#like genuine fucking shock through my body like just was like 'is this actually happening'

[skitskatdacat63]

Yes these have all already been posted, but 2023 Vettonso comp post for me because I'm going to have an emotional breakdown

#i dont want to sound like a maniac but. i manifested this JDKFLGLVLV #okay but understand. ive been vettonso posting for like 3 or so weeks now #have been drawing them like its my god damn career #have been squealing and screeching over them with everyone #and like oh hey! they're both gonna be at suzuka! and seb is having a bee event! maybe nando will go! #BUT THEN NO I DONT HAVE TO JUST LIVE WITH SCRAPS. I GOT A WHOLE FUCKING MEAL #I AM GOING TO SCREAM AND CRY AND ROLL AROUND THE FLOOR #*i say as if i haven't done all of those things in quick succession after seeing these #yknow very fortuitous time for my parents to have gone on a vacation. so they didnt have to be witness to the emotional breakdown i just had #i was making noises that have not been uttered by human beings before :) #BUT LIKE INWAS LITERALLT JUDT DRAWING VETTONSO FANART #AND I FINISHED IT AND SCHEDULED IT #and was all silly in the tags like 'haha wonder if we'll get any interaction' #and then i go to scroll tumblr one last time before slepeing and I RECEIVE THIS FUCKING 12 COURSE MEAL #i cannot actually describe the emotion i felt when i first saw the pic #like genuine fucking shock through my body like just was like 'is this actually happening' #i said to C today 'i will be happy if we even get a pic of them within eachother's vicinity' #and well wow. theyre certainly within each others vicinities rn #if we actually get any more pics i think i will keel over i think i will actually turn into dust and powder on the floor #UGHHHHHHH JUST THE TIMING!!!!!! THEY DID IT FOR ME 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 #sometimes manifesting does work. after you draw like 20 hours worth of art of them #im trying to be concise but i really cant #because its literally just animal screeching and whining noises in my head rn #HOW DO I SLEEP AFTER THIS??????????????? #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #fernando alonso #vettonso #2023 japanese gp #we do a little bit of f1

[luvrxbunny]

i think Miguel would get turned on by little things. like little details that someone would normally overlook or have no reaction to

so what made me think of this is specifically when girls say to guys that they’re gonna like— “fuck the life outta him” because technically it’s the guy doing the fucking but i think the tiny bit of role reversal would haunt his mind. he’s distracted for the rest of the day. his boner that he acquired when you said that never goes away

also if omg— i think this is just gonna turn into Miguel secretly wanting to be dominated (or just generally wanting to be treated how he treats others in a relationship) so hold on tight

if you’re passing him in the kitchen or something and— AHAHAAAA okay wait

so Miguel is chopping something in the kitchen but you need to get past him for the fridge or something. so he’s chop chop chopping and you scoot by, resting your hands on his hips to lean him forward a bit with a small “sorry, baby.” as you scooch by. you’d just hear his chopping stop and he’s getting hard already. you have about 30mins before he’s fed up and comes to u begging.

AND IF U DEFEND HIM??? omg he loses his shit. like falling into subspace no matter where u guys are— maybe not fully under but man is slipping.

let’s say you’re at a bar w Miguel and you go to the bathroom for two seconds. a girl approaches him all like “wanna buy me a drink, handsome?” and he’s like “oh! i’m flattered but i have a girlfriend!! so…” she’s like scoff scoff!! “she doesn’t need to know” wink wink and that irks him. it’s rude to his character and it’s rude to u. “i would never do that to her” he’s done w the convo so he turns back to the tv behind the bar, opting to watch whatever is happening there rather than the bitch beside him. but she’s still yapping! “what?? babe.. this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for u!! u can’t bend your rules just a little? *batting her ugly lashes* for me..?”

he just straight up rolls his eyes at her. she looks nothing like you so— “you are far from what i’d consider beautiful” he doesn’t even turn to her as he says it— he’s done w the conversation! but this bitch starts throwing a fit. “you’re a piece of shit loser okay?? you don’t know shit about beauty!! have u looked in the mirror honey?? looking like a fucking meatball is not in style alright?? i was doing you a fucking—“ she’s going on and on. some of her comments are starting to actually hurt Miguel’s feelings a bit (w his body issues and all) he’s about to just get up and wait by the girls bathroom for you but he’s scared to be seen as a creep. he feels dread sleeping in. he doesn’t know how long he’ll have to endure this before you come back and you both can just leave. “you’re an ugly 👏🏻 mother 👏🏻 fuck👏🏻er okay sweetheart?? you—“

“i’m sorry. did you call my boyfriend sweetheart?” relief floods through him at the sound of your voice. his head whips to see you, you have a playful smile on your face— but he knows the anger hidden behind it. it sends a little shock of excitement through his body. the woman’s eyes are wide as she stares at you, like she didn’t believe him when he said he had a girlfriend. “i— sis, listen”

you cut her off “i’m definitely not your sister. go on.” she pauses for a bit— shocked at your coldness before continuing. “girl to girl. you can do so much better, okay? your man— although “loyal” he is—“ you cut her off with a genuine laugh at he way she put quotations around the word ‘loyal’. “baby? finish your drink, okay? we’re leaving soon.” you look right past the girl, barely acknowledging her presence. Miguel nods frantically and downs the rest of his beer as you turn back to the girl.

“look. he’s my boyfriend. my man. i don’t care what you have to say. i don’t care what you say he did but i bet you i can guess the entire scenario” you have a confident, almost smug look on your face that has a fire burning in Miguel’s stomach. “you.” you pause to look her up and down with a weakly suppressed laugh. “tried to get at him… and then threw a hissy fit when he rejected you.. right?” she’s obviously embarrassed, staring at her shoes with an angry look. “well he said that i was ugly.”

you’re grabbing your purse from the chair behind her as she whispers that last part. you can barely make out what it says but you’re not even surprised. “and?” is all you say before walking out with Miguel.

in the cab he’s silent, worried that you’re upset until you speak up. “sorry if i was a hit mean back there.” you laugh a bit embarrassed. you go on to say that you know you shouldn’t have been rude, that people should spread positivity and more but he has to cut you off

“that was so hot, baby.” you take in his obviously disheveled, incredibly aroused state and give him a smirk. “yeah?”

you end up jerking him off in the back of the uber 🤪

he’s super whiny, whimpering, and will not stop begging for more

when u guys get married he gets really into choking u cus it shows off his wedding band

omf you’d do something nice for him while he’s sick— like make him soup or something and he’ll get hard

“you- you made this.. for me?” you’re baffled. “yes..? Miguel you’re sick remember? oh god this is way worse than i thought… do you know where you are, baby?” he laughs. “i know where i am! i just— that’s so- that’s so sweet, baby.” you shake your head and give him a spoonful, feeding him like he’s a baby. you’re focused on his mouth, subconsciously making silly faces as you pour the soup into his mouth. he’s watching you the whole time.

after that spoonful you go for another but he takes the bowl and places it on the nightstand. “wha— you don’t like it?” he smiles and shakes his head at your immediate doubt. “i love it, baby” is all he says as he pulls you into his lap, pressing his dick into you and begging you to ride him for all he’s worth

#i need to control how much i write 😭 #this was supposed to be a little like #one paragraph each #now look #tsk tsk tsk #miguel o'hara #miguel imagine #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel smut #miguel 2099 #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara headcanon #spiderman 2099 miguel o'hara #2099 #sm 2099 #spiderman 2099

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt#128 Part 4

Danny could tell Jason was getting upset over the things he was telling him. He wanted to open up and tell him more about the past but it was painful. Eventually Danny might tell him the full story about how he died but for now focusing on what they needed to do from now would take priority. 

Jason took a moment to calm himself down before speaking and Danny was a little afraid of breaking the silence, “alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” Danny stayed silent waiting for Jason to continue, “I don’t like that belt, we’re getting rid of it, and then, I’m taking you somewhere safe.” 

Danny felt a little confused; it felt like Jason really cared about him even if they just met. The belt only shocked ghosts so he figured his soulmate would have little problems taking the belt off of him so he nodded his head. He was tired and even if he didn’t 100% trust Jason yet, if they were truly soulmates, Jason wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. 

Jason reached out and gently touched the belt. It gave him a little shock and he tossed it away as soon as it was off Danny, who felt his strength finally returning. He took a few deep calming breaths, it's been quite a while since he was able to just exist without something terrible happening. He had forgotten what it felt like to have full access to his powers and ectoplasm again that the feeling felt amazing no matter what pain he was in. He could finally tap into his powers such as accelerated healing, which was already working on the damage on his chest. He was trapped within that facility for only a few months but the damage was already done. Being forced under the knife for days at a time where they treated him more like a dead body than a person had really done a number on his psyche. 

“Damn, I hated that fucking belt… Thank you” Danny finally said, Jason was silent the whole time just watching his hand where the belt had slightly shocked him. 

Jason took a few moments to process everything that happened and then sighed, “Why’d it shock me? You said it was set to shock you right?”

Danny glanced away and took a moment to think of what exactly to say next, “I’m not 100% sure actually. The belt shouldn’t shock a normal person.”

“The fuck are you then?” Jason’s sudden harsh words shocked Danny and he knew he let something slip, “... I accidentally touched it when I was you. That wasn’t a light shock like I just got.” Jason was still looking at his hands but when he looked up to see how terrified Danny was his face softened a little.

Jason took a shaky breath before speaking again, “You’ve been through enough, I… know I can be… intense, I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.” When Danny stayed silent he continued, “You mentioned ghosts earlier.” Jason paused again waiting for Danny to respond. 

Danny wanted too but he felt himself a little too scared to respond. Jason’s raised tone reminded him too much of how the GIW agents would berate him over everything. 

Jason sighed deeply and leaned back on the sofa, “alright, I won’t pry, but I think I know why it shocked me… I’m just trying to figure out why it shocks you so badly.” 

Danny could tell Jason was just worried about him so even though he didn’t want too he spoke up a little, “I know the reason it shocks me…” Danny said slowly and softly, “and I want to tell you, but I’m honestly a little scared. I haven’t had to tell someone this before and it honestly isn’t a pretty story.” Danny’s words were genuine, he really didn’t know how to even begin to explain to someone. It felt like something he shouldn’t say, not that he didn’t want too but if felt wrong down to his core. 

Jason nodded his head, “I get it, I’ll be honest, my backstory ain’t too pretty itself.” 

Honestly Danny didn’t know how he felt about that, knowing he wasn’t alone in hardships was both alarming and comforting. 

Jason nodded again, “Alright, I get it’s a touchy subject, you can talk about it when you’re ready.” 

———

Jason was a little peeved but he got it, he doubted if he could keep his cool when talking about his own death and revival. He was wondering if maybe being thrown into the pits might have something to do with how he got shocked by that damn belt. Danny didn’t seem to want to talk about that and Jason wanted to know but he also didn’t want to pressure him into talking about something he didn’t want to. He was a little pissed at himself for how he scared his soulmate.

Jason was also pissed this was how they met, he wanted to be the one to pull that trigger and even though he thought it was kind of hot that his soulmate finished the job, he was also jealous he didn’t get to pull the trigger himself. Danny said he had a fear of clowns and he was determined to keep him safe.

Jason was a little bit of a romantic and he wished he had a proper meeting like most soulmates got but instead he got whatever the fuck bullshit life Danny had. 

Jason took a deep breath after realizing his thoughts were spiraling out of control. He still had to figure out what exactly was after his soulmate, romance could come after he knew how to keep him safe.

Master Post:

Previous:

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #poor danny #Jason didn’t mean to yell he’s just really on edge #Danny’s going to have some trauma to work through #I’m not sure where I should take this so if anyone has any ideas let me know #That goes for any of my prompts I could honestly use the help #Writing can be difficult and I’m not used to writing #all my prompts are free to use #my asks are open #I’ll go through and fix all of the links today I’m too lazy to do it right this second though

[venusbby]

hii! what would the reactions of bllk boys be if they found their s/o being insecure about their body? you can do scenarios or hcs or anything! :D

my first request i am absolutely sobbing .

since it wasn't specified which characters, i just wrote for the first bllk characters i thought of when it came to this idea. thankyou for requesting! <333

♡ characters: isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke ♡ warnings: mentions of insecurities, crying (not too detailed) gender of the reader isn't really specified, not proofread.

