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bg-brainrot · 2 months

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Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You

Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.

Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy

A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentine’s special. He’s a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentine’s because I will be busy on Valentine’s) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!

Word count: ~4.8k

Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at first– or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, he’s finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.

It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.

What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didn’t feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe I’m ill. I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, lest Lae’zel slit my throat in my sleep.

Besides, the pain didn’t happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.

Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. He’d just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed lands’ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach.

Because there you were, presenting your party’s cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchid– had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the woman’s wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.

Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?

Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.

You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpers’ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.

Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments.

Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlach’s struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body.

His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tiefling’s body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammon’s fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This can’t be good.

But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new states– requiring even more help, gods– and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.

The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. That’s right, Harper. Don’t mess with my protector.

Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare.

Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. You’d been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial plane– in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. “You are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.

Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.

Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.

When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheart’s dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.

The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.

Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. He’d expected you to say him. He’d asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being… himself?

The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadn’t felt a sensation like this before– he hated it.

Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? I’m fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.

He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.

One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.

Damned tiefling woman. I’m far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.

The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful fun– the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.

He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if he’d reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, “Are you alright, darling?”

Astarion couldn’t remember what you’d even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.

You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldn’t fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. It’s simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly they’re playing tricks on my body.

It was a few days later, as you helped the Harper’s deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.

Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. He’d seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlantern’s glow, the way your face lit up as the creature’s body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.

This time, he’d felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his senses…

But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away.

It’s a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torso– and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.

Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.

Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress.

Now, Astarion can’t help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. “Darling,” he says, leaning into you slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.”

You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, “Maybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, I’m sure there will be a vacancy.”

Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, I’m still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.

The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.

It’s when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. He’d grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.

The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of blood– a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.

Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, “And why are you so interested in my pale friend?”

“Ah, yes. Perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss,” she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I’d prefer if you did,” she’s quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarion’s nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesn’t deign to give him another moment’s look though, as she turns back to you. “I assume he belongs to you?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounds offended– on his behalf, Astarion wonders? “He’s his own person.” Your words cause the feeling in Astarion’s stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.

“I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,” she says with a snide chuckle.

Adorable? he thinks, but he’s unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.

The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, “Do you have a name, spawn?”

Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, “Astarion, b-but hold on!” Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this woman’s tirade, all to no avail.

“Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,” Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.

Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?”

The woman goes on a new insane diatribe– something about dancing with death– but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that she’s offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this woman’s disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. “I will have to decline,” he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldn��t do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.

It’s entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. “I gave you my answer.”

The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

You, for your part, look confused. There’s a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that you’re missing. “I’m surprised, Astarion. I thought you’d enjoy an opportunity like this.”

What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?”

Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drow’s nosy eyes and ears. Once you’re alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, “Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?”

“What’s the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?” you ask, leaning toward him.

Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they don’t know what they’re asking. How could they know? “Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, it’s rank.”

Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her blood?”

“I can’t say. It just smells… wrong. Unnatural.” His words sound pathetic to his own ears.

Of course that’s not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. I’ve put up with worse after all.

So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, “Drinking it wouldn’t kill me, but it would not be pleasant.”

You both hear a sigh from behind you. “I don’t have all day, True Soul,” Araj calls, impatiently.

Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the woman’s irritated sigh, her entitled words. “Astarion,” you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, we’ll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.”

The breath leaves him.

"Alright. Uh, thank you,” he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. He’d been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what you’d asked of him. But this? This is something he hadn’t been prepared for.

In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as he’s still capable of making, “It's still a ‘no’, I’m afraid.”

“How very disappointing,” the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.

Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly head– only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I… appreciated that.”

"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."

Huh.

The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.

That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.

Gods, he's worried about him.

After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.

He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.

They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.

Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.

Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.

So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.

Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.

When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.

But he had.

And you'd not forced him to do so.

You'd not forced him to do anything.

They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.

But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks.

Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever mattered–

It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.

The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.

You– you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarion’s life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent.

Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trick– even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.

You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.

They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.

His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It was…

Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?

Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if any– he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before that– but he knows he's right.

And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.

Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a – a–

Astarion’s mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.

Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?

Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.

Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?

But he hasn’t nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.

Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.

He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldn’t be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and he’d rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.

Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?

But, he thinks to himself. Let’s say I did tell them. What could they possibly say…

“I was pretending all along too.” – gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldn’t possibly feel.

“I like you, but not like that.” – maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.

“I have someone else that I love.” – honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldn’t be surprised to find you in Karlach’s tent at this very moment…

“I hate you.” – he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. He’d done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.

“I love you, but…” – every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But we’re in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I don’t want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.

Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.

No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.

But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.”

If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.

The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours.

No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothing–

Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your nose…

Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.

But, try as he might, his eyes can’t avoid you.

All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the group’s leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishment…

You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?

Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. He’s not thinking about holding your hand in his. He’s not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.

Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Mason’s Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.

The vampire thinks he’s finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.

Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.

Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that he’s right is too much for him to bear.

Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I can–

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath once he knows he’s alone. “You’re supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.”

He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he can’t help but feel like a beast that’s been cornered. He’s certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion he’s feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, “Do you need to talk?”

Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he can’t keep his feelings to himself. He’ll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.

No, he thinks, in a panic. I should– I need to–

He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.

Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isn’t it?

So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.

“Later,” he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

Later, I will tell them. Everything.

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cozycottagetarot · 8 months

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Quick Pick: Messages From Your Person

Hello, my loves! It's been way too long, but I'm finally back (hopefully for a long time) with a new reading as well as a bit of a rebrand. Today's reading is focused on messages from your person (kind of in the realm of a future spouse but generally a long-term partner) but I think for some of you it may come across as a current partner as well.

This is a pretty experimental reading for me. I want to start including an 'energy check' of sorts to help you better figure out if a pile is for you or not. I've done 'channelled' messages before but I felt weird about them so I've decided to give it a try again. The message aspect of this reading is just a free-flow writing of the cards that were pulled. And of course, I decided to play around a little bit more with my graphics. I'm always open to feedback, so I'd love to gather your thoughts on the set-up and reading itself.

Elle 🌿

P.S. I'm trying to re-do my masterlist but can't locate all my old pacs easily. If you come across one, I wouldn't mind if you send me the link. 🙏

Support My Work | MASTERLIST

Disclaimer: When reading tarot, my aim is to focus on self-reflection and seeking guidance. The readings you'll find here are designed to add a pinch of fun and entertainment to your day. While I might sprinkle in some advice that hopefully vibes with you, please remember that these insights aren't a substitute for any professional advice you might need-- after all, you know your journey best! For any love-related or future-focused readings, consider them captivating musings exploring possibilities. Divination inspired stories even. I can't predict the future but I do hope to add some enjoyment and insights into your everyday. Lastly my darlings, please take from these readings what resonates with you most, be it some, all or none, and leave the rest. 🌟

PILE 1

Note: Pile 1 your pile gave me absolute hell the first time around 😭. I was writing/channelling the message and the energy literally just gave way at one point, I was flabbergasted 🫨. Anyway, the second pull was much clearer, but I included notes I felt were important from the first pull in the post-reading notes section.

Your Energy:

Going through an awakening. A need or call for self-reflection. A new cycle is beginning. You must face what you are running from within, but you must also be patient. Rely on your inner strength. Needing to learn more about yourself before doing/trying something different. Potentially finding yourself in part of a mentorship. Connecting with people similar to yourself. Navigating regrets. Needing to let go of the old you. Needing to ground yourself. A strong energy of needing to look within yourself. It is time to prepare yourself for your next journey.

The Message:

Can you let the past go? We’ve been through so much, the both of us, on our own and together. Why do you hold on to it when our future is waiting for us? I know I hurt you and I apologize. You didn’t deserve any of the pain I caused you. I don’t blame you [it felt like there was a specific reason but I couldn’t get the specifics] but I feel lost without you. I could tell you why, I want to, but words mean nothing without action. You know my story. My relationship with my mother, how that shaped me. You know I love the attention of it all, having everyone’s eyes on me. Makes me feel good.. makes me feel. But no one else’s attention mattered like yours did. I felt most close to myself with you. Please, please let go of that version of me you’re holding onto in your head. I’m taking space because I need to heal. I need to heal my relationship with me first before I can heal it with us. This isn’t goodbye; just so long for now. I’m taking time to put that me in the past too and find myself and what I want from this life. I mean it’s simple really, I want you, us. I want to give you the good life you deserve, but I need to fix myself first. Give me the self-love I deserve.

Post-Reading Notes:

There’s a mature, sad regretful energy. Someone on a journey of self-exploration. Two hurting souls who met at the wrong time. One of you may be further along in your healing journey or you’ve both healed parts of yourself and your relationship that the other one hasn’t healed yet.

First Pull Notes:

One of the first things that came to mind for me is a dark night of the soul… I haven’t heard that term in so long and I’ve completely forgotten what it means, but for someone in this pile, I feel like that may resonate a lot. Going through a tough time. Blow after blow. Your higher self or inner wisdom is trying to reach you. Introspection before a new beginning. An ending of something you don’t want to let go of?

Big things are happening in your life, and significant changes are taking place even though it might not seem that way right now. Lots of air energy. Gaining mental clarity is super important for you right now. Breakup vibes? You two are like opposite sides or motivations of the same energy. Holding on when you know you should let go. This is definitely your person (one of the cards literally says ‘You’re my person’).

PILE 2

Your Energy:

For some of you are at the end of suffering but lying to yourself about the truth of the outcome, while for others you’re running from the mistakes made along the way. Maybe it's both. You’re still grieving all that is lost, be gentle with yourself. Hard work and consistency may await you but keep at it. Adventure is closer than you think. You’re on the brink of success. Moving forward hurts, but you must. Your person (or something you've been romanticising) is waiting for you. You just have to be brave enough to step through the gate. Opportunities are coming your way. If you're interested in floral hobbies or embroidery go for it.

The Message:

I hear you. I haven’t given up on you. I hear the songs you play for me, I hear the songs of your heart. You’re my love, my soulmate. We were meant to be, you and me. You’re not crazy or insane, or any other term you demean yourself with. You’re my everything. I can feel your soul even though we’re apart. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can feel you there. I can see your sparkling soul mirroring mine... sad eyes, bright smile, you leave me in awe. I know you call to me, and I’m sorry I’m not there. Don’t hate me for it, please. I’m leaving behind all that has been holding me back… the same as you. I’m sorry it’s so lonely. I want to meet. What do you say? Impromptu trip to the tropics? Somewhere cold? I just want to escape the world with you and lie in your arms. You’re my home. I sit in your energy and let it guide me your way. But I do need time. Please be patient with me. I haven’t abandoned you. I’m finding me, for you. I dream about you so often and being the kind of person you’d inspire me to be.

Post-Reading Notes:

"I need you to run to me, run to me, lover." (Run by Hozier, the chorus specifically. I know the song is supposed to be a metaphor but I'm suggesting it at face value). A very healing energy to your person's messages. Your person could also fantasise about you a lot... in a non-x-rated 18+ kind of way. It was mentioned on one of the cards but that part of the card felt awkward in the rest of the cards. They’re possessive, it doesn't seem like in a negative or extreme way but again, that's not something that was strong or clear. There’s something to do with the attention of others. They just want to be yours completely… Honestly, a submissive yet dominant kind of energy. A protector and/or provider (take that as you will) who is absolutely smitten with you and will do anything you say.

I don't typically read for it, but one of the cards had twin flame written on it. It could also be symbolic of mirroring each other in your personal journeys in life.

PILE 3

Your Energy:

Powerful yet solitary energy. A new chapter of your life. Accomplishing a big goal. Moving to a new location. Creating a good foundation for yourself in preparation for what comes next. Balancing your energies. Sleep issues. Struggling with anxiety or managing thoughts after a traumatic event. Celebration. Having security. Authoritarian role or vibes.

The Message:

Okay, I can do this: I can’t get you off of my mind. I’m constantly thinking of you, viewing your content, trying to set myself up to run into you. I know it’s silly, especially since you hurt me. Who pines after the person that hurt them? Well, it wasn't meant to be mean. You’re just so mysterious I can’t ever read you and it or you make me nervous. I’m always worrying about what to say. I want to talk to you but opening up to others is hard. I’m afraid I’ll start crying or you’ll hear my voice crack. You’re my person. I’m sure of it. You’re everything I’ve hoped for in a person, everything I dream about before I go to sleep at night. You’re doing so well for yourself, but I want to spoil you and be there for you. Not always materially. I know you can cover that for yourself. But being there for you and spending time with you… I heard you were seeing someone. I hope it’s not true and even if it is, I hope it doesn't last. No, I’m not sorry. I’m going to work up the courage to reach out to you soon.

Post-Reading Notes:

Oh Pile 3, you’re so intimidating to your person. Secret admirer vibes. I definitely think you’ve got a very serious or professional energy and an intimidating appearance. That may especially be true if you’re taller than average for your demographic/s. The energies here feel very balanced or neutral (not heavily feminine or masculine) on both your end and theirs.

PILE 4

Your Energy:

Such a beautiful light-hearted energy. There’s such a beautiful and hopeful energy in this relationship here but it’s also possible someone or something is working against you right now. A very important decision is being made. Someone could be trying to take something from you, but keep going. You’ve got this incredible power/energy to you. Vows are super important, be it making them with someone else or making a vow to yourself to gain or achieve something. Collaboration. Having everything you need to succeed. There could be challengers coming your way but you're strong enough to overcome them.

