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forcemeanakin · 8 months

Text

Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT. Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

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As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries.

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about.

All of that was erased the moment war erupted.

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker.

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him.

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him.

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible.

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing.

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation.

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place.

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought.

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away.

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation.

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too.

He will think you are stupid.

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot.

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling.

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets.

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes. Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly.

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?”

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process.

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.”

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe.

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you.

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was.

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him.

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect.

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body.

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it.

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.”

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart.

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips.

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him.

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything.

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex!

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled.

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing.

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?”

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way.

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again.

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye.

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention.

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you.

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it.

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting.

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you.

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form.

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response.

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return.

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second.

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan.

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder.

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum.

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions.

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this.

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering.

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression.

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men.

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you.

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action.

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile.

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you.

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration.

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.”

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice.

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.”

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them.

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him.

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it.

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant.

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you.

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over.

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan.

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #sw anakin #tcw anakin #ahsoka series #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #darth vader

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awfcspencer · 3 months

Text

You're Gonna Go Far || awfc x reader

awfc x teen!reader

prompt: requested!

warnings: none!

“Foord… will you please… tell your girlfriend to…. unhook her arm from… around my neck?” You struggled to breathe out because of the unworldly size of Katie’s bicep bulging straight into your windpipe. Katie had you stationed in a headlock in the middle of the changing room. You had jokingly called her ‘McCard’ after the Irishwoman had stolen the last piece of licorice out of your package before training. You felt the nickname was warranted but Katie playfully took offense and began to play wrestling with you.

“Babe, let the kid go.” Caitlin hummed out, not even looking up from her phone as she sat in her designated cubby. She was used to the antics the two of you would get up to, when the two of you were together, you both always seemed to find trouble. So today was no surprise.

Katie thankfully let go of your head as you stumble back and dramatically take several loud breaths out, even hurling over with your hands on your knees, acting as if you had just run 100 sprints to really up the show.

“Oh if football doesn’t work out, you have a career in acting.” Katie chuckled as she gently shoved your shoulder.

You mustered up your best Irish accent and said, “Of course missus, anything for you missus” pretending to be Katie, implying that she was an absolute simp for the Australian. Which was so incredibly true, but she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

“GET BACK HERE” Katie screamed as she began chasing you around the room in circles. Running out the door as you ran straight into Leah. You quickly turn around and use her body to shield you away from an angry Katie McCabe, shifting her side to side as she tries to latch onto you from around Leah.

“Hey hey hey, leave me out of your battles!” Leah told you as she escaped from your grasp. A now more serious look on the defender’s face, “Also kid, the staff wants to speak with you before training.”

“Ooo you’re in trouble.” Kyra joked as she stood behind Leah, trying to get back into the changing room because she forgot her water bottle. You shot her a glare, “I’m bringing you down with me if so” you told her and stuck your tongue out as you left the changing room and headed towards the main office.

The Arsenal staff broke the news that you would be going out on loan to the London City Lionesses at the end of the week. They had made a massive bid for you and were excited about your arrival. You tried your best to contain your rocky emotions as you bid them farewell and headed out towards the pitch for training, wanting to escape the room as fast as you could.

Signing a professional contract was what every little kid dreamed of growing up and playing football. You were incredibly lucky to be able to have achieved your dreams, especially at a club with such a history like Arsenal. Growing up in the Arsenal youth academy, it was really all you knew. The Arsenal girls were at first mentors and role models and now you considered them family. You put in the work on and off the pitch and it had paid off. You signed your first contract at age 19 and each day in training you grew as a player.

When the ACL squad had gone out, you were able to get some professional experience on the pitch, but with many of the players returning and Arsenal leveling up during the transfer windows, you had been sidelined for the most part. But Arsenal was your home. The red and gold badge meant so much more to you.

North London is your home. Meadow Park is your home. The Emirates is your home.

Temporary.

It was the only thing running through your mind. The loan was temporary. You will eventually return back to Arsenal, return back home. You would prove to your parent club that you deserved to be here. That you deserved to play here.

“How come the kid can be late but when I’m late I have to run extra laps.” Katie joked and many of your teammates laughed as you ran onto the pitch a few minutes late after your meeting. You tried to fake a laugh, it was inherently funny, but you were focused on something much bigger. No one caught onto your act, or at least that is what you thought, trying to be extra convincing as you didn’t need the extra pestering at the moment. But Leah immediately saw through you. You had given her the same laugh when she would show you a TikTok that you saw 3 weeks ago, or when she would try and use ‘gen-z slang’ but fail terribly. It would then lead you to repeatedly call her an old woman although she was only a few years older than you. She decided to let it pass. She didn’t want to bring it up in the middle of training, but she made a mental note to ask you about it later.

At training, your mind was completely somewhere else. Your shots on goal were subpar and your passes were extremely inaccurate. All you could focus on was the impending loan and leaving your home.

“Watch out!” Beth yelled out as her ball narrowly missed your head by mere inches as you weren’t paying attention. You were physically present on the pitch, but mentally and emotionally you were so far gone.

Being on loan was never a good feeling, but it gave you the opportunity to grow your game and get solid minutes on the pitch. It was going to be beneficial to get match experience under your belt instead of warming the end of the bench, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

It was ripping you away from where you belonged, where your teammates, who were now family, were.

“Kid, are you with us?” Viv's question takes you out of your trance. She can tell by the way your eyes were glazed over, or perhaps by the ball that almost sent your head clear off your shoulders. She saw your eyes the same way when you would watch Love Island on the coach to away games and she would try to talk to you, and you wouldn’t even realize.

“Yeah yeah, all good.” You lied, hoping the way your voice dropped would be unnoticed by the Dutch woman.

You belonged in Arsenal red. The Arsenal women are your family. You couldn’t even begin to fathom leaving or playing for another club.

Your answer seemed to suffice her as you ran off to get the ball Beth had sent way off the right side of the pitch. As you walked back, you surveyed the scene.

First, you saw Leah. You lived with Leah when she graciously opened her home to you when you first signed, not wanting you to be alone at such a young age yet. She told you that she ‘saw herself in you’ after she had come and watched one of the academy games that you had scored at and gave the small crowd a badge tap. She bled Arsenal through and through, and that mindset was passed down to you. You were a true Gooner deep down to your core.

Then you saw Kim. Kim was like a mother figure for you on and off the pitch. She captained you hard, but it was only because she knew you could measure up to her strict standards. She was the first one to congratulate you on a good training session or a solid game, but also the first to give you advice on how to improve your game.

Then it was Viv. Viv was always who you turned to for advice. She knew what it was like to sign a professional contract at a young age and knew how tough it could be. You had made a good name for yourself and there were several expectations put on you, both from the public but also yourself. She always managed to say the right thing and help you calm down from the stressful nature of the sport.

When you wanted to escape the serious part of professional football, you always found yourself goofing off with Kyra or Vic. Kyra, Vic, and you were designated the “annoying younger sisters” and the three of you gladly accepted the role. Hiding matchday kits, spraying teammates with water, or playing little pranks on the girls, it was always one of you three behind the action, or sometimes all three of you worked together to terrorize the girls.

You had made several strong connections with every single girl. They were your sisters/mothers/best friends. You couldn’t even begin to imagine leaving them. They were your family.

A new location, a new team, and new teammates, it was terrifying.

You had decided to keep the loan a secret for now, it was too much to think about right now, and you were both nervous and scared. The secret was kept for roughly 2 hours because at lunch, sat across from Alessia, she had asked you to go with her to a new restaurant next week that she had been dying to try.

“I’m uh going on loan” was merely breathed out in a hushed whisper. It was the first time you had said it out loud, suddenly becoming real. You were leaving.

“Sorry didn’t catch that, what?” Alessia asked, assuming she had simply just heard you wrong and you didn’t just say that you were going on loan.

“London City Lionesses, loan, next week.” You told her as you stared down at your food. You no longer felt like eating anymore. Bidding her goodbye before she could ask any more questions. Questions that you were not ready to answer. You didn’t want to think about the loan anymore. Walking back out to the pitch to work on a few shots on goal. Wanting to do something to clear your mind.

Your sudden exit did not go unnoticed by your teammates as they now hurled questions at Alessia. She was sure you hadn’t told the other girls yet by the mere way you could barely say the word ‘loan’. She now connected the dots that that was the reason for your meeting before training, the reason you had been late. She was at a crossroads, does she tell her teammates or wait for you to say something, I mean it was your secret to begin with.

“You guys will just have to ask her,” Alessia said as she shoved more food in her mouth to avoid spilling the secret, she was never good with keeping secrets.

Several head nods targeted toward the blonde striker as they finished their meals and made moves to begin going home for the day. Something stuck with Leah though.

The fake laugh at Katie’s joke, your lack of awareness at training, and the way you left during the middle of lunch, Leah was concerned for you.

Leah drove you every day to training and she was ready to finally go home, but she could not find you anywhere. She searched the changing room, the lunchroom, and the showers. She even interrogated Kyra and Vic thoroughly to see if they had something to do with your absence. You were nowhere to be found.

“Leah she’s on the training pitch. She has been out there since lunch. I think that is where she escaped off too.” Viv told Leah as she entered the changing room again when she started to recheck each location to see if you had suddenly appeared. Viv had caught sight of you out there as she finished up her cooldown exercises in the gym.

Back on the training pitch, you practiced over and over. Running through different dribbling drills and hitting specific targets on goals, you were dead tired. But your mind was incredibly active. What if you never returned back to Arsenal? What if Arsenal didn’t want you anymore? Maybe the loan was a way of sending you off to be someone else’s problem? Tears began to fall from your eyes, but you continued practicing. You needed to prove you belonged on this team. All of your shots were messy and ill-timed, but you continued to practice.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Let’s go home, the car is already started.” Leah yelled out to you as she walked towards you. She was clearly unaware of what emotions you were currently going through, and the way tears fell freely down to your cheeks. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She asked as she took in your state, pulling you away from the goalpost and bringing you in for a hug, rubbing circles on your upper back as you sobbed into her chest.

For the next couple of minutes, you stood on the pitch in Leah’s arms, embracing her warm nature and comforting essence as you calmed down a bit. Breaking the silence after your breathing had returned to a normal pace and the tears had stopped, “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Now shifting the two of you to sit on the pitch next to each other, but she never let go of your hand, intertwining them as she sat.

“The staff meeting was about me going on loan to London City Lionesses at the end of the week. I’m just really scared Lee. I don’t want to leave Arsenal.” You wanted to sob again thinking about leaving, even the mention of it made your heart break even more.

Leah’s more serious face turned now soft as she brushed her thumb along the top of your hand, understanding now your odd character at training all day. “I know going on loan can be scary, but you are going to grow as a player, and you will return back to us kid. You are too vital for us to lose forever. The staff just wants you to get some more professional experience and then come back to us ready to score goals and dominate.” She spoke as if she meant every single sentence, and it was because she did, and you knew that.

“So you’re not mad?” Leah was Arsenal’s number one fan, you weren’t sure how she would take you leaving and playing for another club.

“Of course, I am not mad. You’re gonna go far kid, show London City your talents, and then eventually bring them back to Arsenal kid.” Bringing you upwards as she hugged you tightly.

“Let’s go home now yeah?” she asked as you simply nodded into her chest. Pulling you by your hand as she led you to the car.

Maybe going on loan would be a good thing. You would excel in a new environment, no matter how scary it was, and then return home. You would prove all the doubt in your head about not being a good enough player for Arsenal and show you could play for this team. Play in the Arsenal red.

On the way home, Leah sent a text message to a couple of the Arsenal girls about the situation and Leah requested a team movie night at her place. All of the girls were immediately on board and would be in attendance.

When you arrived home, you wanted to be alone. It was a long day and you needed to decompress a bit from the loan news and ultimately a bad day at training. You told Leah you would be up in your room if she needed anything and that you would be back down for dinner later.

A few hours later there was a soft knock at your door and assuming it was Leah, you told her to come in. Sat on your bed with your eyes closed, thinking about everything.

"Hey kid, Leah told me about the loan." Opening your eyes to find the Irishwoman standing in the middle of your bedroom. She made her way over to your bed and sat down horizontally next to you.

"I remember when I went on loan. It was scary, yes, but it made me really appreciate what I had here at Arsenal. I worked so hard and I was able to return. I have no doubt in my mind that you will come back to us, kid." She explained to you. You didn't feel the need to respond, instead pulling her in for a hug. "There are some people here downstairs for you too." She whispered in your ear.

Together you walked downstairs to the living room and were met with several of your teammate's family. A majority of them were dressed in comfy clothes, passing around snacks on the large couch that Leah had.

"Movie night," Leah told you as she came behind you and wrapped you in a hug.

You settled in between Alessia and Leah as everyone decided on a movie to watch. Beth advocated for a movie that really nobody wanted to watch as Viv tried to negotiate with her and chose a different film.

Finally settling on a Disney classic that Leah had suggested, knowing it was your favorite of all time, Tangled, and everyone agreed.

The movie night was relaxing and chill until about halfway through when Katie began to get bored and started throwing popcorn at you from her location opposite of you on the couch. Of course that gave you the right to start throwing small gummy bears back at the Irish. A couple of them were a bit misplaced as they now hit Kyra who immediately joined in throwing her own small chocolates.

A now full small food fight happening in the living room as teammates were getting hit with snacks and throwing back whatever was thrown. Katie had left her spot on the couch and hurdled towards you, jumping on you as she battled away your swinging arms.

"Let me go Mccabe!" you screamed laughing as she placed you in a similar headlock from the morning.