ISAGI YOICHI ☆

this man is heartbroken

and also very very confused

though isagi is always so understanding, he kind of does miss the point of your insecurity at first

because to him you are genuinely so beautiful and he doesn't fully get the whole image that you don't see yourself the way he sees you

but thats just what happens initially when he randomly comes into the room to find you staring at yourself in the mirror

he's so lost but it won't stop him from getting straight to the problem and carefully questioning you about what's bothering you

and once he hears you out, he just feels extremely stupid for not being there when you went through all of that alone

after that he's not going to ever leave you alone lol

he's a natural when it comes to comforting even if he does need a little push at the start

talks to you so softly and don't even get me started on how hard he tries to make you feel better about yourself

it almost makes you cry tbh

isagi is the best boyfriend ever

he sits you down, palm soothingly rubbing your back while you guys talk

ugh. i want him. sorry. back to it

he'll always reassure you in the most endearing ways ever

he doesn't even need to say anything actually. you can see it in his eyes how much he loves you for who you are and how much it hurts him that you feel this way

this man will be your footstool if he has to, but he will definitely not let you be insecure because you're literally his hardcore crush and he's in love with everything that is you. (you've been in a relationship for years idk what he's talking about but anyway 💀)

also he is such a lovesick idiot that he won't tolerate any nonsense from you about your appearance

"shut up, you look beautiful."

and then you're like "but my-"

"nO, be quiet. you're fucking beautiful"

he's aggressive with it but in an adorable way lol

it obviously takes time to get over your insecurities, but with a sweet lover like isagi yoichi, you're going to be just fine in some time.

and also if you're insecure about your thighs specifically.........

you probably know what the deal is with isagi and thighs. goodluck <3

ITOSHI SAE ☆

ah, this guy

he's very lowkey about it but does try to make you feel better

more than anything he feels shocked to discover that you're insecure about your body

in his perspective its like "i love your body. what's wrong with it"

when you open up to him he feels more in sync with your feelings

it is pretty unusual to see your boyfriend being this affectionate

but you're not complaining 😭

he really wants to help and is kind of shy at first (doesn't show it; typical sae) but when he realises that you're staring at him with this immense amount of love, he's gone

you know him so well and its obvious that since you're in a relationship with him, you are used to how he is

so when you see that he really does not want you to deal with this by yourself, you can't help but feel so lucky and yeah basically you just want to kiss him until he can't function

but let's keep that to the side and focus more on how he handles it

sae prefers physical stuff more than having to say stuff

not sure if i make sense.

he's so much more confident in what he can do than what he can say

he just holds you. yup.

if you feel like just staying silent and clinging to him, u got it

or if you want to cry, u got that too

he's going to be like your personal pillow

and this is just for helping you get your emotions out (if needed)

he's gonna do it all fr

doesn't matter what you're insecure about

sae is going to make sure you know how much he is in love with you lol

as unbelievable as it sounds he's ready to get on his knees and tell you everything and anything he loves about you both physical features as well as your personality

but he's itoshi sae and he isn't very good with his words (unless he's shit talking on the pitch)

so get ready to be held and kissed

you might get caught off guard but again, seeing him trying his best to show how much he loves you and how much he adores your body makes your face heat up

not to mention how he looks at you like you're the most important part of his life

im being fr he is in love and he is not afraid to show it

once he gets to know about your insecurities he's going to kiss them away (LITERALLY) hope you're not ticklish—

don't forget to kiss him too :') he may be itoshi sae but still, he deserves some love

he'll always casually compliment you on the most simple or the most tiny things (whatever it is you're not feeling too good about) as if he's totally forgotten that he spent all day yesterday leaving lil kisses everywhere (ahem get your mind out of the gutter but don't do it if you dont want to ig 😰)

i love him. so should you.

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE ☆

again, another confused baby

not for more than 4 mins tho

he is smart. he figures it out pretty quickly that you're spiraling when he sees you scrolling through your pictures with an unfamiliar expression

big big sweetheart

he hesitates to approach you about it at first because from what he thinks, you're not showing him any signs that you're troubled

he just doesn't want to hurt you or anything like that by bringing it up because he thinks that you don't want to talk to him about it

he gets why

but still

he's your boyfriend and he wants to help :(

eventually he finds a solution for it by speaking his mind

which means that when you walk into the room, regardless of where you are or who is with you, he's gonna compliment you

he's not making them up just to make you feel better— he's actually just saying the things he thinks every time he sees you

[crying, screaming, screeching]

soon after, he quietly talks about it when you guys are just lying in bed all warm and cozy, caressing your cheek and testing the waters to make sure he won't overstep boundaries

[crying continues]

once he asks you, you're just letting go of your emotions and talking to him about your insecurities while he just listens— he doesn't want to interrupt you

after that he will definitely make your eyes sting with his gentle words lol it totally depends like.. if you're a person who cries a lot or not. he's so good with his words and he didn't even know that until he was speaking to you and falling in love all over again watching your face slowly bloom

saying the right things, doing the right things, that's kunigami for ya

physical touch is also his thing so don't be surprised if he just hugs you and reminds you that he's in love with how you look today or how pretty your outfit looks or just anything that will let him see you smile and shove him away playfully

be lucky you have a kunigami because whew he is so cute

sigh. can you tell im in love with them?

#blue lock manga #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi #kunigami rensuke #itoshi sae #yoichi isagi #rensuke kunigami #itoshi rin #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock angst #blue lock isagi #blue lock kunigami #blue lock sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae headcanons #itoshi sae fluff #itoshi sae imagines #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x y/n #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi fluff #sae itoshi scenarios #sae itoshi x you #yoichi isagi x reader

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 50: Photograph

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Miscarriage

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Over the next view days, Max returned to Cork after Danielle put him into place and just before Cillian was due to arrive back home, your thoughts spiraled downward, drowning in self-loathing and despair. You blamed yourself for the miscarriage, convinced that it was somehow your fault.

The thought of telling Cillian weighed heavily on your shoulders, the guilt consuming you and when, on a Friday afternoon, he came bustling through the front door, eager to wrap his arms around you, you cringed inwardly, dreading the conversation that awaited you.

"Hey," he greeted you softly, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you, his heart swelling with love for you.

"Hey," you replied weakly, forcing a smile on your lips. "Welcome home," you cooed, stepping into his open arms.

His scent enveloped you, bringing comfort as he held you tightly, pressing his cheek against yours.

"I missed you," he murmured into your hair, inhaling deeply. "You smell amazing," he added playfully, smiling at you.

"I missed you too," you replied, nestling deeper into his embrace. "How was the premiere?" you asked, genuinely curious about his experience.

"It was insane," he chuckled, releasing you and guiding you both to collapse onto the couch. "Cameras everywhere," he groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. "I hated it," he then chuckled, grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "But I wouldn't trade it for the world since it means I am actually doing something right—right?" He looked at you questioningly, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his eyes.

"Definitely," you agreed, nodding earnestly. "It's a testament to your talent," you continued, squeezing his hand affectionately before pulling him close for a kiss and, immediately, the tension between you eased as the familiarity of your relationship kicked in.

"Thank you," he murmured, cupping your chin, tilting your face upward for another passionate kiss. His eyes sparkled with happiness as he pulled your body closer. "I'm glad I'm home," he whispered, his voice low and husky.

You smiled softly, feeling the familiar warmth spread through your veins. "Me too," you replied, tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb before, suddenly, breaking out in tears. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Cillian asked, looking concerned. "Is everything okay?" he asked, panicking as you fell into his arms once more. 

"No," you choked out, trying to regain control of your emotions. "I...," you stammered. "The baby," you began, swallowing hard as your tears cascaded down your cheeks. "I lost the baby," you whispered, your voice cracking with sorrow.

Cillian's eyes widened in disbelief, his grip tightening around your hand.

"You had a miscarriage?" Cillian asked, his voice strained, his face pale.

"Yes," you replied, wiping away fresh tears. "It happened a week ago. I was too afraid to tell you because I didn't want you to worry about me during the premieres. I am so sorry," you sobbed, your chest heaving with deep sobs.

Cillian's eyes grew wide with shock, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Shhh, it's okay," he whispered softly, brushing the tears from your cheeks. "I'm here now, and I promise we'll get through this together."

"But I've gone through this twice now," you whimpered, burying your face in his shirt. "I am a fucking failure," you sobbed, your words muffled by his clothing.

Cillian rocked you gently, holding you close, whispering sweet words of reassurance into your ear. "Shh, none of this is your fault," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And I know that the pregnancy wasn't planned, but we can try again if you like," he promised, his tone filled with conviction. "When the time is right, we will have a family together if this is what you want," he added, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"But my body is broken, Cillian. It clearly is," you said, pulling away from his warm embrace. "It keeps failing me and, honestly, I am terrified of getting pregnant again. I mean, what if I lose another pregnancy? That would kill me," you confessed, biting your lip nervously.

Cillian's eyes welled up with tears as he watched you struggle, his heart aching for you. "Hey, stop talking like that," he scolded softly, cupping your face in his hands. "None of this is your fault. And, whatever happens, we'll face it together. There are alternative options these days. IVF, surrogacy, adoption," Cillian said, lifting your chin with his finger. "Whatever you decide, we will make it work."

"But you even said that you didn't want any children," you reminded him, still reeling from the sudden change in direction.

"Yet, I also said that I loved you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be with you," Cillian declared passionately, his eyes locked on yours. "And if you want to become a mother then we will make it happen together. I'm not going anywhere," he swore, gripping your hands tightly, but you knew that you were not ready to face the possibility of losing another pregnancy.

"I appreciate your willingness to go through all that," you whispered, snuggling closer to him. "But I just need some time to think. Like you said, the pregnancy wasn't even planned and, still, I became excited about the prospect of having a child with you," you explained while Cillian ran his fingers through your hair.

"Take all the time you need," Cillian assured you, running his fingers through your hair. "I love you," he murmured, pulling you closer, embracing you tightly. "More than anything," he said. 

"I love you too," you murmured, nestling your head into his shoulder, clinging onto him like a lifeline until, eventually, you calmed down.

As you regained your composure, Cillian's grip on you loosened, replaced by a soothing caress.

"You know there is something that might cheer you up a little," he suggested, his voice soft and hopeful.

"What's that?" you asked warily, wiping your tears away with an apprehensive glance.

"Well, let me get my bag and I show you," Cillian replied before reaching for his messenger bag that was slung over the armrest. 

He then pulled out an envelope and handed it to you and, when you took it from him and opened it, you noticed a familiar photograph tucked neatly inside.

It was of you, your mother and two siblings before you crossed the border to America and, although it was crumpled and faded from years of storage, it instantly transported you back to that time.

"Where did you get this?" you gasped, holding the photo carefully in your hands. 

"Your mother gave it to me," Cillian explained and, immediately, your chin dropped. You had not seen your mother since you were a young child as, when you came to America, she gave you and your siblings up for adoption. Whether intentional or whether she was forced to do so, you did not know and life for you since had been a living nightmare. You grew up in terrible Forster homes until the age of 16, and then you moved to a group home where you stayed until you turned 18. In those years, you developed a tough shell to survive and a sharp tongue to cut down anyone who dared to hurt you. Still, even with your bravado, you were scarred by your past and haunted by memories which constantly plagued you.

"How?" you teared up again, tears filling the corners of your eyes. "Where did you meet her?" you asked anxiously, tracing the creases in the photo with your index finger.

"She came to one of the premiers, hoping that you would be there with me after seeing us in one of those ridiculous gossip magazines," Cillian revealed, his eyes meeting yours tenderly. "Apparently, she's been searching for you for years and has even tried to contact my agent who brushed it off as a hoax," he explained, handing you a folded piece of paper from within the envelope.

"That's a travel itinerary," you said, your voice trembling slightly. 

"Yes," Cillian confirmed, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and concern. "I booked her flight for next week. Hopefully she has passport sorted by then," Cillian explained, seeing that she had never been on a plane before. 

"Oh my god," you exclaimed, tears streaming down your face. "I'm going to see her again," you cried, clutching the itinerary tightly in your hands. Despite the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with joy at the idea of reuniting with your mother.

"What is if it is a hoax?" you questioned, unable to contain your fear. "I mean, are you sure it is her? The woman on the photograph?" you whispered, your voice quivering slightly.

"Yes," Cillian answered, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and concern. "She knows your middle name and she told me about your birth mark. I am certain that it is her," Cillian affirmed, his voice steady and confident, causing you to sigh with relief. 

"What does she look like now?" you asked, suddenly becoming  more and more intrigued. "Does she look old?" you wanted to know, causing Cillian to chuckle.

"Well, she is about my age I would say, so I wouldn't call that old," Cillian said, raising his eyebrow at you and, for the first time that day, you genuinely laughed. 

"Well, you do look particularly young for your age though, Mr Murphy," you retorted, grinning mischievously at him.

"I know. I get told all the time," Cillian joked, causing you to laugh harder. You hadn't felt this lighthearted in weeks and you relished the feeling that enveloped you.

"Why do you do that?" you asked abruptly, interrupting your laughter. "Why do you take care of me so much?" you questioned, suddenly remembering your earlier fears and doubts.

"Because I love you, Y/N," Cillian declared boldly, his eyes shining with confidence. "I love you so fucking much!" Cillian exclaimed, his voice breaking slightly.

"I love you too, Cillian," you replied, the words coming naturally to you and, with that, you felt as though, perhaps, at least some things were slowly falling into place. 

Tags:

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

[discokicks]

BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.

PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)

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

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

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

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

You blink at her. “Hi.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s nothing—”

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

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

Well, okay. “Then why—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mastered it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?” Rebecca questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ROY FUCKING KENT!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You push harder on the door.

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

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

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

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

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

“I just want to talk,” he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And wait.

And wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how long did you coach?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This fucking week, man.

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

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

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

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

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

[anemptypuddingcup]

An angel in the camera.

Sanji x Female Reader. Smut.

Yeahh this is gonna be a four part series with an alternate ending, my bad.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Contains: A fluffier part before we get to the smutty end. Reader and Sanji finally meeting. Sanji being a shy man. Reader shopping for clothes for Sanji. There’s a bit of timeskipping in multiple events. Just a sweet little shopping date before we get to the major point. Abrupt ending. I personally think the writing’s a bit sloppy but it’s alright..

“Y-YOU’RE SO PRETTY SANJI!”

Sanji could only stare at you in shock as he heard such words leave your lips. He was flattered, genuinely flattered at your words, words from a pretty girl that he’d never thought would reach his ears. His face slowly begins to turn a deep red as you stared at him in awe and out of love.

Out of all the pretty women who’s called him a pervert they now could never pair up to you. Your sweet compliments caused him to flare up and you noticed that he started to go quiet again. “Sanjiii! Sanji? Everything alright?” You called out to him. He slowly looks back at his screen and smiles. “T-Thank you love…” He says quietly, not knowing how to take all of your compliments and such. You tilt you head before smiling softly to him.