The Message:

I’m sorry. I don’t know, that was immature of me. I swear it wasn’t like you thought but don’t worry I’m going to do better. Honest. You know, I dream about us being together and growing old. I dream about our kids. They’re so stinking cute. We’ve still got growing to do, ok, or I’ve still got growing to do. Please talk to me. You know I hate it when you give me the silent treatment. I know I disappeared on you and that wasn’t cool. I just get so… I care about you a lot. I don’t want to see you hurt. I want the best for you. I know I act all big and bad but I’m a softie at heart. That fight was weird. I don’t like it. It wasn’t like us. It meant nothing I know. Would you pack up and run away with me if I asked? I hate the distance between us right now. Im always listening to our playlist. I know I acted like I'm uninterested in something serious but I am. I want you. I miss you. I want to spoil you and give you everything you deserve. Just give me a chance. Please hear me out.

Post-Reading Notes:

The vibes while doing the reading felt like very young vibes? There’s a youthfulness there. Someone who either is actually young in age or hasn’t grown up emotionally in a certain aspect. It felt like they did something prideful that was hurtful to you and you two are in a disconnect during the moment captured in the reading. It didn’t feel like a serious fight. More so when you’re upset with someone and acting like you’re madder than you really are (your vibes) and the other person is sweating and begging you to talk to them again (their vibes).

Also, idk why but Peter Parker kept coming into my head 🕸️. I’m not feeling to analyse it so take it as you will.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #cozycottagetarot #future spouse reading #future spouse tarot reading #messages from your person #cozycottagetarot readings

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tojisbbygworl · 5 months

Text

Congrats, Babe - Toji Fushiguro x Black!Reader ~ FFL Series

Summary: Toji couldn’t believe you actually invited him to your graduation. Watching you walk across that stage, his son in his arms, sitting next to your family, he couldn’t be happier. Toji - 24, You - 21, Megumi - 3

Characters: Toji, Megumi

Words: 4,239

Tags: Fluff (kinda sorta Tooth-Rotting), Soft Toji, Toji’s a Good Dad, Suggestive Thoughts, Crushes to Lovers

Disclaimer: This work is part of a Black!Reader x Toji series I started called Fushiguro Family Life. It's basically a slice of life series with you, Toji and Megumi. None of them are in order and can be read on their own unless stated otherwise.

AO3 Version

My AO3

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

author's note: Hiiiiii! Don't have much to say except I hope you all enjoy this. I feel like it's really cute and I think I'm doing pretty good on giving small insight on Megumi's personality, Toji's parenting, and what led to his divorce with Megumi's mother who I've decided will be named Ayano. Her name won't come up here but it will down the line. Toji's past will be revealed more and more as the series continues.

“Um, daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going again?”

“A graduation.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

“It’s a ceremony.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

“Sigh…”

On a regular day, a simple drive with his son babbling about nothing in the backseat wouldn’t be so nerve wracking. However, today was a bit special.

Toji was genuinely shocked when you gave him your number after months of friendly flirting. He never actually expected to get anything from you, he was having too much fun watching you get frustrated. But, now that he thinks about it, you have been warming up to him for some time now. The two of you only ever talked at the gym. You went in only a couple of times a week, so he had to make every second count. And he may have purposely changed his availability so he would be there.

You hadn’t said yes to a date just yet, but he’s hoping it was only a matter of time. The two of you were becoming much closer with each other, sometimes spending hours just talking on the phone. Last night’s call was especially sweet. His ears have been heating up all morning from thinking about it. You were so excited about finally graduating, not having to worry about school for what may be the rest of your life, and starting your career. You were so ready for a steady income and to move out of your parents’ house. And it took everything within him to not suggest you move in with him instead of living on your own, as he knows how expensive it can get.

The journey to your graduation was a bit nerve wracking. He knew he’d be anxious when you invited both him and Megumi a week ago. A couple of family members hadn’t been able to make it, meaning Toji would be meeting and sitting down with those who could. Meeting the family before even one date. Unheard of.

He hadn’t even met his last wife’s family before marrying her. He can see how stupid of an idea that was now that they’re divorced. Imagine how much heartache he could have avoided had he done so.

After going through hell (finding parking) he lifts Megumi out of his car seat and takes his hand to follow the hordes of people heading to the auditorium. Looking at his tickets, Toji heads over to their assigned seats.

He sees a group of people who resemble you and deduces that it must be your family. At first he panics. He wonders if you told them about him coming or if he should even say anything. But, his question is answered when the older woman of the group taps his shoulder after sitting down. He guides Megumi to sit in the seat next to him, to which he simply refuses by putting his arms on his father’s lap and jumping to try and climb it. Toji rolls his eyes and lifts his son up.

“Are you the person my daughter Y/N invited? Toji?” She asks. Ah, so this was your mom. You don’t really look like her.

Toji puts on his charming smile and holds his hand out to her. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” He gestures to the little boy on his lap. “This is my son, Megumi.”

Megumi, who’s usually shy, lifts a small hand up and waved at her, looking down and away nervously. Your mom twiddles her fingers which makes him smile. “Aw,” she says and reaches over to tickle his stomach. Megumi giggles and kicks his feet. Toji jerks his head back in shock.

“Is this Toji?” He hears.

Your mother turns to the man sitting next to her and nods. “Mhm. And this is his son.” Megumi gets nervous again and his smile drops, but he does give a small wave. The man waves back and looks up at Toji. He holds his hand out. Now you do look like him. This must be your father.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Toji shakes his hand and says the same. The other two look over at the commotion and smile. Toji waves at them. Megumi hides his head in his shirt.

“Hi! You’re Toji?” One of them asked. She looks to be around the same age as you and sounds like it too. In fact, so does the boy sitting next to her. “I’m Kennedy. This is my brother. We’re Y/N’s cousins.”

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he said after introducing himself as Kwame. “She talks about you all the damn time.”

Toji’s smile freezes and he rubs the back of his neck. “She does?”

Everyone nods and starts going on and on about how much you gush about him. Up until he accepted your invitation, he was known as, “the fine ass gym owner”, a statement that made him blush even harder. However, it was nice knowing how you truly felt about him. It’s not as if you would ever admit to having a crush in front of his face.

He was a bit shocked. Yeah, you flirted back with him from time to time, but you didn’t actually like him, right? It was just…friendly banter. Right?

Some time passed before the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the graduation music began to play. As much as Toji loves that you asked him to come and as excited as he is to see you, it was extremely boring. The only reason he was awake was the clapping from various families. Didn’t bother Megumi, though. He was fast asleep in his father’s lap. Thank goodness, too. Megumi hated staying still if he didn’t have anything to distract him. It was something Toji was working on with him. He’d be getting somewhere with it, and then Megumi would go see his mother and it’s as if she pushed some sort of reset button and he was asking for Toji’s phone again.

Toji was feeling a bit anxious. Your name hadn’t been called yet, and even when it was, there were still hundreds of other students after you. It’s only a matter of time until-

Feeling a stirring on his chest, Toji tears his eyes away from his phone to look into his lap. Megumi was twisting back and forth into his shirt. He did this a few times before sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn. “Shit.” Toji whispered to himself.

As if it’s a homing beacon, Megumi twisted his head to his father’s hand where his phone was being held. He reached out for it, becoming irritated when Toji put it in his pocket. Megumi looked up at him begrudgingly while Toji stared back. Crap. Megumi was a good kid overall, but he was still just a kid. He really didn’t want to have to leave because he started crying, and he also didn’t want to give Megumi the phone. Well, he would have to make a decision soon, because Megumi’s chest was heaving and getting worse with every passing second. His eyes grew big and sparkly, his bottom lip started to poke out, ahh shit.

Like an angel in disguise, your mother leaned over his lap and smiled at Megumi. “Did your daddy make you mad?” Toji’s jaw drops then drops even more when Megumi actually nods.

“Aw, come here baby,” she holds her hands out and lifts him into her lap when he reaches for her. “Don’t cry, hm?”

“Don’t you want to watch your friend graduate?” As if Megumi knows what graduate even means, he nods his head again. Toji is appalled. She flips him around and points to the stage where you had actually just gotten to the stairs. “Look. It’s Y/N.”

Megumi doesn’t know who she is either, he hadn’t met her yet. But still, he looks around for a face he does recognize, and Toji takes this chance to talk to her. “How…how did…”

“Hold on, she’s about to walk,” she shushes him. Toji turns his head back towards the stage where he sees you standing at the top. He sees your black and blue cap and gown, your decorated neck, and the bright smile on your face and lights up. He adjusts his posture.

You begin to walk and Toji takes notice of your heels. Your legs and feet look fantastic in them. He wondered what dress you were wearing underneath all that. He knows it looks great on you.

Your name is called, and he joins your family in a round of applause. Even Megumi starts clapping. Toji decides to throw in a whistle, laughing to himself when you turn to the crowd in confusion. You try to look for him in the crowd to no avail, but you smile anyway and walk off.

Toji leans back in his seat, still reveling in your smile, but stops when he feels some eyes on him. He turns to look at your mother who was giving him a stare he couldn’t read. Megumi was successfully distracted. He was counting on his fingers. Hopefully the number was 1000.

“So,” she starts, “how long until you’re ready to put a ring on her finger?”

After a second of choking on his own spit, Toji responds. “I’m-what?”

“What comes after 19?” Megumi asks.

“20,”Answers your mother.

“Oh.” He puts one more finger up. Afterwards, he puts all of his fingers back down and starts again. “What comes after that?”

“21.”

“…Oh!” And he starts silently counting again while mouthing the words to himself.

She looks back up at Toji who was waiting patiently for an explanation. “Well, now that she’s a graduate and is entering a sustainable career, I think she’s more than qualified to be a wife. Don’t you?”

Toji blushes profusely. His heart runs a mile a minute. He doesn’t know what to say or think. Is that why she’s been so nice and talkative to him? She thinks they’re dating? What have you told her?

She was anticipating his answer. Megumi was halfway through his 20s. “Uhm…I mean…yes, but…I think you might have the wrong idea.”

She leans back and gets a wistful look on her face. “Ah, I see,” she says. “You want to wait until the right moment and all of that. Well, I say the right moment is now, but that’s just me I guess.”

Toji’s mouth hasn’t closed for the entire interaction. She doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Just goes back to telling Megumi what numbers come after what.

After the ceremony, you all meet up outside and wait for your arrival. Toji decides not to bring up what happened in the auditorium. It was a little awkward, but mostly, he kind of likes the idea that your mother thinks the two of you are dating. No one else has said anything, however. Maybe it’s just your mother being a bit ridiculous.

Megumi, who’s still being held by her, taps her shoulder. “Is that her?” He asks while pointing.

They all look in the same direction and lo and behold, there you were. Your gown was unzipped showing off your beautiful white dress that stopped at your thighs and hugged your curves. It showed only a bit of your cleavage and left a lot to Toji’s very active imagination. Your makeup was stunning, and you had texted him earlier today saying that you did it yourself. You did an amazing job. Your Cajun spice locks framed your face beautifully. You told him you wanted your hair to be blonde so you stopped staining your new growth after bleaching it. Your cap was hiding the blonde. He would have loved to see it.

Your beautiful smile filled his heart, and he found himself gravitating towards you, even getting in front of your family. Your smile grew even bigger as you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in it. He did the same to you and squeezed you closer by your waist.

“Congrats, babe.”

“Thank you Toji. I’m so glad you came.” He rocks you back and forth before pulling away.

“Of course we came.” Your face lights up and you look at your family. You hug and kiss them all, your mother being last. She puts Megumi down to hug you tightly. Toji sees a tear run down her cheek. He looks at Megumi, expecting him to come running back, but he just stands there and looks up at you while holding your mother’s pants.

“Have you met Megumi, yet?” Your mother asks you, putting her hand behind his back and nudging him in front of her.

“No,” you answer, crouching down to speak to him. “Hi Megumi. I’m Y/N.”

Megumi smiled shyly and waved at you. “You’re very pretty. I see why my dad likes you so much!”

“Megumi!” Toji reaches for his hand and picks him up while blushing. Kennedy and Kwame giggle off to the side. Your father was too busy trying to record you to notice what he had said. You cover your mouth and look at him. He knew you were laughing underneath your hand.

“Okay!” Your dad put his phone away after looking at the time. “We have to get going before traffic gets bad and we end up late.”

As if he pressed a button, your whole family jumped into action. Toji looked at you in confusion as you walked up to him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re throwing a graduation party,” you explain. Sheepishly, you rub your ear. “I…wasn’t sure if you wanted to come to that too. It’s mostly going to be family and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable-.”

“I’d love to come!” He says a bit too excitedly. He clears his throat afterwards. “I’d love to come.”

Your beam made his heart pound. “Okay! I’ll send u the address.” You approached him and put your hand on his arm. His palms became sweaty and he had no clue what you were trying to do, but he was prepared for anything. Especially a kiss.

Unfortunately, you weren’t trying to do that. Instead, you tickled Megumi’s tummy making him giggle sweetly. “Are you okay with that?” You asked while looking at the baby boy.

Megumi nodded enthusiastically. “I love parties!” He shouted.

“Yay! You’ll have so much fun. There’s going to be a kids room, okay?” Megumi nods even more. You take out your phone, send Toji the address, then turn to catch up with your family. Toji continues to watch the back of your head longingly. He’s knocked out of his trance when you turn to look at him. “Come on. We’re going to the parking garage.”

Toji blinks and gulps. That’s right. He could walk you to your car. “Coming.”

Toji pulls up to the banquet hall 30 minutes later. Your family had made it a few minutes before, but were all already inside having a time. Getting out of the car, Toji looked around. There were a lot of cars and even more pulling up. Whole families getting out and rushing to the doors, some of them with gifts. Toji’s throat dries up. He thinks he’ll keep his gift in the car.