Leah just let everything happen, not caring how her once perfectly clean living room was now a mess with pieces of candy thrown everywhere, or how you and Katie fought on her couch. For the first time today, Leah saw and heard you laugh and after finding the sad news, it was all she wanted when she planned the movie night, to see you have some fun and laugh.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso blurbs #womens soccer #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #leah williamson #alessia russo #vivianne miedema #beth mead #katie mccabe #woso couples

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madwomansapologist · 4 months

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blossoming alone over you

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: it's 31st december. i'm drunk. song "pink on the night" by mitsky for wyll. song "working for the knife" by mitsky for astarion. song "abbey" by mitsky for shadowheart. companions (wyll, astarion, shadowheart) x druid!tav. background cast (karlach, kagha, halsin, lae'zel, gale, cazador). tav is used as a nickname. wyll stuttering. astarion seeing draws of himself because he fucking deserves it. shadowheart falling for a druid that can turn into a wolf.

Trust betrayed, secrets spread, lies disguised as facts. That's how life works. It gives you hope, then crushes it front of your eyes. It let's you reach your goal, just to rip it out from your bare fingers.

The cruelty of life is the ultimate sign that gods do exist. There must be a higher being watching its puppets pathetic attempts of conquering an unreachable happiness. There are other proofs, but that's the easiest to perceive.

And they were used to it. From the renowed Blade of Frontiers to the pale elf hiding in the shadows: they all knew what to expect from life. Dishonest agreements, stolen hearts, the cold embrace of loss. Life is painful, so they shielded themselves from any harm.

But not you.

At first they assumed you were naive. The things Shadowheart thought to herself when you reached for a hand stuck in a portal; or how easily Astarion deceived you when he thought you were a mind flayer; even Wyll judged you from time to time.

You let your guard down easily. Instead of protecting yourself, you were helping others. Instead of using your teeths and claws to get what you wanted, you preserved nature.

But naive you were not. You may have trusted them too easily, but you weren't blind. You knew when a question was a order, when a joke was a threat, when a smile was just sharp teeth showing.

You discovered what Astarion really was and demanded he wouldn't maim anyone that didn't deserved it. You convinced Wyll that the evil he so wanted to tear apart was a victim. Saw right throught Kagha's distorted teachings, don't matter how alluring they sounded.

To turn a foe into a friend was your instinct, but you were not hesitant to solve problems with violence if it was needed. And sometimes you even got pleasure from it.

Wyll will never forget your face after finding out about Kagua's deal with the shadow druids. You didn't even allowed the party to rest. All your party received from you was an order to clean the ivy from their weapons.

"Shouldn't we focus on freeing Halsin? He must understand Kagha better than us," Wyll pointed. "You're a druid, but that doesn't mean the groove sees you as one of them. But they will hear Halsin."

"She can hear me," you slammed your staff on the ground, giving strength to your certainty. It pulsed with energy, and its glow matched the beat of your heart. "Or she can die. I can grant her mercy, but I won't give her time."

Wyll felt his body getting warmer, Shadowheart's impressed whistle reached his ear. "O-Of course," he cleared his throat. "After you."

"We'll purge some rats," you smirked at him. It didn't feel threatening. "Can I count with your blade?"

"Always," Wyll answered you, staring at your back. He could stare at your back all day. And he meant it.

Seeing that you weren't naive, Astarion came to a conclusion about you. Meanwhile the Blade of Frontiers stopped seeing your benevolent acts as a signs of impulsivity, the pale elf saw them as a mask. Something meant to cover what others should be paying attention to instead.

After all, who would suspect that something is rotten when the scent is sweet?

You're beautiful. Astarion admit it. Your laugh reverberates through the forests, your tiredness calls for aid, your eyes attract and soothe. Beautiful faces can make up for dirty minds, soft words can hide the lack of a heart, pretty acts are easier to see than destructive intentions.

You're just like him. Astarion sees it, clear as the sea. Your delicate smiles and his gaze full of lust are just as fake. Your sweet words and his dirty innuendos are both rehearsed. In need of this party, it's not hard to understand why you two would act to ensure they don't ever leave.

When Shadowheart cures you first, Astarion's invisible reflection occupies your eyes. When Lae'zel attacks monsters aiming at you, he's your shadow. When Gale puts more food on your plate, Astarion can see his smile on your face.

He wouldn't be surprised to find out that you both look the same.

One may say that your corrupt intentions are nothing compared to the good you've already done, but Astarion is not so idealistic. Sin stains your good deeds, he can see it. You depict yourself as someone better than them, better than him, but that's just your depraved plan to survive.

And he can't blame you. It's working perfectly.

Astarion may despise you for being as dirty as himself, but he respects that part of you. He trusts your plans, your combat skill, your magic. You're good on what you do. Screaming instructions to help during fights, discovering hidden passages, trading for better weapons.

You're not a good person, but there's a reason for why you survived this far. You're competent. That Astarion can respect. That's why he's constantly trying to get on your good side. You are smart and strong. Maybe strong enough to rip Cazador apart.

And if you haven't realize that Astarion is putting on an act to win your heart, than the shame is on you for not realizing that you both are the exactly same thing.

But you had to show him how wrong he was.

At midnight you approached his tent with your sketchbook. Astarion thought you wanted a distraction, using your drawings just as an excuse to talk a bit. Gods know he was dying of boredom before you appeared.

"I didn't knew you were so talented, darling," he praised you.

Illuminated by candles, Astarion let his guards down. Instead of just saying the right thing at the time, Astarion was really impressed at your skills.

It must be nice. To be able to create things with your bare hands. Sometimes he cry at the start of a good book. He don't know why, but it must be because he too would like to be making things. Astarion thinks that creating is the ultimate sign that you're alive, instead of just surviving.

Maybe one day he can become a poet.

"I can't help but notice that you have a muse," it was clear someone had attracted your gaze. Maybe a dear friend you miss, or perhaps another competitor for your attention. "Should I worry about being replaced?"

Astarion expect you to flush, but all you did was to get... softer? You seemed to shrivel up.

Your mouth dried up. He doesn't even recognize himself. Astarion don't even remember how he looked like.

"That's you, Astarion," you told him. "And that's a gift. You helped a lot these past months and... All I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful."

It was the first time you saw Astarion in silence. Paper by paper, he admired your drawings. Do they look bad? You've spent a lot of time training to be able to create something worthy of his beauty, but you admit they're not perfect.

Or maybe it isn't the quality. It's the fact that you spend so long drawing him. How many hours did you spend on those sketchs? How many hours did you spend glaring at him from your tent? Does he feel ofended? Invaded?

"That's how you see me?" Astarion whispered.

You barely heard his words.

"Yes, Astarion," you licked your lips. "I know some can be..."

His hand on your thigh stopped the rant you were about to go on. His bloody eyes were sharp. Just like the day you first met him, his dagger against your throat. Astarion looked pleased, but not happy.

As if he discovered being right about something he rather not be.

What you gave him... this is a treasure. So many drawings, so many angles, so many poses. How many centuries has it been since he last saw himself? How many since Astarion forgot his own face? Sometimes he touches his face, trying to picture it, but his imagination isn't good.

You gave him something priceless.

And when something is priceless that people discover how sunk in debt they really are.

"And now you want me to pay you back," his husky voice made shivers went down your spine. His nails scratched lightly your skin, drawing shapes on your thigh. "Don't you?"

You jumped from your spot, getting away from him. You were flushed, but not in a good way. "From where I came from," you breathed in. You sounded offended. "Something that puts you in debt isn't a gift."

As you turned over to go to sleep, you felt that if you didn't say what you really thought you would end up exploding. You know you don't have the right to speak about his life, but that didn't stopped you.

"Cazador made you believe that you have to sell yourself to be worth of anything, but he's wrong. He was wrong since the very start. We'll lacerate that monster for what he did to you. And that I promise you: it won't be fair. Cazador don't deserve fair."

You felt your nails digging the skin of your palms. "That was a gift. Get used to it."

Maybe Astarion was wrong about you. And maybe he was wrong about himself.

Merciful, but not weak. Gentle, but not naive. Pleasing, but not manipulable. You were a walking question mark. Whenever they thought they understood what you were, you proved them wrong. Not impulsive. Not manipulative. Not stupid.

Until they came up with a word that described you too perfectly. A word that didn't need any buts or explanations. One that everyone cognize, but that isn't used often. That don't deserve to be used often.

You're kind.

It's in your nature to be considerate. You help others because you can. No. Wrong. And that's something that Shadowheart still don't really understand: you help others because you can, so therefore you should.

She has only one goal in mind. Shadowheart needs to make to Baldur's Gate with the mysterious artifact in safety, and if she does everything right... maybe her Lady will grant her what she truly want.

But you make Shadowheart forget about all that.

She must be discreet, she did that her whole life, and still Shadowheart finds herself talking about her goddess to you. Her mission depends on her going straight towards Baldur's Gate yet there she's, following you as you try to solve everyone's problems.

Shadowheart didn't even noticed. She didn't made a rational choice to open herself to you. She just did it. Almost as if you were fundamental part of her forgotten past and her heart couldn't do nothing but to trust you.

You impervious into her prayers. Invaded her dreams. Burned your mark inside her mind. Your name feels like honey on her tongue. Like a sweet treat that she can never get enough of.

You tempted her, luring her with your determination and grace, and Shadowheart proved herself sinful once again.

If only you had judged Shadowheart for her loyalty to Lady Shar. Asking her what her favorite flower is. Listening to her opinions. Even when she was nothing but distant and cold, you were sweet. Toothaching sweet.

Shadowheart was hungry. She'd been hungry for her whole life. Starving for something easy. Something raw. Something more than a beautiful concepts. Something real. And how could a starving person ignore a banquet?

She can't. Shadowheart couldn't. But she should've. Damn, she should've.

You're testing her faith. Constantly. Every smile, every vulnerable look, every act of protection. It's like you're trying to compete with Lady Shar for the control over her mind. Sometimes it feels like you're winning.

She was admiring the sky without stars when the wolf came. All it took was a sight to paralyze her. Shadowheart had a mace, but the weapon was useless in her trembling hands.

The giant beast, wool pale from the moonlight, foamy drool dripping from its fangs. In a golden glow that being of darkness transformed into something.

Into you.

"It's just me," you whispered to her, eyes wide with worry and blame. "I didn't... You're safe. You're fine."

She forced herself to unclench her jaw. "Don't tell any of them," Shadowheart hissed as soon as she knew she could speak without stuttering. "Let this fear I have stay as a secret."

"As you wish," was what you said. No questions, no jokes, no provocations.

You went back to rummage through lost boxes and barrels in the ruined village. You had goblin's blood staining your face, but it didn't seen to bother you. "I wish I had a bag of holdings," you murmured to yourself.

Shadowheart was grateful. Either you decided to change the subject to cease her embarrassment or you just were this easily distracted, it still meant something. Her flushed cheeks went unnoticed.

She leafed through some damp books, trying to find something useful. "Embrace loss," she murmured to you. Now your attention was back on her. "We'll never let you have one."

You gasped. "Moon, why is that?"

Shadowheart ignored how breath turned into a difficult task when you used that new nickname.

"Face it, Tav," she called you by the nickname Gale created to you. "You are a compulsive hoarder. I've seen you keep a rotten apple in your pocket."

"I thought it could be useful!"

Shadowheart smiled. She did not even realized she was smiling. "I bet you did."

You have a soft spots for battles you can't possible win, protecting people in need and turning foes into friends. And apparently you are their soft spot.

Part 2!

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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shelbystales · 2 months

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Best Aid - Part Eight

Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader - Masterlist

Previous parts: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Summary: you are a young doctor in Birmingham. After a crazy incident, Thomas Shelby shows up at your hospital. You don’t know much about the man everyone seems to fear, but you definitely will.

Warning: swearing, mention of torture and panick attack

A/N: Comment and interact, tell me what you think! it means a looot.

English is my second language so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On your next shift, the first thing you did when you arrived at the hospital was go straight to John Doe's room to see if he was still there.

To your surprise, yes, he was still there.

He had already undergone jaw surgery the day before, and to an even greater surprise, he was awake. He stared at the room's window as if he was hypnotized.

"Hi," you said, entering the room. "Good to see you awake," you smiled.

He shifted his attention from the window to you but didn't say anything. Well, he couldn't speak, as his mouth was paralyzed on the side of the jaw surgery, and it would probably stay that way for a while.

His face was much less swollen and deformed then you had remembered.

You approached him to get the medical record and check the progress of his exams. "My name is Y/N; I was the doctor on duty the night you arrived. Do you feel any pain?" He subtly shook his head, and when you asked if you could examine him, he gave a small nod.

During the examination, you proceeded with caution, aware of the potential trauma he might have experienced. The signs of infection from his blood test had decreased, and the wound appeared to be healing well. Other than that, he was healing well.

After completing the examination, you left the room and returned to the trauma center, where you met with the shift residents and assigned tasks.

You started to overthink why Thomas hadn't stolen your patient, but as you created a thousand questions in your head, you just decided to accept the situation and move on with your day. After all, he did comply with your request.

Continuing your rounds, you attended to other patients.

During a break in the staff lounge, Jeremy joined you with his usual big smile. "Hey girl, how are you?" he asked, taking a seat beside you.

"Hey," you smiled back. "I'm good, you?"

"Great. Doctor says my fiancé has prostatitis," he said, relieved.

"Good, some antibiotics should solve it. Might take a while, though." you smiled

"Yeah... no sex for a while… well, at least it's not cancer," he joked.

"Dodged a bullet, huh?" you chuckled.

"Yes, yes. I was worried," he sighed. "Are you really okay? I didn't see you leave last shift."

You sighed, debating how much to share with Jeremy. "It's been a wild ride, Jer. There's this whole situation with the patient, and then late at night, Thomas showed up. It's like a never-ending rollercoaster with him."

Jeremy's smile faded, replaced by genuine concern. "What?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

"Yeah. And I fucking had a panic attack after he told me he would discharge John Doe. But then... he was so kind, helping me through the panic. I just... I don't know. I'm so confused about everything," you confessed.

"He just showed up and wanted to discharge the unconscious, almost dying man?" he asked, and you nodded.