It was saddening when you both had to end the private show due to how late it was getting. You both were sleepy from how much you overexerted yourselves, but you promised to call the next morning.

The constant thoughts of your compliments and moans ran through Sanji’s mind that he couldn’t help but to continue fisting his cock afterwards. Feeling such a way for a woman was normal but this felt different to him because the woman he actually liked loves him back. He was impatient now. He wanted to see you, touch you and kiss you. Physical contact of your bare body against his would be a dream come true for him.

The next morning you called and he answered.

You both couldn’t stop complimenting each other and giggling to each other, after all you both did like each other. The only thing that was sitting between you both was meeting up together. Sanji proposed a little date the next day at a shopping district that was actually really close to you.

“Honey, there’s a shopping district where I would just love to take you!~”

“If only I lived closer to you, I would’ve loved to go with you Sanjiii~”

“They have fresh ingredients down there too, I could make you something so exquisite…”

“YOU CAN COOK!?”

“Of course love, It’s a passion I have. I enjoy cooking and I most certainly would love to cook something so nice for you one day~”

“Hmm, well what’s the name of the district? It could be the same as mine…”

He tells you and you’re baffled. The name of the district happened to be the same name of the one by you, and that thought alone made you tremble. By some miracle, It was apparent that you both lived in the same city meaning Sanji was really fucking close to you. You didn’t turn his date down at all and he was ecstatic for it.

You both really couldn’t wait the next day over, how could you when you just figured out that you both live in the same city with the same scenery. You couldn’t let the thought leave your mind due to the excitement of finally meet the man you liked. You didn’t think that something such as this could actually happen.

***

It was a warmer afternoon though too warm for the sun setting in the distance. Sanji tried his best to stay there and stay still as he inhaled from his cigarette and exhaled heavily out of excitement and anticipation. He was ready to see you and he just really couldn’t wait.

“Sanji!”

Sanji’s eyes widens as he hears your voice behind himself. He quickly turns around and his eyes glance around before they land on your pretty face. Sanji’s heart began thumping heavily within his chest as he didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do. “O-Oh! Sweetheart!” He smiles widely and holds his arms out before you jump into them, smiling happily. The first thing that hits Sanji is your sweet scent from the perfume you were wearing.

He trembles against you and he suddenly feels himself growing eager and needy, but he had to keep it to himself and he quickly holds himself back. “Y-You look so beautiful love~ S-So pretty…” Sanji complimented, a loving sigh leaving his lips before he puffs smoke from his cigarette.

He takes a good look at you and even though he’s already seen your body, he couldn’t help but blush as he stared at your curves in your cute little outfit.

You look up at him with a wide and happy smile spread across your face. “Y-You’re pretty too Sanji! You smell so nice~” You say before pulling away from him. He chuckles before holding his hand out to you. “Shall we sweetheart?” He asks. You grasp his and and giggle, his hand so soft against yours. His face grew a deep red as he felt your hand against his and he grew closer to just bursting.

“A-Ah, since we’re generally here in front of each other…What’s your name darling?” He asked, curious for your name. “My name is ________.” You say shyly, a bit of blush covering your face. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Sanji whispers, a bit of blush dusting his cute little face. You blush deeply from his compliment, you couldn’t stop smiling from his sweet compliments. “Thank you Sanji~” You thanked him before scooting closer to him.

He gives you little lovestruck look as your pretty facial expression shot him right through the heart. His hand trembles into yours as he tried his best to keep his cool. “Are you alright?” You asked, a little giggle leaving you. He nods before softly pulling you along, excited to finally go on this date and enjoy his time with you.

***

“So what do you like doing love? Besides streaming online?” Sanji asks, showing interest in you and your hobbies. “Well, I like working at my other job as a waitress. I missed a few shifts recently though.” You admit, looking around at all the food stands. “Oh! You work as a little waitress, that sounds so cute..” Sanji says before chuckling to himself. “Ahh, it’s alright. It’s just that sometimes it can get stressful with the creeps and all. It’s overall nice though.” You smile to yourself, now waffling your hand with Sanji’s.

“What about you, I heard you said that you’re a cook Sanji!” You ask, your eyes glistening with interest. Sanji nods and smiles. “Yes I am! I cook for my best friends really, I’m always happy to see their faces whenever they take a bite of my cooking. They really enjoy it…” He says, looking up in front of himself. “I would definitely wanna taste your food one day Sanji, you really sound like a good cook and gentleman.” You absentmindedly admitted, blushing deeply at the thought.

Sanji’s heart began to pound. The more he talked with you about your life and the more you showed care for him, the more he became infatuated with you. You were really a sweetheart, someone who actually showed care and never found him to be weird. You were a rare beauty that he wouldn’t want to let fall out of his grasp.

He was doing a good job keeping his creepy behavior to himself, but he couldn’t help but to tremble beside you the more you complimented him. It made him feel cared for, he was a person who paid to see your body online but you never called him creepy for it. That’s what he genuinely loved about you. He exhaled shakily before trying his best to straighten his mind.

Shaking the thoughts away, he turns to you who happens to be fixated on a few food stands. “Something catch your eye sweetheart?” Sanji asks, stopping in his tracks for you. You point over to all the food stands. “I haven’t ate much today…and the food smells so good~” You sighed, your stomach growling at the thought. Sanji giggles and pulls you along to the stand so you could get something to eat. “All this time and you haven’t ate? A pretty girl’s gotta eat too love.” Sanji says, looking down at you.

“Here, I’ll pay for it.” He says before pulling his wallet from his pocket. You stop him and give him a little pout. “You’ve done enough with money Sanji, I can pay for it myself.” You say, pulling out your wallet. Sanji chuckles and nods, allowing you to pay for your own food.

After grabbing something to eat, you both went out roaming around enjoying each others company and time. You thought of buying something nice to wear for Sanji to surprise him, the thought of his precious reaction crossing your mind. He pouts realizing that he actually had to go his separate way because he forgot to pick up ingredients for dinner he was going to cook tonight. Sanji let’s out a little whimper before turning to you. “I’m sorry love, I have to go this way.” He sighs heavily, not wanting to leave your side as he reluctantly pulls his hand from yours. You nodded before turning away from him.

“It’s okay Sanji! I’ll do some shopping alone!” You say before walking away from him. Sanji watched as you walked away from him, his heart fluttering out of his chest as he felt his souls ready to leave his body. Fuck he wanted you do badly, even if this was a date he had to keep himself straight before he ended up doing something he may regret.

He walks the opposite direction, leaving you to go look around for clothing stores.

You walk around and finally find a little sex store in the corner of the district, hiding from all of the other normal shops. You peek through before walking in and taking a little browse around the store, observing all of the pretty and different designs of lingerie as if you didn’t have enough already. You definitely knew that Sanji liked a lacy style but there were so many choices to choose from in such a small store.

You settled on a soft yet revealing and elegant style, wanting to be comfy yet revealing for him. You felt your face grow hot as you thought about a nice night that you wanted to have with him. Just a single thought of him and you together made your heart pound heavily against your chest.

Having someone like Sanji around you would probably change your life up a bit…you wouldn’t be so lonely anymore.

Your thoughts were put on hold when you felt your phone vibrating within your jeans pocket, it was Sanji calling to see where you were. You blush at his honey-soothing voice over the phone, hearing his voice on the phone reminded you of last night every time.

***

“What did you go shopping for sweetheart?” Sanji asks you out of curiosity, his eyes peering at your bags. You softly gaze at him before looking away. “Just…some clothes.” You lied, knowing that you had more than just clothes inside if the paper shopping bags. He smiles before sighing heavily, a bit tired from so much grocery shopping. “Ah, love. Are we going back home?” Sanji asks looking down at you.

You blushed deeply before biting your bottom lip, your heart pounding at the thoughts you’ve had moments ago. “U-Uhm…If you want we can go back to my place..” You say reluctantly to him. He smiles widely before nodding happily.

“I’m fine with that!” He beams, his face growing redder and redder by the second.

You smile as you both began walking out of the district, the weight of the bags getting heavier within your hands.

#one piece #one piece smut #one piece fluff #op smut #op fluff #one piece x female reader #one piece sanji #op sanji #sanji smut #sanji fluff #vinsmoke sanji #puddingcupfics #an angel in the camera series

[b4tasquad]

DISTRACTION: AJ SHABEEL

Authors note: i just had to I’m sorry😭 also wrote this at night in one sitting, if there are typos/ grammatical errors, I’m really sorry.

Warnings: most of it is smut ( 18+) minors dni

…

Aj’s days were always a new adventure. There was always something new to do regarding work, and there was never a dull task he was completing. To many, a man in his mid-twenties working such an uncertain job was crazy. There was always judgement for his way of life, but the man was genuinely never bothered by it.

He was content, and that was all that mattered. Coming home that day, a grin on his face at the video he knew was going to be well liked, he felt as if there was nothing that could knock him off his high horse.

The second Aj’s eyes had landed on you though, he knew something had happened. From the way you looked so unenthusiastic to the furrow between your eyebrows. You were burdened by something, and God forbid your boyfriend let it brother you.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

At the arrival of your boyfriend, you pout slightly, just wishing to be in his arms. As if reading your mind, Aj’s arms open and welcome you into his embrace. Eagerly you get off the couch and leap into his awaiting arms, every single worry fading away as his cologne overtakes your senses.

There are nothing you can use to express the feeling of being in his arms other than coming home. He carries a sense of protection with him that you’ve became so used to.

After finally feeling like you could speak without breaking down in tear, you pull away from his chest. “My boss screamed at me.” Aj nods, hands coming to cup your cheek as he makes sure to let you know he’s listening. “Told me I was being unprofessional for something that wasn’t even my fault!”

“What a bitch.”

You’d usually scold your boyfriend for his lack of respect, but right now you couldn’t find it in you to do so. She had humiliated you in such a public standard, leaving you to actually look unprofessional. It was no lie that you let many walk over you, it was a bad habit. But even this was something you refused to accept.

“I’m not mad.” You sigh, leading him to your shared room. He takes a seat on the bed, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap. “I just feel stupid. She made me feel stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” He kisses your cheek affectionately. “You’re the smartest person I know, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

At his words, a little feeling of hopefulness fills your deflated mood. “You really mean that?”

“Course’ I do.” Aj speaks with such certainty, it makes your legs shake. Under the faint lighting the two of you have in the room, his features light up, illuminating his beauty perfectly. He was beautiful inside out, and you loved it.

You lean his head an inch back before capturing his soft lips in the slowest, most meaningful kiss. What had been a show of gratitude turned more heated as Aj placed his palms on each side of your hips and placed you on his lap properly. Your arms find a secure spot around hi shoulders, hands inching him closer by a push at the back of his head.

The two of you work in sync, your bodies moving in one to full-fill your desires. It doesn’t matter how many months you’ve dated, or the amount of times you had already been in this position; Aj explored your body like he’d never seen it before. Every caress with the intent of getting to know your body inside out.

Even with your love for this steady and secure pace, you needed a relief right know. The incident at work was still running through your mind, and all you wanted was to: forget forget forget.

At your shift in the make out, Aj gazes up at you, and there’s nothing that can prepare him for the next words you utter. “Fuck me dumb.”

He stiffens, body failing him as thousands of thoughts speed through his troubled mind. Aj’s sat still, eyes on the wall behind you in shock. You take his silence as your cue to continue. Rocking your body slightly forward, and leaning into his hear you kiss the skin. “Please Aj, make me forget.”

While the man might not listen anywhere else, here he’s obedient and instantly flips you over. You lay with your back pressed up against the soft mattress, while Aj’s diving into your body, kissing, licking and sucking like it was his only goal in life.

His mouth works wonders, and his touch haven’t even moved down from your upper body before you start to let out sinful noises. It seems to fuel his eagerness, because in seconds, he’s pulling down your sleep attire, finger hooking around your underwear.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” His question is one he knows the answer to. The only reason he’s ‘asking’ is so you verbally tell him how much you need him. At your breathy mumbles, Aj teasingly kisses your clothed core. “I guess not.”

The speed in wich you’ve pulled him back from leaving you unattended is actually abnormal, and even Aj has to chuckle a little at how impatient you’re being. “Please.”

The please is all Aj needs to hear, because the second it leaves your lips, he’s nose in between your legs, lips and tongue working in unison to take you there.

His perfect laps and sucking are affecting you in ways nothing else can, and by the time he licks a clean swipe up your slit, you can already feel the temperature rising to unbearable heat.

You’re thankful for Aj’s beautiful hair, because with his long curls you’re able to guide him, pulling in the direction you needed him the most. Like a starved man, he eats you out, eyes blown open wide and breath hot against your core.

“Aj.”

The moans you’re letting out makes him struggle to continue, the dent in his pants becoming too hard to bear. “Come on.” He encourages, not for a second stopping his action of licking you dry. “You’re almost there.”

And there’s no lie in that, because the second the words leave his mouth your legs starts to quiver around his head, head leaning back and eyes shutting. Your high washes over you, providing you a feel of euphoria as your boyfriend works you through it.

You’re not completely recovered when he pulls away, lips crashing against yours in a dizzying meeting. It takes you great strength to move your lips against his, but his hand against your jaw makes it easier and you kiss him back just as roughly.

Faintly, you can make out Aj unzipping his pants, letting his hard bulge become visible. Even in your hazy state, you know exactly where this is going.

“I don’t know if I can, Aj.”

At your words he just nods, as if he’s certain. Leaning over you he trails kisses across your face. “You’ll try though?” He asks, obviously expecting a certain answer. “My good girl. You’ll take it, right?”