When he walks inside with his son, it’s clear that he is a fish out of water. There was a large dancefloor already housing hoards of people. He nervously looked around for someone he recognized, and got even more nervous as the seconds went by. He looked at Megumi, who was getting more and more nervous by the second.

He began walking inside with no clear direction. Some children ran past his legs, which captured Megumi’s attention. They took a second to stop and look at the large man that they had never seen before, then went right back to playing. Toji watches them run to the other side of the building and go through a door. Toji wonders if that’s the kid’s area you were talking about. Then, a couple more children run past the doorway, with an adult chasing after them. He’ll assume the answer is yes.

Upon walking through the door, he finds himself in a hallway. It’s a long corridor, but right on the wall opposite to the party, there was an open door. He could see from the cartoon paintings on the wall, the bright colors, the puzzle piece mat, and the sound from within that this was his destination. When walking in, he gained many stares from the various kids inside. He grew worried for Megumi who had his hand over his mouth staring nervously at the crowd of kids. He was gripping Toji’s shirt tightly. He knew his little heart was beating a mile a minute.

Toji pulled his son to the front of him. “Hey,” he tells him. “You’re gonna be brave for daddy, right?” The boy shakes his head. Toji shifts his jaw and sighs. “Come on, Megumi. I’ll…” he squeezes his lips together and his eyes shut, not wanting to have to bribe his son. “I’ll get you pizza and ice cream tomorrow. We can have it for breakfast.”

It didn’t excite him, but it did the job. Megumi nodded his head and let his father put him on the floor. “Of course,” Toji whispered under his breath. He watches Megumi shyly walk up to some younger kids around his age, talking about nothing and playing with blocks. They watch him sit down then go back to playing. Megumi looks back at his dad who gives him a smile and a thumbs up. The boy takes a second, turns back around and reaches for a block. Then, one kid decides to hand one to him. Then another. Soon, Megumi’s being offered blocks galore. Toji feels a warmth growing inside him along with relief. He fit right in. And, maybe he’ll forget about that promise.

“Well that seemed to work quite well, huh?” Says a familiar voice from behind him. Toji turns around to face you. Your cap and gown was off just leaving you in your stunning dress. Your skin looked so smooth, and your hair was even more beautiful than before now that he can see it in its full glory. You never failed to take his breath away.

He clears his throat, checks back on Megumi once more, then follows you back out into the hall. The door leading to the party was closed so the children wouldn’t run into it so easily, and they wouldn't be disturbed in the play room. Despite the blasting music, it blocked off the sound pretty well. “You heard that, huh?” He laughs. “Yeah, it always seems to work. Sometimes he forgets so it still works out in my favor.”

You let out your adorable giggle. “I wasn’t aware that you were so conniving.” You tease.

“You haven’t seen nothing yet, doll.” Toji gives you a sideways grin and leans towards you with his hands in his pockets. You’re beaming with your fingers covering your mouth.

You push his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can’t say. Kids around.”

“Excuse you?”

“You should push me again.”

“I probably will. You always give me a reason to.”

“Can it be because I like when you touch me?”

“Toji!” You exclaim quietly, looking around to make sure no one was in the hallway to hear him. He was giving you the most shit-eating grin. He reveled in making you flustered.

“What?” He feigns, leaning even closer towards you. He gives your face a good once over. Then he looks down at your lips. They look so soft and so full. He just wants to know how they feel on his skin. On his lips. On his-

“Oh my gosh!” You gasp and grab his arm, knocking him out of his trance. “This is my favorite song!” You grab him and run to open the doors, dragging him onto the dancefloor that’s become even more crowded.

Toji’s feeling a whirlwind of emotions. But nothing compares to you throwing him forward and getting in front of him. Your back faced towards him and before you started dancing, you turned your torso to look at him. “Put your arms on my waist.” You yell.

He blinks. “What?” He’s sure he didn’t hear you correctly over the loud music.

“Your arms,” you repeat. You take his hands and put them on your lower torso. “Just catch my whine, okay?”

And he does. And he does it well. You start to move your waist slowly. You’re barely touching him, but he still feels hot all over. He really is perfect. He’s not grinding against you, but he’s not letting you go either. He squeezes you, which pleases you immensely. Both of you feel amazing in the other’s presence. As if you’re the only two there.

All good things must come to an end. The song, the dance, and eventually, his time at the party. It was getting late. He had to get Megumi home. After what you pulled, Toji didn’t even bother to fix the boyfriend allegations. He wondered how awkward that would be. For you to dance so sensually on a man you weren’t with in front of your family. He’s sure they wouldn’t appreciate that. And there were so many people asking him about it. It would be a headache to correct all of them every single time.

Even then, he had a lot of fun. He enjoyed spending time with you and your family, despite how awkward he could get. And you - oh, you. Your eyes didn’t leave him all night. He thought he was imagining things. But when the clock passed 10, and he told you he had to leave, you eagerly followed him to grab Megumi. Him, amongst other children, were asleep. Toji picked him up and carried him outside.

“Good thing you’re walking little ol’ me to my car.” He whispers once they get out. “I wanted to give you something but I was afraid you wouldn’t have anywhere to put them for the time being.” Toji walks around to Megumi’s seat and sits him down safely. He was still sound asleep. He would have been confused, if it wasn’t for the food stains around his mouth and on his shirt. He’ll be asleep until next week. “And I…was nervous and couldn’t think of a good time.”

“Aw, you didn’t have to get me anything.” You assure him. Toji shushes you before strapping him inside. Once he does, he picks up a gigantic bouquet of white flowers, walks back around the car, and gives them to you.

You gasp. “Oh, Toji.” You appreciated all the presents you got, but this was all you really wanted. Something simple and cute that still showed that whoever gave it to you was thinking fondly of you. And they were your favorite.

You accept them graciously. For a few seconds, you and Toji just look at each other. He’s overwhelmed with pride and joy for you. You really graduated today. You achieved something great. Something that he was never able to do. He admires you so much. Not just your looks, but your brain and personality. In his eyes you were…perfect.

Today went just the way you wanted it to. You got to celebrate your achievement with the people you truly cared about. And you did care for Toji. You think it’s about time he knew that.

So, you grab his shoulder, pull him towards you, stand on the balls of your feet and give him a smooch right in his left cheek. You hear his small gasp and it makes your heart run. You began to sweat a bit. The nerve of you, to kiss him like that. He looks genuinely shocked and you almost begin to regret what you did, until he takes his arm and wraps it around your waist before you can pull away. Toji breathes harder and harder as he stares longingly at your parted lips. Then, he finally leans down and kisses you for the first time.

For a moment, your hearts feel as though they’re beating as one. The kiss is tender and filled with need. Toji is steady pushing your head backwards as he deepens it. When he realizes what he’s doing, he stops abruptly and pulls away. You both continue to stare in each other’s eyes as you catch your breath.

Despite his dry mouth, Toji swallows. “I-I’m sorry,” he begins. “I just…I…”

He had seen you smile a lot today, but the one that spreads across your cheeks was the brightest by far. Everything, every anxious thought and insecure feeling he had washes away. “No. It’s okay. I liked it.”

Absolutely perplexed, Toji let’s out a sound of disbelief. He tries to keep from smiling, but he can’t help it. “You did?”

And you nod. Eagerly.

Ever the rascal, Toji gives you his signature side grin and brings your body closer to him. “You want another one?”

His chagrin makes you burst into a fit of laughter and you throw your arms around his neck, smacking the flowers onto his back. Filled with joy, Toji fully wraps both of his arms around you and lifts you up, twirling you around.

And from inside, a couple of your baby cousins watch the adorable scene. One of the older ones took many pictures to show everyone later on. “I told you that was her boyfriend.”

ending a/n: Let me know what y'all think! I love hearing yall's opinions. And I mayyyyy be open to taking requests. I have many idead already, but I want to see what y'all can think of. Okay byeeeeeeee!!! Taglist for the next story is open.

Pics are from Pinterest

Taglist Sign Up

Taglist: @rav3nmuse, @honeymilkshakesblog

AO3 Version

My AO3

Series Masterlist

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#toji fushiguro #black reader #jjk #toji #toji x reader #toji x black reader #toji fushiguro x black reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fluff

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keepthisholykiss · 1 year

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The results from my Dracula Daily survey are in! Just like with my Hamlet survey in the past, these are the highlights of data that I found from the survey. Folks shared valuable insights that are soon to be shared with the purpose of advocating for further free education resources like these. The data in these graphics is not all the data received but that is because I never share 100% of results, only the interesting parts. This is also probably my final survey I will do like this unless there is desire for me to do more research, if you have a topic you’d like me to cover send me an ask! Otherwise I will be working on my child, my magnum opus, my future PhD dissertation.

Onto the post mortem thoughts and alt text which are both under the fold!

This survey was originally done with the purpose of a specific conference I was to attend and share my thoughts on accessible education with. However that conference was, ironically, incredibly inaccessible. I am a queer disabled scholar and I face a lot of challenges in academia so making my case for why educational resources like Dracula Daily should be promoted within academia is very important to me. Unfortunately my original plans for this research could not happen due to my having to pull out of the conference. Now this data is being shared with a new and much more accessible conference, so at least I can still have use it for its original purpose!

Also of note is that this survey, unlike work I have done in the past, received some really nasty responses. Specifically terfs (idk why they wrote gross stuff in my survey answers though) and people who wanted to belittle the way or the content of what I was researching. This is not okay. I want to reiterate that I am a queer, disabled scholar who has zero tolerance for some of the responses I received. Studying fandom is never fully free of this but I want to hold people accountable always for the way people are treated within a community. My studies of online community are basically done (because I am moving onto my PhD work which does not involve the same research) but if I come back to doing it I will be implementing other methods to avoid the way I was treated. Regardless of the bad eggs and struggles I have with most all of academia this was fun. I appreciate everyone who participated and thank you for the feedback. Please enjoy these results!

ALT TEXT:

Slide one: Dracula Daily survey results Slide two: About the survey - A survey was conducted to gather data from fans of Dracula Daily to gain insight on accessible education and fandom. The survey received 863 responses these are the data highlights. Slide three: Disclaimer - The data presented here is a summary of information and highlighted portions of responses. This is not all of the data and the entirety will never be released. Also some responses were omitted from final numbers due to abusive language entered into the survey toward the researcher. Slide four: Before Dracula Daily - 62% of respondents had not read Dracula before Dracula Daily. More than 50% of respondents answered that they had been avid readers at some point in their lives. Slide five: 85% of respondents noted that they had consumed other gothic or vampire media prior to Dracula Daily. Slide six: Finishing the story - 66% of respondents finished Dracula Daily. 15.7% plan to finish. Slide seven: 92% of respondents said Dracula Daily improved their understanding of Dracula and/or classic literature Slide eight: Stopping short - The majority of those who responded that they did not finish stopped reading sometime in October. The top reason for not finishing was: lack of motivation. Slide nine: Let’s Talk About It - 82% of respondents talked about Dracula Daily online, in person, or both. Over 50% cited memes as their favorite part of participating. Slide ten: One More Chapter - Many respondents indicated their desire to read more books in this format, the titles with the most interest were: Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austen, Phantom of the Opera, and Les Miserables

#dracula daily #dracula #academia #research #education #grad school #literature

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sugaredrhubarb · 6 months

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Reading with Ru: Aug/Sept Fic Recs

I know I'm certainly in need of some positivity and escapism lately, so I'm gonna try to do semi-regular fic and book recs! Starting with a retroactive what I've been reading from the past couple of months with this account! (I might go back in time and make an all-time rec list later)

COD

starting with cod because i know most of you go here

Sergeant Squeaks by @charliemwrites - (series of one-shots ghost x reader and price x reader separately) both one of my favourite reader characters and my favourite canon setting depictions of Ghost and Price. their own weird brands of showing love are wonderful; the tension leading to getting together is fantastic, and the sex is super enjoyable.

Ghost Stories by @kneelingshadowsalome - (ghost x medic!reader) I'm repeating myself, but I love Salome's writing. This is where I was first introduced to it, and I think it's really special. Ghost POV as he struggles with developing and then accepting love. felt so real and grounded. angsty and then fluffy, and you can't help but adore the reader as well.

saltwater by @ceilidho - (ghost x reader) It's pretty unlikely any of you don't know Ceil, but on the off chance you haven't given this one a read yet, it really is a must. I lump praise on her pretty regularly, but I don't know anyone who is able to portray their character's emotions as intimately as Ceil. her ghost feels really grounded in all his complexity. there is a common theme in these recs of really enjoyable reader characters, and this is not an exception; the reader feels like a full but still ambiguous character who is vulnerable and strong and really great.

don't leave me locked in your heart by @ohbo-ohno - (ghoap x reader dark!) we all know bo, we all love bo. I always love the way she depicts ghost and soap's dynamic changing and evolving to include the reader. the descent into dark territory in this is really really fun. It's also just hot and well-written! if you haven't read it before, go read it, and then go read all of bo's drabbles and asks on here. genuinely one of my favourite dark but still fun writers. I think she balances it really well.

body electric by @yeyinde and Afterburn by @sprout-fics - (141 + Los Vaqueros x reader) a classic. I've returned to these so many times. sometimes you just want to read dirty, filthy, well done, smut and then warm cozy aftercare. not to wax poetic about pure sex (except that's exactly what one should do), but I think it can be really hard to write group sex like this and still have such insightful and individual glimpses into each character and dynamic, and Lev does it wonderfully. and then it's also hard to find good aftercare fic, and Sprout's feels like literal aftercare for both the reader character and the reader.

other fandoms

tried to curate to themes i think overlap in some of the cod works! and I think most of these can be read fandom blind.

i revisited @winterrose527's fic in August, and even though she already knows how much I love her work, I won't skip a chance to repeat it. Anna writes for asoiaf and is pretty much the queen of Robb Stark/Myrcella Baratheon, but I would say the modern AUs (my favs) can be read almost completely fandom blind. Any contemporary romance enjoyer would love her work. I'm really partial to her kid/single-parent fics. I think it's so hard to get right, and I always adore reading her kid characters and how she approaches love stories when kids are involved. anna's works are always brimming with love and incredible platonic, familiar, parent-child, and romantic relationships (if kid fic isn't your thing she also has a ton of other great fics). personal favs: We Could Be a Little Something, And There They Are, All the Same

Lawless by @goldcranes - (arthur morgan x ofc) age difference, cowboy love story, essentially a romance novel. if goldcranes has no fans, I'm dead. I encourage you to explore her work; very few people write as strongly across multiple fandoms as she does, and each of her works feels like a really strong love story with special characters.

