now that we have the instance of something that isn’t a statement, but is important being in the archives, I absolutely agree with the idea that Gertrude Robinson organized these poorly on purpose, so that Jon would get the knowledge he needed to have. Regardless, this whole episode had the vibes of a classic ghost story, which while not as weird and off-putting as some of the other horror here, was still a nice change of pace overall. The descriptions of The Schwartzwald were really well done and added to the atmosphere, and I just like the fact that we have another historical episode, that’s also set outside of The UK. Also, the way that they played with the time period at the end was amazing, I already had my suspicions due to the eye imagery, but the reveal of Mary Keay (and therefore Gerard Wa- I mean Keay) being a descendant of Albrecht was still really cool. I also do wonder if the Arabic book was eventually found by Jurgen Leitner in the future…eh, food for thought. Lastly, I loved Martin jumping in out of nowhere, it was both funny, and a grim reminder about how fucked the archives supposedly are, yippee!

Wow, these are a lot longer than my previous thoughts. This, my sweet children, is a phenomenon called “brain rot”.

- Episode 24, Strange Music 🪆

Statement of Leanne Denikin, regarding an antique calliope organ she possessed briefly in August 2004.

Jon, honey, are we not going to elaborate on the fact that one of ✨the horrors✨is literally inside the institute? Like, HELLO? That’s not terrifying at all! Anwyays, this episode continues the trend of making me scared of things I’m not initially scared of, yippee! It had great vibes as well, the weird shit in the attic was made to be as creepy as possible. Initially, I didn’t find this one to be too scary, and figured it was going to go in the direction of “music makes people feel kind of weird”. AND THEN JOSHUA GETS KILLED AND TURNED INTO A DOLL HELLO??!!! Like, I know he was kind of a toxic boyfriend, but DAMN, whatever was behind the calliope and the dolls did NOT have to go that far. (Also until the end I thought he might be Joshua Gillepsie, and like, I don’t care how toxic he is, but you do not dump a guy who bested an evil coffin with his freezer.) Outside of that, It was really cool to meet Sasha! I like her voice, and the introduction was quite funny. (Also, even as someone who has lived in England for over two years, and has a family that is 90% British, nothing hurt more that Jon’s “Americans”.) Lastly, I have a theory, which I like to call “Ringmaster? More like cult leader.” Because I’M SORRY, but you cannot convince me that a CIRCUS, called THE CIRCUS OF THE OTHER, which possessed a HAUNTED CALLIOPE ORGAN, is anything but a cult. (Watch me when I’m inevitably wrong lmao.)

I guess now is a better time than any to say that I’m kind of wondering if there’s an in-universe reason for the music in the background? I mean, considering that the whole framing device is Jon recording these statements, I have to wonder if there’s a reason for the noise we hear, especially with the worms in Ep. 22 and the music in Ep. 24.

- Episode 25, Growing Dark ⛪️

Statement of Mark Bilham, regarding events culminating in his visit to Hither Green Chapel.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I LOVE BEING RIGHT!!! I saw the episode title and immediately assumed this would continue the lore of Episode 9, and I WAS SO RIGHT!!! (Also, I now just noticed that the PCOTDH’s symbol is a closed eye, while The Keay Family’s symbol is an open eye…my cult theory thickens…) Anyways, this was another very enjoyable episode! Firstly, even though it’s far from the first piece of media to do so, I though the way they portrayed a cult brainwashing someone when they’re most vulnerable was very well handled and pretty depressing. I also really enjoyed how the episode isn’t the most weird and paranormal on it’s own, but the knowledge of the connections to Ep. 9 makes us know that it DEFINITELY is, even when the characters in the story don’t. The episode was certainly very spooky, the description of the spinach and the dark church definitely got me. (Also my mom came into my room briefly and when she left she accidentally turned off the light and I nearly screamed.) There were also some really interesting plot threads set up here, like the chanting of the northern most human settlement in the world, the mention of “three hundred years waiting”, and I also wonder if “Mr. Pitch” is an alias for “Detective Rayner.” then…the ending. Holy shit. You know, maybe I DON’T need to know what happened to Gertrude….

Episode 26, A Distortion ☕️

Statement of Sasha James, assistant archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding a series of paranormal sightings. Statement taken direct from subject.

I…what…I don’t even…we are so fucked. Ok, there’s a LOT going on here, but I’ll try my best to formulate my thoughts as clearly as possible. Firstly, this episode easily scared me the most so far, I agree with Jon when he says that the horrors being somewhat friendly is scarier than them being antagonistic, like HOLY SHIT this one was unnerving. But with that out of the way…uh…let’s talk about Sasha! She’s really cool, I like how her character gives us a lot more insight into what working in the archives is like for a fairly regular person (i say this because Jon is weird as fuck and Martin is too nice to be normal, and I mean that as kindly as possible). But…while I don’t necessarily doubt her status as the most level-headed person in the archives, I don’t think that’s saying much. Like, she saw a creepy guy with weird-ass hands who spoke in riddles and knew too much about her and her coworkers, and followed him into a dilapidated building, also she works at the council of ghost stories despite not liking horror. Like, no offense, I’m sure she’s overall an intelligent person, as are most people in the archives, but none of them are beating Joshua Gillepsie anytime soon (yes I’m still thinking about him.) But mentioning the guy with fucked up hands, WHO OR WHAT EVEN WAS THAT??!! I have very little ideas as to how this “Micheal” even connects to the greater picture. I know some people connected him to the mentions of the man with bones in his hands in Episode 8, but that honestly reminds me more of the Leitner in Episode 17. Outside of that, his name is quite interesting, I initially thought that he might be Micheal Crew, but given that Sasha doubts it being his real name, I have my suspicions (although it would give us a connection between this, the words in Episode 8, and The Boneturner’s Tale….hm….) However, I could absolutely see him being Micheal Keay, as he gives off enough ghost vibes to pass as him (and I’m assuming that if Gerard’s dead, Micheal is as well.) Also he is not described as having a Lichtenburg figure on him so…yeah. Lastly, we have the return of THE SEX WORMS. And as happy(?) as I am to see that The Magnus Archives, a podcast developed by RustyQuill.com, that is also licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, is continuing it’s message of staying abstinent, all things considered, that was absolutely terrifying. I just LOVE the knowledge that the worms are a hive-mind and that Jane might not be the source, I LOVE THAT SO MUCH. In conclusion, I am probably going to sleep with a fire extinguisher tonight, and I am very scared for what the next 14 episodes have in store for me.