Your answer comes out in broken moans and half nods. That’s all your boyfriend needs because without warning he smoothly glides in, your drenched core welcoming him like always.

A painful whimper leaves your open mouth at the impact, and Aj kisses your neck repeatedly. “You’re doing great, baby.” You focus on his words, finding it was much easier than centering upon the pain. “I’m gonna move, okay?”

When given the signal, Aj freely moves, his experienced strokes pleasuring you in a way you found hard to understand. With every snap of his hips, sound from his mouth, and movement of his fingers around your throat, you find yourself falling more and more into the sexual satisfaction.

Your dispute with your boss was long forgotten as Aj’s name was the only thing on your mind. Someone could ask you something as simple as your birthday and you’re sure the answer would be too far away to get it.

Getting lost in the feeling of him filling you up, you close your eyes. “Eyes on me.” Aj reminds you.

The last strokes before your orgasm were a blur because the pleasure becoming too much is the only thing you can focused on. “I’m-“

“I know.” Your boyfriend kisses your lips. “Go ahead, baby.”

His words made the awfully tight knot in the lower part of your stomach snap, leaving you a loud mess. Aj talks you through it while riding out your orgasm. Coming undone for the second time feels even more amazing than the first time because you’re so out of it. You have no idea where Aj finishes or when he gets up to go to the bathroom, but when he comes back with a damp wash cloth in his hands there’s no question.

He was the best distraction ever.

…

Tag list:

@p3drii , @jiusz , @n1kodl , @shuuuuush , @w1shes43 , @alltoowill0w , @slutforpablogavi , @enhacolor

(Check pinned to be added!)

#Aj shabeel #beta squad #✭b4tasquad speaks #youtube #Aj shabeel x you #Aj shabeel x reader #smut

[depravitycentral]

Hi, I also gotta say that the uvogin fanfic is amazing I also really enjoyed reading that <3.

It was actually a good plan but why the heck did he even print out chats in the first place and kept them in the drawer under the TV? Like if it were his room ok but in the livingroom? Was it maybe his plan that the reader finds it on their own so he could have a reason to stop the pretend and then the reader would blame themselves?

(The fic is question is Partnership)

Ooh, I hadn't even considered the last part of that! That would've been a really good ending - my stand-by for fics is to make endings leading into shock and then sex or a post-sex haze; I am a creature of habit. (Mostly, I just saw the word count was getting to five number places and was worried no one would want to read something longer.)

But genuinely, you finding the evidence of his obsession was an accident - one Uvogin sincerely, honestly hoped wouldn't happen. And you're obedient, he knows that - even if you have a more rebellious streak in you, he's big. He's scary. He's strong. He told you not to snoop. He was sure enough that he'd be willing to bet his own life that you wouldn't dare disobey him or his rules - he knows your body language well enough from all that stalking to be able to read you like a book, and he knew from the moment that blindfold came off that he had you in the palm of his hand.

But then you did the unexpected. You rebelled. You disobeyed.

You were bad, and while he's initially mad at you, frankly he's more surprised than anything - a little impressed and proud of you, even. It fucks up all his plans, of course, but it's nice to see you growing a backbone, even if it is just against him.

And he did have plans, really - plans to slowly grow on you, to continue getting your favorite foods and 'accidentally' starting a new series or set of movies - and oh? What's this? They're your favorites? What a coincidence!

He was going to slowly ease you into the idea of intimacy; a hand lingering on your shoulder here or there, catching you when you fall (he sent a small burst of aura your way that had you losing your balance, but that's just a trivial detail), scoffing at you and telling you that you're holding that knife all wrong, let me show you how to really cut something. (He'll stand behind you, his chest flush against your back, arms grabbing your own and guiding you through the chopping motion, the extra cologne he'd spritzed on earlier in the day making your nose tingle and your cheeks feel warm.)

(And then, once you're asleep that night, he'll fuck his fist so hard it nearly breaks.)

He had a plan, yes, but he's mature enough to realize that it's all his fault that it didn't pan out (well, maybe a bit your's, too, because you'd decided to grow a pair and break one of his cardinal demands). He'd been stringant with keeping all evidence in check - away and secure so that you wouldn't find it. Maybe, with time, he'd show you all the things he's collected over the months he's been watching you - maybe, but only if the Stockholm Syndrome was in full swing, if you were willingly kissing him, instigating sex or even whispering those three little words with honesty. Maybe he would've, just to show you how much he cared - how much he still cares.

But to answer your question, nonnie, the reason why he has the chats printed out is because he wrote them while tapping into your phone line. Shalnark didn't mind doing his buddy a favor, and getting the bug planted wasn't too difficult. And it would go off at the most random times - when he's out, traveling for Troupe business, he doesn't have a computer or anything on him, and a scrap piece of paper and a pen are his only tools. He records what you're saying because everything that comes out of your mouth feels important, like it's something he needs to remember, like it's something that might give him more insight into who you are - another layer of you, maybe even one that only Uvogin ever gets to see.

And of course, once it's written down, he can't just throw it away. He has to keep them - just in case something you said becomes relevant. Just in case you mention something about him - the large man who passed you on the street today, but you were too busy with your nose buried in your phone to notice. The large man who was at the other end of the aisle in the grocery store as you agonized over which flavor of ice cream to buy with your limited budget.

And as for the placement of where he keeps all these scribbled records of your every phone call and interaction, well, it's really a no brainer. It was the only spot that wasn't already full with something relating to you.

Every cabinet, drawer, closet, shelf, nook, and cranny in his apartment is full of you you you. He's got everything his greedy hands could get ahold of - your underwear, chapstick, button, and bandaid, of course, but there's more. It ranges from things that are less disturbing - normal, even, like a pair of earrings or a hairbrush - to things that are just a little more suspicious. (Like your old toothbrushes - yes, plural - or your haribrush.) Things that could be considered totally understandable (if not a big extreme) and not creepy if you and Uvogin were actually a couple.

And then, of course, there's the more intimate items, the things you had the displeasure of stumbling upon - your panties, for example, and if you were to peruse through the cabinets below the sink in the bathroom you'd find all sorts of menstrual supplies, with your favorite brands, the right products for your flow, even the dinky menstrual cup you'd tried on a whim because a friend recommended it. (Yes, you'd thrown it away because it'd been too messy when you took it out and yes, Uvogin searched through your trash bag just to find it.)

He may come off as this big, imposing, simple, one-track-minded man, but he's not. At least, not only those things. Uvogin is smart - and as most yanderes with brains tend to do, his obsession teeters much more on the side of collecting information about you than you'd expect. He's just honestly curious about you in every way - he's clingy and needy and wants you, so badly that it hurts, and collecting your things was a way to help alleviate some of that ache before he could properly be with you.

So while he didn't want you to find any of his stolen goods, frankly, it was inevitable - any storage space (except the room he houses you in - just because he'd be tempting fate if he asked you not to root through anything in the modest closet or drawer set he's assigned to you) contains evidence and proof that Uvogin didn't just randomly get stuck with you. It was all purposeful, planned, calculated - and you, poor sweet little you, just had the misfortune of finding that out much too early.

Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it?

#also thank you for the praise! I'm glad you enjoyed it :) #_uvogin #_lee talks fics #_hxh #_partnership #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin

[thisisallthehattersfault]

I tend to forget about Hua Cheng’s crippling self-image issues because Xie Lian is dehydrated over the man and it shows, but

Queerplatonic Xianle Quartet where HC is mostly fine around Xie Lian with his real face -- Gege loves him and loves the way he looks and sometimes remembering that is harder than others but he’s working on it and his god is always there to remind him when he stumbles -- and like, Xie Lian’s opinion is literally the only opinion that matters, so fuck everybody else. Gege likes his face. You can all deal.

Only then without him even realizing it had happened, suddenly Mu Qing and Feng Xin’s opinions do matter and he still hasn’t realized that he’s started to actually care about those idiots but he has noticed that he’s deeply uncomfortable wearing his real face around them recently. All those Oh My God I’m A Hideous Monster thoughts come bubbling to the surface and he can’t stand that he’s been walking around with his actual face out around those two this whole time.

Obviously Hua Cheng starts shifting around the two of them more and more often (It doesn’t have anything to do with them he just likes shifting shut up) and then he runs into a whole brand new wave of weirdness, because he’s used to making his forms look dangerous, seductive, dripping with sex appeal. Only, he doesn’t want Feng Xin or Mu Qing to think he’s fuckable? He doesn’t want to bang them, and he knows they don’t want to bang him. What he wants is for them to think he looks... nice? Dependable? Like he’d give good hugs?

Suddenly Hua Cheng is experimenting with forms that have kind eyes and friendly, open faces and layers of softness over muscles like iron, and Mu Qing and Feng Xin (who also Definitely Do Not Like Him And Don’t Care About Him What Are You Implying Shut Up) are suddenly having the absolutely fucking bizarre experience of wanting to snuggle Crimson Rain Sought Flower.

Feng Xin has an absolutely awful day and walks into a room to see Hua Cheng’s newest version of a papa bear form, big and broad and soft and strong, and he genuinely has an out-of-body experience over how badly he wants to just. Kind of burrow against his chest and stay there until everything is softer and smaller and quieter and farther away.

Mu Qing sees Xie Lian and Hua Cheng snuggling -- Hua Cheng’s newest form is this tiny, curvy, busty lady with a round face and big dark eyes and soft soft hands, perfect for squishing and squeezing and holding like a stuffed animal -- and he just seethes with jealousy watching Xie Lian sink his fingers into her soft soft skin and nuzzle into her soft soft shoulder. He has the thought of I bet she’d be so nice to cuddle and then he has to walk away because fucking What??

Of course this all eventually culminates in something happening and Feng Xin and Mu Qing get their shit rocked and Hua Cheng shows up in his true form to help them out, at which point we somehow get the reveal that they already associate his actual face with support and security and comfort because they know he has their back and he does not need to squeeze himself into different shapes to appeal to them. We like you for you, idiot. Yeah, really. We were shocked too.

Xie Lian through all of this is living his best life getting to squeeze and squish and cuddle with all of San Lang’s new forms and also getting to fuck them because unlike FengQing Xie Lian is sexually attracted to Hua Cheng and damn if these new bodies aren’t extremely excellent to play with. His favorite is still true form though. He’s a sucker for the classics.

Anyway tl;dr touch starved emotionally repressed idiots discover they have a nonsexual crush on their childhood best friend’s husband, said husband does the nonsexual equivalent of walking around in just a bikini, in the end everybody cuddles about it.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng #mu qing #feng xin #xie lian #hualian #xianle quartet #uhhhh is there a poly tag for these four? #hualianfengqing #??? #Xianle quartet poly #queerplatonic #queerplatonic ships #honestly a large chunk of this idea is rooted in my desire #to play around with the concept of attraction #we so frequently reduce attraction to fuckability #like either you want to sleep with someone or their appearance means nothing to you #and thats just so boring!!! #you don't need to want to bang someone to find them nice to look at #and you can find different things nice to look at in different people #depending on the type of affection you have for that person #the traits I find sexually attractive are not necessarily #the traits I find romantically appealing #and vice versa #also I. Want these boys to hug each other and this is an excuse for exactly that #anyway self indulgence thy name is not alice

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝐼: 𝐹𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐻𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒 ⚜

Oops, I guess it wasn't a one-shot after all. Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: gunshot, car chase, canon-typical violence, John and Vincent bickering constantly

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

Vincent was fine, actually. Crying? Someone had been crying five minutes ago? Definitely not him.

So John wanted to help him, presumably out of some deranged fit of loneliness. Who really cared why. This was the best news possible. He would be reinstated in no time.

He reclined on John’s couch as if it had been his idea to do so all along, swinging one leg absently over the side while his host dashed back and forth through the house, packing. This rushing around had started the very moment that Vincent stabilized. They’d already waited too long, probably, to leave. The Table would know that he could only be going to one place if he had come to New York, and they would converge on the location. The Wick residence had just become a deathtrap.

But that didn’t concern Vincent terribly - John seemed intent enough on addressing the issue. He went downstairs with an empty duffle bag, came up with a holster around his waist and the duffle bag full, went upstairs in a t-shirt, came down in a black vest under a matching suitcoat. Vincent contemplated whether it was drab. Maybe not, maybe more like “morose.” But well-fitted, at least.

There was something coming down the stairs after John, something that growled and moved a little too quickly towards the couch, halted only by a leash.

“Hey.” John stopped by the coffee table with a harsh look that brought his bulldog to a sit. “We’re gonna be nice to the Marquis, yeah?” It whined apprehensively, casting a suspicious glance in Vincent’s direction, but stopped growling.

Vincent eyed it back with at least as much suspicion. “Is it trained? I don’t want some mutt biting at my heels in the midst of a fight. We’d be better off leaving it behind.”

That harsh look shifted from the bulldog to the Marquis.

“I need you to listen very closely. This is important. You remember what I did to Iosef, yeah? If that dog dies, you die. I have no interest in your marker if that happens. You do not treat him as something you can sacrifice to save yourself. He IS you, got it?”

“C'est un putain de – [It’s a fucking –]”

“He’s you. A vital body part, like your liver.”

“If you knew how a man who can afford the finer indulgences in life treats his liver, you might reconsider your metaphor,” Vincent shot back, smirking.

“Okay, your heart then. But just. Vital. Okay?’

As he realized the purpose of this conversation, something bitter sunk into his stomach and he felt his cheeks flush. “You don’t need to explain empathy to me like I’m a child. I have dogs, you know that, yes? Cats, horses, swans, a peacock…” He strained to remember the more exotic creatures in his collection. Did he buy that hyacinth macaw, or did he choose the palm cockatoo instead? He hadn’t seen the bird since, so he couldn’t be sure.  “Anyway, you know nothing, as usual.” Already this man was insulting him again. Unbelievable.