The Odyssey by @sunlightmurdock - (bradley bradshaw x reader) 1980's roman literature prof x virgin student - no need to know top gun. katie's work is another entry in the 'feels like it stands really strongly separately from the source material' category. she has multiple ongoing AU's that I really love, but this one is a favourite. i think she does complex characters really well - their actions always feel intentional, and as flawed as they are, I always love them.

Wouldn't it be Nice by allyoops - (m/f captive A/B/O) if you aren't reading original works smut on ao3 you are missing out and allyoops is a great place to start for noncon, dubcon, age gap, taboo etc. enjoyers. they have a ton of works; usually one shots with lots of really delicious dynamics and different settings and tropes.

An Intoxicating Presence by FormerlyIR - (mob a/b/o haladriel) MOB. A/B/O. HALADRIEL. picks up with Halbrand in prison thanks to undercover FBI agent (and his mate!) Galadriel. does that sound crazy and awesome? well it is. mix it with Gal's internal struggle, the added complication of omegaverse, and overall great writing. really fun and really damn good.

civitas terrena by banalityofweevil - (darklina) angel Alina on an exploration of love in immortality with fallen angel Aleks. honestly, it's just a must-read for enjoyers of writing. incredibly creative with divine (literally and figuratively) imagery. i think one of my comments was on the precision of lulu's diction and I really stand by that.

tinsel into gold by ribbonedhare - (darklina) ddlg and cnc friends, this changed me. it is so warm and soft and my god, is it good. just scrumptious.

Be My Babydoll by KittyDruthers - (darklina) ddlg dollification need I say more

check the reading with ru tag for more!

#reading with ru #if you read any of these and wanna yell about em with me my asks are open!#fic rec #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfics #cod #darklina #fanfic recs

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gjenkatarot · 1 year

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reminder: my readings are for entertainment purposes only! take a deep breath and choose a pic that you feel drawn to the most! remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn't. enjoy!

welcome pile one! 𓆩♡𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 you are seen by people as someone who is supportive no matter what happens, caring and nurturing at the same time. people may find your presence to be a source of comfort to them. a person who listens well and offers insightful advice. an individual who is capable of healing others. you've got this motherly vibe going on, pile one! those around you perceive you as someone who values privacy and is closed off. you don't share a lot about yourself with other people, want to know/learn more about you. 𓆩♡𓆪 even though you might be aware of what people are saying about you, the truth is that you don't really give a damn about it! people see you as someone who is very protective of their energy, someone who doesn't allow just anyone to come into your world. for some of you, i feel like people fantasize, imagine what it is like to be next to you, what it is like to be close to you, what it is like to meet you. you may be viewed as someone who has a bubbly personality and makes those around you feel happy and complete.

welcome pile two! 𓆩♡𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 most people see you as a hard worker who has to handle the work themselves. people perceive you as someone who is willing to help others despite having problems or difficulties. in the eyes of people, you might be regarded as someone who is always on the go and is always busy a multitasker. there are some people who think of you as someone who doesn't reveal much about themselves, like pile one, but this pile is a little more mysterious. 𓆩♡𓆪 there are a lot of people who see you as someone they can't really get to know, someone who hides a lot of things, someone they're not sure what to do with. you might be viewed by other people as a dark, attractive, and sensuous person. you are seen differently by everyone. i feel like people's opinion of you changes with time. people have difficulty reading you, and your expressions. in their eyes, you are a quiet, introverted person who is smart and extremely enlightening. a person who keeps it to themselves.

welcome pile three 𓆩♡𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 you come across as someone who is very friendly, has a group of friends, and is very likeable. you are seen as someone who likes to be around other people. fun is what they see in you! there is something about your vibes that makes people want to be around you! there may be people who may perceive you as someone who isn't afraid to show others how you feel, and who is not afraid to speak openly about the things that have happened to you. you are seen as someone who is down to earth, someone who is open and honest. 𓆩♡𓆪 you tend to be victimized, and mistreated by some people. an individual who is not a people pleaser. because of your past experiences, people perceive you as someone who is on the same page as them. a lot of people see you as someone who has a way of connecting with people easily and is not afraid to be vulnerable when needed. it's easy to have a conversation with you because you're a listener and you don't judge.

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echo-rambles · 1 month

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use my body against me [part2] summary: when a drunk text to your ex gets answered in a way you never expected, it leads to falling right back into old habits. tags: past established relationship, ex-boyfriend chan, swearing, 18+, oral sex. notes: it took me a hot minute to finish this part, but I had a lot of fun! I do have plans for a part 3 btw 👀I hope you enjoy this continuation of my chan fic! it ended up getting a lot spicier than I had initially planned, which is why I've added the 18+ rating! it's not extremely explicit but it does get... very suggestive. almost bordering on explicit. be warned. part 1

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You stumble from the bedroom, trying to be as quiet as you possibly can, tip toeing through the hallway. The sun has barely risen and the entire apartment is silent. As you round the corner into the main room, you come up short, almost tripping on your own feet.

“Oh.” Changbin greets, standing there with a protein shake in hand. Blinking at you.

“Oh.” You say back, eloquently. Heels gripped in your hand and skirt most definitely not sitting right on your legs.

With a little nod to himself, Changbin sips at his shake. “Is this a thing now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sneaking out of Chan’s room before he wakes up, clearly barely awake and definitely raiding the fridge before you run. Is it happening again?”

“Ok, fuck you Binnie.” You practically hiss, moving closer so your voice doesn’t have to carry and accidentally wake anyone else up. “It’s- listen, it’s nothing. It was one night, a mistake that we’ll both awkwardly laugh at later.”

“Sounds an awful lot like what you said when you guys first started dating. Weird.”

“If you’re not going to offer me a ride, I’ll be leaving now. Thank you so much for your insight.”

“Wait, if I drive you home can we pick up breakfast on our way?”

“Of course.”

(“Honestly though, is this a thing again?” Changbin asks, taking a large bite out of his breakfast sandwich.

You're both sitting in his car, idling in a parking lot between the little cafe you grabbed food from and your apartment. The way he says again makes something in your stomach somersault.

“I don't know. It was just one night.” You can't tell who you're trying to convince. “It was...”

“A mistake?” He finishes your sentence, remembering what you said earlier. Looking at you like he always has. Willing to listen to whatever you have to say with minimal judgment.

You're quiet as you pick at your waffles. The word mistake doesn't sit right with you. Even though you're the one who said it first, now that you're more awake and watching the sun rise, it feels like the wrong word. “It was definitely a bad decision.”

Changbin just hums and finishes off his sandwich.)

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Walking into your apartment in the same clothes you were wearing the night before isn’t particularly shameful, but it is embarrassing. Solely because you know, in the deepest recesses of your bones, exactly how annoying your roommates are going to be about it.

If they witness your walk of utter embarrassment, they will never shut up.

Which is why you try your hardest to be as quiet as possible while making your way through the hallway, heading straight for your room. Unfortunately you get caught by Hyunjin as you creep into the living room. He’s sitting on the couch with his sketchbook propped on his knees.

It feels almost like deja vu, standing in the middle of a living room, caught in the act of sneaking around. Your skirt still isn’t sitting right on your legs. Hyunjin blinks at you. The deja vu intensifies.

“You’re awake early.” It’s the first thing you can even think to say, mostly because the fact alone comes as such a shock. The curtains are drawn, but there’s the barest sliver of morning sun spilling through the crack. Hyunjin is the type of person who never wakes up before noon unless it’s a national emergency.

Hyunjin sucks on his teeth. “And you’re home late.”

See? Annoying. “I mean- I guess. I don’t have to explain myself to you.” You cringe at the tone of your own voice after the words tumble from your mouth.

“Oh wow, he must’ve fucked you really good for you to be defensive about it.”

Annoying, annoying, so fucking annoying. Why is he even awake? With a huff, you turn towards your bedroom. Maybe you could’ve been nicer about it, but you really don’t owe him an explanation. If he’s going to be all irritating about it, then he doesn’t deserve to know the details.

Even if you are dying to tell someone.

His laughter follows after you, but then it’s suddenly interrupted by a shocked little noise. When you glance over your shoulder, Hyunjin is staring at his phone, wide eyed.

“Holy shit, no way. You weren’t joking when you said early- the sun is out?” He’s looking towards the curtains now, at the sliver of sunlight that’s been steadily crawling across the floor as the sun rises.

“Ah.” You hum in understanding. “You’re not awake early. You just haven’t slept.”

“Hey, you’re not in any position to judge questionable decisions.”

That immediately shuts you up.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Accidentally running into Chan out in the wild really should’ve been less of a surprise. It’s not like you lived miles away from each other, so of course it was inevitable that you’d see him at some point. Yet here you are, shocked and surprised and maybe panicking.

It took some time after the break up, but eventually you had settled into a sort of civil understanding. You were able to wave a half-hearted greeting whenever you'd catch sight of each other in public.

But now, after the other night, it almost feels reminiscent of the early days, when the break up was still fresh. When it felt like seeing him going about his daily life was enough to send you spiraling.

Ducking behind the nearest surface, you fall into a crouch. Hands over your eyes and a sense of embarrassment washing over you. You are in no way mentally or emotionally prepared to see him this soon after everything that happened between you that night.

And there was a lot that happened.

“You feel so good- no one ever feels as good as you.” Chan pants into your ear, nosing at the skin of your jaw. It’s not like you expected him to be celibate since you broke up, especially since you weren’t either. You’ve hooked up with a few scattered people after Chan, but he was right, none of them felt like this. He squeezes at your waist. “It’s like you’re made for me. No one else.”

No, now is not the time to get distracted with memories of the way he touched you and held you and pressed you into the mattress- stop it. Get a hold of yourself.

This is exactly the reason you don’t want him to see you. How are you meant to be trusted around him? There’s an equal mix of panic and excitement at just the prospect of hearing his voice. Balanced on a knife’s edge and not sure if you’re looking forward to an awkward conversation about hooking up or dreading it completely.

So what if you're hiding? It's not like anyone will ever witness this moment.

“Are you ok?” Comes a voice, interrupting your spiraling as your stomach turns cold and makes the decision all on its own to settle firmly on bone chilling dread.

Looking up, you're met with Chan's worried eyes. Fuck.

“Yeah- yes.” You cringe at your own voice and the way you stumble over your words. “I'm- don't worry about it.”

“You're curled into yourself behind a vending machine… I feel like that deserves a little worry.”

“I'm having an existential crisis. I'm fine.”

He doesn't look like he believes you. Fair.

In the next moment he's crouching down beside you, joining you behind the vending machine. Chan positions himself perfectly, his wide shoulders acting as some sort of barrier between you and the rest of the world. If it was anyone else you’d feel trapped, you know this without a doubt. You’d be a cornered animal with nowhere to go.

But with Chan you just feel safe, and that knowledge sits a little bit weird in your chest. The feeling is too familiar.

“Since you’re obviously not hiding and you’re perfectly ok.” Chan begins, and you squint at him. “Can we talk?”

“About?” Deflect, deflect, deflect.

He just notches an eyebrow at you. “C’mon, you know what about.”

Looking up and over his shoulder, you can see a few scattered people staring at the two of you, curious gazes itching along your skin. You must look like two crazy people, huddled beside a vending machine of all things. With a sigh, you reluctantly agree.

You knew this conversation would have to happen eventually, especially since you’ve been trying to be more of a responsible adult recently. That doesn’t mean you’ve been looking forward to it.

The feeling of his hand in yours as he helps you up feels like a brand. Searing into your skin and leaving you a little dizzy. You wish you could hold him close forever. Turn back time to before things were strained and weird, when you could just hold his hand and he’d smile at you.

You don’t let yourself linger. Instead you turn and begin walking, ignoring the way he looks at you. Things will go back to normal once you’ve ironed everything out and admit that nothing like the other night should ever happen again.

Somehow you find yourself back at his apartment. Maybe it's because it was closer than your own. Or maybe it’s because the route is one that you’ve walked hundreds of times, muscle memory taking you there before you could really question it.

The kitchen feels like the most neutral, non-sexual space in the whole apartment. Neither of you could get sidetracked while standing under the harsh overhead light, with the ambient sound of a refrigerator humming in the background.

Chan offers you water, and you gratefully accept. It'll give you something besides his searching gaze to focus on.

“You wanted to talk about it.” You fiddle with the water bottle, unscrewing the cap only to tighten it again. “So talk.”

All of those excited emotions you had when Chan first texted you the other day seem to be extremely hard to conjure up currently. All you really feel is some restless itch settling into your bones.

He sighs, setting his own water on the counter. “Ok, fine. I’ll get right to it since you’re so keen to get this over with.” Chan states, in that voice of his that brokers no argument. You try not to let it fizz against your skin. “I want you to know that it wasn’t a mistake, not for me at least. Whether it happens again or it’s a one time thing- I still don’t regret it.”