Also I guess I’ll mention Tim (the archival assistant, not the dead guy) here because why not. So far I’m getting major bastard energy from people’s descriptions of him, which means I will either love or hate him. Also I found it very funny but also kind of sad that Jon said he only trusts Tim to not prank him in Episode 11, and then he pulled a prank shortly before this statement took place.

- Episode 27, A Sturdy Lock 🔑

Statement of Paul McKenzie, regarding repeated nocturnal intrusions into his home.

Ok, after everything that happened in the last episode, it was nice to get a short and sweet one here. Well, as sweet as an episode of a horror podcast can be. Overall, this one isn’t my favorite, I thought it was a little bit under the standards of creativity for the show as a whole, but that’s obviously not saying much, as it was still pretty damn good in its own right. I think it was definitely very effective with its storytelling, and credit where credit is due, it certainly brought out my fear of weird noises in the middle of the night. And even if I can’t personally resonate with this aspect of it, I do really appreciate how it tackled the idea of mental illness at old age, and while I’d be surprised if the statement wasn’t real, considering where the show seems to be going, it did a very good job at planting seeds of doubt in my mind. But still, it was genuinely pretty crushing how Paul had no proof throughout the entire thing, along with how the cops treated him. It really did make me thing about what would have happened if he hadn’t washed the blood off his hands. It still had a creepy atmosphere, and the reveals at the end were pretty interesting, I hope they show us Marcus’ statement soon enough. Also, the aspect of loneliness in this one did remind me a lot of what happened in Episode 13, so I wonder if there’s some connection there. (Also, I love how I’m 27 episodes in and Jon is STILL roasting Gertrude’s organizational skills.) So while this one isn’t the most interesting for me, I still enjoyed it, and it was nice to have a slightly lighter one after Episode 26. I hope Sasha had a good few days off, she deserves it.

- Episode 28, Skintight 📷

Statement of Melanie King, regarding events at the abandoned Cambridge Military Hospital during filming in January 2015. Statement taken direct from subject.

WHOA THAT WAS SO GOOD!!! Ok, I feel like I should start off with my thoughts on the basic premise, as while those episode is certainly…not the most humorous in its execution, the premise itself kind of is. I don’t know why, but I just thought the idea of there being an in-universe competitor was a really fun concept that was executed perfectly here. It kind of reminds me of something like Hatchetfield and Clivesdale (I don’t know how many people reading this will understand that, but there seems to be overlap between TMA fans and Hatchetfield fans, and also like, shut up, let me indulge in my hyperfixations.) The bickering between Melanie and Jon was great, as was Melanie herself, I’d love to see her again as I think she oddly brought a lot to the world of the series. Although I will say that, while it doesn’t make me like him any less, Jon’s reluctance to buy into statements is a lot more frustrating when there’s another person in the room. I also absolutely love the fact that there’s an in-universe spooky podcast mentioned by name, like, come one, that’s genuinely hilarious. But comedic value aside, this one was definitely pretty creepy. In a similar vain to what Episode 23 was doing, the whole “young people enter creepy abandoned building to film stuff and then get genuinely scared” concept felt evocative of other classic horror stories, and the way they spun it into the context of the show was great. The atmosphere was definitely very creepy as well, as I have mentioned, hospitals creep me the fuck out. And lastly…oh my god, THE CONNECTIONS. So, I’ll start off by saying that all of the skin shit reminded me of what happened in Episode 18 (which I hope is true because I think some connections to other things would make me like that episode more). But that pales in comparison to the fact that we have stuff on THE ANGLERFISH, HOLY FUCK THE ANGLERFISH. I’m SO glad that they didn’t throw it away just because it was in the pilot episode. In retrospect, I think that the story of Episode 1 isn’t quite my favorite. It doesn’t really have to be, as I think the main draw of the episode is getting a first look at the framing device and general vibe of the entire podcast, but the stories didn’t really grab me until Episode 2, which is still one of my favorites. But MAN, this episode really made me appreciate the setup at the beginning so much more, and the knowledge that the people who walked into the alley didn’t necessarily die, meaning that all of those names could potentially come back, is SO exciting to me. In fact, when you consider that Sarah was kind of going through what looked like a possession, I wonder if The Anglerfish is a figure of worship in a cult, if that theory is to be true. (Also I have relatives that live in the same area as Sarah so…maybe I should tell them to watch out for their neighbor lmao.) So yeah, this…this show is just really freaking good.

Note: I have discovered the Leitner rant, and therefore I have achieved true enlightenment.

- Episode 29, Cheating Death ♟️

Statement of Nathaniel Thorp, regarding his own mortality.