John just sighed. “Up. We have to go.” He extended a hand that couldn’t have tempted Vincent any less if it had been coated in live wasps. He gave John a look so icy that it earned another whimper from Dog, and struggled upright on his own.

He didn’t trust himself to speak on the walk to the garage. Every step, every tilt of the shoulders, winded him. Maybe shock had been a blessing - he realized that most of the pain had been numbed. But now it was back, tracing a stabbing, fiery line across the pectoral into the bone. It certainly seemed to be aggravated by certain movements, to get worse, but mysteriously, he could never quite detect a moment when it was better. It was a damn trick of the body that took over his vision with a total miasma of pain.

He didn’t even notice John’s hands on him until he was already being lowered into the passenger seat with surprising gentleness. The bulldog was already in the back. Had he blacked out for a second? Massive, muscled hands gripped either side of his waist securely, those darkly troubled eyes peering into his with such maddening concern. This condescending piece of work buckled…his fucking…seatbelt…for him. “Je te déteste [I hate you],” he managed, almost slurring.

“Good. We need you hateful. You want a grenade?”

“I – what? Yes, give it to me.” That woke him up quickly enough. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”

John dropped the duffle bag in his lap and circled around to the front seat. The engine purred to life. “There’s already a blockade at the end of the street. We cut through the neighbor’s fence. Grenades go out the back after we’re past them.”

The garage door rolled slowly back and for a few short minutes, everything was okay again. Everything was giddy, in fact. It was just after dusk, the sky greying slowly from indigo to black. A quiet, peaceful evening that Vincent couldn’t wait to rip to shreds. With both windows rolled down, the night air rushed between them in a roaring channel of wind that sent John’s hair whirling. A dark little ball of fire turned over and over in Vincent’s hand, and there were more where that came from. John put the pedal to the floor, the acceleration pressing Vincent into his seat and sending a thrill through him as they shot straight through the neighbor’s white picket fence and left two tire treads in a streak across their manicured lawn.

An orderly line of cars scrambled to turn and give chase, bullets striking the taillight, the back window, the trunk. You think you can open fire on the rightful Autem Imperator? He fixed his eyes on them in the rearview mirror, pulled the pin with his teeth, and let them have all the pent up fury of the past miserable day.

Shattered glass and burning bodies. Orange roses and golden filigree painted against the sky. John flying, gliding lane to lane, firing over his shoulder, blind.

Pin. A moment of stabbing pain from the pec all the way through the throwing arm (suddenly worth it). Unfurling flames. Another pin. Another! Could he get this one through the shattered windshield into this idiot’s lap? Yes. He was laughing despite the way every breath stabbed through his chest, every stab fueling the next throw. He was drifting in John’s polished Mustang as it gave its life for him, slowly being riddled with holes but still kicking as the people who hated him spun out in confusion or died screaming in pillars of fire.

They abandoned it some ten minutes later, and jacked a boring white BMW, partly to avoid being followed and partly because it had rattled to a stop all on its own thanks to engine damage. John looked at the previous vehicle for a long moment as he lingered by the driver’s side door. “I like that car.” A simple thing to say, but so loaded given the circumstances.

“It handled like a dream. But at this point, it’s not worth fixing,” Vincent said casually. “You may as well get something even better when this is all over.” He set the final grenade back in the bag, still grinning at the memory of what he had just done.

“No. I want this one and I’ll fix it.” He put the dog in the passenger seat and turned to Vincent at last. “Get in the back this time. Laying down. Better if you don’t get spotted.”

It did sound good to lay down. “…Fine. But if you try to buckle me in again, I’ll cut off your whole hand to match that finger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He laid down across the backseats. It wasn’t a great fit for someone of his height, but with his legs folded, he managed. In the meantime, John was rooting around in the trunk. He found a throw blanket, probably meant for someone’s pet, and tossed it to Vincent. “Put that over your face, so no one sees you through the windows.”

“It smells disgusting.”

“Just do it.” Vincent was in a good enough mood now not to argue. He grinned up at the ceiling, finally allowing himself to relax as they pulled away. “That was rather exhilarating.”

“Yeah.” There was a hint of a smile in John’s voice.

“So. Where are we going?”

“That depends. Who’s on your side?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t unrun them. You need to solve this. Who would help you with the High Table problem?”

“Are you a simpleton? I’m excommunicated. No one will offer services to me.”

“…Is there really not one person who has a history with you? Who would help you just because of that?”

“Your naiveté astonishes me yet again, Wick. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.” The only person who would have helped him for his own sake was Chidi. A pang went through him at that thought. And here was John lording it over him. He swallowed hard and added, “Do you honestly think anyone has helped you just because they’re on your side? At best, people fear you. They see you for the killer that you are and wish to ingratiate themselves to you. No one would want to help you. Maybe you got lucky, found one woman who was confused enough to think of you as worth saving. But look where that got her.”

The car lurched forward with the tiniest increase in speed as John lost control of the gas pedal for a moment in his anger. “Why? Why do you go for the throat like that? I just barely start to have a pleasant conversation with you and then - This is why there’s no one who has your back.”

“At least I know it. I rely on my own strength. You on the other hand - ”

“Forget it,” he spat. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. I’ll just find somewhere to spend the night, next state over.” A tense silence fell between them.

Several minutes later: “…I’m sorry. About your bodyguard.”

Why did this bastard have to be so raw about everything? “…That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Mm-hmm.” The silence resumed, somehow even more tense, but with an entirely different flavor. Vincent found himself holding his breathe, as if John could hear the lump in his throat if he exhaled wrong. Damn him. He was determined not to cry twice in one day.

They took a scenic route into Pennsylvania, avoiding the toll roads. Vincent gazed out of small gap at the edge of the blanket, gradually beginning to shake again. From that low angle, he could see the near-perfect circle of the moon. The radio warbled on about weather next week and love confessions and affairs. He would almost find this moment peaceful, except…there was that horrific, continuous, world swallowing ache from the center of his chest. An ocean of blood no longer restrained. A fracture in the bone at the core of his body. He could not take this kind of pain, he thought. It was an absurd, even a comical amount of pain. He simply could not take it. He should say something to John, perhaps…but he didn’t. And the world began to dissolve.

At last, Vincent de Gramont passed fully into unconsciousness, and dreamed that he was buying a fine show horse. A jet black Orlov, with a star at the center of its forehead. Ribbons of white sheen glimmered down its shiny withers like a freshly waxed autobody. He mounted it for a first ride, eager to inspect his new wares. And as he did so, the spirited creature read something in his motions that was unworthy of trust, something he could neither have predicted nor suppressed. It seemed so unfair… The horse tossed its dark mane, and reared up in terror, and threw him onto the brambles below…onto a jutting tree branch that impaled him through the sternum, far deeper than the bullet had ever sunk.

(Author's note: An Orlov is a Russian horse breed.)

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers

[lvrhughes]

Guitar lessons | J. Drysdale

word count: 0.6k

pairing: Jamie drysdale x f!reader

summary: coming to visit Jamie, but when Trevor calls for help, it’s time for you to teach Jamie guitar yourself

warnings: none! pure fluff

requested: no

not my gif!

You could hear the strum of the guitar from outside, it was out of tune and formed wrong.

“Oh God” you mumbled under your breath, before walking into the the house.

“Y/N SAVE ME!” Trevor yelled at you as you walked in.

“What happened?”

“The guitar.” Was all Trevor said. You giggled walking towards your boyfriends room, where the horrid strumming was coming from.

“Hey Jam”

“Y/n/n!” He finally put down the guitar to open his arms for you to jump into. And you did dragging him back onto his bed.

“I think Trevor wants to kill your guitar” you warned Jamie, he just laughed.

“Oh I know, he’s tried.”

“Wait he’s tried?”

“Oh yeah, once time I came back home and he was on the roof with it, said he tried throwing it off but he couldn’t. Felt too bad.”

You laughed. Trevor had genuinely tried.

“Okay c’mere baby.” You said sliding off him and sitting on his bed. He followed sitting beside you. You grabbed his guitar.

“Follow what I do, okay?”

“Okay.” You could tell he was eggar, he knew you could play but you had never played for him.

You put your hand into the chord of G. You turned to show him how your hand was set, then strumming the chord. It sounded so good to Jamie, he knew he’d be playing it wrong before.

“Okay,” you handed the guitar to Jamie, “you saw that, now you try.”

He put his hands where he remembered you did, you corrected him a bit but for the most part he was correct, and strummed.

“OH MY GOD I DID IT!” Enthusiasm was radiating off him.

“SHOW ME ANOTHER PLEASE” So you obliged. You showed him simple chords and helped him memorize the hand placements.

You and Jamie were in his room for almost three hours, you could tell he was passionate about his and decided to learning it, so you helped him. By the time you had deemed it was more then enough guitar for the day he had learned G, D, C, and E chords.

“Baby we have to go show Trevor!”

“Okay Jams, let’s go” he was like a excited puppy, he grabbed his guitar and your hand, pulling you both out to Trevor room.

“What the fuck?” Was the first thing Trevor said when Jamie ran in, pulling you behind him.

“Listen, listen!”

“Oh no” you heard Trevor mumble, a small laugh leaving your lips.

Jamie sat on Trevor’s bed, pulling his guitar where he needed it and placing his hand in the right position. He played through all the chords you taught him, Trevor had a presently surprised look on his face. You smiled looking at Jamie, he was so focused, it was adorable to you.

“That was actually good” Trevor said when Jamie stopped, shock lacing his tone.

“Thank you” Jamie beamed. “We’re going now, it’s time for cuddles.” Jamie ended, grabbing you and his guitar again and returning to his room.

You laughed as he threw you on his bed, following shortly after putting the guitar away. He basically fell on top of you, quickly he nuzzled into you.

A content sigh left his lips at the warmth from your bodies. His eyes shut as you ran your hand threw his hair.

“Baby if you keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep.” Jamie mumbled against your chest.

“Good, you need some sleep. We’ve been playing for over three hours.”

And he did, he fell asleep not even ten minutes later, you following in suite.

yourusername

Like by trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, and others

yourusername teaching Jamie guitar is my new favourite hobby<3

tagged: Jamie.drysdale

trevorzegras pic credit?!?

yourusername shut up🫶

_quinnhughes you two are disgustingly cute

yourusername why thank u

jamie.drysdale are u sure that’s really a compliment?

yourusername yes

user158 THEYRE SO CUTE

liked by yourusername

jackhughes get this off my feed

yourusername you’re just jealous😚

#jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #anahiem ducks #jamie drysdale imagine #nhl imagine #nhl one shot #anaheim ducks imagines #mads writings!

[merakiui]

Mera~

I hope you are well today!

Do you happen to have some spare change? And when I say change I mean headcannons? My simple simp mind is wondering how some of the Yan boys would treat a chubby darling?

Sorry if you've done this, I'm still digging through your blog.

-Rolly Polly

OOOO yes yes!!! I absolutely have plenty of spare change!!! Forgive me for not writing all characters, but I had the most thoughts for the ones listed below!!! :D

I must mention my beloved tako first. He adores every inch of you, even your chub! Especially your chub!!!!!! He refuses to hear any negative talk regarding your body; he absolutely loves it. In Azul's eyes, every part of you is all he could ever ask for! He's obsessed with you, so naturally he'd be obsessed with your body as well. He's always hyping you up in private, lavishing you with so much genuine praise and adoration. Though he has a tendency to be deceptive with others, he will never lie when it comes to his love for you. So when he says you're perfect, he sincerely means it. (Also, he is a big lover of thick thighs. <3)

The tweels also lavish you in so much praise and love (so much it's actually very overwhelming at times). Your body is such a pleasant contrast to theirs, where they're all rough edges and bones and lanky limbs you're so soft and curvy and absolutely wonderful! Floyd loves hugging you because you're so fun to squeeze; he could stay attached to you forever; it's so comfortable to just cuddle against you. <3 often you'll find yourself sandwiched between both of them hehe. Eel sandwich... orz I think they'd like to be crushed between your thighs, but Jade likes it the most! I also think he would want you to wear lots of lingerie. Of course he won't force you if it makes you uncomfortable (he politely insists), but if you're locked in the twins' room and they're your only source of communication both he and Floyd are going to pull all the stops when it comes to convincing you. Jade likes how you fit into lacy frills and so does Floyd; you're just so adorable. They love you, love you, love you!!!! If you're self-conscious or can't see yourself in a positive light, they'll fuck you in front of a mirror every single night to prove to you that they only see their beautiful darling.

Vil is also similar. I think mirror sex is a guarantee with him because it baffles him if you can't see your beauty (naturally he has to show you, and what better way than to sit in front of the mirror and have you pinned on his cock while he presses kisses into every inch of your skin, whispering the sweetest praises). Vil always speaks the truth when it comes to beauty, so you know he will never, ever lie to you. He knows for a fact that you are beautiful and perfect in every way. And he gives such good advice when it comes to fashion! If you want to try a new style, he's the first one to help you pick statement pieces and pair various accessories for an outfit that accentuates all of the features he loves so very much.