"And as I argued he couldn't, I suddenly couldn't breathe," you shrugged. "I need a break. I told him I didn't want to see him. He just doesn't care."

Jeremy's expression turned from concern to disbelief. "That's insane. He is insane.”

“Just figuring that out now?” you frowned and sighed “But… At the same time, he brought the man in, and I don’t think he did all that to him. Also, he didn't steal my patient… and he was so so gentle to me.”

Jeremy furrowed his brows. “Okay, listen up, I love you. But you've got to figure out what you want from him, Y/N. It's not healthy to be caught in this constant state of confusion. You either want him or not."

“I don’t,” you blurted out.

“Shut up, you don’t. If you didn’t, what he did or didn’t do wouldn’t bother you,” he said, cutting through your protest with a knowing look.

You sighed, realizing Jeremy might be onto something. The conflicting emotions and the chaos Thomas brought into your life were undeniable, and deep down, you questioned your own motives.

“I just can't make sense of it, Jer. He's this enigma, this complicated man who seems to defy any logic i create,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair.

“People like that can be dangerous to get involved with, Y/N. I don’t want to see you getting hurt. Yes, he’s hot as fuck, might fuck you senselless, but we need boundaries to keep ourselves safe sometimes” Jeremy said, genuine concern etched across his face.

“Yeah I know. I just need time to figure things out,” you replied, your mind still swirling with uncertainty.

“Maybe just fuck him and ghost him” He smiled

“That is definitely not the best option” you chuckled

“Yeah… i just. I want you to get laid. Maybe with someone else. You deserve it. Some dick could make your thoughts clearer” he leaned back as his big smile continued crossing his face

“Yeah, right. As if I have a line of people that want to fuck me”

“Oh girl… you are so oblivious. Let's start with all the male residents! And some nurses… Jesus you have no idea” He said surprised

“I’m gonna go. You forget it, i’m not getting involved with anyone in this hospital” you said

“Okay” he shrugged as you stood up and left

As the day progressed, you found yourself once again immersed in the demanding environment of the hospital.

In the quiet moments between duties, you couldn't help but reflect on Jeremy's words. The need for clarity tugged at you, urging you to confront the feelings you failed to understand.

As you left the hospital that day, the internal conflict within you raged on. Thomas Shelby's presence seemed to evoke a myriad of emotions - confusion, frustration, and an undeniable attraction that left you questioning your own judgment.

When you walked into the lobby of the hotel, you caught sight of Thomas engaged in a serious discussion with his aunt, Polly. The lines on Thomas's face spoke of stress and tension, a departure from his usual composed demeanor.

You stood there, observing from a distance, deciding if you should or not talk to him. Set some things straight. Maybe all you wanted to hear was that he didn’t do anything to the man. Or maybe that he cares about others and that’s the reason he left the man in the hospital care. Or maybe… just maybe… you wanted to hear his husky voice…

As Thomas and Polly concluded their conversation, you observed him preparing to leave the lobby, a sense of urgency evident on his face. Your eyes met, and a shy smile from you prompted a momentary pause, marked by a furrowed brow.

"Can we talk?," you mouthed standind a few feets away from him.

He slightly nodded. Stopping in the middle of the lobby and following you after you started to walk in the direction of the elevators.

As you stepped into the elevator, the atmosphere between you and Thomas was heavy. The air charged with unresolved tension.

The doors closed, enveloping both of you in a temporary cocoon of privacy.

"Alright, Y/N, what's on your mind?" Thomas inquired, his voice low and steady. His posture, rigid yet composed.

You took a deep breath, your gaze fixed on the floor, steeling yourself for the words about to spill out. "I need you to be honest,"

"About?" he replied, his piercing gaze fixed on you.

"The man," you said, meeting his gaze, searching for any hint of emotion in his stoic posture—a true master of the poker face.

"What about him?" His response, delivered with an air of nonchalance

"Did you do that to him?" you pressed

"I already told you that, eh?" he countered, glancing around the elevator as it announced the floor—the floor to your room.

"You didn't," you asserted, the tension escalating with each passing moment.

"Yeah, I didn't do it," he admitted, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the elevator doors opened. You exited first, and he followed, the charged atmosphere trailing into the corridor and eventually into your hotel room.

In the room, you moved with purpose, entering the kitchen to fetch two glasses of water. Placing them on the dining table, you invited him to sit.

"How long will this take?" he inquired, his posture a blend of impatience and reservation.

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" you countered, your eyes locked onto his.

"I do" he answered shortly

"If you want to fix this, take a seat," you added, leaning back and crossing your arms, awaiting his response.

Thomas hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you, weighing the options. After a pause that seemed to stretch on, he finally relented, his movements fluid yet hesitant as he took a seat at the dining table.

You observed him closely, noting the subtle nuances in his posture.

"Why did you bring him to the hospital if you weren't responsible for what happened to him?" you questioned, your voice steady.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. "I never said I wasn't responsible. I said I didn't do it," he responded, the words hanging in the space between you like an unspoken challenge.

“Fuck you” you filled your mouth to say those words, and it felt good “What the fuck is that suppossed to mean?”

"He's a friend," he admitted

"Why didn't you just say that from the beginning?" you retorted, frustration evident in your tone.

Thomas's gaze remained steady, a mixture of regret and resolve in his eyes. "There are things that go beyond simple explanations."

"No, no. Some explanations are pretty simple," you shrugged, your frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"Y/N," he began, his Birmingham accent adding a distinct cadence to his words. "If I started spillin' every detail, you'd be tangled in a mess you're better off avoiding. Because then, you would ask me why my friend was like that. And I would have to tell you, since we're bein' honest, that he was kidnapped and tortured for information about me. Because that's what happens to people around me. And you would ask me why, and I tell you, that's business, and me business is a difficult thing to explain" he continued, his voice carrying the weight of a reality that seemed both distant and uncomfortably close.

The room echoed with a heavy silence, the weight of Thomas's revelations settling around you both. You knew exactly what his business was after a few hours googling him, no. A few hours fucking stalking the man.

"I never asked for any of this, Thomas," you finally spoke, your voice a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "I never signed up for a life entangled in your... business."

Thomas leaned back, his eyes fixed on you, acknowledging the truth in your words. "And I never asked you to. But here we are."

"I don't want to end up like your friend," you stated firmly, your voice carrying the weight of your fears and the boundaries you needed to set.

Thomas's eyes, now revealed a hint of regret. "You won't," he replied, his voice softer than before. "I promise."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders. Taking both hands to your face, you couldn't shake off the stress that had crept into your being.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to an unexpected tenderness.

"Stressed," you answered

"Aren't we all?" he remarked, a rare hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"Is your life always like this?" you inquired, curiosity peeking.

"No, it has never been like this," he admitted, taking a sip of the water in front of him. "Could be a glass of whisky, eh?" he suggested, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I don't remember the last time I drank whisky," you confessed.

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room. "I think there's a bottle somewhere."

"There's a drink cart in the bedroom," you informed him.

After a brief search, he found the cart and walking into the living room with the bottle in hand he looked at you for approval. "One glass?"

"Sure, why not?" you agreed, welcoming the distraction

Thomas poured a modest amount of whisky into two glasses, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the room. As he handed you a glass, his fingers brushed against yours in a fleeting touch, making your heart race wiht excitement.

As the whisky warmed your insides, Thomas leaned back, the weight of his own burdens evident in the lines of his face. You couldn't help but notice how well he looked, how well dressed he was. If you just saw him crossing the streed, you would never believe that the man in front of you was a fucking gang leader.

The air between you carried a mixture of tension and a strange camaraderie born out of the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

"This is better," Thomas remarked, studying the liquid in his glass after taking a sip.

"You know, this isn't how I imagined our conversation going," you admitted, a wry smile playing on your lips.

Thomas chuckled, the sound rich and resonant. "Nor did I, Y/N."

Ozzy appeared, strolling in from the bedroom and hopping onto the couch, where he promptly settled down for a nap. You couldn't help but smile as you watched him make himself comfortable.

"Do you like cats?" you asked, curious about Thomas's preferences.

"No," he answered bluntly.

"Get out of my room," you joked, eliciting a chuckle from him. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "I just don't."

"Yeah, you look like a dog person."

"I have horses, I don't have a dog."

"Oh, right. Rich people pets," you teased, a playful smile on your face.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at your playful jab. "Horses are not exactly house pets," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Fair point," you conceded, enjoying the banter that seemed to ease the tension. "So, what does Thomas Shelby do for fun? Besides making me insane, of course"

His gaze flickered with a subtle mix of contemplation and amusement. "Fun... hm, let's say I like riding horses, reading, and chess."

"Chess, huh? I bet I can win” you smiled, gaze locked on his

Thomas Shelby leaned back, a mysterious glint in his eyes as he considered your challenge about chess. "You can try," he said, his smirk hinting at a quiet confidence.

The air between you felt lighter. You felt good about it. He could be a good company.

"What happened?" you asked, meeting his gaze. Thomas frowned slightly, not understanding what you meant. "How did a guy that likes horses and plays chess turn my life upside down? making me feel like I couldn't breathe for days? Made me fear my life. At one point I felt so paranoid that i could swear there was someone was following me down the hospital. Because the Thomas in here now... I like this Thomas."

There was a moment of silence, Thomas's gaze held a mixture of contemplation and a touch of vulnerability you failed to see before.

"I already told you I didn't intend for any of this, Y/N," he began, his voice softer than usual “Believe me if you want, I didn't want you to get caught in it. But then, I woke up and you were already involved”

"I know," you admitted, your voice reflecting a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. "But I don't know how to navigate through this. It's like stepping into a world or a war I never knew existed."

He reached across the table, his hand covering yours in a gesture of reassurance that sent a little jolt through you. "Look, I want you to know that I won't leave you alone in the chaos I've brought. Ok?", You nodded

His touch, warm and reassuring, sent a subtle thrill through you, awakening a desire you hadn't fully acknowledged since he walked in here tonight. As your eyes locked with his, an unspoken promise hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you found myself teetering on the edge of exploring something deeper with Thomas Shelby.

you cleared your throat, a nervous habit that betrayed the tumultuous thoughts racing through your mind. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" you managed to inquire, hoping to redirect the conversation and temper the rising anticipation. The effects of the whisky were starting to weave their magic, adding a layer of haziness to your judgment.

"I do," he sighed taking his hand from yours and adjusting his suit. "I enjoyed our talk. Are we in a better place?"

"Yeah, just... don't bring me more near-death guys. Please," you chuckled, the sound echoing in the room.

"And who would I take them to?," he replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I don't know" you shrugged "Government health system is avaible in birmingham"

He chuckled "yes, i have a hospital so that I can send my friends to the public system" he mocked

"Well... can I just ask you to try and be honest? That's all I really need from you. I don't want to fear you”

"Are you sure the truth won't make you do exactly that?,"

"So far it hasn't, the other way around actualy" you answered

"Fine. That's a challenging thing to ask me, but sure. I can try," he agreed.

"Good," you smiled.

"Have a good night, Y/N," he said, starting to stand up. As he rose, something compelled him to lean down, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"You too," you replied, feeling a strange mix of surprise and comfort. As he headed toward the door, you couldn't help but blurt out, "Wait, why didn’t you steal my patient?"

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face you. "I couldn’t have him die on me, and… I trust you," he explained, his words hanging in the air. It left you with a complex swirl of emotions.

"Can I ask his name?" you inquired.

"Johnny Dogs. He's not registered, by the way. So, keep it as John Doe. If people start asking too many questions, you tell me," he instructed, and you nodded. His gaze holding yours for a moment longer before he walked out.

With a deep sigh, you sank back into your chair, contemplating the unexpected twists of the day.

The Thomas you saw in here now was the same one you welcomed into your home and that version of Thomas was surprisingly good company. That was the Thomas who drew you in, the one you found yourself attracted to. Yet, how could he embody two entirely different personas simultaneously? one you felt like punching and other you felt like kissing...

At least, he trusted you.

The knowledge of his trust provided a welcome boost to your self-esteem. Despite the whirlwind of confusion and complexity, you couldn't deny the comfort in knowing that, in his own enigmatic way, Thomas Shelby trusted in you.

taglist:

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boxboxlewis · 9 months

Text

galex, only four beds, 2k

George said he would book the hotel room himself. Cara was busy, smoothing out the endless administrative details of George’s life, and it wasn’t work travel, anyway—just a little lads’ holiday with Alex, just a stolen slice of time out of time, away from it, in the hot summer weeks when Formula 1 held its collective breath and waited for the season to restart. A spur-of-the-moment thing, after Alex’s plans with Lily fell through. A lark.

Underneath all that was another secret reason for making the booking himself: a sly secret sideways reason. He called the hotel instead of booking online, to make sure they had the kind of room he wanted available. He barely let himself think about the call even as he was making it, most of his attention fiercely directed at the dense weave of the upholstery Carmen had chosen for the sofa he was sitting on. It had a subtle striped pattern, beige on beige.

They were going to Jersey, because neither of them had been, and because Alex suggested it as a joke and then it seemed funnier, somehow, than it should have: the idea of actually going there. “We’re going to lower the median age on the island by about twenty years,” Alex said, the day before they were due to leave, and George, who had looked up “tourist attractions on Jersey” to have in his back pocket in the event of just this sort of cold feet, said “They’ve got these tunnels from WWII, it looks quite neat actually. And you can windsurf.”

Alex raised his eyebrows and said, “All right, eager beaver.” George thought, without meaning to, of the first time he’d had sex with a girl, wanting to like it, for it to be good.

“I’ve got a deal with the Jersey Tourism Board, as it happens,” he said: the less insane part of him. “This trip is actually hashtag spon.”

Alex laughed, and didn’t suggest cancelling the trip.

They flew from Nice to Nantes, drove a rental car to St Malo, got a ferry to Jersey. “This is very Planes Trains and Automobiles, isn’t it,” grumbled Alex, even though Cara had arranged all the travel, in the end, and George did the driving.