I should start off by saying that I love the episode title for this, like, it’s not even metaphorical, the guy literally cheated in a game against death. Well, anyways, the main thing that caught me about the episode was how it absolutely blindsided me. While I was right about the soldier being the same as the statement giver, which I think was supposed to be obvious, everything else in those last six or so minutes left me with a wide-open jaw. (Also, can I just say that I love how poetic this guy just…decided to be? Like, I just love it when the statements really show of personalities with the way they’re written, and it comes with a cool framing device.) Regardless, I initially assumed that it was going in a very traditional line. Nathaniel cheats death, becomes immortal, and regrets it in modern day because he’s lived longer that he really should have. That, combined with the fact that “Death” didn’t seem like the one of the more creative horror monsters in the show so far, had me so prepared to just write this one off as one of my least favorites (once again, not like that’s saying much.) And then the twist comes and HOLY SHIT I WAS WRONG. The idea of there basically being multiple grim reapers at the hands of some unknowable power, who have to gain successors to finally die themselves is absolutely terrifying and extremely clever. I tip my hat to you Rusty Quill, you did a great job at fooling me. Kind of funny considering how this is a story about being punished for your hubris (which seems to be a recurring theme???) I have a few other small thoughts as well. Firstly, I can’t help but shake the feeling that Nathaniel Thorp was an actual revolutionary war soldier, but I can’t find anything online other than the character from this episode. Also, the fact that his fate remains unknown makes me think he’ll show up again, as it seems weird to NOT end the story with confirmation of his death, given the themes. Secondly, a lot of the…less than pleasant imagery here definitely reminded me of Piecemeal and The Boneturner’s Tale. I don’t remember the story inside that Leitner very well, but I might check just in case there’s any parallels between it and this statement. (Update: Not really.) And finally, I was just a little bit intrigued by the fact that we learn no one who was working at the institute in 1972 works there anymore. It’s probably nothing, but given the mysteries surrounding Gertrude’s death, I’m just a little suspicious, both in general, and of Elias because he’s still around. Overall this episode went hard, I’m still kind of stunned by what it pulled off.

Jane Prentiss statement…save me…save me Jane Prentiss statement…

- Episode 30, Killing Floor 🍖

Statement of David Laylow, regarding his time working at an industrial abattoir near Dalton.

You know what, Jon is right, there’s a lot of meat in this show. Not that I’m complaining, I mean, it does fuel my obsession with connecting the dots between statements. Regardless, while this isn’t among my favorite episodes so far, I still had a good time with it. The reason it’s not one of my favorites is purely personal, as I don’t do too well with animal violence. Like, as much as I do really appreciate how viscerally Jonny Sims can describe the statements, I will admit that the opening minutes describing the slaughter house made me more uneasy than the actual horror, and not in a particularly fun way, but it was overall fine. Speaking of the actual horror, that was actually pretty good. The endless hallways lined with doors that lead to precarious situations also kind of tapped into a personal fear of mine, but in a more fun and digestible way. And while the idea of “imagine humans being slaughtered like animals” is something I’ve seen many a time before, it was still much more well executed than many other interpretations of the idea (*cough cough*, peta) and there were also plenty of other interesting themes and ideas, like how the episode touched on the inherent horror of working in a job as gruesome as the killing floor, being enslaved to said job, and the idea that maybe we’re all just walking sacks of meat in the end, and nothing more. As for some other thoughts, I was definitely creeped out by Tom Han, I’m not sure whether or not he’s someone who spreads ✨the horrors✨or someone affected by ✨the horrors✨, and his sudden disappearance was certainly…odd. On top of that, it’s admittedly haunting to know that there’s still creepy stuff going on at the slaughter house, and that this isn’t something that happened to David, and only David. Overall, a pretty good episode, I don’t have much to say about it, but it was a fun time overall.

Tim…save me…save me Tim…

Well, if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Genuinely means the world to me when there are people willing to listen to me ramble about my horrible (affectionate) interests lmao. I should have my thoughts on the final episodes of Season 1 out in due time, and while I’m sure it’s obvious, I’m absolutely hooked on this podcast. It absolutely has the potential to become one of my favorite things ever if the overarching plot becomes more involved and this is coming from someone who up until now, wasn’t all that gripped by podcasts. While I’m a little sad that I’m as late to the party as I am, then I remembered “oh yeah, I was in elementary school when this horrifying series came out”, and I’m also hopeful that I’ll be able to be around for The Magnus Protocol while it’s airing (I know it premieres in like a week but still.) Anyways, thanks for reading and hopefully you’ll be around for my thoughts on the next batch :)

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liyawritesss · 2 years

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can you do more reader x riri maybe a date night or something on campus

ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

Character: MCU!Riri Williams x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Synopsis: School is out for the semester, and all Riri wants is to spend some quality time with her girlfriend back home.

Warnings: Some BLACK PANTHER: WAKANDA FOREVER spoilers if you haven't watched the movie. Some cursing as well but overall just some tear jerking fluff

A/N: I may have went a lil sidetracked with this request. I couldn't really think of any good date night ideas on campus per se, but I do think that during the cold Riri would prefer indoor dates with her loved, and that's kind of how this came about. I hope you enjoy nonetheless! Suggested songs to listen to while reading: Lauv's "I Like Me Better".

Also, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my followers, mutual, friends, family, and important people in my life, on Tumblr and beyond. Yall have made this an enjoyable year and I can't wait to spend many more with you guys!!

Tags: @verachii @rxcently @badass-dora-milaje @babyboiboyega @inmyheadimobsessed @lunerenzo @letitias-fav

December 17th. The day that college students all across America had been waiting for since the start of the semester….the end of it.

Riri was all too happy to be boarding the plane back to Chicago. Her and her mother had packed up her dorm room the day prior, so all that was left to go back home was herself. While Boston had its perks, there was nothing there that could even begin to compare to the wonders of the Windy City. And it didn’t have the people she really cared about, either.