AND ROOK!!!! OOOOHHH MR. ROOK HUNT!!! He puts Azul to shame. If you think Azul is the best hype man, you're so wrong. Rook is so infatuated with you. Like Vil, he's also so shocked if you can't see just how perfect your body is. He loves to hug you from behind, to feel all of your plush curves beneath your clothes, to bestow the softest, sweetest touches to you, as well as giving you lots and lots of compliments. Rook also never lies when it comes to beauty, and he thinks all bodies are beautiful. Naturally, your body is also beautiful. Omg he's just so in love with you... T_T <3 he may be holding you captive in one of the many villas his family owns, but ooohhh does he adore you to the moon and back. He waxes so much poetry about you. He's also another one who helps improve your relationship with your body if you're self-conscious (and also another lover of mirror sex hehe)!!! He's just so loving and sweet and supportive and 100% obsessed. After all, you are the most beautiful in his world.

OMG AND TREY!!!!!! AAAAAAA OTL he loves you so much. He thinks you're so precious aaaaa omg!!!!! >0< he's always so sweet and supportive. Also another one who will help you overcome your self-consciousness. I think Trey likes to fuck you in missionary so he gets a view of your pretty body (and also so you're unable to hide yourself if you're nervous or self-conscious during intimacy). Aaaa he's just so genuine. How can you not love him when he's a big sweetheart who also knows how to bake delicious sweets (all in your favorite flavors)? Sure, he may be unhealthily obsessed with you. But details, details!!!!

#twisted chit chat #rolly polly anon #yandere twst #n/sfw

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Liability Part 4; Finale

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe wakes up the next morning feeling extremely sorry and awkward, so much that he pulls himself out of his hangover to be on time to his therapy session with the reader. She's pretty shocked to see him but after a cathartic conversation, they talk more over dinner and things take an interesting but well awaited turn.

Warnings: S*M*U*T (fucking finally), swearing, trauma, angst, mentions of drugs and alcohol, MINORS DNI.

Word Count: 7.4k

A/n: I love this chapter. It took me so long to write because IT'S SO LONG and I think it's very much worth the wait. This one is directly dedicated to @tee-swizzle cuz she needs this more than anyone😌

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3

Rafe, 

I know my couch is uncomfortable. Please don’t make fun of me if you wake up with a ton of pinched nerves and sore muscles. I work at a public college, I don’t get paid enough for a good couch. I also wanna say, please drink water as soon as you get up, I’ll leave a bottle next to you just because I really don’t want to have to clean up a ton of throw up when I get home. 

I’m also gonna go ahead and cancel your appointment this morning with me since I think you’ll probably have a pounding headache and an overwhelming hangover. I don’t want you to feel rushed or like you’re obligated to come, especially with what happened last night. I’ll write it on the report that you’re sick and spiking a fever, no one will ask questions.

Speaking of last night, we should probably never talk about it again if you think that’s for the best. You might not even remember (I hope you do though because that would be really awkward for me to have to explain why I’m so jumpy). I don’t want you to feel embarrassed because I know you were drunk and I don’t want you to feel bad or like you took advantage of me. I don’t regret bringing you home and hearing you out or giving you a place to crash. Please don’t be mad at yourself for being honest with me, I really appreciate that you came clean about some things and I’m hoping that you’ll start to do that more.

You can text me when you’re up, I’ll be back at 2:00. If you wanna stay on the couch all day, that’s okay too. 

I never would’ve thought Rafe would be a snorer. 

When I left this morning, he had an arm draped across his eyes, shielding the sun that was shining through the curtains from his face and his chest was rising and falling in simple breaths. He had shed his shirt in the middle of the night- which was a pleasant shock to wake up to- so the snoring wasn’t the only shock. I was shocked to see his sweaty, glistening chest in the sunlight, strong pectoral muscles twitching with every move of his body and it didn’t take me long to make the connection that he is an athlete and that I shouldn’t have needed the confirmation of seeing him without a shirt to realize that he’s, well, hot. 

It took everything in me to look away from him and pry myself out of my apartment, wanting nothing but to call off and baby him the whole day, ask him questions about his childhood, his mysterious daddy’s girl of a sister, his dad. I also fought the urge to go through his phone and pull out Josh’s number so I could chew his ass out for leaving Rafe in my care.

Or maybe I should be thanking Josh. 

I have no clue if Rafe will actually want to talk about what transpired between us, the way he looked at me- held me- and the way that his lips fit so comfortably against mine. I genuinely thought I was a bad kisser until he pressed his lips against mine and I felt myself giving up complete control, allowing him to guide me and, with the mindset that his control put me in, I would’ve allowed him to guide me all the way to my bed. Or the nearest flat surface. I want to know what he thought about it, what made him actually want to kiss me and if there’s more to our relationship than our professional one, even though that’s sort of a given at this point. 

It was hard to focus on my clients all morning, checking my phone every once in a while to see if Rafe had finally woken up (and didn’t asphyxiate in his sleep) and read my lengthy note but even now, as noon approaches, there’s no messages from him, zero. 

In a small moment of weakness, I decided that I wasn’t going to cancel his appointment, wondering and silently hoping that he would crawl his way to the campus and stumble onto the couch in front of me in time for his meeting but I’m starting to lose hope with every ticking minute of the loud, obnoxious clock behind me. Is this how Rafe always felt waiting for meetings to end?

My phone loudly buzzing beneath me has me jumping, waving one last time to the student leaving my office before immediately checking who the notification is from. A wave of relief washes over me at the realization that Rafe didn’t die of alcohol poisoning in the last few hours and my heart aches as I watch a plethora of messages come through from his end. 

Rafe: I’m so fucking sorry. 

Rafe: Please don’t hate me, I need you to not hate me right now.

Rafe: I’m such a fucking idiot. 

Rafe: I remember everything after we left the bar, but it’s all still foggy.

Rafe: What did I do? Are you okay?

Rafe: I see you reading my messages, please fucking reply. 

My fingers shake as they hover above the screen and I try my best to type out a half-assed reply, knowing it won’t help but it’s all that my brain can piece together right now. I all of a sudden can’t stop thinking about him sitting in my living room, looking at the spot in the floor where he had me pressed against the wall and hands exploring my body. I too can picture him there, laying on my couch, biting at his lip while staring, wide-eyed at the screen in front of him. 

I’m not mad. I don’t hate you. 

I press a hand to my chest, trying to ease the searing pain that sits right where my heart pounds, watching the bubbles appear and disappear on the screen. I can feel my heartbeat in my stomach as I lean back into my chair, attempting to get comfortable and try to calm myself down, telling myself that I’d be okay if all of a sudden he left my life but I’m not so sure I know if that’s true or not.

Rafe: I kissed you. 

“Fuck.” I mutter to myself, looking up from my phone and at the lava lamp in the corner of the room, trying to steady my breathing as I think of something to say, something that’ll be vague enough to dismiss that is happened but that will also give him the clear to talk about it if he wants to. 

I think it was mutual Rafe.

I feel like a middle schooler with the way that I’m giggling to myself, folding my legs underneath me in my chair as I shove my notebook off of my lap, reaching up to rub at my forehead. We could’ve gone on and acted like it never happened, that we didn’t slip into each other last night, almost too far. We would’ve continued our sessions and he would eventually be cleared to move on and never see me again. It could’ve been simple and we could’ve kept it professional.

So what is it about each other that makes it impossible to stay away?

My heart has to be going fast enough to kill me or at least send me into cardiac arrest, chambers pumping way faster than the rest of my body can keep up with and I feel my head wobble on my shoulders, finally resting my head against the wall for a moment with my eyes closed, waiting for the next buzz of my phone which comes shortly after.

Rafe: You kissed me back.

I snort, letting myself type the first thing that comes to mind but before I can, another message comes through that makes me laugh even louder, earning some looks from the students passing by my open door.

Rafe: Enthusiastically.

Mhm. 

I was more than enthusiastic to kiss him, especially once I realized how badly I needed to kiss him once his lips were on mine. It’s amazing that we didn’t fall into each other sooner but maybe there was something deep down in me that realized that there would be no going  back and it’s true. Now that I’ve kissed him- that I’ve tasted him- I never want to know a day where I don’t fall into his arms and give into him. 

It feels like an addiction.  

Rafe: And you’re not mad?

No.

Rafe: Are you just dismissing it because I was drunk and not in my right mind?

I pause, a chill running down my spine as my mind spins, wondering if he’s going to tell me how much he regrets how he got so drunk that he kissed me and how he never would’ve kissed me if he wasn’t so upset and vulnerable. Is this it? Is this the moment where my chest caves in and I have to end our professional agreement because I let a kiss make me feel so attached to him?

Were you not in your right mind?

Rafe: I wasn’t but, even when I’m in my right mind, I think about kissing you.

There it is.

The confirmation that it’s not in my head and that he wanted me as much as he’s always wanted me, alcohol aside. The same thing that brought him to the bar last night, the feeling that made him open up to me in the car ride home and the feeling that finally gave him the guts to kiss me. I could go with it, assuming that he doesn’t regret it and that he’d do it over again the same way if given the opportunity but there’s this annoying, nagging feeling that suffocates me to the brink of typing out my insecure question.

So you don’t regret it?

Rafe: Nope. Do you?

“Fuck, thank god.” I let out a breath of a relief that seems to pull the plug on all of my anxiety, my shoulders rolling as my chest deflates. All of the tension I’ve held onto all morning oozes out of me and I no longer feel the tension sucking the life out of my lungs. 

No. Do you regret telling me things about yourself that you would’ve normally kept to yourself?

I already know that his answer will be something along the lines ‘of course I’m mad at myself but whatever’, knowing that it’s for the best if I have as much information as I can, especially if we’re still on track to getting him help and figuring out what’s made him such a loose canon. If I had any guess, I’d say his dad is the flame and Rafe’s always been the loyal moth who gets burned when he gets too close. But, like anyone who wants validation from their abuser after years of abuse, he’d do anything to impress his father. 

Rafe: I’m a bit mad at myself but the cats out of the bag and I know you’re not gonna let it go.

You know me so well. 

His side goes quiet for a moment, bubbles popping up and disappearing again until everything stops and I huff, a frown tugging on my lips. I expected more banter, more playfulness or teasing about how willing I was last night but based on the desperation hinted in his first few messages to me this morning, his attention must be elsewhere. 

–

A knock on my now closed doors has my eyes flying open, drool on my chin being quickly wiped off and I take a second to look around, realizing I must’ve drifted off for a bit. I stumble up to my feet with a groan, running a hand down my face before opening the door. 

I can barely process Rafe standing in front of me before his arms wrap around my waist, tugging me up and into his arms in a bone crushing hug. My hands hover for a moment over his back, processing the fact that in just a half an hour, he’s here, in front of me, clinging to me like he needs me. 

He needs me.

In seconds of response time, wrap my arms around him tightly, fingers dragging up and down his back as his back rumbles in quiet cries. I try my best to bite back all of the questions- ‘how did you get here’, ‘why are you crying’, ‘what took you so long’- and instead, I press a simple kiss to the side of his head with a pained sigh.

“I needed to see you.” He mutters, head tilting so he can tuck his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in as I do the same, finally feeling the tips of my toes touch the ground once more. He reaches back to shove the door closed with a loud thud, his hand cupping the back of my neck as I arch my body into his. I can feel his racing heartbeat and how his breathing mellows after a few moments of being in my arms but he doesn’t make any move to let go of me.

“I’m here.” I tremble, feeling his shoulders droop at my confession. He sniffles loudly and his arms finally slack from around my waist, settling me completely on the flat ground and he leans back to look down at me. His cheeks are flushed cutely and his beautiful eyes are lined with tears and an angry shade of red tints the whites of his eyes.

“I’m on time for our appointment. Did you cancel it?” He asks, reaching up to rub at his eyes.

“No, I was hoping you’d still come. Didn’t expect to be swept off my feet though.” I giggle, feeling him let go of me completely before taking a hefty step back, linking his hands in front of him as he awkwardly sways, suddenly recovering from showing such blatant emotion.

“Sorry, I just-”

“No, it’s okay.” I smile as softly as I can, hoping that he won’t take my surprise as disappointment and run out of here as soon as he gets the wrong idea. “Why do you look like you’ve been crying?” I ask softly, sitting down in my chair as he plops down onto the couch with a huff, running his hands along the top of his head with a sad laugh, sniffling loudly as I pass him a box of tissues. I had him in my arms and now he’s feet away from me. Too far from me.

“I was a mess in the taxi on the way here, poor dude didn’t know what the fuck to say to me.” He looks over at the lava lamp briefly and for a second I think he’s going to start crying again just at the realization that it’s lit and shining brightly beside him. Before he can break down again, I call out his name calmly.

“Rafe-”

“I need to talk to you.” He pleads, cutting me off, and his voice hints with a bit of desperation and I can hear that he’s so close to breaking. He looks up at me with a pitiful look that has my heart aching painfully in my chest. “I just need you to listen, no notebook, no snarky comments.”

“Okay.” I nod immediately, leaning back in my chair to get comfortable but he holds a hand up to me, swallowing deeply before a bashful look passes through his expression with a shy smile.

“Another thing-” He sighs, scoffing internally at himself as he scoots over on the couch. “Can you not sit all the way over there?” I can’t fight the excited beat of my heart as I think about being so close to him again, my body heating up and my thoughts running painfully fast but in all the best ways.

“Off the record talk?” I ask with a teasing grin.

“God, please just get over here.” He begs, and my body lifts immediately to step around the table that was separating us, lowering myself down beside him. I gulp at the way that his arm extends on the back of the couch beside me and I instantly turn my body and curl my knees up to my chest so I can face him.  “I don’t really know where the fuck to start.” He rubs a hand over his face and, to help, I reach out to place my small hand on his bicep, capturing his attention and seemingly calming him down.

He takes a deep breath before speaking.