Oh, it’s going to be that type of conversation. Somehow you had convinced yourself that it was going to go in the opposite direction. He was going to explain, as kindly as he could, that it could never happen again. Because you broke each other's hearts and just the memory of touching each other again pulls at newly healed heart strings. You continue to fiddle with your bottle cap. Twist, twist.

“What about you?” Chan asks, chin tipping down to try and meet your eyes.

You can't seem to look at him, because every glimpse you get makes your entire body flush. You want to blame it on the way he’s standing; against his kitchen counter, the muscles of his arms defined as he leans his weight back onto them. There’s something so deliciously distracting about it.

The blame can also be put on the way he looks at you. Eyes dark and heavy, assessing you.

You wished he had put his foot down, instead of gently nudging an offer your way. Whether it happens again. Suddenly, that’s all you can think about.

Eventually Chan must get tired of the lack of eye contact because he pushes himself from the counter and stalks closer. Caging you up against the small little table they have tucked away in the corner. He’s ducking his head to meet your eyes, asking so softly if you regret what happened.

“Do you regret my hands on you? My mouth?”

Just the tone of his voice makes you clench your thighs together. At his words, you chew at your bottom lip and shake your head, because of course you didn’t regret it. You wanted to, but it’s almost impossible. There’s no conceivable way you could ever regret the feel of him. His hands, his mouth. Any part of him, really.

Normally you’re more mouthy than this, words snapping out from your razor tongue. But he gets you like this, sometimes, and he’s the only person who really can. Who can turn your words liquid in your mouth, rendering you speechless and a little desperate.

For a fraction of a moment, as Chan leans even closer, you think he’s going to kiss you. But he doesn’t, and you're honestly very disappointed. Instead he ghosts his lips far too close to your own and it draws a frustrated whine from the back of your throat.

It causes Chan to hum a smug little noise before he's dropping to his knees in the next instant, mouth grazing against your bare leg on his way down. Your thighs clench once again at his proximity.

He kneels there, waiting for your permission before doing anything. It makes all of your insides flutter violently.

You look down at him, with his eyes that seem to sparkle in the overhead lighting, his plush lips slightly parted, and it’s overwhelmingly easy to shift your legs wider. Just the smallest bit as you practically whisper his name. You’re not sure why you’re whispering, no one else is home, but there’s this little contained bubble around the two of you that you don’t want to break.

His hands move over over your knees, nudging them even farther apart, traveling even higher until he’s lifting the hem of your dress. Leaning in, he presses his closed mouth against the fabric of your underwear, nosing at the crease of your thigh. It makes you shudder, your breath getting all tangled up in your throat at the sensation.

One of his hands slides along your skin, anchoring itself at your hip. Fingers grasping firm as the other travels back down, over your thigh and slipping behind your knee, and in one fluid motion he’s tugging you closer, hooking your knee up and over his shoulder. Pulling you impossibly closer, making you gasp.

“I missed this-”

“Chris.”

“What? You can send me fifty texts about how badly you miss the feeling of me, but I can’t return the sentiment? Seems unfair.” He hums in disapproval, mouth still pressed against your body.

Before you can say anything in response, he’s promptly shutting you up. Moving his mouth even closer, choking a moan from you. You can’t take your eyes away from the sight; Chan on his knees for you, fingers and mouth working, expertly wringing obscene sounds from the back of your throat. Your hand reaches out, fingers tangling into his hair.

Pulling him even closer.

You lose track of time like this. All you know are the sounds the both of you are making, overlapping and bouncing around the kitchen, and the feeling of Chan touching you. The pleasure that builds and coils and threatens to snap.

Suddenly, like a knife cutting through the haze of Chan’s mouth on your skin, there’s a scream. High and sharp and it immediately causes the both of you to jump away from each other, as quickly as humanly possible. You manage to bang your hip into the counter as you scramble away, and when you finally whip your attention around, you see Jisung standing there in the doorway.

Headphones half hanging from his head and a hand slapped over his eyes.

"Are you kidding me! I eat here!"

Well, shit.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

By the end of the day the rest of your friends know what Jisung had walked in on, and while none of them outwardly give you shit about it, you try to ignore the knowing looks they share between each other. That’s the downside to you and Chan sharing a friend group and somehow managing to stay friends with them all even through a messy break up.

Everyone is connected to each other and knows your history and knows without having to ask how incredibly messy of a decision this is for the both of you.

You end up ignoring Chan for the next few days, refusing to indulge in any of the texts he sends asking to talk about what happened. You tried to talk, and see where it landed you? Twice already any attempts at talking have ended with his mouth in places it really shouldn’t be.

The only solution is to try and cut yourself off cold turkey. Ignore his texts and decline his calls and cover your ears whenever your friends mention his name around you. It’s a flawed system, absolutely, but it’s better than somehow making things even messier with Chan.

(Minho just raises his eyebrow when he catches you staring at the incoming call, Chan’s contact lighting up the screen. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. You flip your phone face down and let it ring.)

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #echo writes #if there are any warnings I forgot to include PLEASE let me know!#I don't know when part 3 will be out tbh but im WORKING ON IT #please enjoy my first real exploration into smut...

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discokicks · 3 months

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THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic.

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry.

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing.

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least.

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it.

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices.

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it.

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple.

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you.

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated.

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing.

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips.

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen.

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this.

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach.

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return.

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders.

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question.

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.”

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you.

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it.

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it.

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too.

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it.

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither.

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does.

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings.

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs.

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now.

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position.

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box.

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss.

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more.

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

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

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

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gffa · 1 year

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I AM IN REAL FUCKING TEARS ABOUT THIS COMIC I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE GOOD BECAUSE DARTH VADER’S DIARY IS ALREADY A HELL OF A PREMISE NOTHING MAKES ME HAPPIER THAN MAKING FUN OF THE TERRIBLE PERSON THAT DARTH VADER IS AND WHEN IT STARTS OUT WITH “I was summoned to his quarters earlier to remove a corpse and found it under, y’know, some ‘magazines’.” I KNEW I WAS IN FOR A RIDE. AND BOY WAS I. “He’ll never know. His place is such a mess, he’ll think he just misplaced it or something.” I’M CRYING, ANAKIN STILL HAS THE JUNKIEST ROOM NO MATTER IF HE’S LIVING IN THE JEDI TEMPLE OR ON THE DEATH STAR, PERFECT CHARACTERIZATION

“Got a new helmet today! A better fit than the last, and I don’t get so hot and sweaty.” IF YOU ASKED ME TO WRITE ANAKIN SKYWALKER’S DIARY AS DARTH VADER I COULD NOT HAVE WRITTEN A FUNNIER LINE THAN JONATHAN ADAMS HAS WRITTEN “HE MISSPELLED NIGHTMARE” PLEASE, HAVE MERCY ON ME, I’M ACTUALLY CRYING RIGHT NOW AND THEN THE SWERVING BETWEEN INSIGHTFUL COMMENTARY ABOUT LUKE BUT THEN ALSO “HOW DO I TELL HIM I’M HIS FATHER? ‘HEY, YOUR MOM AND I USED TO DATE.”?” ANAKIN. ANAKIN, PLEASE.

“GROWING UP WITHOUT A FATHER OF MY OWN, I CAN’T BE EXPECTED TO KNOW HOW ONE WOULD ACT. I’M NOT THAT WORRIED; I TURNED OUT FINE.” ANAKIN. “IF HE REJECTS ME, I DON’T KNOW. I’M NOT GOOD WITH REJECTION, I MAY HAVE TO KILL HIM.” WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS, ANAKIN. I MEAN, I KNOW WHY, BUT. WHY. “MY TENDENCIES ARE ALWAYS TOWARDS PESSIMISM. IT’S AMAZING I’VE GOTTEN SO FAR IN LIFE.” HELP, THAT IS 100000% AN ANAKIN SKYWALKER THING TO SAY. AND THEN THE DRAWINGS IN HIS DIARY, CASUAL REMINDER ANAKIN SKYWALKER TOTALLY WAS AN ARTIST I’LL DIE ON THAT HILL, AND OF COURSE VADER’S DOODLES ARE... THAT. “SURE, THEY DIDN’T HAVE A PARTY FOR ME LAST YEAR, OR THE YEAR BEFORE. BUT THEN ALL OF THOSE STORMTROOPERS ARE DEAD NOW, SO EACH YEAR BRINGS NEW HOPE.” IF ANYONE TRIES TO SAY ANAKIN SKYWALKER IS NOT THE FUNNIEST PERSON YOU’VE EVER MET, YOU ARE WRONG

VADER WALKING THROUGH THE HALLS BEING MAD NOBODY GAVE HIM A BIRTHDAY PARTY JUST STARING AT THEM AND THEN CREEPILY WALKING AWAY TO GO SULK IN HIS BEDROOM “I’M SO DEPRESSED, I JUST WANT TO SLEEP FOREVER. WELL, MAYBE IT’S A LITTLE THAT I HAVEN’T SLEPT THE PAST THREE DAYS. JUST A LITTLE.” ANAKIN SKYWALKER, ANAKIN SKYWALKER, ANAKIN SKYWALKER

FACE DOWN ON THE FLOOR VADER YOU CAN PUT HIM ON ROBO STILTS AND YOU CAN PUT A DEATH’S HEAD MASK ON HIM AND YOU CAN CHANGE HIS VOICE AND YOU CAN DEEP FRY HIM IN THE DARK SIDE BUT THAT IS STILL ANAKIN FUCKING SKYWALKER RIGHT THERE HE HASN’T EATEN ANYTHING OTHER THAN CHEESE CURLS IN THE LAST 18 HOURS NOW YOU KNOW OBI-WAN’S PAIN AT TRYING TO GET THIS NERD TO EAT ANYTHING EVEN RESEMBLING A VEGETABLE AND I 100% BELIEVE ANAKIN WOULD FIND A WAY TO STILL EAT NOTHING BUT CHEESE CURLS EVEN WITH THE SUIT HE’S A MECHANICAL GENIUS AND HE’S THE MOST DETERMINED IDIOT YOU’LL EVER KNOW HE WOULD FIND A WAY AND THEN EAT NOTHING BUT CHEETOS, I BELIEVE IN HIM

THE ABSOLUTE CONFUSION ON HIS FACE WHEN SOMEONE SAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HIM IT IS RAINING ON MY FACE BECAUSE I LAUGHED SO HARD I CRIED GOD I LOVE THIS WEIRD NERD ASSHOLE HE IS THE BEST AND IF HE WOULDN’T KILL ME FOR KNOWING ABOUT IT I WOULD TOTALLY JOIN HIM ON THE CHEESE CURL COVERED FLOOR WHEN HE’S FEELING DOWN

#anakin skywalker #comics #reading comics: lunch break #i make myself laugh and that's all that's important #long post

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multifanrae · 5 months

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Reasons why Tim and Sasha’s friendship is so fucking important to me. (An appreciative essay to the Magnus Archives and also a mostly related rant on how media usually portrays relationships)

#1 and also the most important, their friendship is just so GOOD. Like yeah what we see is mostly just joking around and a bit of poking fun, but it’s so completely free of malice which is actually really hard to achieve. Because that’s what my friends and family do to each other but it always seems like there’s some deeper undertones that end up at least slightly hurting someone, but from the intonation and the small insight we get into their relationship, that harmful part seems to be absent and like it really is just fun to pass the time and make conversation. And in order for that to work, the relationship has to be really deep and vulnerable to negate that kind of preying on insecurity which just shows how close they really are

#2 having a man and woman just be really close friends for some reason just means a lot to me personally. I know they allude to past relations, but the core of it is they both recognize and respect that they’re really just good friends, and even though they explored a sexual/possibly romantic avenue, they both concluded it was really just platonic, and it’s agreed upon and respected enough to the point where it can be joked about without discomfort. I just love that they get to be so close and important to one another without the romantic element because I’m so tired of seeing m/f relationships only being romantic and/or sexual especially from an unrequited standpoint. (Specifically when the man, despite many objections and boundaries, continue to see her as a sexual object or conquest)

#3 just having good platonic representation. Don’t get me wrong I’m a slut for romantic subplots. (Mostly when they’re gay because I’m a lesbian deprived of representation but still) I think platonic relationships are incredibly important to represent because they’re so often shown as less significant than a romantic one and that’s not true and not fair. Platonic relationships are incredibly important and incredibly meaningful. In some cases I’d even say more than romantic ones, because there isn’t the expectation of sex (assuming it’s an allo relationship). And friendships tend to last longer than romantic affiliations anyway, so it’s stupid to assume that just because you aren’t romantically or sexually involved that the relationship is inferior

#4 I just fucking love their dynamic. I really think they actually just bring out the best in each other. They’re both smart in similar but different enough ways and they seem to just fuel the best aspects of each of their personalities, even if the teasing may seem crude at first glance

#5 I’ve just been watching the RQGG20 stretch goals with Mike and Alastair and the “hello, my name’s Timothy Stoker, you killed my brother and my best friend, prepare to die” fucking TOOK ME OUT. I know it’s a Princess Bride reference, but the delivery and the fact that the stranger took the two most important people of Tim’s life was a realization that felt like a fucking knife to the chest. (Yes I did only realize that just now). They were seriously such best friends and the fact that Tim was living and interacting with someone he didn’t know wasn’t Sasha is just hurting me all over again. Because the pain I’d feel if my best friend was switched out with a monster and I didn’t notice (even tho that’s literally the point) like the guilt and pain that cause

#I wish we had more of them so badly #I know it’s a horror podcast but come on relationship and character development just really drives home the tragedy so therefore we need mor #the magnus archives #magnuspod #tma #fandom #tim stoker #sasha james

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dross-the-fish · 3 months

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Phantom Ramble

I think one of the reasons I'm personally so resistant to viewing Erik and Christine's relationship as a romantic one is due to the fact that for most of the book I don't fully trust Erik as a character and I can't imagine Christine does either. Erik has a pattern of creating himself, whether it's the phantom of the opera, the angel of music, or even "Erik" we never really find out who he is. He says he wants to be loved for himself but he never is himself. He keeps himself hidden out of fear of rejection. Not just on a physical level but on an emotional one as well.