Speaking of, the moment she got settled on the plane, an inbound Facetime request caught her attention. The caller ID on the screen read ‘babygirl <3’. A smile instantly spread across her face.

“Hi baby!” Your cheery voice chimes through the cellular device once she answers it. “You’re just gettin’ on the plane?”

“Yeah, takeoff is in like twenty minutes they said,” Riri replies, plopping down in her seat after putting her carryon in her overhead compartment. “I cannot wait to be home. I be tired of Boston the moment I step in this bitch.”

Your giggle warms the engineers heart as she stares at you endearingly, her head leaning on the window which shows the outside of the plane. “What’chu doin’, mamas?”

“Ah, I was just finishing something up for you,” you reply, and by the tone of your voice shifting from cheery to bashful, Riri could tell it was from the nickname she had given you. Her eyebrows furrow together as you add on “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh no, what’chu don’ did now?” Riri questions, her tone playful. She breaks out into a toothy grin as she sees your face feigning hurt.

“Me? Why you always assume I don’ did somethin’ bad?”

“‘Cus whenever I come home, you always in some trouble!”

“It’s not my fault! The world just…hates me!”

“Yeah, okay, (Y/N),”

The overhead intercom beeps alive, and the voice of one of the plane staff begins to ring from the speaker above Riri. “Attention all passengers. This flight will be ready for takeoff in ten minutes. Please follow the necessary precautions regarding electronic devices, personal carry ons, etc. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope you have an enjoyable flight.”

“You heard her, babe. I gotta go,” and although your pout makes Riri want to continue the Facetime call, her resolve is much stronger than any puppydog eyes you could pull on her. “I’ll meet you when I land, okay baby?”

“Okayyy…” You reply, drawing out the last syllable of the word. “I love you. Be safe!”

“I love you, too, mamas. I’ll be home before you know it.”

The moment you saw Riri coming from the escalator, you instantly bolted to her, despite her mother’s protests. Riri virtually dropped everything in her hands and rushed to you as well, both of you colliding in a bone crushing embrace that left you two on the floor of the airport terminal, smothering each other’s faces with kisses of endearment and a many ‘I missed you’s.

“Aight, nah, y’all get up, people’s is startin’ to stare!” Ronnie warned, but it was a moment before her words registered with the both of you. You were just so happy to see each other, after basically four months apart and constant schedule conflicts. But when the reality that what you were doing may have been a teeny bit inappropriate for the airport set in, you helped Riri get her previously discarded belongings, and the three of you were off back to Riri’s home.

Ronnie spoke of some business she needed to take care of, but when Riri asked for specifics, the older woman replied “Grown folks stuff,” with a mischievous smile. And with her gaze shooting to you for a quick second, Riri suspected that whatever you had planned for her arrival, her mother had conspired, so much so that she was leaving the two of you at the house for an unspecified amount of time. Who knew a mother could be their child’s girlfriend’s best wing woman?

“C’mon, baby, just show me what it is,” the engineer whined, becoming impatient, “is it in my room? It’s in my room, ain’t it!”

“Calm down, speed-ball,” you replied, “Just keep your eyes closed and you’ll see soon enough.”

Although Riri wanted to open her eyes now, she obeyed, and kept her eyes closed as you led her through the house and to her room. You twisted the knob of the door and opened it quietly, guiding your girlfriend through the threshold. After centering her in the middle of her room, you took a step back, and told her to open her eyes. What Riri saw absolutely stunned her speechless.

Her room, with lilac walls and a variety of posters littering the walls, that once had junk neatly scattered everywhere, had been completely transformed. In the top ceiling corners, false vines wrapped around the four walls, and with them were lantern colored LED lights that shone a warm white color. Her bedding had been replaced with a more festive covering, the blanket, sheets, and pillowcases having small reindeer pattern on the white background (save for two pillows, which just had new white silk pillowcases on them). In one corner was a snack table set up with both of your favorites, most - if not all - holiday themed. And in the space above her dresser, which would have held a TV, had the projection of Netflix on its walls. Also on the bed were two matching pajama sets, with black tops and red, green and white plaid pants.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Riri breathed in disbelief, “You did all this?”

You nodded proudly. “With some help from Ms. Ronnie, she helped with the projector.”

The engineer is still in a state of shock when you come to her side, placing a peck on her cheek. “We can unpack later, but you, my darling, deserve to relax a little,” You add on, taking her face into your hands. You smile when you see her visibly melt into them. “I know MIT’s been kicking your ass.”

Riri takes the opportunity, and your closeness, to place a short kiss of gratitude on your lips. “Nah you know damn well them white folks ain’t got shit on me, mama.”

Her words make you laugh, because you know it’s true. “Aight, baby, lets get you in the shower.”

After an hour of showering and getting cute for your evening in, including a water fight in the shower, trying not to slip on the wet floor the both of you made, and taking a couple of mirror selfies in your matching pajamas, you and Riri find refuge in her bed, snacking on the various little food options you so graciously provided. Riri has her head on your chest as she munches on a bag of Takis, while the movie Gremlins is projected onto the wall above her dresser; though little attention is being paid to the movie itself, as Riri is disclosing information from the last few weeks that she was away.

It’s moments like these that Riri misses the most about being away at MIT. Sure she gets to make different gadgets and best preppy white boys in chemical equations, but nothing will ever beat coming home to the girl she loves.

“And then come to find out the fish-lookin’ nigga just needed to be baked a lil’ bit to knock his ass down-” It’s the way you burst out laughing, almost spitting out your drink, at her description of the legendary fight she was able to witness as part of the attack force in Wakanda. Riri laughs too as she looks up at you from her position on your chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, cuz it really sounds like she turned him into some grilled tilapia-!”