 “When I was 10 my doctor thought I had bipolar or BPD or some shit. When they talked to my dad, he shut them down because he didn’t want them to know that the most well known guy in our town was actually beating the shit out of his eldest kid.” I can already feel the bile rising in my throat and I can tell that this talk isn’t going to be easy on Rafe but it’s also going to be nearly impossible for me to hear about him being hurt for so many years on end without any help or advocacy. “I knew that there was something wrong with me, Rose made snarky comments about it all the time, I asked my dad for help a lot- I told him that something wasn’t right. I was just so fucking angry all the time at everything.” His hands shake unsteadily in his lap and without thinking, I reach out to take his hands in mine, gripping them tightly as a reminder that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. “I’d key cars, I’d smash windows, I’d break shit, I’d beat the living crap out of people and there were always reasons but not that justified that big of a reaction.” 

“You were lashing out because of how you were being treated. You would’ve rather gotten negative attention than no attention at all. It makes sense, it’s valid.” He nods at my words but doesn’t seem to let them process, his chest rising and falling in a strained breath and I can tell he’s trying to muster an appreciative smile.

 “I started cocaine at like seventeen. My dad knew, he bailed me out a few times when I’d fucked up and forgot to pay dealers. He didn’t get me help, he didn’t offer me help. He just wanted me to shut the fuck up and stay out of his way. I could do anything I wanted if I just stayed out of his way.” Fuck he’s way worse than I would’ve anticipated. This boy needs years worth of trauma therapy. “Sarah hated me because I did such bad shit to her friends, things that I should never have wanted to do and she swore that I was just taking advantage of my dad. What she didn’t realize is that, every time he took his shit out on me, he wasn’t taking it out on her or Wheezie. They never saw it, they never saw how badly he had me fucked up. Rose did and she just didn’t care.”   

“Rafe you were dealt a shit hand from a young age and, though you claim to have done horrible things, you still protected your sisters no matter how they felt about you. That takes courage.” 

“I did everything in my capability to help without it being a nuisance. I did the bare minimum, I was lazy. And my dad was just getting so sick of dealing with me and getting me out of trouble so he told me, I had to apply to colleges and that he would pay for it but I had to get out of his hair and his house. I didn’t have an option.” He gulps, eyes meeting mine in a disheartened, broken look and I find my heart cracking in my chest. He looks so small, so helpless as he scoots impossibly closer to me, his arm now closing in around my back to rub between my shoulderblades. “It���s why I do the bare minimum to stay here to avoid making him mad but I never wanted to be here. When he found out about our sessions, he got afraid that I would open up to you about him and that a case would be opened up against him because Wheezie is still a minor and you’re a mandated reporter.” Dots connect in my head, dots that I should’ve put together before but I didn’t. “He wanted to beat it into me that, to keep the family together, I had to man up and suck it up.” His voice wobbles and cracks as a few stray tears escape his eyes, my hands immediately reaching up to cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing his tears away. He sinks into my touch, shoulders relaxing a bit as he leans into me. “Stop looking at me like that.” He mutters with a gentle, boyish pout.

“Like what-”

“Like you’re sorry for me.” His hand reaches up to rub at the back of my neck, thumb brushing beneath my ear, the touch soothing him. 

“I’m not as sorry for you as I am sorry for your dad when I stick my fist down his throat.” He cracks a smile finally, eyes fluttering shut in a brief moment of relief and I allow myself to finally relax against him, the tension in the air soothing a bit.

“I think that’s adorable.” He whispers, fingers fisting the back of my shirt as he leans completely into me, tucking his face into the crook of my neck once more. I rub his arm soothingly, hesitantly pressing a comforting kiss to his temple, lingering a bit against his skin. 

“You didn’t deserve any of it. Maybe you deserve to be in counseling, maybe you deserve some rough love- I don’t know. You don't deserve to lose a parent and then get the shit beat out of you for years on end.” He nods but I’m still not completely sure that it’s something that he believes. It takes years of trauma therapy to undo all of the abuse that he’s gone through and I highly doubt my words of encouragement will do much in the grand scheme of things. But if I need to be the first one to tell him that he’s loved and cared for and deserving of all the good things in life, then so be it.  “I don’t know about any of the bad things you did, I don’t want to know. What matters is that you make a conscious effort to not be that person anymore. If you need help, you get it. If you need to talk, you talk.” He nods once more and I can feel damp drops falling onto my collarbone but I choose to not say anything. “Are you still doing, uh…”

“No, not in a while, maybe a year.” He replies, reaching up to rub the tears from his eyes, sitting up with a loud sniffle. “I know I need help, I’m just not ready yet. Not until I know that I don’t have to go back to my dad, that I don’t need to rely on him anymore because if I try to get help now while I’m still so attached to him, it won’t help.”

“Okay. We’ll get you there when you’re ready.” His brows furrow briefly, confused at my words and my lips part, wondering if I said something wrong but before I can apologize, he speaks.

“We?” He asks, a little breathless and taken back, a slight red dusting to his cheeks.

“You think I’m gonna run away now that I know you’ve got some skeletons in your closet?” I tease, reaching out to pat his cheek sweetly, thumb brushing against his collarbone. 

“You don’t even know half of it.” He scoffs, eyes lowering to his lap in a bashful look.

“Are you still that person?” I ask and he shakes his head almost immediately.

“No.” I shrug and he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re not freaked out?”

“Am I still here?” I ask him and he smiles softly, realizing the point I was getting at. “I’m still here, even after you cried and almost threw up in my mouth. My mouth, Rafe.” The memory hits him like a ton of bricks and he buries his face in his hands with a groan and a small laugh. 

“I would not have thrown up.” He mumbles into his palms and I can see the red blush crawling down his neck and beneath his shirt.  “You’re such a tool sometimes, god.” He reaches out to playfully shove me but I catch his hand, pulling him back towards me with a wicked smirk.

“You love it.” I whisper, holding his eye contact in my gaze and I can almost see his eyes clouding over, eyes flickering down to look at my lips. The memory of kissing him last night floors me and I fight the strong urge to lean towards him and kiss him senselessly.

“Yeah I guess I do.” He whispers breathlessly, swallowing roughly before blinking out of his haze. “Are you almost done here? I could, uh, buy us take out?” He offers with a bashful grin, his fingers slipping in between mine. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

– 

“You’ve never had wonton soup?” Rafe asks me, shoving a wonton into his mouth with his chopsticks, giving me an incredulous look from across the couch. I shake my head with a simple smile, taking a bite of my sesame chicken, humming at the delicious taste. “You wanna try?” Rafe asks, holding a wonton out to me by the ends of his chopsticks and when I reach out to take them from him, he backs away with a small tut. 

Shit. 

I bite back a wicked smile, leaning forward and parting my lips so he can feed the wonton to me with the most inappropriate look in his eyes, his gaze getting completely caught on the way that my lips enclose around the chopsticks. 

“Shit.” He mutters, watching me intently as I chew and hum, nodding my head with every bite. 

“It’s really good.” I nod, reaching out with my fork to stab a wonton out of his soup, plopping it into my mouth with a giggle. “Like really good.” 

“Glad you like it.” He grins, bashfully looking down at his soup as the TV noise fills the empty silence around us. I can’t stop watching him, eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips like and he does the same when he’s regained confidence to look back up at me with wide, eager eyes. We’re both completely and utterly enthralled by one another and, like a spell has taken over us, we set aside our food, acting like we’re done but we both know it’s because we’re ready to move on. There’s an awkward moment that passes both of us wanting to make a move but unsure how to and I know that it’s going to take him making the first move for me to feel his lips on mine.

When our lips meet after a few moments, I can already tell that I won’t stop kissing him until I’m out of breath. I just want to be close to him, feel him on me, his lips, anything. His hands settle on my hips, pulling me firmly on top of him as I gasp quietly. The kiss is messy, needy, like we had been needing this for weeks and we have, the kiss last night was barely anything to hold us over. The minute his lips left mine last night, I’ve been waiting and dreaming of the moment where he’ll finally kiss me again and, given the hungry urgency behind his lips, I can tell he feels the same way.

Like I need air, water, I need him against me. 

I moan quietly as his hands slip down, winding around my thighs to hoist me further on top of his lap before flipping us over on the small couch. I squeal with a giggle, my head falling back as he drops down on top of me, strong arms caging me in. 

He’s on me in a minute, his body sliding on top of me as his lips find mine. I grip the back of his shirt, feeling his lips parting gently to deepen the kiss and I whimper as his lips leave mine just seconds later, trailing down to my neck as his hands wander under my shirt, cold fingertips making my arch up into him. He curses against my skin as his eyes flutter down to my parted legs that he fits so perfectly between, his fingers skimming against the material of my leggings. I watch him with parted lips, the room suddenly feeling ten times more heated.

“I can’t stand you wearing these.” His hands slip under my shirt to splay across my lower stomach, pushing up my shirt right under my breasts. His fingers dance against the skin of my abdomen, a shiver running down my spine as I arch into him, begging for him to do more of anything other than this simple teasing. His fingers gently slip lower and my head throws back in frustration as he dips his fingers into the waistband of my leggings, slipping beneath them completely as I let out a pathetic gasp. He moans quietly, my eyes dancing down to watch him palm himself gently and he looks back up at me, his eyes needy and his cheeks flushed. Without a second thought, he pulls his shirt over his head, a huge grin breaking out across my face as I tug him down to me. “I forgot you're a needy one.” He chuckles against my lips as I pinch his side, earning a quiet hiss from him.

“Shut up and fuck me, Rafe.” I whisper simply, his head pulling back to look at me with wide, teasing eyes, blue hues nearly completely taken over by his blown pupils, lined with lust and adoration. I shrug playfully and slowly at him, his head dipping in a quick head shake. Keep him on his toes, right?

“Are you sure you can handle it?” He taunts, his lips lowering to press against the hollow of my neck and I let out a breathless laugh, my fingers reaching up to grip onto his shoulders as he sinks his teeth into my skin. “You’re kind of loud.”

“I was pretty quiet thinking about you the other week.” I whisper, lying through my teeth but I know it’ll drive him crazy and it does, his kisses stalling as he sits up, his eyes dark and mischievous. In one fluid motion, my leggings and shirt are off and on the ground. My hands help him slip out of his pants as he laughs, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead, loving my greediness.

When he makes his way back between my thighs, nestling in so the outline of cock is pressing against my core, I moan, the feeling of him against me has my mind spinning and his hand gently reaches up to rest on my cheek, bringing me back to him, and his lips press against my other cheek, the skin heated beneath his lips.

“You’re mine...” He whispers, his hand slipping down my thigh to hoist it over his hip. I nod with a grin, my arms wrapping around his neck tightly. I’m not in the mood to play or tease him, I just want to feel him and to know that his words are true. “You’ve been mine. You’re all I think about.” He whispers, his lips skimming against my neck as I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders as an anticipatory anxiety fills my belly. His hand gently ventures under my bra, his fingers kneading my breast as my hips twitch up against him and I pray he’ll get the hint to stop teasing and to get on with it. Getting the hint, he moves away from me momentarily as I take the time to catch my breath, listening to him  fumble with his boxers that are discarded onto the floor in a moment.

He’s slipping in me almost instantly, his hips stilling as he bottoms out and all I can do is whine.

“Fuck, Rafe- so good.” I whimper, my eyes fluttering shut as I cling onto him, hugging him tightly as his fingers reach around my back to unclip my bra, yanking it off of me as he breathes heavily. His lips move to focus on my breasts, lips skimming and tongue swirling around my peaked nipples, alternating back and forth between breasts as I whine and writhe against him. I tuck my lip between my teeth as his hips start moving, a small sigh leaving his lips as he thrusts. My hands find his cheeks so I can look up at him, wanting to capture every image- every smile, every blink, every whimpered gasp that escapes him- I want to engrain it in the parts of my mind that I can tuck away and keep with me forever, needing him close and needing to comfort that he offers me for the rest of my life. His eyes flutter closed from pleasure, head falling to rest on my collarbone and my lips press against his cheeks in quick, reaffirming kisses.

His thrusts are steady and controlled but he’s ever so deep, my walls hugging them like he was made to be inside of me, fitting my body like his lock to my key, and I can feel him slowly opening up with every thrust. His body relaxes a bit against mine, shoulders slacking as he drops a bit of weight onto me and I take it willingly, loving and memorizing the feeling of his weight on me. I love the sound of his moans and breathy whimpers so much that I feel myself biting my tongue to listen to him.

“Don’t be quiet.” He whispers, his lips capturing mine in a brief kiss and  I nod, realizing that I wanted to hear him but didn’t even think for a moment that he might want to memorize my moans, the way my body moves- I’ve been depriving him. Poor man. I contemplate saying something snarky in return but instead I feel his fingers slip down in between us so that he can rub sensual circles against my clit as I squeal, his hand flying over my mouth with a chuckle. “C’mon, loudmouth- I know you can do better than that.” He taunts breathlessly, his hips snapping against me with such power it has me seeing stars, possibly from the lack of oxygen or just from the intensity of his thrusts and the electricity that’s sparking between the two of us. Between that and his skillful fingers, it wouldn’t be long before I was completely done for, him following closely behind I’m sure. “Fuck, so wet.” He groans, finding my lips in a messy kiss as I feel every vein of him thrum against me, arousal-filled  blood pumping through us at an unholy pace.  “It was so hard not to just tear your clothes off and fuck you dumb on that stupid couch at your office.” I mutter a quiet ‘oh my god’ at the thought of him sitting there across from me, wondering what it would be like to touch me because I was doing the same. I was sure I was going to hell for it but…  “You wanted me just as bad didn’t you?” More, I wanted you more than you could ever imagine. I want you more than you could ever possibly imagine.