“Oh, sorry, did you want me to teleport us?” George said. “Because I actually left my superpowers back in Brackley.”

“Oh, ‘superpowers’? Bit of a puffed-up nickname for the W14, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sorry, remind me what you drive?”

They were still bickering as they walked into the hotel. It felt, to George, more like family than any of his own family’s carefully meted affection.

“Heya,” he said cheerfully to the concierge, “booking for Russell?”

The concierge typed something and smiled at them. “Ah, Mr Russell. Of course, sir. Let me get you checked in, sir.” Alex’s face was carefully blank, in a way that was very easy to read if you knew Alex at all, but George preferred this old-fashioned kind of service to what you got at more modern places where the staff all pretended to be friends with you. Although he turned down the porter who offered to help with their luggage; they only had backpacks.

Alex gestured at the wallpaper as they exited the lift and walked along the corridor to their room. “Bloody typical of you, Georgie. ‘I’ll pick the hotel,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. And then you bring us to a place where they probably iron the fucking newspapers in the morning.”

“No, come on,” George said. He found the door to their room and slid the keycard in. The lock clicked satisfyingly and flared green. “It’s all iPads now, innit. They iron the iPads.”

As they walked into the room Alex started laughing, gratifyingly hard, and George basked in how well his iPad joke had landed. Then he clocked what Alex was looking at. The room was nice, spacious, big windows with a view out over the harbour, and—crisp white linens on the beds: all four of them. Four single beds, arrayed in a neat line.

“This is like the fucking orphanage in Madeleine,” Alex said. “Which two do you want, mate?” He was laughing again by the end of the sentence.

“I don’t—this isn’t what I asked for,” George said. What he’d asked for, very specifically, was a nice big room with a sea view and one king bed and no sofa. He picked up the handset on the desk by the window and called the front desk.

“Good afternoon, this is Reception.”

“Yeah, hi, Room 310. Erm, we have a bit of an issue, to say the least. There are four beds in here?”

“Let me just check your booking, sir. Ah, yes. I see you booked by telephone? And there’s a note here that you specifically wanted four beds?”

“No,” George said. He glanced over at Alex, who was definitely listening. “I asked for two beds,” George lied emphatically.

“I am most sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

“Well, we just… we’ll need another room, that’s all.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir. It’s the Battle of Flowers this week; everywhere on the island is booked up.”

George dug the hand that wasn’t holding the handset into his pocket and pressed his knuckles into his thigh. “Sorry, the what? The what of what?”

“The Battle of Flowers? It’s—”

“Yeah, I don’t care, actually. I only booked last week, how could I’ve done that if everywhere is so busy?”

“You must have got lucky, sir. Perhaps there was a cancellation.”

George attempted to channel Toto at his most disappointed and scary. “Right. Right. So what are we going to do about this, then?”

“Don’t worry, sir, we’ll get this sorted for you.”

George put the phone back into the cradle. Alex was kicked back on one of the beds, feet dangling off the end. “You know,” he said, “I’m sort of regretting letting you do all the planning for this trip. You did get us return tickets, right? You haven’t signed us up for some sort of murder mystery tour with actual murder?”

“Ha ha,” George said, sitting on the bed next to Alex’s. “Didn’t see you offering to do any planning, did I?”

There was a knock at the door, and they exchanged a look. “This better be a complimentary fruit basket and bottle of champagne,” George muttered, and went to answer it. Two hotel porters came in: not bearing gifts.

“Hello, gentlemen,” one of them said. “Sorry about this mix-up. Right.” He gestured at his colleague, who nodded. Each porter seized a bed and with great stamping and flipping and manoeuvring got it wheeled out of the room into the corridor.

One of the porters stepped back in and touched the brim of his cap. “There we go, sir. Won’t happen again. Thank you for your patience, sir.” He stood looking at George, who looked back at him.

Eventually George said “Thank you,” sternly, so as to show he wasn’t the sort of person to stand for four beds in his hotel room.

The porter touched the brim of his cap again, and left.

“He wanted you to tip him,” Alex said, voice lazy. He hadn’t left the bed he’d chosen.

“Tip him?!”

“Mm. People tend to like that. Being tipped.”

George sat back down on the bed next to Alex’s. If he reached his arm out he’d touch Alex’s mattress. “Well, that’s rubbish, isn’t it. I’m not going to tip them for messing up.”

“The porters didn’t mess up,” Alex said. It was something he did sometimes, arguing a point just because he could, just to be a shit. George shouldn’t have found it attractive. He didn’t reply, and after a while Alex started laughing and said, “You do realise that, thanks to your phone call, we’ve now got one measly single bed each.”

“We could push them together,” George said, voice casual, as if it didn’t matter. “We could make one big bed. And then we’d both have more room.”

He watched Alex’s foot flex where it was dangling over the end of the bed. Up, down. Up, down. “Yeah, go on then. All right.”

It was harder to move the beds than the porters had made it look, but eventually they managed it, slotting the frames next to each other landscape-style, because they agreed that was likely to be more stable than having them next to each other lengthways. Then they went down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. The food was heavy, French but French through a time machine.

“God, I bet this was the height of fashion in the seventies,” Alex said, poking at his terrine. “The next time I suggest a holiday destination ironically, just whack me on the head, thanks.”

“I think it’s nice,” George said, and Alex snorted.

“You would.”

George gave him a look that said, he hoped, I’m not flicking a pea at you right now, but only because this is a quite a nice restaurant even though you’re being a dick about it.

Alex flickered his tongue out, and grinned at whatever George’s face did in response.

They went for a walk along the seafront after their meal. “Come on, this is nice, isn’t it?” George said.

“Eh.” Alex scuffed his foot in the sand. “It’s all right, I guess.” He knocked his shoulder into George’s. “Glad this one worked out, you know. After…”

It took George a second to realise Alex was talking about the holiday they’d planned together that Alex had bailed on because he met Lily. He laughed, too loudly. “No worries, mate, all good,” he said. He thought about asking how things were going with Lily, and then didn’t. “Shall we…?” he asked. “It’s getting dark.”

“Yeah, all right, wild child.”

Alex showered first. He came out of the bathroom in his boxers, towelling his hair. Long legs, long arms, his knobbly ankles and wrists, his big feet, his hands. “All yours, mate.”

George’s mouth was dry. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll just—”

He jerked off in the shower, one forearm braced against the cool ceramic tile, the other hand furious and too-tight on his dick, the way he liked it. His orgasm was much more intense than he was expecting and he groaned aloud with it, too loudly, and then bit his lip as if that might suck the sound back inside.

“You alright in there, Georgie?” Alex called.

“Yeah, yep.” He dressed in briefs and a t-shirt, then took the t-shirt back off. It was warm, in the hotel room. Warm-ish.

Alex was lying on the beds, head cushioned on one arm. “You’ll go blind, you know,” he said, half-smiling. “You’ll get hairy palms.”

George thought for a split-second about denying everything but then tried a grin, awkward with it. “Come on, like you don’t do it.”

“Not usually in a hotel room with my mate,” Alex said lightly. “Question for you, Georgie: how many beds did you ask for? Real answers only, please.”

George settled himself next to Alex and shut his eyes. “One.”

“Uh huh. Because…?”

“Because I thought maybe if we had to share a bed we would.” George swallowed. “You would, maybe, you’d realise.”

“Realise what?” Alex said, very soft.

“Realise that you wanted me.”

“George.” George felt Alex’s hand brushing lightly over his shoulder, his chest. He tried not to breathe, in case breathing might make the moment stop. “What about Carmen?”

“She’s not—” How to explain everything that Carmen was not? He settled on “She’s not here.”

Alex hummed in response, and pinched George’s nipple. George yelped.

“Not going to ask me about Lily?” Alex’s finger was circling around George’s nipple, so delicate.

“I—I know she’s, I know I’m not,” George said, Alex’s fingertip trailing down his stomach, outlining his abs. “Look, she’s not here either, is she?”

Alex settled himself on top of George, the heavy mass of him pinning George down like a weighted blanket: but even better because George’s weighted blanket had never implicitly promised to fuck him. George hadn’t been pining for his weighted blanket for years. “What do you want, George?” Alex asked. “Is this a one-time thing? Get me out of your system? Or do you want something longer-term?” He kissed George’s neck, lighting it up, sparks straight to George’s dick. “Want to be my mistress?”

George groaned. “Let’s see how good your dick game is, mate,” he said, and grinned when Alex laughed.

“All right, you minx.” Alex ground his hips down against George’s. “Let’s see how well you take it.” He bit George’s lower lip and then kissed it, sweet and lazy. George bucked his hips up.

And then the second bed rolled away from the first, and George and Alex both fell through the crack between up and thumped unceremoniously onto the hotel carpet.

They sat in shocked silence for a moment, and then started laughing. “Right, ok, back to Plan A,” Alex said. “We’ll just share the one bed, I think.”

It was good with Alex, as it turned out: it was everything George hadn't quite let himself hope for, and the price of it was simply that now he was going to be wanting it, all the damn time.

it takes a village to raise a crackfic. thank you to beautiful geniuses @accio-ricciardo for chatficcing this concept with me, @ininininininstayoutstayout for crucial george dialogue thoughts, and @onadarklingplain for her incredibly kind and helpful comments!

#my fic #galex #there were only four beds #cw infidelity #(not between galex)#gr63 #aa23 #TOO MANY BEDS

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afloofwithmultipleinterests · 11 months

Text

🔆 Opposite Day! ☽

A Security Breach tickle fic, featuring the Daycare Attendant(s) Sun, and Moon! (Both boys get equal amounts of Wrecking or your money back-)

As a result of a crappy visit to parts and services, Sun finds Moon has a new sunny accessory around his faceplate and the daytime counterpart is far from satisfactory. However, when Moon goes to do repairs, those new ray sensors decide to make themselves known, and not in the way that was expected.

Thank you @coy-lee and @laughterfixs for helping me edit this fic! 😁 I appreciated the help, and as much as I would deny, the high pitched screeching that came out of our editing method 🤣

Anyone that comes across this fic should like, totally check out their shit. They make some MMMMMMMMMM!!! GOOD SHIIT!! Anyway, with that said enjoy!☺️

Sun's rays were gone. No joke, the now bald animatronic looked like a McDonald's egg patty. The other day, the Daycare Attendant(s) took a trip to parts and service for a tiny upgrade to their sensory system, and a little adjustment to their mobility settings. Everything seemed spick and span coming back from parts and services the day before- so, how come he isn't now? Oh how he and Moon HATED to go to parts and services... They seemed to do more damage than help.

Sun huffed, hooking the lunar-wire to his back to pull themselves up to their room. Typical matentience staff. He entered the room inward from the balcony, a close up view of trash cluttering the floor, and children's drawings painting the walls. They were going to have to solve this problem on their own, like always. Crawling into the dark depths of Moon's room. The daytime bot shifted control to the naptime animatronic. Moon had fixed them before using other bots, so maybe he could find a way to reactivate his-

Oh. ...

There they were.

His vision froze on the mirror in his half of the storage room, possibly more confused than Sun in the moment. Moon tried moving the rays, much to his shock that he could move each individually, or all together if he wanted to. This was to his brother's annoyance, as the security bot began to play with them by making himself look like a cat, or axolotl, even a pokemon by stretching the top two rays out as far as they could go!

"Well that is... peculiar..." he stated in a nonchalant fashion.

Peculiar? Those were HIS RAYS! This was more than just peculiar, this was DISTURBING!

"Oh don't be so dramatic Sunny... it's not THAT bad~ I think I like this new look."

Moon posed like a geek in the mirror, flaunting his new rays in various positions like a model. He looked absolutely ridiculous! Sun's rays didn't even match him.

Moon chuckled at Sun's party-pooper mindset, deciding to give one last pose in the mirror by imitating Sun's side of their statue.

'Haha... really funny Moon.'

"Hehehah... I'm glad you think so! I think it's hilarious~"

After his obnoxious laughter stopped, Moon decided to focus on the task at hand:

Fixing this.

Moon jingled his way over to a lone, deactivated security bot to pry it open and steal away some lone wires, connectors, sensory chips, even a couple of servos. Taking the new repair supplies with him, Moon kicked open a loose plank among the closet floor to reveal stolen parts and service equipment.

Sun really doesn't like knowing this stolen staff equipment was here, but... this was really their only resolution. Moon has since cut off their hidden security camera from seeing the surplus of tools, otherwise they would have probably visited the shock conditioning chamber again.

"Don't be nervous," the lunar bot soothed, "I'm not going to hurt us. This is a minor fix. First I need to examine how exactly this happened."

Moon's fingers lightly excavated the rays. Even though he could move them, he for some reason couldn't feel them... how odd. Involuntary movement arose from the tiny triangles as he lightly measured the edges of them from bottom to top inbetween his index finger and thumb.

Sun gasped inside of his head at the foreign sensation, doing all he could to try and retract his rays, but they wouldn't budge.

"Is something wrong Sunny? It doesn't hurt, does it?"

Moon wanted to be extra careful with his opposites rays. They were the equivalent to hair with nerve-endings, or a less gross example being the inside of a human ear.

'N-no! It doesn't... just- be-Ee Carefuhul…'

His brother's thumb had feathered over the center of his sunrays... It was terribly ticklish- but, he had to stay quiet. Moon didn't know he was sensitive in THAT way on this area... If he did, he wouldn't hear the end of it.

Moon warily accepted the warbled answer, his finger now venturing to the back of their faceplate. Everything felt in order back there... Dangit! If only he had a mirror.

'Actually-'

Moon froze at the sound of Sun's thoughts overlapping his own.

Surely if Sun had a physical body, he would be fidgeting with his fingers.

'I have a mirror. It's just… hidden.'

Moon cocked his head with confusion at the response.

"Where?"

The two then played a little game of 'hot-cold' until Moon came across a tiny, dirty carpet.

'hot HOT! BURNING!!! AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!'