The name he gives Christine "Erik" is a name he came upon "By accident" and I've seen some people mention that in earlier versions of the story, like the original newspaper in which it was serialized, Christine stated that Erik picked that name because it's Scandinavian and he was hoping to use it to get closer to her, which is definitely a thing he would do and if not for the fact that the Daroga also knew him as Erik in Persia I would agree that's the most likely explanation.

I've always felt strongly that Erik cannot be taken at his word. He strikes me as the type to say anything he has to say to get what he wants and he has grown so accustomed to wearing masks that he is unable to take them off. Even when he's physically unmasked he still can't bring himself to reveal who he really is. Perhaps because he doesn't really know anymore, he has become his masks. His deformity made it necessary to hide from the world and every angel, phantom, friend, teacher or father figure he became feels like had to be meticulously created so he could slip on the role and play the part convincingly enough to fool those around him. This includes Christine. I think he was hoping that Christine would be the one who could see past the performances and I don't think she's able to for the majority of the book. Even when she's fascinated by him or feels pity she never comes across as someone who really KNOWS him. That's not her fault he has, intentionally and unintentionally, made himself unknowable.

Even the Daroga doesn't really know Erik, he has more insight than most people but Erik is as much a mystery to him as to anyone else.

Erik's world is the theater and he is a perpetual actor in his own narrative. It's instinct for him to simply become whatever he needs to be to frighten people away or draw them closer and I don't think he knows how to stop doing that anymore. He's so distant from himself that views his real self as dead, the real him is nothing but a corpse.

I think that's also what makes the ending, the final unmasking so poignant to me because that's the moment when Erik, the living person, not the character, is seen for the first time. It's the mask coming off for real at last.

"I tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears… and she did not run away!…and she did not die!… She remained alive, weeping over me, weeping with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer"

What Christine offers him in this moment isn't what I interpret as romantic love it's acceptance, it's compassion, it's seeing him and understanding him. She gives him this when he least deserves it and I feel like this is what makes Erik's redemption meaningful. That his humanity is acknowledge in his darkest moment by the person he's hurt the most. That he is shown that much grace and kindness and that he lets her go without getting the romantic fulfillment he was trying to coerce from her will always be infinitely more touching to me than seeing them in a successful romantic relationship.

I think I also just get tired of seeing romantic love touted as some be-all-end-all redemptive healing force and the thing that could "fix" this character and give him a happy ending.

Again, not saying people can't or shouldn't write their fluffy comfortable or their dark twisted Eristine fics, by all means, have fun and enjoy what you do, but I feel like there's very little appreciation for the redemptive arc in the book that isn't viewed through a romantic lens.

#Phantom of the Opera #poto Erik #Character discussion

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fleet-of-fiction · 4 months

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My Truth

Allow me to introduce myself. Hi...

My name is Lucie. You might remember me from my old blog, lightmylove-gvf. It started out as a really fun, wholesome space. Full of love and laughter. I shared pictures and gif sets and works of fiction. Made so many wonderful connections with many different people. It really was a wonderful place to be. Until it wasn't. And although I've tried my best to step away from certain controversies, it seems that people still have an issue with me and still have my name in their mouth. So I'd like to take this opportunity to set the record straight. Maybe move past some untruths and you can all make informed decisions on whether you'd like to continue following me here on my current blog. Which is also a place of peace and love, I might add. And always has been.

Anyway, read on if you'd like. And if not, that's ok too.

I think it's fair to say that I've always been one of the more "controversial" writers around here. I have never shied away from difficult storytelling, and I never will. But what started out as a completely separate issue quickly snowballed into what could only be described as a personal vendetta.

I'm happy to discuss anything within my writing that might be of issue to a reader. A particular blog took offence to a scene I had written in a chapter of my fic, Backstage. I happened to disagree with this blog, and I tried my best to let them know whilst I understood their stance I did not agree with their point of view. I took this opinion to a discord server I was part of along with several other blogs here to see if they could shed more light on the issue.

The scene in question involved a fictionalised version of Josh and the reader in bed. They had gone to bed together with the full narrative of the reader known. How she was in love with him and wanted nothing more than to make love with him. They had been growing close. And Josh began to touch reader as they slept side by side. We get an insight into the readers thoughts during this moment, and they are very much with consent and enjoying the experience. It's meant to be a nod to what is to come. That their bodies are in tune with each other, even if their words are yet to speak of it. I think a lot of experiences in life play out like that. Where we don't always know what to say, but find ourselves in situations where our bodies can do the talking. Anyway, I digress...

There was a lot of opinions flying around in the server. Some were in favour of my opinion, others opposed it and were in favour of the anon who had sent me alot of hateful messages regarding their view that this scene was nothing more than sexual harassment. I explained in the server that I myself had been the victim of sexual assault/harassment. That I knew what it felt like to get into bed with someone I thought that I could trust only to have them break that trust in the most heinous way. I tried to explain that I didn't think this particular scene was that.

One sentence that I said was screenshotted and shared around with absolutely zero context to it and nothing of the rest of the conversation added to the screenshot. Just one sentence that I'd said which pertained to saying that I agreed that people should be able to get in bed with others and have full rights to their own bodies. I was AGREEING with that. It's there in black and white. But the narrative was skewed by people who didn't want to understand me. I tried to explain about how my personal experiences often lied within power imbalances when it came to things like S/H. But in the end, they gave me no chance to explain myself properly. They didn't want to. They'd seen and heard enough and made up their mind.

But it didn't stop there. People who I thought were my friends blocked me. Told me I was disgusting. Told me I was playing the victim. Because I didn't issue a grovelling apology. But how could I? I wasn't sorry. I hadn't done anything wrong. I'd poured my heart out to them about my trauma and abuse and how in my own experience I didn't view it as the same as what I'd written. I'd put trigger warnings. I'd made sure people had the right to information before proceeding!

I had blogs who had never interacted with me block me. Call me disgusting. Tell me fuck myself. I had anons telling me to kill myself. Anons telling me that I was a rapist and...for some reason...a peadophile sympathiser? I didn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that. I literally wrote two consenting adults touching each other in a bed they'd both gotten into...consentingly.... with very obvious (although unspoken at that point) feelings for each other. But now, that wasn't the issue. The issue was my own personal feelings on sexual harassment.

I'm the first to admit that I am perhaps not an easily digestable person to some. But I know that I am kind. I know that I have spent hours proof reading and editing fics for other writers on here because they asked for my help. I've supported people though personal issues, and I've championed the work of other writers because I truly believed that this space was a wonderful space for creativity. I still do, to some degree. I am not perfect, and I know that sometimes I can be a little head strong when it comes to protecting people's rights to free speech. I understand that I'm not palatable as a person to people who don't agree that the freedom to write should come with the freedom to write anything.

To those of you who never ever spoke to me and are still sharing things about me with the hash tag #fuck you lucie.... to you I say why have you jumped on that bandwagon? You do not know me. You know only what you've heard from people who were intent on pushing a narrative that was their own. Not mine. You don't know that these people were once my friends. And they shared my work and enjoyed it as I enjoyed theirs. They told me things about themselves and I was happy to know them. These people who then decided I was a terrible human being. Based on one thing I said that was taken completely out of context. It's almost as if they have shared it so many times now with their own backstory that it's a canon truth. I'm the worst human to ever walk the earth. Forget about all the good things I did for you. I'm scum.

If you're still reading this, you're probably thinking boo hoo what a victim complex. Maybe you're right. Maybe I do have a victim complex. Like everyone else here I have mental health problems and I'm on the spectrum. I have trauma. As part of my adhd I have rejection sensitivity which means when I'm cornered I tend to fight back with justifications as to why I behaved the way I did. I guess that's what I'm doing now. Trying to explain myself. Again. Although what good it'll do, I dont know. And I think right now, it no longer matters.

And yet I still see that I'm being talked about. I'm still getting accused of sending anons to other blogs when I was literally just existing here in my peaceful little corner, everyone who had ever taken issue with me blocked or unfollowed. I didn't know what was going on over there, I was trying to just enjoy reading and writing. My anxiety could never cope with sending a hateful anon, I know there's ways of finding out where they come from and revealing the blogs who send them and it's like that story we're all told about peeing in the pool and turning the water a different colour. I don't fuck with that shit.

If, for any particular reason, I've ever hurt anyone here to them I do issue a heartfelt apology because it has never been and never will be my intention. I said some awful things in the heat of the moment when I was receiving alot of hate and death threats regarding the AI edit a friend of mine made with audio from one of my fics. I was under so much pressure. I wanted it all to just stop. I just wanted everyone to be able to enjoy whatever made them happy. I am sorry for the things I said during that time. Im a human being. I am flawed. However..

I do not believe that people lose their rights to their body the minute they climb into bed with someone. And that's precisely what I say in the infamous screenshot. I just hope for anyone who has seen it that they now understand that it was said with love and understanding and support. I would never disregard anyones trauma or triggers. Never. And that is why I believe in giving people all the information they require before consuming media and art.

With all this said, I sincerely hope that it's clear that all I want to do is write. It's all ive ever done and all I will ever really be any good at doing. I'm proud of the fics I've put out here on my old blog and this one too. I don't care about how many notes they get, just that one or two people read it and enjoy it. And I hope you all know that I'm a nice person, too. So are a lot of blogs who have been villainised recently. This witch hunt has got to stop. We have got to start listening to each other with peace and understanding and not jump to conclusions. Not make people out to be something they simply aren't.

I want to curate a loving space here. A safe and nurturing space for anyone to feel free within. I want people to know they can jump in my asks and know that I will love them. I want everyone, of every race and every gender and ever creed of this world to know they are welcome and accepted here. Like a wise man that we all know and love once said. I'm not the person they say I am. I never was. And I think some of them know that. It is my greatest hope that any of you who wish to stick around get to know me for yourselves.

It is my greatest wish that those blogs who are still spouting hate about me really grow and heal. Or even better, pop on over and get to know me? I think it's important to understand why you might hate someone and not just from unreliable sources. If you think that I am some sort of s/a supporter who revels in writing that sort of thing then I'd be glad to dispel that myth.

I'm not going to speak on this again because I feel that I've moved on. This blog is my creative outlet and always will be. And as I've stated above its a safe and loving space for all. I'm reclaiming the fun. And hopefully some of you will stick around for it. And if not, I bid you a farewell. With nothing but love in my heart.

#my truth #im not who you think i am #love #support #truth #an open letter #i hope this helps

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outisgivingpac · 10 months

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A message from your loved one🐦💌👀

Hello again, this is another theme from my last poll with the second most votes 🤗 In this PAC, we shall take a look at what your loved one want you to know, and it could be from your friends, family, romantic partner or even your pets 🌱

If you found my reading helpful or entertaining in any ways, please support me by liking and reblogging it. It helps my post reach more people and will be my huge source of motivation to continue creating free content. Check out my pinned post for personal reading. Enjoy~

✨Pick the picture/pile you feel most draw to✨

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. Pile 4.

Pile 1

Death, 7 of Swords, 5 of Cups reversed

(TW: codependency)

Who are they?

This is someone from your past, whose relationship with you has come to an end or currently in the no-contact state. You could be the one who have walked away from them. This might due to objective reasons like one of you moved away to pursue their career. But I feel like it has more to do with how you might have crashed; you no longer saw them as a part of the future you want to have for yourself. The other way round can also be true, and you could both outgrow this connection. The end or halt of this relationship/attachment opened a new phase in your life.

What is their current energy?

They're coping hard in your absence. They might be stalking your social media, and/or trying to get any news about you and your current life through the few mutual friends you guys share. On the other hand, they also try hard to prove to themselves and everyone around them, that they're doing fine on their own even without you. They would try to engage in the same activities/commitments, that they used to have with you, with someone else, just to fill in the emptiness. For the few of you, this person could be a parental figure or a caregiver, who is suffering from the empty nest syndrome. In any case, they based most of their identity with the connection you two had, and is struggling to be something more after you left.

What is their message?

I feel a lot of regretful energy coming from them. They want you to know whatever action and words they put out back then that might have hurt you, it came out at the heat of the moment and they are still regreting it. There're things out of their control, and probably a lot of miscommunication. But, they want you to know they might have been mad/disappointed/ashamed, but never of you. Though, they fear they would sabotage the relationship further if they try to come forwards too strong. So as of now, they still keep the distance and watch your move. They just hope you won't blame/hate them too much for the past.

Pile 2

3 of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, The Magician

Who are they?

This person could be a colleague at your work place, a classmate or your partner, with whom you're building a life with. In any cases, you guys have been together for a while, long enough to know how to work and play together as a team. For some of you, this could be someone with whom you have collaborated on a more personal (hobby-ish) project long time ago, and still more or less stay on each other's contact. If you are a freelancer artist/writer/ect., this could be one of your customer lol. They stand out because a, they could also be your friend b, they're from the industry/the same fandom as you, the project you took on for them was super fun and successful.

What is their current energy?

Oh this person has some big idea cooking in their mind. They could be just freed from a duty/commitment and they are up to work on something with you, using what they learned/earned from the previous gig. They could have already started it and wanted to invite you in the team for your insight/magic touch. They're not so good at keeping good news secret, so you probably hear from them soon, if not already 🤭

What is their message?