“Yes, Rafe.” I moan, fingers skimming up his back and all the way up to his hair, dragging my fingers along his scalp which draws a long, drawn out moan from him, his hips snapping harder into mine as his hands grip my hips, slamming into me full force. He leans up onto his knees so he can look down at me, spine straightening as his eyes widen, watching my breasts bounce with every filthy drag of his cock.

“Yeah? Tell me how much.” He orders and I blank, dirty talk coming up completely and utterly short just when I need it. For all the times I imagined this, I wondered if I would take control and have him completely at my mercy- I was so off because I can barely form words as I watch his abs tense and his jaw grind as he gawks at me.

“I wanted to ride you- fuck.” I get cut off by a firm slap to my thigh, core twitching around him at the sensation and he chuckles, hand soothing up my stomach and past my sternum, fingers gently wrapping around my throat in a simple move that has me clenching hard around him and it almost has me spiraling towards my orgasm too soon.

“Go on.” 

“Wanted you to choke me, call me yours.” It’s as if he reads my mind because he lets out an incredulous laugh at the position we’re already in, fingers tightening their hold just the slightest bit as I gasp, eyes rolling to the back of my head and I struggle to find the right words.  “I just wanted you- want you. Fuck I can’t think.” 

“You just wanted me to take care of you, huh?” He asks, suddenly slowly his thrusts drastically and I feel myself trying to chase the speed he once maintained, hips wiggling to find any sort of friction.  “Take care of you like you’ve taken care of me?” He slides back down on top of me, hands caressing my cheeks as his lips press gentle, bashful kisses to my cheeks, my nose and finally my lips.  “I’ll take care of you, baby- I’ve got you.” 

The pace that he takes next is brutal, snapping against my hips in a calculated way as shameless squeals leave me, his deep grunts only spurring me on. “Rafe, shit, I’m close.” I whimper, tears pricking my eyes as I throw my head back, my hands gripping onto his shoulders as much as I can to help myself stay grounded firmly to the couch, fearing I’ll twitch and tremble right out of his grasp. His fingers don’t stop against my clit, rolling it gently, as his thrusts slow drastically once more, his movements subtle and deep as my thighs tremble. “Please.” I plead, my jaw dropping in a silent moan as his nose nudges mine.

“Was that a please?” He asks with a small laugh and my head bobs in an obedient nod. He presses a gentle kiss to my lips and he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me up and towards him as I squeal at the new angle, the new feeling taking me over completely. He swallows my loud moans with his lips, messy, open mouthed kisses that leave me hurtling towards the burning heat pooling in my abdomen and his own groans increase as my walls flutter around him. “Come on, I wanna feel you cum.” He whispers breathlessly, my chest heaving out a breath as I topple over the edge, my lips detaching from him as I mumble incoherently. 

I tuck my face into his neck as I tremble, feeling him fill me up effortlessly and quietly as he falls over the edge soon after, the feeling of him seeping out of me-  dripping down my thighs- it makes my whole body, my mind too, feel so warm and fuzzy. Complete. I feel as if my whole body is vibrating and I cling to him, his weight resting onto me as he catches his breath. He stays inside of me, warm and safe as his arms wrap around me, hugging me nearly as tight as he did earlier when he surprised me at my office. I smile softly, my hair sticking to my cheeks as I press a simple kiss to his freckled shoulder, never wanting to leave his side again.

I love the feeling of his bare skin against mine. 

I can feel it lowering my heart rate, calming my mind and my once rapid breaths. I could get used to this hazy feeling of being pressed against him, his cock softening inside of me as we made a mess of my couch, not caring for one second that we’d have to address our feelings later on.

He pulls away from me gently, a bashful smile on his lips as I giggle, reaching up to cover my face out of embarrassment. He lets out a similar shocked laugh, his forehead resting on my collarbone as we laugh together. I shake my head, the fact that we just did that shocking me to my core. “Fuck.” He whispers, his eyes flickering around the living room as he looks down between us, licking his lips as he thinks for a moment. “Stay still, don’t make a mess baby…” He trails off, both of us suddenly aware of the feeling of a familiar substance dripping out of me and onto the couch beneath us. “Bathroom?”

“Uh, yeah, over there.” I motion to the door on the far side of my wall, a quiet sigh of relief leaving his lips as he picks me up in his arms, cradling me to his chest without slipping out of me.

As we get cleaned up, I watch him intently with a soft smile, leaning back onto the cool counter beneath me as he cleans himself up, occasionally looking over at me to toss me a playful wink. There’s something so domestic, so wholesome about this moment right now, both of us in our most vulnerable forms with bright, flushed smiles on our faces. He catches my watchful eyes every once in a while, a shy smile on his lips but, even under my heated gaze, he's managed to pull his boxers back on and hand me his shirt to put on, his back muscles flexing as he rests his arms against the counter beside me. I urge him to step between my legs and he does, back in the same dangerous position we were in on the couch nearly twenty minutes ago. I wrap my arms around his neck, linking my ankles behind him as I smile softly, giving him a playful tilt of my head, almost saying ‘what next’?

“You good?” He asks, lips pressing against my forehead and he lingers, breathing my closeness in. 

“More than good.” I whisper, my eyes fluttering away from him as I chuckle bashfully. “Fuck that was like really hot, wasn’t it?” I ask with heated cheeks and his eyes rolling playfully at me as he scoots me towards the edge of the counter, his hips fitting even closer between my thighs as he grins.

“Yeah, really fucking good, doc.” He whispers, the nickname forcing my eyes to roll but my sass is quickly disregarded at his lips pressing against mine in a short kiss. “You’re mine.” He adds once more, more sternly than the last time he said it but it only makes my smile grow wider and I nod my head quickly, knowing every word is true. “Say it.” He orders against my lips, my hands cupping his cheeks as he waits patiently.

“I’m yours, Rafe.” He snakes his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug and, smiling like an idiot, I hold onto the happy man- my happy man- in front of me, both of us just happy. 

Both of our paths led us here, right now, to this moment. All of the fights with his dad, my troubling college days, getting harrassed at the bar, Rafe being shipped off to a college he thought he’d hate, keying a professor's car- it led us to one another so how could we possibly complain? 

Rubbing his back gently as he holds me, I can’t help but to throw all consequences, giggling to myself as I whisper, “so how about that pay raise?”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @bungunz

#rafe #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #the outer banks #the outer banks fic

[animebw]

So The Woman Called Fujiko Mine feels like an argument against itself.

I don't mean that in broad metaphorical terms. I mean that this show quite literally looks into the camera and tells you that the very concept behind it is bullshit. It's a grim and gritty re-imagining of Lupin III that seems to regard grim and gritty re-imaginings as little more than contrived nonsense, something hastily slapped onto a perfectly fine piece of media with no regard for what makes that media work in the first place. I don't think I've ever seen a more purposefully self-defeating work of fiction in my life.

What do I mean by this? Well, the basis of this show seems to be explaining the backstory of Fujiko Mine, the Lupin franchise's resident femme fatale cat burglar. What kind of experiences, it asks, would lead someone to sleeping and stealing their way through life? And this being a supposed grim and gritty re-imagining with Naked Titties and Fucking, the answer it comes to is, of course, horrific sexual trauma. The final arc descends into this ludicrously overcomplicated conspiracy involving hallucinogenic drugs, human experimentation, possibly actual magic, all to explain how Fujiko was horribly abused as a child and repressed those awful memories through a life of cheap sex and fancy trinkets. Even the OP screams this point at the start of every episode: "The act of stealing lets her forget everything and keep her memories at a safe distance." She covers herself in jewels and men as if they can hide her shameful, scarred body from the horrors it was forced to endure, a lifetime of cheap thrills to escape the pain of her womanhood.

Except just when you think the whole conspiracy justifying this backstory can't get any more complicated, it overcomplicates itself even further to reveal that none of this actually happened. Turns out, Fujiko's repressed trauma memories were false memories implanted in her when she was already an adult as part of some roundabout cry for help from the actual victim. And in fact, Fujiko was already a sex-loving, treasure-grabbing femme fatale by the time those false memories were put in her. Not because of trauma, but because she just likes having sex and stealing things. And I'm not exaggerating when I say she all but looks the audience in the face and outright says, "See? Isn't it stupid and condescending trying to force a contrived rape narrative onto a female character just because she likes sex? Why can't I just be a bombshell who loves what she does without having to feel ashamed of it? Or does it only count as feminism if characters like me have to suffer for our sexiness?"

It's a genuinely wild subversion that feels a decade ahead of its time. But therein lies the problem: you still have to sit through a mostly straightforward grim and gritty deconstruction to get to the point where it points out how stupid most grim and gritty deconstructions are. And if the point was to criticize those kinds of stories just by being an example of one, well, all I can say is that it succeeded. It absolutely feels at times like a pointlessly dark and edgy paint job slapped on top of a story for the sake of feeling "mature" when all that really means is lots of rape and uncomfortable sexual hangups. Did I mention there's a Class S episode where Fujiko becomes the teacher at an all-girls school and proceeds to have affairs with multiple of her students? Because that happens, and I could feel my skin trying to crawl off my body the entire time.

Like I said in an earlier post, this isn't fanservice in the traditional sense. In fact, with the ending reveal in mind, the presentation and execution is almost maddeningly confrontational, as if daring you not to see it for the cheap shock value it is. You can almost hear Yamamoto and Okada laughing behind the scenes as you scramble to find an explanation for why all this misery porn needed to exist, only for the show itself to say "Actually, yeah, this was all pretty tasteless and crass, who would actually want Fujiko's story to be like this?" But it's still a frustrating fucking show to watch in the moment because all that possibly intentional metafictional subversion just reads as straight-up boring edgy grimdark before you're shown the man behind the curtain. Or, woman behind the curtain. Whatever.

I dunno, I don't think I can give this one a proper score. 5/10, I guess? Ask me in a few months and see if that's changed at all. For now, I'm more than happy to polish off my Yamamoto back catalogue and move onto something else. Which 2013 show will take its place, I wonder?

#anime #tabw #the anime binge watcher #the woman called fujiko mine #lupin the third #lupin III #2012 aniwatch

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Any thoughts on the casting for The Last of Us season 2?

Oh god. So many.

So, I actually have all of TLOU show related tags blocked - because just seeing mentions of the show gets me kind of ticked. I miss the strike era when production of the show was delayed indefinitely.

But as far as the casting - I think Dina's casting is alright. I was one of those people who was naively hoping that Cascina would actually get to play Dina in the show, but I knew realistically that was never actually gonna happen.

Abby's casting however - I genuinely think that Kaitlyn Denver is a horrible choice. Like they looked up all the people who absolutely cannot play Abby and then they picked her.

Someone said that she looks like young Ellie - and I think for a long time, she was a popular fancast for Ellie. And to me, she looks like she can maybe only play young Abby in flashbacks. So unless they're gonna completely surprise people and only have her playing young Abby and then have someone else playing the real main timeline version of Abby - it won't work.

If you guys know me, then you know that I am incredibly protective of Abby's character. And based on the complete bastardization that they did of Season 1/TLOU 1, I already knew that they were going to royally fuck up Abby's character in some way.

And yes, I am basing most of my opinions on the fact that she is small and thin and Abby is supposed to be muscled, but people don't understand how pivotal that aesthetic is as a part of Abby's characterization.

(And they were never going to find someone perfect unless they used 2 different actors - one for flashbacks and one for the main timeline - because Abby gets ripped over years but it is shown in one short story, and her model was made with 2 different people - one for the face and one for the body, so they could keep her face on a younger, thinner body in flashbacks.)

Abby being muscled is actually a pivotal thing - it means she is feared and respected among the WLF, it means that Lev and Yara immediately fall in and trust to follow her through the woods because they view her as a protector when they are vulnerable and alone. Her body is a tool that is useful to her - it makes her completely immune to Isaac's violence right up until the moment she looks him in the eyes and asks him not to shoot Lev, and even then, he is asking her to step away from Lev so that he doesn't have to kill his best solider.

Isaac was more willing to kill Owen - thinking of Owen as disposable - than he was willing to kill Abby. And I think that breach of our society's typical sexism (where a man is always a better fighter, Abby supersedes that) in their post apocalyptic world, is really, truly shown by Abby's large stature.

Not only that, but it makes her physical malnutrition and how much she has wasted away because of the Rattlers that much more shocking. (Which, if they were going to depict that, it would be easy to do so with a heavily muscled actor and then make them look shockingly thin with CGI and makeup - but that scene is one of the reasons why video games are sometimes a better format. It being 100% computer generated means no actors had to be harmed during those scenes.)

Also (I wish I had screenshots of the specific lines) - but Abby and Owen's breakup at the Aquarium is about her training (her urge to gain muscle in order to aid of her long term revenge mission toward Joel) - Owen is surprised when Abby says she can bench press 140 pounds, and therefore, she can easily lift him. And Owen is insulted that Abby wants to spend more time training than she does with him - he is upset that her trauma and her revenge has overtaken her life to the point where she doesn't want to goof off watching spotted seals, and instead - just wants to train more.

And this leads more into the dynamic of - Owen is a disposable pawn (who pretends to take a pacifist stance when he's really a coward) and Abby has to vouch for his life with Isaac because she is infinitely more valued in the organization.

There is just a lot of layers to it - and they're already fucking it up.

I am trying my hardest to ignore the fact that she show exists, but it's actively lowering the IQ of the fandom every single day, and now I am gonna have to take braindead Abby takes from people who have only seen the show, and I genuinely wish it had never been made in the first place.

#sundrop answers #anonymous #TLOU #the last of us #the last of us season 2 #the last of us part II #abby anderson