Moon burst into giggly hiccups, raspy and Disney villain sounding. Their antics truly made his smile grow wider, even on the cloudiest of days. The lunar animatronic lifted the carpet to find a rather gruesome looking hole, wood splintered all around it in the shape of a foot.

'There was a... happy little accident that happened a while back when I was dancing. So much so, I kiiiinda decided to use it to keep things in like you do with that plank!'

Sun, the rule follower, the rule stickler, the anxious little Golden retriever that stuck to his programming... he STOLE things??

... Moon was so proud!

Sun was finally growing a backbone to scavenge!

What mainly decorated the hidden section were supplies intended for childcare purposes... also a purse.

"Seems you're more of a thief than I am!" Moon chuckled, rummaging through the compartment, placing his hands on the handheld mirror inside.

'I wouldn't go that far.. I merely like to have supplies management refuses to give us.'

"Oh, you mean like some parent's purse you stole? They still have their wallet in here!"

'.... I'm done talking now.'

"PFFFT-"

Moon snickered over his friend's grumpy nature, covering the hole back up with the rug and skittering back to the mirror in his room.

He held the mirror behind his faceplate before flipping one specific nerve ending switch ontop of their head.

"There. Our faceplate and your sun rays have the pain receptors turned off... Let's see..."

Moon took the back hatch off of their faceplate to see where the error was.

Aha, the orange and blue wires.

The orange wires intended for sun's rays were plugged into the activation port for his hat hatch... speaking of which- he realized he wasn't WEARING his hat at all... did that mean Sun-?

Nope. Sun didn't have his hat today... He guessed that maybe maintenance didn't properly plug the hat turning system after the upgrades, nor pushed in the stability settings for transitioning. While reaching for the plug, the long ribbon around Moon's wrist SLOWLY feathered across three of Sun's rays. It took him by surprise, so he couldn't stop his reaction.

'OHOHOMY GOODNEHESS-'

The animatronic stopped in his tracks, a bewildered look replacing the neutral one from before. Now that was straaaaange..

'N-No it wasn't! You just need to get back to the task at HaahahnnhnnhnhnnNHNND!? EEEEK!!'

Moon's hands had since traveled from the back of their faceplate to feel over two of Sun's rays.

"Such a peculiar reaction Sunny... I'm certain something may be wrong with your rays... Seems I might need to Investigate further."

Investigate? Uh oh...

'You really don't need to do this, it's probAHAHABLY NYAHAHA!!'

Moon drew a continuous spiral on one of them, while scratching at the other like a lottery card.

"You seem very happy brother~ Whatever could be soooooo funny, hm?" The lunar animatronic teased as the rays attempted to cha-cha away from his fluttering digits.

'OHOHO- NoOhohothing! NOHoTHing at ahall!!"

Moons fingers stopped for a moment to trace the edges of each ray starting from the bottom.

"Oh? It doesn't sound like nothing little star... my my my... you couldn't be-"

Moon got to the top two rays, and began to skitter his fingers quickly behind them.

"Tickle-tickle, tiiiicklish here? Could you?"

'SQUEAAAAHH!! Yohou MEheahHeaANIE! yohuhuu jeherrkyJEHERKjeEeherk!!'

"JerkyJerkjerk? Oh goodness, Sunny. I'm Offended. Maybe I should teach you a lesson... hehe..."

Moon smirked in the mirror as he began to spin Sun's rays in a circle.

'Wh... whahat are you doing!?'

The animatronic wiggled his fingers, continuously staring in the mirror so sun could see his demise. The moving digits moved closer until-

🎶"The rays on the sun went round' and round'~" 🎶

He began to sing the tune to wheels on the bus while tickling the life out of Sun's ultra sensitive rays.

'MYAHAHAYAAAA!! QUHIHIT IT!!'

🎶"Round' and round', "🎶

Ontop of his rays.. Skitter skitter, itch itch, wiggle wiggle~

🎶"Round' and round'!"🎶

'AHAHAAHA IHIHIT TIHICKLES TOO MUHUCH!!'

🎶"The Rays on the Sun went round and round'~"🎶

Behind his rays.. Skitter, scritch, skitter skitter, wiggle-

'EHEHEEEEHAHAHAAAA!! YOUHO BUTT!!'

"🎶All through the day~!🎶 Ooh- more name calling? That means another verse is in order!"

'NohHOuuHuHUhu!!! MOHOHOONIE NOHO!!'

The lunar attendant changed things up a bit by making the rays retract, and eject while spinning.

🎶 "the rays on the sun went in and out~" 🎶

Moon used all of his fingers, targeting specific rays that had retracted, waiting for them to pop out in order to tickle them again.

Pop! Wiggle-wiggle wiggle~

Pop! Skitter-skitter skit~

Pop! Tickle-tickle tickle~

'AHAHAHAAAA!! IHIM WAHARNING YOUOHO!! Yohou BEHETTER STAHAP!!'

Moon could sense that Sun was actually having a lot of fun through their thin, invisible mental wall, so he decided to crank it up a little.

"🎶In and out~ in and out!~🎶 or what, give me a headache? You can't touch me~!"

Gitchygitchygitchy, itchy itchy, tingly tickles spread everywhere after Sun's threat, and the teasy song didn't help

' MWAHAHAAAA!! WEHE'LL SEEEHEHEEE!! EhAhahAaa!!'

🎶"The rays on the sun went in and out~ all through the day!"🎶

It was instantaneous when the power seemingly went out in Moon's arms. Great, another problem that he now physically couldn't fix.. maybe he would have to go down to-

As soon as Moon looked down, he immediately noticed a change in his arms...

"Yellow?" He asked aloud, extremely confused… that is until he realized.

They weren't HIS arms anymore...they were-

Sun's.

The yellow hands cracked their fingers and knuckles as a huffing, wheezing Sun voice inside of Moon's head starting to laugh without mirth.

'Heheheaha... ihi... I warned you~'

It turned out Sun's theory was correct earlier about the light sensors being breachable due to plug inactivity.. now to get some MUCH needed revenge.

The yellow limbs began to lightly trace over Moon's torso, making him squeak and sputter.

"Wahait!! I- We can tahalk about this Sunny!"

'Talk? You mean like how you tickled me to speechlessness? Sure, we can do that!~'

Moon let out a squeal as the digits dusted over his ribs, fluttered under his arms into his wires, feathered over his neck, traced over the edge of the moon crescent of his fa-

"SQUEAA!!" Moon screeched as Sun traced over the lower section of the crescent that would be considered his 'jaw'. Sun stilled at the reaction, baffled at the energy that erupted from seemingly nowhere. Moon felt Sun's sinister intentions bubble inside of their processor. The previous attacker grew nervous at the silence and the lack of movement from Sun's arms

"I-I uh-" Before Moon could say anything, Sun attacked. One hand flew to Moon's sensitive little tummy as the other danced over his jawline, drawing spirals in the moon crescent's craters like Moon did on Sun's rays earlier.

"SQUEAAAAAHEAHEAAAA!! EHEHEHEHE! -HIC-! ahahAhahahahAHAH!!" The sensation was overbearing!

Sun was used to tickling. Sun got to play with the kids all the time... however, since Moon was naptime duty on main, he hasn't built up quite the sensor tolerance Sun has, nor the fan speed.

Sun's left hand rapidly scrunched against the middle of Moon's tummy, barely touching his dent... OH how ticklish it felt- he never thought his tummy could feel so tingly.

"IHIHIT- EHEHEHEEEE! SUHUHUNNY- PLEHEHAhahaAh!!"

'Please? You're gonna have to specify! Did you mean please go faster? Do these tickles make you happy moon? Do they? Do they? Awww of coooourse they do!~ Why else would you be so giddy?'

With that, Sun sped the tickling up on the poor little tummy and ticklish little craters.

"OHOHOHO NOHOHO!! NAUGHAHAUGHYTY THIHING!! NauAHAHAUAHTY- NAUGAHATYHEHE! NYAHAHAAHAAA!!"

'Gitchygitchygitch! Oho tickle tickle little Moonshine~'

Sun's voice echoed in sickeningly sweet baby talk.

'Is the tiny, little astronaut that ticklish to you? Hm?? Them walking allll over your tummy, and face? Over your cute little craters?'

The left yellow hand began to mimic walking motions, wiggling each 'foot' into his moon plate with each step, circling and tickling in each tiny crater he could find.

"EHEHAKAKA!!" The lightswitch- he NEEDED to get to the light switch.

Sun inwardly gasped, beginning to tickle more skillfully instead of playful skitters as Moon's plan echoed through their mind. Not only did the solar animatronic have a lot of tolerance, but he also had a lot of experience giving tickles out, especially to adults as per his playful and teasy nature.

The nighttime animatronic sputtered and spat chortle to cackle as the hands began to travel. His ribs, his hips, even seeing the sensitivity of the little buttons on his chest, his neck.

And. It. Tickled. HORRIBLY.

Moon could barely keep himself up in these circumstances. His legs felt like jello, yet somehow, some way, Moon managed to make it over to the lightswitch.

'Ah ah ah! Not so fast~'

Moon was forced downward, sun's arms somehow pulling the rest of his body away from the lightswitch and to his ankles. Upon this the devilish yellow fingers inched around his ankles, and heels, tracing eights and infinity signs all over to throw him off. Moon screeched as his 'Achilles heel-s' were discovered. The animatronic couldn't move an inch from this terribly ticklish situation as both hands held his ankles captive. It was when the hands forced his foot up did he lose balance. The naptime attendant fell on his butt, his shoed feet at the very mercy of his brother.

'Let's seee~ what's behind curtain number one?!'

The first shoe came off, revealing the foot underneath. Moon's feet were much like his hands, accept it had sensory cushioning on the bottoms to prevent finger crushing. The yellow digits lightly traced the sensory pad, and under moon's toes before coming back to the top of his foot.

"KEEEEHEHEHAHAHA- NAHAT THE FEET SUHUHUN- NOHO-"

'Not the feet? Not the feet? Is it possible they're terrrribly sensitive to kitchies? Hmmmm?'

KITCHIES!?

Sun lightly scrunched over the top of the revealed foot before pulling the other slipper off.

Moon wiggled his toes as his brother traced lines all around the tops of his feet, paying attention to the tippy top of the little beans.

Snorting, Moon quickly tried to think of a plan through his laughter and Sun's teasing... AHA!

He wouldn't think what the plan was but he was going to do it.

'Do it if you dare~ I'll get at the bottoms of your feet if you try anything funny moon…'

Funny? Why would he try anything funny? He was the least funny person he kn-

Suddenly, Moon's hat projectile launched from the top of ther faceplate and upward at the lightswitch, leaving Sun to gasp internally.

‘You sneaky little rules twister- that's it!’

Just as Sun began to mercilessly skitter everywhere on the bottom of Moon's feet, the light switch had been flipped, turning the lights on.

His arms are now on the outside of Sun's body...

Oh... this was going to be fun~

"I uh-"

Before Sun could even come up with something to say, Moon's fingers flicked and fluttered vigorously around Sun's Tummy and ribs, even under his arms at one point.

"OHOHO MY STAAAHAHAHAAARS!! NYAHAHAAHAAA- MOOOHOHOOOON!"

'Paybaaaack~'

"Paybahahack!? YOUHOU'RE THEHE ONE WHOHO STAHAHRTED-"

bam the wires.

"AAAAAHAHAHAA- OHOHOKAY! OKAHAHAY! MEHEHERCY!! I PLEHEHEAD THE FIHIHITH!!"

As soon as the words left Sun's mouth, Moon stopped.

The conjoined animatronic twins turned on their internal fans, cooling their shared system as they lay on the floor.

Sun airily laughed the rest of his giggles out, eventually calming down.

"Hehe..aha.."

'Did you have fun?' Moon asked as their system returned back to its normal heating stats.

"... Maybe."

'Hehehe~ thought so!'

After a moment, Sun wobbled to his feet regaining his balance to step to the lightswitch again. Moon gave his brother the ability to swap their limbs again, so when they turned the lights off again, he would be able to fix them.

The lights turned off with a swift flick, changing Moon back into himself again, as bald and shiny headed as king Neptune without his crown. His hat was laying on the floor, but he'd pick that up later.

Without hesitation, he traversed back to the mirror again to fix the wires.

… were they that tangled before?

Perhaps Moon and Sun's ticklish scuffle tangled the wires up more than they were… their back faceplate cover was off during it.

"... well this will be difficult."

'HEY- uh… actually… what if we just… didn't fix it?'

Moon smirked at that, his attention fully on his brother now, that of which Sun felt. A bit nervous, he continued.

'I mean- if I'm able to swap your limbs out for mine… w-we can just… I don't know… keep that feature?'

That sounded like a fun little quirk… especially if they wanted to do something like this again.

"You know… that's not a bad idea. Who would really notice anyway?"

And from then on… nobody really did. Well- not except for when laughter could be heard coming from the fazbear theatre.. but Sun and Moon publically chocked it up to daycare antics rather than any insinuated malfunction if an employee were to ask.

Yet another secret well hidden by the mystery(ies) that was(ere) the Daycare Attendant(s).

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halfmoondaze · 1 year

Note

I’d like to request a Jack fic where reader (who is a fan and is shy) and Jack go on their first date and she is nervous but Jack notices and acts all cute about it and calms her down (like I thought about the ‘don’t be anxious, I got you’ line from poison). Please and thanks. (Fluff)

First Date Nerves

Tonight, you were going on a date with no other than Jack Harlow. Even thinking about it felt surreal.

You had met Jack a month ago in a Celtics game, you attended with your best friend Y/F/N. It was her that spotted Jack during the game who was sitting a row above the two of you. So when there was the announcement that was time out, Y/F/N didn’t think twice before attempting to shoot her shot with Jack. Even though you were a fan of his music, you were too shy to even consider bothering while attempting to make conversation with him.

Y/F/N and Jack started vibing and he seemed invested in the conversation, and before you knew he asked her.