“-and did! And did!”

Your shared laughter echoed throughout the four lilac walls of Riri’s room, the christmas movie being played from the projector becoming obsolete to the two of you at that moment. When the laughter finally began to cease, you caught Riri staring at you. Not an awkward kind of stare, nor an examining one. Just a gaze of endearment as she placed her head on the plush of your thighs, not breaking eye contact.

“What’chu lookin’ at me like that for?” you question, bashful, at the intensity of her gaze, Riri just shrugs, and turns her head to the ceiling.

“Nothin’, just…thinkin’,” she replied. There's a slight pause, before her eyes return back to you, and she starts to speak once again.

“I like me better when I’m with you,” the engineer confesses. Riri reaches for your free hand, and you happily hand it over to her. Her words intrigue you, as you’re unsure why she randomly spoke them, but nonetheless, your heart warms at them.

As though you spoke your confusion aloud, Riri sits up, her fingers now intertwined with yours, and she continues on; “I mean- like, when I’m in Boston, it’s like I’m on autopilot. I just kinda do shit ‘cuz I have to. But when I’m here- when I’m with you…everything makes sense. I ain’t gotta stress about shit, I’on have to be perfect. I look at you and shit makes sense, y’know? It’s corny as fuck but…I really don’t know where I’d be without you, (Y/N).”

It’s a revelation Riri came to while stationed in Wakanda for her protection against Talokan. Not being able to contact you because of the secrecy of the whole ordeal gave her ample time to think about you and your place in her life. Because truth be told, when Riri was around you, she was a completely different person compared to being in Boston or being at Princess Shuri’s side. With you, life was effortless, love was plentiful, and the idea of being separated from you, the reality of being separated from you with no contact, tore her up inside.

You were truly her peace.

Riri’s words made your eyes tear up a little. The engineer was never good with words - her actions and the ability to show what she was about was something she always prided herself in - but to hear the sincerity and ingenuity spill from her lips was a gift like no other.

You took your interlocked hands, bringing them to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, soft and sweet-smelling from the cocoa-butter she applied onto her skin after the shower. She was heaven in your hands, and you would do anything to protect and love Riri with all your heart.

There wasn’t a need to exchange anymore words - the look in which you two shared spoke enough volumes that mother nature herself could hear the comforting silence, and take from it the love you two shared and melt away the frosty December cold and snow. And the two of you rested with your foreheads pressed together, hands holding each other, smiling like idiots in love, as the moonlight from the sky bathed the two of you in a glow fit for goddesses.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

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fingertipsfingertipsfingertiiips · 2 days

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Working as a grocery store pick-up shopper during the height of the pandemic was.... I'm still not recovered, I think. I would like to rant a wee bit here. It's my tumblr and I'll do as I wish with it.

I worked for Kroger at the time, and if you know anything about it, at the time Kroger was the last grocery company to add Covid pay and the first to take it away. For (I think) two months, I had an extra dollar added to my $10.50/hr paycheck. Then they started cutting hours so they wouldn't have to pay for our insurance. All the while, I had people aggressively coughing on me because I was wearing a mask. I had a grown man throw a can of yams at my head because we were out of the name brand yams he wanted. A man raised his fist to threaten me over cans of Pepsi, we didn't have any because of an aluminum shortage. Someone's grandmother slapped me because of toilet paper. One of my coworkers got in a fight with a customer because of jalapeños.

When coworkers started dropping from Covid, the rest of us had to pick up the slack. At one point, 14 out of our 18 person department were out for weeks. I worked 16 hour shifts for some of the rudest and most ungrateful customers I've ever seen in 12+ years of retail experience.

In the summer of 2020, they shut off the water fountains. My direct manager got us a big pack of water and put it in the back of the order fridge for us. Some of us were running orders out to cars in 100F+ heat, so we put some of the bottles in the freezers, too. Upper management saw these waters as some kind personal insult and threw them away, threatening us all with writeups and even firings if we were caught with personal water bottles on the sales floor. OSHA was called and they put a stop to that bullshit, but not before one of my elderly coworkers collapsed from heat and dehydration.

At one point, my cool manager got promoted to store manager, and our department got an outside hire to replace her. This woman is easily one of the worst people I have ever worked with. She was rude, she would micromanage, she would bully the differently abled. She would fat shame, was racist and homophobic, and generally aggressive to other women. One time, I was helping a coworker prep an order to go out. We were chatting about death in the Victorian era, a special interest of mine. I got excited and maybe I started rambling when my bitch manager yelled at me to "shut the fuck up, you're being annoying." I told her to fuck off, and we were pulled into a meeting about it, but ultimately nothing happened to her. I refused to sign the writeup that came to me later.

Due to this manager's negligence, I fell and chipped a tailbone in February 2021. She was supposed to salt the walkway that leads from our department to the customer pick-up area. At 5:30 that morning, as she was yelling at her staff (myself included), she didn't notice that I was sprawled out in the parking lot, having slipped on black ice. I would have hit my head as well, had I not been wearing my hair in a low bun. The bun acted as an airbag. I landed pretty hard, and I think it scared the customer. He got out of his truck and shuffled over to me to help me up. He even tipped me $10, which was super nice. I limped back in, and before I could say anything, bitch manager yelled at me for taking to long, shoved an order cart at me and barked at me to do the next one. I told her I fell, probably too quietly because I was hurting. She ignored me so I yelled it. She stopped to look at me, registered what I said, and then it dawned on her to ask if I was OK. I filled out an IR and a worker's comp claim. I did the drug screening, later that day I had an xray. I chipped a tailbone. They gave me 2 weeks off, I think it was paid but it's hard to remember because the doctor gave me codeine. One morning I'm laying on the floor on a yoga mat and bitch manager calls me. She doesn't ask me how I'm doing, she wants to know if I can cover a shift. I tell her no, hang up and then send her a picture of my black and blue ass crack. I should have sued Kroger. Sometimes I wonder if I still could. I still have back pain. I still struggle with some yoga poses or sitting on certain chairs.