Oh my, this person really looks up to you with spark in their eyes. To them, you're the specialist, a guru friend they can always trust to consult when it comes to this particular field. They want you to take pride in your work and be confident! It hurts them whenever you talk shit about yourself or sell your services cheaply. They want you to know they are always there for you. You can just ask and they would give their sword. Otherwise they would keep away from involving from your work. They are enthusiastically respect your creativity independence and would hate to come off as patronizing/overbearing.

Pile 3

Page of Wands reversed, Queen of Cups, 3 of Swords reversed

Who are they?

This person possesses a youthful or childlike energy. They could be a younger sibling, a child in your family, a junior at your school or workplace. They could simply be a few years younger than you or personality-wise they're just a carefree and/or stubborn type. For some of you it could even be your pet! Another clue I picked up on is they could be going through their rebellious phase at the moment lol

What is their current energy?

Their inner landscape has been expanding in depth as of late. They tend to spend more time for introspection, figuring out their feelings, dreams, and personal values. Because of this, they could appear moody, sensitive and socially less available to others during this time. Like, they would sneak away from people when there's a chance, and would take on solo trip without telling their friends like they usually would. Even though their closed door seem worrisome to most people, their mind is tranquil and they would be happier if people don't make such a big fuss about their absence and return. Just have fun when I'm there, so I heard.

What is their message?

If you guys fought recently, take this as their informal apologies. They can surely do better, but you know how it's harder to say sorry and thank you and I love you to the closest people in our life. On the other hands, they can totally picked it up whenever you're upset, may it be because of them or something else unrelated. Once again, they don't really know how to comfort you and fear that they will only make things worse. So when they see you're in bad mood, they would rather get out of your way and give you space than confronting you be like "What's up?". But it doesn't mean they don't care. Tbh they seem like a big confused puppy whenever it happens. It would be nice if someone could extend an oliver branch so that both parties can talk and clear out misunderstandings and confusion. That person is likely to be you because as I mentioned above, the emotional maturity of the other isn't quite as evolved to take initiatives.

Pile 4

The Sun, King of Cups, 10 of Cups reversed

Who are they?

Think of the most important people in your life right now (yes, pets count), this is one of them. If you believe in that term, this person is one of your soulmates. You just feel whole and safe and the happiest when they're around. Another way to recognize this kind of connection is, you never feel drained spending time with them, in the contrary, you fill each other battery up. For a few of you, they could be someone who is still looking after you from the other side.

What is their current energy?

They are in a state of great emotional stability, or like we say, their cups are full. They're at a place where they can easily sync in with other people, and give out of their compassion, patience and generosity. They're secure, in their lance, flourishing, you name it lol. Their pleasant energy would neutralize the negativity in a room; during this time, you will always see them act out of kindness and love, and be the bigger person in common conflicts.

What is their message?

"We already have everything we need" is the most prominent message that comes through. I think they just want you to take more time to rest and enjoy little things in life with them. They could be sad/worry for you when you were working too hard towards a goal, that you don't stop to fully celebrate your achievement or neglect your mental health. But at the same time, they know how this particular goal means to you, that's why they said nothing. They never want to stand between you and your goal, and would do anything they know to support you on this path. So instead, they make sure other aspect of your daily life is well taken care of. But yeah, there's a little blue like they wish you could just be more gentle with yourself at times. Like what's the point of all the hard work, if you won't let yourself win and enjoy the fruit?

Source for the art I used:

1. Moss by Melanie Miller

2. Warm stars as the dance by Henri Matisse (@plantbasedsav)

3. Art by @pixolotl on Instagram

4. Art by @turndecassette on Instagram

#tarot community #tarot #tarot reading #intuitive readings #pac #pick a card #pick a card reading

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lovelybucky1 · 6 months

Text

House of Amateurs- Exclusive Interview with Zena Daren

as the #1 and possibly only anakin x zana stan, i asked @hanasnx if i could write a fic about them. i got full permission to write and post this and aboslutley 100% of the credit goes to indy for the original character(s), the universe, and for this super sexy version of anakin. i tried my hardest to keep the same characterization and i hope i am able to do it justice. please please please check out the krayt house masterlist if you haven't already. all of the fics are so amazing and well written. this fic seriously got away from me. it's 4.8k words of sexual tension and filthy smut. thank you so much indy for allowing me to write this, and i hope you enjoy <<333

krayt house masterlist

my masterlist

warnings: pornstar!anakin x OC!zena daren, dirty talk, minor roleplay, mentions of porn, vaginal fingering, minor nipple play, minor misogyny, semi-clothed sex, degradation, praise, mirror sex, smoking, minor corruption kink, mention of knife play, minor dry humping, unprotected sex, 18+ minors DNI

Anakin sits across from Zena with his thighs spread and his arms outstretched over the back of his chair, taking up as much room as possible. He's dressed up a bit nicer today than he usually is for these interviews. A loose-fitting grey t-shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots that lace up past his ankle.

Anakin doesn't enjoy doing interviews but it's part of the job, so he tries to have a little fun with it. It may be his own twisted kind of fun, but it entertains him nonetheless. It certainly doesn't hurt when the interviewer is kind on the eyes.

Zena's pretty; she has glasses and wears pencil skirts and blouses that have one too many buttons fastened. She doesn't look like Anakin's typical co-stars who all have filler and eyelash extensions to make their eyes look even prettier when they tear up from choking.

She doesn't act like his co-stars either. They're always all over him, wanting just a shred of attention from the most sought-after male star in the industry. Zena is all business; she's not seeking his praise and she doesn't want to use him as a jumping-off point for her career.

Zena is the kind of art you want to touch, but aren't allowed to. She makes you wonder what lies underneath that buttoned-up collar. She can't be as proper as she seems; everyone has a dirty secret, but as hard as Anakin tries, she won’t let him discover it.

Anakin doesn't like to admit it, but he isn't used to women who don't fall all over themselves to get to him. He likes their banter, it's not something he usually gets to experience. Maybe he's being a little difficult in these interviews, but it's fun to try to make her crack. She's doing the same thing to him, so it's only fair.

"We've talked a lot about your series so far, but I would like to get more insight into your personal life," Zena says, crossing her legs.

Anakin eyes her legs shamelessly, tracing the lines of her calves down to her kitten-heeled shoes. She sits upright, looking very proper compared to Anakin’s lazy posture. His eyes flick back up to hers, finally ready to stop ogling her.

"What about it?" he asks.

"What do you like to do for fun?" Instead of responding to her question, Anakin raises his eyebrows just slightly in a suggestive manner. Zena blinks at him, obviously not accepting what he’s trying to convey as an answer.

"I like to work out," Anakin responds.

Zena hums as she scribbles on her notepad. “That’s not surprising. You clearly put a lot of work into maintaining your physique."

Anakin has a smug expression on his face from the comment. He knows he looks good and he’s told so often, but Zena’s acknowledgment of it makes him preen with pride. It wasn’t even a compliment really, but

Moving on, Zena asks the next question. "Are you in a relationship?"

Anakin huffs a small laugh. "I don't date."

"Why not?"

"Why would I? I get paid for the best part of them already, and I don’t do that shit for free." Anakin takes notice of Zena's expression of mild disgust. "I hope I didn't crush your dreams," he adds, smirking.

"Not my dreams, though I can sense hearts breaking across the galaxy," she replies.

Anakin has never had an interviewer who can roll with the punches like Zena. It's impressive, though it does bug him that he can't get her to break. He supposes he just has to try harder to make her sweat.

"That's enough about my personal life," Anakin says, tone not leaving much room for argument. For a moment, surprise flashes over Zena's features as she flips through her notepad to get to the next question.

"Alright then," she says. "Why don't you describe for us your perfect scene? If everything was entirely up to you, what would you shoot?"

Anakin wets his lips as he looks at Zena. There's no way this question wasn't meant to bait him.

"That's a good question," he says, just to see if she'd have any reaction to the minor praise. Unfortunately, she's still as stone as she waits for his answer. "I have a good amount of pull around here, being the main star and all, but if I had complete control..." Anakin adjusts in his seat like he is searching for an answer as if he didn't already have one in mind meant to get a rise out of Zena. “I’d want to do it home video style. No camera crew, no lighting, no mics. Just a small camera on a tripod shot in her bedroom," he says.

"Why specifically her bedroom?" Zena asks, not reacting to any of his comments.

"It'd probably look nicer than mine, and I've always liked the look of a woman's room. It has lots of personal touches you can't get on a set, so it feels more authentic. And there's something about being invited into a sacred space that's appealing to me."

Anakin isn't being untruthful in his answers, but he is playing it up a bit. Zena nods along with what he's saying, but Anakin can tell there's another question brewing.

"And what kind of co-star would you be looking for?" she asks.

That's exactly what he wanted her to ask. Like innocent prey, she has no idea what she just set herself up for.

"Not an actress, that's for sure. No offense to the girls, they're all great, but it gets boring after a while. I don't want the exaggerated moans and begging. I just want a regular woman who's down to make a video."

"Careful, you're going to get people thinking they have a chance with you," Zena jokes. Anakin lips turn into a smile, honestly enjoying this interview more than he thought he would. "Would there be any specific content you'd like to include?"

Anakin presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he thinks, the action only half-meant as an innuendo. "I like a lot of things, but I'd want to keep it more tame in this. Crazy stuff is meant for the studio, but a home video lets you capture the passion that you don't get on set," Anakin explains. "We'd just fuck."

For the first time in any of their interviews, Zena looks affected by Anakin's words. It's not obvious and if Anakin didn't have a keen sense for horny women, he probably wouldn't have noticed it. Her legs are crossed a little tighter, her chest rises and falls quicker, and she has a punishing grip on her pen.

Before Zena has a chance to respond, Anakin speaks again. "But what about you?" he asks.

His question catches her off guard. "I'm sorry?"

"You've done a lot of interviews and I'm sure you've seen your fair share of films. What's your perfect scene?"

Anakin schools his expression into one of earnestness like he's genuinely curious about her answer. He is, to an extent, but he has an ulterior motive. He told Zena his acting skills were rusty in a previous interview, but perhaps that was downplaying his talent a bit.

"Well... that's not really my area of expertise," she says, surprising Anakin with her eloquent answer. Not that he was expecting her to babble incoherently, but he would have thought it’d take longer for her to recover.

"This is the house of amateurs after all," he says, leaning back slightly in his chair to make himself look even more imposing.

Zena narrows her eyes at him slightly. "That's all the questions I have today. Thank you for your time, Mr. Skywalker. As always, it was a pleasure speaking with you."

Zena's abrupt ending to the interview catches Anakin off guard, but just like her, he can adapt. He smiles at her and leans forward in his chair, extending his hand for her to shake.

"The pleasure was all mine, Miss Daren," he says, looking into her eyes. Surprisingly, the close proximity and eye contact don't make her shrink away.

The cameras cut and Zena slips her notepad and pen into her purse. Before she could stand up to leave, Anakin stood in front of her chair, blocking her path.

She raises an eyebrow at him inquisitively. "Yes?"

"I'd like to speak to you privately. Off the record," he says.

"Okay," Zena says. "Go ahead."

Anakin shakes his head and steps aside so she can stand up. "Not here." Zena doesn't appreciate the subtle power play he pulled by blocking her in, but she supposes he's used to that trick working. "Do you smoke?" he asks.

She nods and without another word, Anakin walks off towards the door to the patio. He holds the door open for her and once outside, he fishes in his pocket for a cigarette. Zena offers him the lighter out of her purse and he thanks her as she lights her own. They stand in silence for a bit while the smoke swirls around them. Zena waits for Anakin to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

"So what did you bring me out here to talk about off the record?" she asks.

Anakin leans against the wall of the building and looks over at her. His eyes shamelessly trail over her body, even more so than during the interview.

"I like you," he says.

"Thank you," she says, slightly confused.

Anakin sighs. "You're not gonna make me do this whole song and dance, are you?" he asks.

Zena takes a drag of her cigarette and the smoke flows easily out of her mouth. "I don't know what you're referring to," she responds.

She's playing coy, Anakin knows that, but coy isn't cracking and he desperately needs to see what's under her buttoned-up exterior. Anakin resolves himself, knowing he has to tell her directly what he wants. Anakin steps closer to her so she has to look up slightly to meet his eyes. She doesn't back away, much to his delight, but it's another show of her strong will.

"I want to fuck you," he says.

Zena blinks at him, not looking surprised at the admission in the slightest. "I don't do porn, Mr. Skywalker," she replies easily.

"I'm not asking you to."

"You said it yourself, you don't do that shit for free," she says before taking another puff of her cigarette.

"I'd make an exception."

Zena huffs a laugh. "I know you're used to women just throwing themselves at you so hopefully that's your reason for being so bad at this," she says. "No girl wants to hear that they're the exception, no matter what your scripts may tell you."

Anakin isn't deterred by her stubbornness. He smirks, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth slightly. "Women do throw themselves at me, but you’re making me work for it."

"Men like you always want what they can't have," she says.

Anakin doesn’t deny that. "We've been dancing around this for what, three weeks now? I know you want it just as much as I do."

Zena looks up at him, her eyes looking deeply into his as she smirks. "What a title this one would be. Anakin Skywalker Grovels for Busty Interviewer to Fuck Him."

"Those titles are always sensationalized," he says.

Zena takes a deep breath and crosses her arms over her chest. If the buttons of her blouse were undone, he'd surely be able to see cleavage but alas, she's too much of a good girl to show anything off.

"If I were to take you up on your rather pushy offer," she starts. "What's in it for me?"