“Who’s your friend?”

Y/F/N eagerly introduced you to Jack and you just clicked. It was like there was no one else in the room but the two of you for the remaining of the event. Afterward, you and Jack exchanged contacts and kept in touch ever since.

But now Jack was in town and has asked you a few weeks in advance given his busy schedule. Even though you were tempted to make up an excuse to not go, you knew deep down you wanted to do this, but your nerves just seemed to increase as the day got closer. So now, here you were in standing in front of the fancy restaurant. You took a deep breath before you entered.

To your surprise, you were greeted by the staff as they escorted you inside the empty restaurant until you arrived at Jack’s table. He looked so handsome with his curly hair and fitted black shirt.

“Hey” you smiled shyly.

“Hi, you look gorgeous” he said pulling you into a hug.

“Thanks” you said looking away and feeling your face heat up.

He pulled your seat for you before sitting in his seat.

One of the things Jack loved so much about you, was how shy you were because he found it adorable and endearing. The truth was that Y/N was completely clueless as to what Jack saw in her in comparison to Y/F/N who was way more extroverted.

Jack was so attentive and throughout the dinner, he expressed interest in your life, asking you questions to make you open up a bit more and lose yourself. However, he could still sense that she was a bit reserved.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah”

“I can tell something is bothering you. Is it something I did?”

“No, of course not. It’s me- Im just….nervous, that’s all” you said looking away in embarrassment.

He smiled to himself.

Then he took your hand and looked at you with his kind eyes.

“Don’t be anxious. I got you”

A small smile formed from the corners of your mouth.

“Thanks”

“Is ok. I know dates can be intimidating. Believe me, I was nervous before coming here too”

“You were?”

“Yeah” he paused. “Let’s just forget that this is a date and just have fun, alright?”

You smiled and nodded.

And just like that you felt yourself loosen up and his charming and funny personality was a big contributing factor, as you found yourself a lot more talkative and laughing along to his jokes.

The night went along and you just completely lost track of the time up until he ordered the bill.

After he paid the bill, he turned to you.

“I had a great time tonight, and if it’s alright with you, I would like to see you again”

“I would love that”

He smiled.

“Can I take you home?”

��Yeah”

Jack held your hand as you walked to his car. The ride was filled with laughs and stolen glances.

When he pulled to your driveway, he opened the door for you and walked you to your front door.

“Thanks for this, I had a lovely time”

“Anytime” he smiled at you.

You started unlocking your door when something took over and you turned around.

Jack was about to walk back to his car when you called him.

“Jack”

“Yes” he turned to you.

You walked over to him and for some reason, you can’t explain, you leaned him and he sensed what you were doing and leaned down to you and kissed you.

He wrapped your arms around your waist deepening the kiss while you put your arms around his neck.

When you felt you were running out of breath, you slowly pulled away from him.

He looked back at you with a smile.

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah” you smiled.

“Alright. Goodnight” he said.

“Bye”

Jack started walking back to his car smiling from ear to ear. He couldn’t wait to see you again.

167 notes · View notes

sio-writes · 1 year

Note

Kinky drider prompt. Either suspension bondage. Or Shibari. Or both *hands in the air*

Aaaand here it is! (Finally!! /avoids thrown paper balls)

This is a sequel to this piece although you don't need to have read the first to understand this one.

Tags: NSFW, shibari (it's v soft I promise), vaginal fingering and vaginal sex, and a bit of subspace experience

I hope the wait was worth it, happy reading!

“Darling,” Callum calls from your shared room, his voice timid. It’s very unlike the voice he uses to command his court, or speak to his generals. It's a voice he uses only around you, when he knows it's safe.

You poke your head into the room and see him sitting in front of the fire. It's been getting colder the past few weeks, not quite cold enough to snow, but the staff have been bringing down the heavier garments in preparation. It's been the perfect excuse to stay in bed for a few more kisses, a quiet moment alone before his attentions are drawn elsewhere.

Callum gestures you over with two hands, and you step into the room and sit across from him on the ornate rug. His hands are all folded in front of him, and he's staring into the fire.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, concerned. He seems anxious, fidgeting with his hands.

He takes a deep inhale and takes your hands in his, pressing them between his four palms. "It's concerning the bedroom. I'd like to try…something new."

Oh, that's all? You'd thought something was wrong. You quirk an amused eyebrow. "You're bored already?"

He shakes his head like a dog. "N-no! You're wonderful! This has been the most--"

You laugh, cutting him off. "My love, I'm joking. Tell me what you want."

His face glows in embarrassment, a dull blue shining through the low light of the room. "I want to…tie you up."

It takes you a moment to parse his meaning, then you drop your fist into your palm. "Oh!"

You've heard of this before! The Oni across the ocean make gorgeous configurations! You'd stolen a book of them from the library and flipped through it under torchlight. Layers upon layers of rope, criss-crossed and interwoven, hours and hours of work to make living art. You'd asked for the book out of idle curiosity, but the more you flipped the more involved you'd become. It's been a few weeks since you'd found the book in the library, but it hasn't left your mind since.

"That sounds great!" you shout, grabbing Callum by the shoulders. A touch over-enthusiastic, but it would be a lie to say you hadn't thought about the same.

His responding smile is shy, but bright. "It's done with my silk so it's very soft, but if you don't want to I--"

You kiss him on either cheek, energy leaking out of you like steam. "Yes! I said yes! What did you have in mind?"

Leading you by the hands out of the bedroom, he brings you down the hall and to a room that neither of you frequent, and you had honestly forgotten the purpose of until Callum begins to explain.

"I mortified myself by asking for assistance setting this up. I'm surprised none of the staff let it slip to you. It's got everything we could need in here, plus more."

You smirk at your husband. "What would you have done if I refused?"

He laughs. "Never opened this door again," and then looks down at your hands, his thumbs rubbing your palms. "But I had faith in you."

The door swings open silently and he ushers you inside, two hands firm on your back as you take in the room. Everything, from the bed, to the wallpaper, to the decor are done in a deep red and gold. There's accents of silver along the wall, but your eyes are drawn to the giant four-poster bed against the far wall. It's as large as the one in your bedroom, but that one is almost delicate compared to the solid oak frame in front of you.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"It's wonderful," you breathe out, awed.

The pressure on your back steers you to the bed. "Undress, please, and kneel on the bed."

Your mouth goes dry at his stern, direct tone. He reserves this voice for you, and you only. "You haven't told me what you had in mind."

"First I'd like you to kneel on the bed. Then I will show you."

The air of the room is cool without a fireplace, but you hope you'll be warmed soon as you climb onto the bed. It's higher than a human bed to accommodate the height of a drider, bigger as well, but you've come to enjoy the size. The duvet is cotton, a deep red shot through with gold like the rest of the room, soft from laundering.

You sit on the center of the bed, your legs tucked beneath you, and you watch as Callum makes a slow arc from one side to the other, like a predator, or a butcher appraising meat. He reaches underneath the bed and sets next to you a box, one you could easily fit an armful of books in.

"Do you know what to say to make me stop?"

You have no fucking clue. This is new territory, it's never gotten so intense that you felt the need. Callum has always made it apparent that you could pull away whenever you wish, so you've never had a specific word for it. "Uh, s-stop?"

His mandibles lift, an expression of approval. "You are a queen, say it like you mean it."

You sit up straight and pretend you're back in the court, projecting your voice. "Stop."

It feels a bit silly saying it to empty air, but Callum leans forward, pecks your lips and says, "Good girl." And you want to do it again.

He picks up a book--you realize it's the same book you'd checked out from the library, opened to one of the pages you'd absentmindedly dogeared. The figure has their hands together, held behind their head. The ropes are knotted like diamonds on the front and back, and the figure has their chest pushed out.

"If your hands go numb or start to hurt at all, you're going to tell me, understood?"

You nod absently, still staring at the book. "Okay."

"Hey," he steers your face away, firmly squeezing your cheeks between calloused fingers. "Did you hear me?"

"I did," your eyes flick down to his lips. "Sir."

"Good girl," he says with a sharp smile, and you shiver pleasantly.

Callum pulls another box out from underneath the bed, this one full of twisted rope lengths, the dark blue of his silk appearing black in the low light. He'd prepared this, spun the rope thinking of tying you up, spent time out of his day to come in here and make plans. The thought makes you rub your thighs together, a motion not unnoticed by Callum. He lays a length across your shoulders, the ends falling over your breasts and gently caressing your nipples. It's a small movement, but you suck in a breath all the same.

One of his hands not working through the rope rests lightly on your thigh. "Get comfortable, spread your knees," and he says it casually, like a suggestion, but you know it's not.

Callum isn't mean or forceful in the bedroom, but his commands come through firm, with clear intent behind them. If you didn't listen, there were consequences.

The first time you'd tested his patience, had been disobedient, he'd kept you on the edge of orgasm for three hours straight, while he got to come over you all night. Only once you'd been reduced to a sobbing, incoherent mess had he let you come on his fingers alone, and you were so wound up that the scream it tore from you nearly made you hoarse. The bath he'd drawn for you afterwards and the fingers he'd combed through your hair had been heavenly, he always took care of you, but you were not up to par to do that again. You'd be good for him.

Besides, you enjoy the approval. His smiles could be soft or sharp, and you like the idea of pleasing him as much as you can.

Callum sits on the bed behind you, his lower legs stretching out next to yours, warmth practically radiating from his body. The chill starts to disappear as his hands smooth over your skin, over your hips, down the tops of your thighs and back up to cup your breasts. His hands are warm, it feels good exploring your body, the drag of his blunt nails over your skin makes your clit tingle.

Bringing the rope up, Callum starts on your wrists, a knot where your hands meet that wraps around a few times. With another hand, he wiggles a digit between your skin and the ropes before knotting it, and you realize he's testing the tightness.

He pulls your hands up, over your head, and says softly, "When I'm done with this, I will see how you feel, and then I'd like to tie your legs." He pulls a little harder, bringing your shoulders up to your ears, anchoring the ties on your hands to the rope around your chest. Brushing your hair aside with his long fingers makes another shiver work up your spine as he starts to wrap the pattern over your chest.

He leans around you, face nuzzling the outside of your arm, a hand pushing his face into you, and he says softly, "And then I want to fuck you, my good girl."

You shudder, his voice dripping heat down to your pussy, and you pull at the restraints wanting to relieve the tension. It pulls at Callum's hands, and he pauses.

"Are you alright?"

You nod. "I'm fine."

Concern laces his words, "We can stop if--"

"N-no!" You flush, trying to turn to him and failing.

Callum peeks around your arm, noticing the heat in your face, and the hand on your thigh slides up.

"I see," he says.

And as if he's reading your mind, one of Callum's hand traces over your hip, inwards over your thigh, and finally cups your sex with his long fingers. It's not quite dripping yet, but your lips still part easily under his touch as he draws a finger up the center all the way to your clit. You shiver at the touch, a small moan escaping your lips.

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," Callum says, voice low as he rubs his finger slowly, and his other hands continuing to wrap the rope over your chest and across your back.

Even at the slow pace, you're at Callum's complete mercy and the tightness of the ropes. His hand on you doesn't speed up, doesn't apply more pressure, only circles your clit at that same maddening pace, keeping you just on the edge, turning you into a panting mess in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Your pussy feels empty, you cant your hips with each downward movement of his fingers, hoping he gets the hint.

His directions, like the silk in his hands, are smooth but firm. "Spine straight," he says, tracing a finger from the base of your spine to your neck.

"Deep breath," as he tightens the rope under your breasts.

He pulls the rope around your chest and threads it through your hands again. Your breathing picks up as you test the strength, and it locks your arms into place.

The hand over your clit reaches lower and Callum gently presses two fingers into you. It's not quite the size you want, but the relief that comes with it has you moaning.

"Tell me, love," Callum says behind you as he secures a knot, as if he isn't knuckle-deep inside you. "What led you to this book?"

You've been caught, but the image of Callum finding that book, knowing you'd seen it only makes you wetter. "I, uh…" You shift on the covers. "Just curious."

"Curious," he repeats around a particularly wet sound from your pussy. "Sneaking around, bookmarking pages." He brushes your G-spot and you shudder. "Did you think about me? Did you touch yourself to it?"

"...No."

"Liar." He yanks on a loose end, hard enough to thrust your chest forward and bring more color to your cheeks.

His hand stops over your pussy as he concentrates on the last few knots, and you don't know how much time has passed, but it's too much. The warmth of his hand is nice, but it's not enough anymore. You're oversensitive, he's been going slow on purpose. You need his cock, you need him to fuck you.

"Alright," he says. "I'm done with your arms."

You squirm on the bed. "Would you, uh, leave my legs for tonight?"

As he rounds the corner of the bed, Callum looks to you, attentive. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's just…" You look down, unable to finish the sentence, and Callum flashes you a boyish grin.

"Go on, tell me."

Every time you try to move your arms, it pulls the connections over your chest, tightens the loops over your wrists and shoulders. You're on display like this, completely vulberable. You truly could go limp and everything would stay in place, and it's a relaxing thought. Callum has you, you're stable.

Your voice comes out shaky, "I want…I want you to fuck me."

That never gets easier, no matter how many times you've done it. Usually you'd be embarrassed, and you feel the beginnings of it, but it's not nearly as present as the need to be filled.

And Callum always obliges you.

The rope around you is soft, but it bites into your skin. It reminds you of the way Callum will bite your shoulder or your neck as he's deep inside you. These ropes are going to leave a mark, one that the court might see, that might be bared to the public. Bearing these marks for others to see how Callum owns you is a heady thought, and your exhales are unsteady, but you also feel light, floaty, as they set in.

There's been a few parties where you've had more than a few glasses of wine, and it's a similar feeling, this weightlessness. And your arousal is persistent, you want Callum to touch you again, it felt so good.