The final straw seems so small in retrospect. I had endured so much while working for kroger for 8 years. Bitch manager was causing me such anxiety that I had to change my meds to deal with her. I was getting the produce for an order. The system timed you, the goal was to take less than 20 seconds for each item scanned in to the cart. I had grabbed some tomatoes and was weighing them up, counting the seconds out loud to myself to keep time (a time blindness coping skill I've had since childhood) when she walked past me. I heard her say "retard" under her breath. This wasn't the first time I've been called that in my life, but the first time I've ever heard it from a grown woman. She had been bitching at me about something earlier that day, and my deodorant failed from the stress. She walked past me again and stopped to look at me. She nearly shouted, making sure everyone around would hear, "You stink. Did you shower today?" And then smirked. I didn't reply. I didn't hit her, or yell, or throw tomatoes at her. I thought about doing all of it. I thought about knocking her to the ground and ripping her tacky extensions out of her scalp. I thought about all the nasty mean things I could say to her. Instead, I put down my handheld and told her I would be right back. I went to the back room, hung up my apron, grabbed my purse, and walked out. I didn't clock out, I let them figure out what time I left. I made sure I was paid for my time. She called me an hour later, and I didn't answer. She called 6 more times. My previous manager, the cool one later told me that the store manager was stoked about my leaving. "Out with the old, in with the new."

There was a mass exodus, nine people left after I did. Four of them followed me to my new job. We all got forklift certified in the same week for a company that offered profit sharing and $4 extra per hour for covid pay, plus $3 extra per hour on weekends. It's not the greatest place to work. Sometimes it's terrible, it's still retail after all. But it's better. Kroger is not a great company, and my store was one of the worst places. I know I'm not the only person with horror stories about it. I still hear, "we're all in this together" in my nightmares. I can't spend more than 20 minutes in a grocery store at a time. I have many more from before the pandemic hit, the pandemic was just the worst of it.

That's my rant. If anyone read this, thank you. If you want to add your own stories, please do! "Essential worker" feels more like "disposable worker".

#kroger #covid 19 #covid #the worst time #abusive boss #abusive workplace #exploited proletariat

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loveroftoomanyfandoms · 1 year

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Be Mine, Valentine - TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+, MINORS DNI)

Summary: Peter has a nightmare, Reader comforts him. Sexy times ensue.

Warning/Tags: Post- Spiderman: NWH (so spoilers for that and TASM 1 & 2), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, P in V sex

Word Count: ~2900

A/N: Valentine's Day-set TASM!Peter fic I'm finally transferring over to Tumblr. Enjoy!

Perfect, Y/F/N Y/L/N thought as she tied the ribbon on her best friend's 'Valentine by Default' gift. It was just after midnight and she was ready to settle in. Hope they turned out okay.

Suddenly there was a tap on her window.

Y/N looked up and grinned at the familiar sight of Spiderman waving at her, then walked over to the window and opened it. "Hey, come on in."

Spiderman handed her his backpack before climbing into her apartment and pulling off his mask. "Hey, Y/N."

Y/N had found out completely by accident that the famous superhero (or criminal vigilante, depending on which narrative you believed) Spiderman was none other than her best friend, Peter Parker. They had met through their respective jobs at the Daily Bugle (Y/N as a copyeditor and Peter as a photographer) and had quickly bonded over their mutual love of coffee and hatred of staff meetings. A few months into their friendship, however, Y/N had unexpectedly walked in on Peter changing out of his Spiderman suit in the Bugle 's supply closet.

She had frozen at the sight of her friend not only alone and half-naked in the supply closet at work, but also alone and half-naked in the supply closet at work while wearing Spiderman's suit.

Peter had looked up in alarm. It's not what it looks like, he had blurted, his Spiderman suit hanging down around his waist.

It looks like you're Spiderman, Y/N had replied in shock.

Peter had paused. Ok, it's *exactly* what it looks like.

Y/N had shaken her head. I have so many questions.

Peter had then glanced behind her. Shit, someone's coming. I'll tell you everything later, Y/N, I swear, just help me.

Y/N had nodded. Your secret is safe with me, I promise. I won't say anything.

Y/N had closed the door and managed to keep Betty from accounting, who had come to get a box of paperclips and some sticky notes, distracted long enough for Peter to finish changing. Ah, Y/N, there you are, he had said breathlessly, shooting her a grateful look as he emerged from the storage closet . I managed to find that box of red felt-tip pens that you had been looking for.

As promised, he had invited Y/N over that night and told her everything -- how he had been bitten by a radioactive spider while on a field trip in high school, how he had decided to use his powers for good and fight crime, and how his high school girlfriend had died. It was my fault, he had said brokenly. I wasn't fast enough to save her.

Y/N could tell that he still carried an extraordinary amount of guilt over -- Gwen , he had said her name was-- 's death and had understood why he never seemed to date or have many friends outside of work.

Of course, that didn't stop Y/N from developing feelings for Peter. The more they hung out together and got to know each other better the more her feelings grew, and after two and a half years of friendship she was head-over-heels in love with him.

Not that she'd ever tell him that, of course.

Y/N closed the window behind him. "So what brings you here at this time of night?"