"You've seen my videos," he says with a smirk.

"Like you said, all those actresses fake it."

That gets to Anakin. It's been a long time since someone doubted his performance in bed, but he's not exactly surprised that Zena went for the low blow. He doesn’t take the bait and attempt to prove himself. He knows he’s a good lay and she’s watched enough of his videos to know that too.

"I promise you I can deliver," he says, his voice dropping a little lower. "We can do whatever you want."

"Even knife play?" she asks. It isn't until he sees the faintest smile on her lips that he realizes she's joking.

“Whatever you want,” he repeats, leaning forward a little to crowd into her space. “Come upstairs with me.”

Of course, Zena knows what upstairs means. She’s only ever been in the living room of the house for interviews, but the bedrooms upstairs all have cameras in every corner to catch the best angles of the action.

“I don’t want to be on camera,” she says.

“My closet doesn't have a camera," Anakin replies.

"Your closet?" Zena repeats, unimpressed.

"Dick's the same everywhere," Anakin says with a slight shrug.

“Fine,” Zena sighs as she drops her cigarette on the ground and steps on it. Anakin does the same and opens the sliding glass door to reenter the house. Zena follows him as he walks up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom.

Zena is familiar with the house from the videos, but it looks a lot bigger from the inside. Anakin opens the door to his bedroom and Zena takes in the sight. His bed is unmade, but other than that, the room is neat, though it lacks in personality. Anakin opens the door to his closet, a large walk-in that doesn't have much in it other than clothes on the racks and a mirror on the back wall.

"Do you want me to lay down a blanket?" Anakin asks. It's a genuine offer, but his voice is teasing.

"I'll be fine," Zena replies with a roll of her eyes.

Anakin reaches out to grab her wrist and tugs her inside the closet. He shuts the door behind her and backs her against it, hands gently holding onto her hips.

"I've been thinking about having you like this for weeks," Anakin says. "Been dying to know what you're hiding."

"What I'm hiding?"

Anakin moves his hand up to her collar where he toys with her buttons. "You act like such a good girl but you can't be in this industry without having some dirty secrets."

He undoes her first button, and when he nods at him to keep going, he undoes all of them down to her navel. When Anakin pushes the fabric of the shirt to the side, he reveals Zena's lace bra. He raises his eyebrows at her, but she doesn’t give him any explanation.

Helping him out, Zena unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way and pushes it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Anakin takes in the sight of her breasts: full, round, and absolutely mouth-watering. He ducks his head and presses open-mouthed kisses to the top of her breasts.

"Don't leave any marks," she says.

Anakin's eyes, now blown wide with lust, flick up to hers as he grazes his teeth over her skin. He grabs the top of the cups in each hand and pulls them down, making Zena's breasts spill out of the bra. She gasps when he attaches his mouth to her nipple and sucks.

"Oh," she moans when he pinches her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

With a pop, Anakin releases. "Gorgeous fuckin' tits," he says.

"A compliment from the Anakin Skywalker? I'm honored," she teases with a smirk on her lips.

Anakin narrows his eyes at her. "Are you gonna be stubborn this whole time?" he asks.

Zena leans her head against the door, somehow feeling powerful even as she has her tits on display. "Yeah," she smirks.

Anakin reaches behind her body to unclip her bra and he lets it fall to the floor next to her shirt. He then moves to the zipper of her skirt but she stops him.

"Yours off too," she says, tugging at his shirt.

He obliges, revealing that impressive physique she commented about in the interview. His shirt is tossed away and Zena admires his defined muscles and pebbled nipples.

"Can I take off your skirt now, princess?" he asks. The pet name is used sarcastically, but Anakin can tell she liked being called that. Zena nods and Anakin pulls the zipper down and pushes her skirt to her ankles, leaving her in just a pair of delicate panties.

He raises his eyebrows, curious at her choice of undergarments. "Were you expecting this?" he asks smugly.

"Certainly not," she says. Anakin hums, not believing her, but doesn't comment.

"We're gonna play a game, Zena," Anakin says. Though he’s speaking to her, he looks down at her body instead of into her eyes.

"What game?"

Anakin licks his lips. "A choose your own adventure. You tell me your favorite video of mine and we'll recreate it."

Zena thinks it's honestly shocking that Anakin doesn't have devil horns that speak through his curls.

"I don't have a-" Zena starts, but Anakin cuts her off.

"Don't give me that. I know you've seen all of them. You can't tell me none of them got you even a little hot."

Zena is suddenly unable to make eye contact with Anakin. She wasn't intimidated by him during the interview. They were five feet apart, fully clothed, and every time he put her in the hot seat, she could turn it around on him. Here, though, they're inches apart, naked, and there was no way out.

"I liked... the panties one," she says quietly.

Anakin's face lights up, grinning widely with deviousness in his eyes. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Zena shrugs but still doesn’t meet his eyes. “Y’know, you’re breaking the house rules right now.”

Anakin slips his finger under the elastic of Zena’s panties and lets them snap against her skin. She looks up at him finally and bites her lip. “I didn’t know those rules applied to me, too.”

Anakin grasps Zena’s waist and brings her over to the back wall of the closet to stand in front of the mirror. Anakin stands behind her and presses himself against her back. He leans down to press his lips against her ear. “They do if you wanna be one of my girls,” he says.

His hot breath on her neck makes Zena’s skin break out in goosebumps. Anakin chuckles when he feels her shiver in response to his fingertips dragging over her stomach. His hand slips into her panties and he cups her pussy, his large hand covering it entirely. He slips to of his long fingers inside of her and curls them up to press against her sweet spot but he doesn’t move them. Instead, Anakin uses the fingers inside Zena as leverage to push her back against his hips.

“Can you feel my cock, baby?” he asks. “Feel how hard you got me?”

“Yeah,” she replies quietly, looking at her reflection.

“Been teasing me for weeks, acting like you didn’t want me to fuck you like the dirty girl you pretend not to be. Where’d all that fire go?”

Zena leans her head back on Anakin’s shoulder and looks up at him. Her eyes are half-lidded and her lipstick is a little worn off from biting and licking her lips. She looks messy, nothing like how Anakin is used to seeing her. He likes this look, a nice girl turned into an insatiable slut, needy for him.

The way she looks at him is enough to get him to take out his cock. Instead of getting fully undressed, Anakin just undoes his fly and pushes his pants down to his knees. He holds his cock and slaps it against her ass before grinding on her again.

“Anakin,” she whines.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Stop teasing.”

Anakin looks beyond smug. It’s not often he’s faced with someone whom he has to break, so it makes it all the more satisfying that Zena is giving in. “You know what you have to do if you want my dick, Zena,” he says into her ear.

Surprisingly, Zena doesn’t put up a fight this time. “Fuck me, Anakin,” she says.

The words sound so sweet on her lips that they almost make Anakin want to kiss her. As he pushes her panties aside, he wonders what it would be like to kiss her. Would she fight for dominance or would she give in and let him take what he wants? Would she moan into his mouth the same way she’s moaning at the stretch of his cock inside her?

“Do I feel good inside you, baby?” Anakin asks once he’s fully seated inside.

“So good,” she breathes out.

“Your pussy’s gripping me, honey. She needs me that bad?” He asks teasingly as if he didn’t desire her just as much. As if she hasn’t been driving him crazy.

He rocks his hips into her and with every thrust forward, Zena’s face twists with pleasure. Anakin is desperate to give her more, but she hasn’t earned it yet and he refuses to play all of his cards just for some instant gratification. Zena avoids looking at the mirror, her eyes darting everywhere except for directly in front of her, and that just won’t do.

“Look at yourself, baby,” Anakin says. “It’s like you’re watching your own video, right? Virgin Zena Daren Taken by Experienced Anakin Skywalker.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Zena replies with an eye roll, though her annoyed act is shattered by a small moan that escapes her mouth.

“Tight like one,” Anakin smirks. “Tightest I’ve had in fuckin’ forever. The other girls are all used up but you’re nice and fresh for me, right, baby?”

Anakin’s words send shivers up Zena’s spine, though she’s a bit ashamed of it. He’s degrading other women to praise her and she knows it’s wrong, but it makes her feel hot all over. Anakin’s large hands grip her hips, ass, and stomach possessively like she’s his toy to touch and use as he pleases. He presses on her lower stomach, just below her navel, and the pressure combined with the deep thrusts of his cock make her knees weak.

Looking into the mirror, Zena can see the intense look in his eyes. She’s seen it before in his videos, but she thought it was all acting. Maybe it is, but seeing it for herself makes it seem real and it’s intimidating.

“A-Anakin,” she stutters out between moans.

“Yeah, princess?”

“I need it harder.”

Something unrecognizable flashes in Anakin’s eyes. Before Zena can realize what’s happening, Anakin’s arms are wrapped around her middle and he thrusts up into her. Her body shakes with the force of it and she’s unable to do anything but moan as he takes her.

“This hard enough for you?” Anakin asks, now sounding more breathless from the exertion. “You wanna be mine? I’ll make you fucking mine.”

His voice is borderline a growl as he uses Zena’s body. She feels like the girls in the videos: useless, dumb little toys for Anakin to use. He’s rough and relentless with his claiming of her body and she loves it. She’s not usually one for this kind of treatment, but she had no idea how much she needed it until now.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me how fuckin’ good it is,” he demands.

“So good,” she gasps.

It amuses Anakin that he was able to reduce her to so few words after she gave him a run for his money during the interviews. Zena opens her eyes and through her slightly foggy glasses, she can see the fucked-out expression on her face. She’s never seen herself this way before and as humiliating as it is, she’s getting closer to the edge of orgasm.

Zena slips her hand under her panties to rub at her clit. Surprisingly, Anakin doesn’t bat her hand away and take over for her. He encourages her to touch herself so she can cum on his cock.

“Touch yourself for me, princess. You play with your little clit like this when you watch my videos? Doing all that research must tire your hands out, huh?”

Anakin runs his mouth like he’s getting paid to do it, though that is what he’s used to. His breathing is ragged in Zena’s ear but she can’t hear it over the sound of her own. They’re both close; Zena is desperately chasing her high with the firm press of her fingers on her clit while Anakin is trying to hold off so she can finish first.

“I’m cumming!” Zena announces with a high-pitched, broken voice. Anakin can feel her walls clenching around his cock, trying to milk him. Just as he’s about to cum, a wave of panic hits him. He doesn’t know if Zena’s on any kind of birth control. Pulling out isn’t something Anakin has to think about, but he manages to just in time.

He groans as he jerks himself off to completion over her ass. Hot, sticky ropes of cum land on her skin while she’s still riding out her pleasure on her fingers. Cumming from fucking his fist doesn’t satisfy Anakin as much as unloading into her would, but something is better than nothing.

Anakin’s head lolls back as he catches his breath and Zena goes limp against his chest. Luckily he still has enough strength to hold them both up. Zena wipes her hand off on her thigh, then adjusts her hair and straightens her glasses, trying to make herself look a bit more proper and put together. When they both regain their composure, they separate and without even looking at Anakin, Zena grabs her clothes from the floor and begins to redress.

“Hey,” Anakin says, stopping her by grabbing her wrist. “What’s the rush?” Zena makes a face at him and shakes his hand off. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna treat me like your dirty little secret now,” he says playfully.

Zena sighs as she steps into her skirt and pulls it back up, then reaches for her discarded bra. While she redresses, Anakin pulls up his pants and fastens them, but remains shirtless. “You don’t strike me as the cuddling type,” she says.

Anakin huffs a laugh. “And here I thought I fucked the brat out of you.”

He doesn’t bother hiding how he watches her stuff herself back inside her bra. Zena then slips her arms into her blouse and starts to button it, but Anakin stops her before she can get to the top. She cocks her head to the side and looks at him questioningly.

“If you ever want a job, I can pull a few strings. You’d add a sense of authenticity to the series,” he says.

Zena scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. “And we’re right back to business, huh?”

“I’m just saying,” Anakin steps into her space and puts his hands on her hips. “I don’t fuck for free, and I know that greedy cunt’s gonna be needing more of me.” He’s smirking proudly like the arrogant diva he is.

“I know this must be hard for you to believe, but I’ll be just fine without your dick,” she retorts, mirroring his smug expression.

“Sweetheart,” he grins. “I got you hooked. You can deny yourself all you want but you’re gonna be dreaming about me.”

Zena pushes Anakin’s hands off her and collects the rest of her belongings from the floor before straightening up to face Anakin head-on. She looks perfectly proper again, save for the two buttons not fastened at the top of her shirt. It gets under Anakin’s skin a bit that he wasn’t able to wreck her beyond repair.

“I’ll see you next week, Mr. Skywalker,” Zena says using her professional voice as she extends her hand for him to shake.

Anakin bites the inside of his cheek and smirks slightly as he grasps her hand. “Yes, you will, Miss Daren.”

Zena turns on her heel once Anakin lets go and exits the closet without looking back. Anakin doesn’t see the wink she gives the camera mounted by the ceiling as she leaves the bedroom. When he hears the front door close, he sighs heavily. Yeah, he fucked her, but he wanted to break her open and catch a glimpse at all the things she’s buried deep inside her so no one could find them. Everyone else lays themselves bare for Anakin, but Zena is the only person he’d had to work on in years.

He’ll see her again in a week, and he already knows he’s going to turn the teasing up to hopefully convince her to fuck him again. He talked a big game about Zena wanting more, but it might be Anakin who’s addicted. Not to the sex, per se, but the chase of a woman who’s won’t give herself up to him.

if you enjoyed this fic, please give it a reblog because it encourages writers to keep producing content. also, please check out @hanasnx's masterlist because they have so many amazing fics and they are a great person. thank you so much for reading!

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