You're staring at a spot on the floor when Callum gently grabs your jaw and guides your head upwards. Your head weighs a million pounds, but he's holding you, and that's nice. He's so pretty when he's serious, intensely studying your face. All four of his eyes are narrowed in suspicion, there's a light blue blush over his high cheekbones, and his dark hair has started to mat to his forhead with sweat. Was this an effort for him too?

But he looks almost upset, so you smile at him.

"I'm okay," you say, and you are. You mean it. "This is nice. I'm very relaxed."

Callum's face relaxes, the crease in his brow disappears, and he smiles back at you, that crooked, boyish smirk that melts your heart, and he kisses your lips. You open easily to him, his split tongue sliding over yours, lazily exploring your mouth. The rope stops you from reaching out to him, but his hands wrap over your hips, across your back. They run over the rope, tracing the lines, testing the tightness. He pulls back, pecking your lips one last time.

"And you want me to fuck you?"

You lean forward, chasing another kiss, a smile pulling at your lips. "Yes, please."

He pats the outside of your thigh, that boyish smile coming back. He's strong, picking you up easily so your legs can fall open from underneath you. With his other hands he grabs underneath your thighs, pulling them around his waist. Your ankles cross over his thorax, soft and bare, and you feel against your thigh the prodding of his cock, still buried behind his slit but eager to break free.

You lazily wiggle your hips over Callum's and he moans, the arms keeping you upright squeezing you into his torso.

Callum grabs you by the hips, positioning his cock against your entrance. His hard girth greets you, warm and wet with the lubricant his body produces. As the tip slips inside, you gasp against his shoulder, the intrusion always shocking you with the sudden size. There's only the slightest taper to his cock, with a slant at the tip and a curve upwards. Your first time together had been an experience in readying yourself for it, but after nearly every night together, you've gotten used to it. Loved it.

You're allowed a breath's length of time before he slams you down, up to the two large bumps at the base where he says his seed is stored. The sudden heat and force pushes the breath from your lungs, sends fire up your spine, but he doesn't give you time to adjust before he lifts you up almost all the way out and slams you down again.

His cock is huge, you feel every inch as it fills you up, and he starts a punishing rhythm that keeps him deep. The bumps along the top of his cock caress your insides and you moan against his neck, not caring if anyone outside can hear.

"You look absolutely stunning," he says, breaths punctuated by each thrust and the smack of your skin against his. "I want to tie you up again, keep you there for hours. To watch you beg for me while you can't get away."

You can't respond, too caught up in the feel of his cock ramming into you, wet and obscene, the lubrication of his cock making the glide feel delicious. Like he can't get enough of you.

You pull at the ropes again, forgetting that you're tied up, and another wash of calm floods your senses. That lightheadedness is coming back, that floaty feeling. You're coasting on sensation, surrounded by Callum, his scent, and so many feelings. He's got you, he always has you, and he always will.

Callum grunts as he thrusts into you, the sound right in your ear, and each downstroke feels so good you may come just from this. His cock hits a spot on the next thrust that has you moaning, open mouthed against his skin.

"I want you like this all the time," Callum breathes, his voice wrecked. Sweat is beading on his skin, his hair is curling from the heat. "I want to try everything with you, you're so beautiful."

He mumbles more into the skin of your arm, but you can't make it out. The pace of his thrusts picks up, become erratic.

"Are you close?" he asks. "You're going to milk me dry like this."

You can only moan an affirmative, his voice working to push you over the edge. Your thighs clench, you pull against the ropes and seize up, overcome with pleasure as you come. The world goes black as you squeeze your eyes shut, your heart beating erratically.

Callum thrusts into you once, twice, his hips stuttering as he releases a long moan. The length of his cock shudders and you feel the wet warmth of his seed as it fills you. It pumps again anf Callum shudders, mimicked by you when you feel it start to leak out of you and drip down the curve of your bum.

You feel incredible, like you could run up a mountain, or take a three year nap. You feel Callum's heart against your own, both beating frantically.

Once Callum gathers his wits about him, he's petting your hair, grabbing your hands where he can. "How are you feeling, love?"

You feel stable, back to the ground, and nod. "That was fantastic. But," you say, wiggling your fingers. "I'm starting to go numb."

"Oh shit," Callum says, immediately but gently pulling out of you and setting you on the bed, rushing to a drawer on the bedside table. You laugh when he very seriously brandishes a pair of scissors and starts towards you.

"No!" You say, scooting away. "I like this rope, don't cut it!"

He pulls you in by the elbow and starts snipping anyway. Pouting, you remain still in the face of those sharp scissors.

"Believe me, it is nothing to make more," he reassures you, running his thumb over your pushed out bottom lip.

The first bit he cuts is the ties keeping your arms back, but he grabs your wrists before you can wrench them forward.

"Easy," he says, his voice stern. "Easy."

Slowly, he guides your hands down in front of you, and you're glad for it. You'd been ignoring a lot of pain in your shoulders, not through any error on Callum's part, but the intensity of the position itself. It's a good sore though, one you'd like to experience again.

"Everything alright?" he asks. You nod.

Callum quickly cuts the rest away, the rope falling to the blanket beneath you, and you feel his fingers skating lightly over your skin.

He's running over the marks, the indented red lines, the texture of the rope superimposed into you. Looking at your arm and chest, you see them too. They're amazing, little bits of evidence to show what you've done.

"Stunning," Callum says, fingers skating over your arms, so light you can barely feel it, like he doesn't want to hurt you.

You're running your hand over the marks when a chill runs up your spine, the cold of the room setting in and making goosebumps break out over your skin. Callum presses a kiss to your freezing shoulder, and you feel the smile on his lips.

"Let's get you warmed up."

As he silently carries you to the washroom, his warmth presses into your side and where his arms wrap around your body. The massive bath he lowers you into is searing, perfect to gather the last fragmented pieces of your mind, to focus on the hands he runs through your hair and his firm body cradling you.

Callum continues massaging your scalp, his other arms still running over the indented marks that are filling out, but remaining red on your skin. You heave a heavy sigh, content, ready to fall asleep in his arms, and you're definitely doing this again tomorrow.

#my writing #monster smut #nsfw.#monster writing #drider #monster boyfriend #technically husband #thanks for your patience!#writing smut is always difficult for me and takes 5x as long #and i never know if it's good or not #also if there's a weird font change to something else i apologize #also this is my official foray back into posting regularly #i lliiiivvvveee

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Note

clown reader wearing a maid outfit and posting it online or wore it during a convention

A staff member at the hotel climbs the stairs to the roof. The convention goers were a real headache, and all the money poured into it kept the higher upside from complaining much. Wedging a cigarette between their lips, they open the door- the stick of nicotine falling from their mouth as they step outside. The last thing they expected to see was a clown - wearing a maid outfit.

The outfit was as brightly colored as your makeup, completed with a frilly headband and mitch match socks. Your face was covered in sweat; paint smeared from the unprompted touches you fell victim to. The ribbon that had kept the blouse of your outfit tied back was stolen by a brave fan. You both stare at each other. You, in the process of scrubbing off your makeup, and them staring blankly.

"Uh... hey."

"Hey." They repeat.

"You're, uh, probably wondering why I'm up here.. Funny story, it started with this outfit. I made a joke to my fans that I'd wear it if the post got enough likes and it did.. Big mistake on my part, since the second I got here everyone's been weird about it - and I think someone tried to get me to follow them home."

The staff worker just remains quiet. Hearing steps bounding up the flight, they look back - fans wearing makeup similar to yours in pursuit. They step outside, locking the door from their side just as the first one reaches the door. You breath a sign of relief.

"Thank you... I'll leave soon- I just need a break."

They slowly turn back to you.

"Y'know... I didn't get the day off for this convention?

Your frame of calm is shattered as they pull their phone from their pocket.

"Guess things worked out in my favor, since I'm all alone with the one I wanted to see~"

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere story #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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bisexualbuck · 1 year

Text

excess of it

word count: 5k | tedtrent, mutual pining, Roy pov

[READ ON AO3]

Everywhere Roy goes, he comes across Ted and Trent just stupidly pining, staring adoringly at one another with unconcealed loveful eyes.

And he can't fucking escape it.

OR, Roy needs a break and he can't catch it.

The first time it happens, Roy thinks he’s imagining things.

It’s early one rainy Tuesday morning and he’s woken up two hours before his alarm rang. Suffice to say, he isn’t in a great mood as he walks through the still empty corridors of AFC Richmond. He doesn’t expect anyone to be there but the cleaning staff.

However, there are hushed voices coming from the coaches’ office. Something makes Roy stops in his tracks, though he could not say what. Perhaps it is the soft quality of the voices, the gentle rolling of words spoken in trust and quiet.

As discreet as he can, Roy walks closer, still hidden.

It’s Ted and Trent in the office, both their chairs brought close together and their bodies angled toward one another, yet untouching.

From his viewpoint, Roy can’t see Trent’s face but he can see Ted’s and, well. That’s quite a sight to behold. For all that he wears his heart on his sleeve, Ted has never worn such an open expression of openness in front of Roy.

Ted’s smile, though small, is as bright as the noonday sun in July.

Strangely, Roy feels like he is intruding on something precious and so, instead of barging in the office like he meant to, he turns back, footfalls still quiet, and makes his way out to the pitch, undeterred by the rain.

Roy doesn’t think too hard on it.

It was weird but he caught enough of the conversation to understand they were speaking of their kids, reasons enough for the soft look caught on Ted’s face, Roy figures.

Right.

He gives them ten minutes before he ventures back inside, and, this time, they each sit at their own desk, a respectable distance between them and no indication that they were having an intimate conversation just minutes earlier.

It’s not a one time thing however.

It starts slow at first.

Mostly, it’s looks. Just lingering looks when the other isn’t paying attention. Sometimes they’re just brief glances, stolen snapshots of the other that Roy just happens to notice.

Roy will turn to ask Ted something and find him staring at Trent’s profile as he writes in his notebook. Other times, Roy will want to commiserate with Trent, only to find Trent’s eyes being preoccupied by the sight of Ted telling one of his colourful nonsensical stories.

He can excuse the looks.

Though soon enough, Roy starts witnessing little strange moments between Ted and Trent that have him pause before he shakes himself with a reminder that this is none of his business.

Whatever this is.

Weeks go by.

The looks turn into touches, the touches into long conversations filled with private jokes and references that fly over Roy’s head, every word English and yet still a language uniquely their own.

One time, he finds Ted massaging Trent’s palm for some reason, but he turns back on his tracks and doesn’t ask about it.

Clearly, there is something brewing between Ted Lasso and Trent Crimm, but Roy cares nothing for it. He would have before he got to know Trent, but now that the both of them have made their amends and have become friendly if not yet friends, Roy will just ignore the whole thing until they make it official.

This tentative pining is painful to witness as it is.

This is where it should have stopped.

In an ideal world, Roy would have been able to continue on with days without being inconvenienced by a pining of such epic proportions – but that’s not what happens.

By some sadistic turn of events, it seems that everywhere Roy goes, he comes across Ted and Trent just stupidly pining, staring adoringly at one another with unconcealed loveful eyes. And he can’t fucking escape it.

He tries minimising the amount of time spent in the office but even this proves useless. The Fates are out for Roy Kent and they will make sure that he suffers. Perhaps it is revenge against his breaking up for Keeley that he should bear witness to brewing love when he himself ran away from it, so fearful of how it might end that he ended it before its time.

Fuck, he’s being so dramatic.

Still. He thinks he’s allowed it, as they are definitively making his life hell.

“You know I love our chats.”

Trent’s voice is so open it makes Roy want to punch the wall.

“Your hair is softer than I thought it’d be.”

The pen Roy is holding breaks in half. He doesn’t turn how Ted would know about the softness of Trent’s hair.

“Your neck giving you troubles?”

“It’s nothing, I just fell asleep on the couch last night.”

Before Ted offers, Roy already knows what he is going to say.

“I could massage the knot out for you, I took a class in college and boy, let me tell you, my A was well-deserved. These fingers are quite nimble, I’ll have you all melted like ice cream on a sunny day in no time.”

Trent Crimm flushing bright red isn’t something Roy thought he’d see in his lifetime, and yet here it is is – and it’s his cue to bolt it out of there.

They are laughing, once again standing closer than any just-friends would be. Ted reaches for Trent’s knee, squeezes it before he seems to recall himself and snatches the hand away.

Roy has seen teenagers flirt less awkwardly.

It’s driving him insane.

Roy is tired. His knee has been acting up all day, and the only thing he wants is to go home, get an icepack, and watch a stupid film he will never admit to actually liking.

It’s a struggle not to limp back down to the locker room though, by some miracle, he manages it. He only needs to pick up his phone that he forgot at his desk and then he can lick his wounds in private where no one will offer him sympathetic comments.

If only Roy had it that easy.

When he walks into the coaches’ office, Roy finds Trent fucking Crimm sitting on Ted’s desk, his legs sprawled and chest angled down to Ted. Ted himself is on his chair, gazing up at Trent with adoration and – oh, God – lust in his hooded eyes.

They aren’t doing anything but talking, and yet the air is charged with a tension so thick it threatens to choke him out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Roy barks.

He walks right out, phone be damned.

The three coaches are discussing what new strategy to implement after the West Ham fiasco. Trent is nowhere to be seen just yet, it’s unlike him as he has never once been late, but Roy is too focused on his conversation with Beard and Ted to wonder why that is.

Not that he’d worry about it.

He gets the answer minutes later anyway when Trent speed-walks into the office, glasses askew on his face and his hair tied up in a bun so messy it’s not even attempting to keep the hair away from his face.

Trent drops his messenger bag, yanks his notebook out of his breast pocket, and then he is rushing to join them, trying and failing to appear composed.

“Well, hello there, Sport,” Ted welcomes him with a bright smile. “Everything alright? It’s not like you to be so late.”

“Quite,” Trent replies, slightly out of breath. “There was a bit of a glitter incident this morning, that’s all.”