"I just got done with patrol and was swinging by on my way home, and I saw your light on so since it's after midnight and therefore technically the 14th I decided to stop by to give you your 'Valentine by Default' gift." Peter dug around in his backpack and pulled out a (slightly beat-up) box of chocolate-covered strawberries from Y/N's favorite confectionary. "Happy Valentine's Day, bestie."

Y/N gave Peter a hug. "Aww, thanks, Pete."

Peter grinned. "Hopefully they're not squished. I had to stop a mugging on my way here."

Y/N opened the box as she walked towards her kitchen. "They look fine to me. Want one?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah, I had gotten a few extras and ate them on the way here."

"Well, I have a little something for you too. In fact, I just finished them."

Y/N selected a strawberry and took a bite. "Ohmigod," she mumbled. " So good."

She set the box down on her counter and picked up the heart-shaped tin of brownies that she had baked. "Anyway, happy Valentine's Day, Pete."

Peter grinned. "Are those what I think they are?"

Y/N nodded. "My famous 'Death by Chocolate Marble Cheesecake' brownies, made just for you."

Peter gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Y/N. You're the best."

Y/N's face warmed. "It's no problem. Hey, since you're here, want to stay and watch a movie?"

Peter nodded. "Sure. Can I use your shower first though? I'm all sweaty from patrol."

"Yeah, of course. You know where everything is."

Y/N finished tidying up while she waited for Peter to get out of the shower.

She was putting away the last of the dishes from her dishwasher when she heard the bathroom door open. "Hey, Y/N?" Peter called out from behind her.

She turned towards him. "Uh-huhhhhhng…" Oh. Oh my.

Peter wore a pair of loose, low-cut gray sweatpants that Y/N secretly loved seeing on him… and nothing else.

Y/N cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, what's up?"

Peter ran a hand through his wet hair. "I uh, I forgot to put a shirt in my backpack. You wouldn't happen to have anything that would fit me, would you?"

Y/N watched a rogue drop of water fall from Peter's hair onto his chest and run down his torso, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Nope, nope, bad Y/N. Don't think about licking water off of your best friend's abs.

She mentally shook her head. "What? Oh, no, I don't think I do, sorry."

"Ah, I didn't think so but it was worth a try. I can just wear my suit home later."

"Sounds good." Y/N moved to her dresser and grabbed a pair of pajamas. "You go ahead and choose the movie while I get ready."

She took a quick shower of her own and changed into a tank top and matching pajama pants before brushing her teeth.

She flipped the bathroom light off and made her way back to the living/bedroom area. "So what'd you pick--"

She cut herself off when she saw that Peter was fast asleep, one hand clutching the remote to her TV. While it wasn't the first time Peter had fallen asleep in her bed, it sure had been the fastest. Patrol must've been harder on him than he let on.

She gently pried the remote from his grip and set it aside before settling in next to him. "Good night, Peter, " she whispered as she pulled the covers over them both and was soon asleep herself.

"No, no, not Y/N, please no, not Y/N… "

Y/N woke to Peter mumbling her name and thrashing about in his sleep.

One day about 4 months before he had come frantically knocking on Y/N's apartment door and when she had opened it he had immediately started babbling about multiverses and wizards and clones of himself.

Not clones, he had corrected when Y/N had tried to make sense of what he was talking about. Other *versions* of myself -- other Peter Parkers.

Y/N had sat and listened while Peter had explained about crossing through a portal into an alternate New York, one where he and two other Peters took on The Lizard, Electro, and 3 other villains from the other other Peter's -- Peter 2, he had called him -- world. We cured them, Peter had said excitedly. We cured them all.

Peter, sweetheart, are you sure it wasn't just a dream? Y/N had asked. You said you've been gone for over a week but I literally just saw you yesterday.

Peter had shaken his head emphatically. Time must run faster there, but I'm positive, Y/N.

I saved MJ, he added quietly. Peter 1's girlfriend. She fell, just like… He had paused and looked down at the floor then, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. But I was able to get to her in time.

Y/N had pulled him into a hug, her heart cracking. Oh, Peter.

You do believe me, right, Y/N? Peter had asked, face buried in the crook of Y/N's neck.

Of course I believe you, Pete. Y/N had run a soothing hand through Peter's hair. Now, you said they were Peter 1 and Peter 2, which I assume made you Peter 3, right?

Peter had nodded against her neck.

Y/N had pulled back and cupped Peter's face in her hands. Just remember, you'll always be number one to me.

Peter had smiled, one of the first truly genuine smiles Y/N had seen on his face. Thanks, Y/N.

Y/N had thought he was doing better -- the dark circles under his eyes had all but disappeared and he seemed to have been sleeping better lately -- but apparently he was still having the occasional nightmare.

She sat up and gently tried to shake Peter awake. "Peter. Peter, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Peter continued thrashing and mumbling. "Please, not Y/N, I'll do anything…"

Y/N shook Peter a bit harder. "Peter… Peter, sweetheart, wake up."

This time Peter sat bolt upright, an anguished cry of Y/N's name on his lips.

He looked around, chest heaving as he gulped in air. Finally his eyes seemed to focus on Y/N. "Y/N?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I'm here."

Peter collapsed against her in relief. "Oh thank God, Y/N, you were-- and I tried-- but then you-- and I couldn't--" he managed between gulps of air. "I can't lose you, Y/N. I can't lose someone else that I--"

That I care about. "Hey, shh, I know, it's okay," Y/N whispered soothingly, stroking a hand through Peter's hair. "It was just a nightmare, Pete, I'm okay. You won't lose me."

She took Peter's hand in hers and pulled it between them, pressing it to her beating heart, then took a few deep breaths so Peter could feel his hand rise and fall on her chest. "See? I'm right here. I'm fine, sweetheart, I'm safe, you keep me safe."

Peter's breathing slowly began to calm. After a few moments he leaned back slightly to look at Y/N, brown eyes shining in the moonlight.

Y/N's breath caught as the air shifted between them.

Peter lifted his free hand to Y/N's cheek as his gaze flicked down to her lips then back to her eyes in silent question.

Y/N nodded in answer, breathing out a quiet 'yes ' right before Peter's lips met hers.

After a few moments Peter shifted them so Y/N was straddling his lap, tongue probing her bottom lip.

Y/N willingly opened up to Peter, letting out a soft moan when he deepened the kiss.

She gently scratched the back of Peter's head as she trailed her hands up into his hair while Peter kissed his way down her jawline to her neck.

His hands made their way along her waist and under her tank top. "Is this okay?"

Y/N nodded, grinding down in Peter's lap and hissing in a breath as her clothed core brushed against his burdening erection. "More than okay."

Peter groaned then swore softly. "I don't-- I don't want to be presumptuous here, but just to let you know... I don't have any condoms. It's not like I need them to fight crime and I haven't exactly been getting any lately, you know?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm fine without them if you are."

Peter looked at her in surprise. "You sure?"

Y/N nodded. "I'm on birth control."

She brushed their lips together. "I want you, Peter."

"Shit, Y/N. " Peter sealed their mouths together once again.

His hands continued their journey upwards, sliding Y/N's tank top up and over her head and discarding it somewhere on the floor before trailing gentle fingers along Y/N's shoulders. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, unbridled desire evident in his eyes.

Y/N shivered. " Peter ."

Peter turned them to guide Y/N down onto the bed.

He took his time kissing and caressing his way down her body, whispering words of adoration and praise with each newly-touched patch of skin.

He paused once again as he reached the waistband of her pajama pants. "Still want this?"

Y/N 's heart warmed at Peter's concern. She lifted her hips in permission. "Uh huh. Want you inside me."

Peter groaned against her skin. "God, Y/N, I want that too, I want that so badly. Want to make you feel good, l want to feel you wrapped around me as I make love to you."

He slowly pulled Y/N's pajamas pants and underwear off of her before shuffling out of his sweatpants, the additional clothing joining Y/N's tank top somewhere on the floor.

Y/N licked her lips at the sight of Peter fully bare before her. Holy fuck, he's even hotter than I thought.

Peter smirked. "Like what you see?"

Y/N grinned back. "Very much so."

She bit back a moan as Peter circled a nipple with his tongue before giving it a gentle suck. "Need you now, Peter, please."

Peter kissed her as he lined himself up with her core, coating himself in her wetness before slowly pushing inside.

Y/N tried to relax and breathe against the intrusion. It had been well over two years since she had slept with anyone, and while Peter had a swimmer's build he wasn't exactly lanky everywhere.

Peter's eyes caught hers. "You okay?"

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I just haven't been with anyone since--" Since before I met you. "Well, it's been a few years."

Peter nodded in understanding. "Yeah. For me too."

Y/N reached out and caressed Peter's cheek. "You can keep going."

Peter turned his face and kissed Y/N's palm as he withdrew a bit then carefully pushed back in a little deeper, slowly repeating the process until he was fully seated inside her. "God, Y/N, you feel so good."

Y/N's eyes fluttered shut, the discomfort beginning to subside into a pleasurable fullness. "So do you, Peter. So good, make me feel so full."

Peter withdrew and slid back in, setting a slow rhythm. "Wanted you for so long, Y/N, dreamed about being with you like this. Never wanted anyone the way I want you."

He leaned his forehead against Y/N's as he changed angles, hitting that spot inside Y/N that made her see stars.

"Me too," Y/N replied with a gasp, her grip tightening around Peter's back. "Oh, God, Peter, right there."

Peter slightly increased his pace, his strokes becoming firmer and surer. "Yeah?"

"Yes, oh God, don't stop, Peter, please. You feel so good."

Peter hissed in a breath. " Fuck , so do you. So tight, so good, better than I ever imagined. You're so beautiful, Y/N, you're amazing, can't believe I get to be with you like this, God, you're perfect…"

He slid a hand down to Y/N's thigh and hitched her leg up around his waist, allowing him to reach spots inside her that no one had reached before. "Never want to lose you, want you to be mine."

"You won't lose me, Peter, I'm right here sweetheart, I'm yours--" Y/N bit off a gasp as her orgasm rocked through her.

A few thrusts later Peter followed her over the edge, groaning out her name against her lips as he found his own release deep inside her.

They continued to kiss languidly as they came down from their highs together, Y/N tracing gentle patterns up and down Peter's back.

She shivered as Peter gave her one final kiss before carefully withdrawing from her still-sensitive core and laying down next to her, pulling her to him in a cuddle.

Peter pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you," he confessed softly.

Y/N looked up at him in surprise, unable to hide the smile spreading on her face. "What? Really?"

Peter nodded with a smile of his own. "Yeah, really."

Y/N leaned up and kissed him. "Well good, because I love you too."

"Yeah?"

Y/N giggled. "Yes, you dork."

Peter grinned. "So what do you say, then? Be my Valentine? Officially, that is."

Y/N pretended to think. "Ehh, I dunno…"

She laughed as Peter poked her side in retaliation. "Of course I'll be yours, Pete. I already was."

Peter pulled her back to his side, planting another kiss to the side of her head. "I've been yours too. For a while now."

They laid together quietly after that, basking in the feel of each other's arms.

Y/N could feel herself start to doze off. "Hey, Y/N?" she heard Peter say.

She yawned. "Yeah, Pete?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"Mmm. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

As Y/N drifted off, she thought, Happy Valentine's Day indeed.

#lotmf writes #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker

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