That’s when Roy notices it. Trent’s cheeks are covered with specks of glitter that catch the light as he talks. It reminds him of Keeley and how she would put golden glitter sometimes, it makes me sparkle, she’d say. Roy regrets never telling her she didn’t need it to be shine brighter than anything he’d ever seen.

“You’ll be finding it everywhere for months,” Ted quips. “One time Henry and I, we were making these Christmas cards to all our friends and family, and we decided to have this glitter fight because Henry didn’t much agree with my choice of color coordination. Now let me tell you, Michelle was right mad at the mess we made, I’m sure she’s still finding glitter all these years after.”

“I’m sure,” Trent replies easily.

Ted’s gaze narrows. Ah, so he’s noticed the glitter as well. Roy feels like swearing all of the sudden.

“You’ve still got some there,” Ted says softly.

And then. Then he brings his thumb to his mouth where his tongue comes out to meet it in a slow, almost sensual gesture, his lips all but kissing it, his eyes never leaving Trent’s.

Trent stands rooted in place, mesmerized, his own eyes wide and unblinking as he stares up at Ted. Ted who brings his thumb to the spot of glitter on Trent’s cheek and starts wiping, conscious and gentle.

Roy is also stunned, though not for the same reasons.

Slowly, he turns to Beard. Are you seeing this shit? he asks without a word. Beard gives a slight nod to confirm that he is, indeed, seeing this shit.

Why is Roy still in the room? He should have left as soon as Trent walked in, honestly he should just walk away any time he sees Ted and Trent in the same vicinity, but for some unfathomable reasons, Roy is still standing there. His attention is returned to the two men who are making his life hell with their longing and rampant sexual tension.

Ted’s hand drops away from Trent’s face.

“Thank you,” Trent whispers, his voice so low Roy barely catches it.

For fuck’s sake. Have they forgotten they aren’t alone in the room? They are lost in their own little world of two, nothing existing around them but each other’s eyes and smiles.

“Sure thing, darling,” Ted tells him, his accent undermining the rhyme.

Trent giggles.

Trent Crimm, the man who’s made many a professional footballer cry with his scathing exposés and sardonic questions, the man who Roy used to think was always so composed and assured, that Trent Crimm giggles.

Roy snaps.

He spins around, grabs Beard by the arm and drags him away from this insanity that they’ve been witnessing.

Of course, neither Ted nor Trent notice their leaving.

“We need to do something about this,” Roy declares.

“Do something about what?” Higgins asks, confused about the brusque intrusion but ready to roll with whatever dilemma his dear Diamond Dogs bring about, and fuck, Roy will never admit that he thinks of himself as a Diamond Dog or he’ll never hear the end of it.

“Ted and Trent,” Beard quips.

“Oh, alright.”

Higgins doesn’t appear to be surprised at this, but of course he wouldn’t be. Roy is sure that half of the club has noticed the tension between the gaffer and the ex-journo, and the other half is sure to follow soon.

“So you agree we need to do something,” Roy says, a tad desperate.

“Well.” Higgins pauses. “No?”

On a good day, Roy Kent has a set amount of patience which is not much admittedly, but still, he has some of it. Today has only just begun and already it hasn’t been a good one. It’s been weeks of this dancing around, these yearning looks and hopeful smiles and broken smiles that only come with assured unrequited feelings.

Roy is sick of it.

He’s sick of this hopeful tentative thing forming before him, this something of magnitude that only reminds him of how alone and stupid he feels. Because he had a something, and he threw it away, and now he stands before Jamie’s door at 4AM everyday and there’s an inkling there, a possibility he won’t let himself acknowledge.

Feelings isn’t something he knows to deal with all that well.

“It’s better not to meddle,” Beard agrees. “They’ll come to their senses at some point.”

“When though?” Roy grunts. “They keep making moon eyes at each other, and I am this close to throw them into a closet and throw away the key.”

Beard’s left eyebrow rises as he thinks it over.

“No,” Higgins says. “We shall do nothing of the sort, I’m sure they’ll act on their feelings soon.”

His expression turns from certitude to doubt.

“I hope so, at least.”

Roy swears.

So they have decided not to intervene. Great, Roy can do that.

Except that he really can’t. He’s tried it, and he can’t.

And this is what breaks him.

It’s late after a match. Richmond has lost because that’s what they’ve been doing since West Ham, even with fucking Zava on their team.

The mood is down, even Roy is too tired to be angry about the loss. He wants to go to bed and forget everything for a few blessed hours before his alarm wakes him up at 3:30, before he has to ignore his own maybe-perhaps-but-surely-not pining and the strange little thrills he gets when Jamie directs a bright smile at him.

The team trickles out, the locker room quiet and subdued, until there is no one left but Roy, as well as Ted and Trent who are sitting side by side, each on the opposite end of their bench in the little corner Trent has all but called his own.

“This is just a bad pass,” he is saying. “This is a great team you have, they will find their footing again, and you will help them get there.”

Trent’s reassurances fall on deaf ears. Ted forces a smile on his lip that’s more of a grimace than anything.

“Just gotta believe, right?”

There’s none of his usual pep in it.

After a short goodbye that’s very telling of his true state of mind, Ted is fast out of the door. Roy turns to Trent to bid him good night as well, but the words die on his lip at the wretched sight he makes.

Standing, hand frozen mid-air in an aborted motion, Trent stares, lost, in the direction Ted went in. carved onto his expressive face is a look of absolute heartbreak, of helplessness too.

This is the face of a man in love who can’t do anything about it. Roy knows this face very well, he sees it every day in the mirror.

“Why don’t you tell him?”

Trent startles out of his staring.

“Beg your pardon?”

Roy doesn’t deign answer that with a sentence, a pointed look will suffice. Trent’s face does something very complicated, several expressions flashing across it at the same time before being replaced by another myriad of unspoken feelings.

It settles on resignation. It looks oddly out of place there.

“I don’t plan on telling him.”

There’s finality in it. Trent goes to their shared office to retrieve his messenger bag as if there is nothing more to say. Really, there shouldn’t be. Roy doesn’t have to say anything to that, what he already said is more than he was planning on. It’s also very clear that Trent doesn’t want to continue this particular conversation.

They should go their separate ways and pretend this conversation never happened.

So why can’t Roy let it go?

“Let’s go for a pint,” he says.

Trent turns to look at him, his eyebrow rising in question.

“Not the Crown and Anchor,” he replies.

“Of course not, who the fuck do you take me for.”

There is a moment’s hesitation in which Roy thinks Trent will say no, and the decision whether to keep on drilling him about Ted will be made for him. But Trent surprises him once again.

“Let me call my father, tell him I’ll be late to pick up my daughter.”

They sit across each other in the booth of a small pub Roy has been going to since he was a teenager. No one cares that he’s Roy Kent here and the beer is good.

“Why are you being a knob about it?” Roy jumps straight at it. “Just tell him and put us out of our misery.”

He’s not used to see Trent look like this – defeated. For as long as he’s known him, Trent Crimm has been assured, always looking for weaknesses in others so that he could write about it. Then Roy got to know the man and not the journalist

To see him with his shoulders down and his eyes tired, it’s wrong.

“I don’t pretend that you can understand,” he says tiredly, “the unique kind of agony that is falling for a straight man.”

Roy’s mind flashes to Jamie Tartt for some bloody reason, and he hastens to bury the thought hard and deep.

“Why are you so sure he is,” Roy replies, so flat it isn’t even pretending to be a question.

He isn’t certain of it, but to him, it does look quite obvious that Ted isn’t straight. No one talks that much about rugby men’s tights without being interested in more than the sport.

“Even if he weren’t, I’d be the last person he would ever be interested in, or have you forgotten the article I wrote disclosing his panic attacks?”

Breathe, babe, you can’t forget to breathe, yeah? That’s what Keeley used to tell him, and he really is trying to breathe but Trent, with his sad, resigned eyes, isn’t making it easy. Once more, Roy wonders why he decided to step in.

Then he thinks about witnessing another bout of pathetic pining and shivers.

“Trent, I’ve never pegged you for a complete imbecile.”

“Why, thank you.”

Roy swears he can feel the white hairs growing upon his head.

“I can’t risk losing everything,” Trent continues. “I was aimless as a journalist, quitting was the best decision I’ve ever made, and being here? This is what I’ve been missing. I’m– well, I’m happy here. I’m writing about something I care about and believe in.”

“So you’re really not going to say anything?” he asks despite already knowing the answer.

“I’m not planning on confessing my misguided feelings to Ted only to be let down no. Though I suspect he would be unbearably kind about it.”

He would be so fucking nice about it. Roy can picture Ted’s big brown eyes shining with regret and apologies as he gently explains that sorry, he isn’t feeling the same way, but Trent is for sure a catch.

Not that Roy thinks that would be Ted’s reaction to a Trent Crimm confession of love.

Love. Because yes, of course Trent is in love with Ted. It’s not about fancying him for a quick shag or two. He’s thought it before but there really is no denying it now.

“Fucking hell,” Roy mutters.

“Cheers,” Trent replies and raises his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Talking to Trent solved nothing.

Roy could stop there, he tried, it didn’t work, and it’s not his fault if Trent is a pining no-brain two who refuses to see what’s right in front of him.

Still. He can’t exactly blame Trent for it.

He hadn’t thought about it before Trent mentioned falling for a straight man, but it’s true that, if those feelings weren’t reciprocated, Trent had more to lose than Ted did. It mustn’t have been easy being an out journalist, especially reporting on football.

Roy has caught glimpses of some of it, the unkind jokes, the sneering, the hateful looks.

Even then, Roy tried harder than he should have. In fact, he shouldn’t have tried at all and, hell, maybe Keeley is right and he’s got something of a soft heart beneath all his brooding and swearing.

Said heart pangs when he thinks of her still. Idly, he wonders how long it will take to stop missing her.

There is only himself to blame though, so he shoves the longing down, down with the thoughts of Jamie’s earnest smile and floppy hair, down where he can ignore it.

There is nothing to do about all that, but he can help the two pining idiots get over themselves.

It’s for his own peace of mind, nothing else.

Roy doesn’t like Ted’s flat much. It doesn’t feel like Ted at all, it’s empty and subdued and nowhere near as messy as it ought to be.

He knows Ted didn’t have a choice in the colour of the walls or the furniture, but it’s lacking in personal touches.

No matter what Roy’s feelings on it are, this is where he and Ted meet once a month to discuss club matters. At least, that’s what called Ted first called it. In reality, it’s just an excuse for Ted to have some one-on-one time with Roy and make sure that everything is going well with him at AFC Richmond.

Roy allows it because he knows that Ted blames himself for not seeing Nate’s growing resentment.

Also, Ted’s biscuits are very fucking good.

In truth, too, it’s nice. Ever since his break-up with Keeley, Roy has had more time on his time that he knows what to do with it. The early work-out sessions with Jamie have helped. They also make sure Roy is knocked out in bed by 8PM which is an added bonus.

Roy is drinking the tea he’s brought because he doesn’t trust Ted nowhere near a kettle, and Ted is enjoying a cup with so much sugar and milk it has no rights to be called coffee.

Ted’s rambling lulls, and a comfortable silence settles between the two coaches. Some would not think him capable of it, but Ted knows when to stop chattering and appreciate the quiet of a moment.

“I haven’t asked yet,” Ted says to break the silence, his tone gentle, “I think maybe because I’ve been dealing with stuff of my own – which, by the way, I’m finally addressing. But if you want to talk about Keeley with me, I’d listen.”

The urge to tell Ted to shut up, and to change the topic – maybe even straight-up leave. He doesn’t though.

Ted is his friend. Roy is never going to be one of those people who say often what they feel about the people in his life, but he isn’t emotionally stunted. He knows what they mean to him, even if it’s hard to admit it sometimes.

“There’s nothing to say. I broke up with her because I got scared.”

Ted’s eyes widen imperceptibly. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting Roy to open up quite so easily, but he’s quick to smooth his face into an open expression.

“Why were you scared then?” he asks. “It was obvious to anyone looking that you had a good thing going on with her.”

He really did. He loved her, still loves her, and yet he left her because it’s better than being left behind, and Roy has never known to enjoy something without thinking of how it’d end.

“I think because it was too good,” Roy confesses.

“It might not to be too late, you know. You really were a strong couple, and she’d listen to you if you explained the real reasons you broke things off with her. Maybe getting back together won’t be exactly like how you left things, but maybe that’s for the better, too.”

There’s something in the way that Ted says it.

Oh. He knows then, about this Jamie-and-Keeley thing.

“Huh.”

“You may have noticed,” Ted continues, “I haven’t been quite myself lately, or rather I have but not the myself I wanna be. I’ve just been lost in the parts of Ted Lasso that I don’t really like, you know? The parts I don’t like to think about. I think I got lost in it a bit, so much that I thought that was just who I was – but it ain’t. The dark parts are still there but they aren’t all of me, and I know it’s going to get better. I’m already getting better. All those dark thoughts I have, they don’t have the same power over me.”

Roy nods, pensive. He’s glad to hear Ted is doing better after these past few weeks in which he’d dragged this added shadow to his step.

They are men in sports and there’s this prevalent idea of not getting involved, not saying anything even if you see someone struggling. Let them pull themselves up, wait to see if they reach out. Roy thinks it’s all wrong.

Perhaps getting involved, offering insight even when it’s not asked for, is the way to go.

He wasn’t there to offer help when Ted was in the mist of a mental health crisis despite the warning signs. It’s possible he wouldn’t have known how to help then, but he can help him now, with this less tremendous thing.

“So what are you going to do?” Roy asks.

Ted’s eyebrows crease in slight confusion, “What about? The team or life in general?”

“About Trent.”

An expression of absolute bafflement falls upon Ted’s face. It battles with a mix of awe and worry also, a strange combination that should only work for a man as full of contradictions as Ted Lasso.

“What about Trent?” Ted aims for composed and fails miserably.

“You like him.”

“I mean, yes of course I like Trent Crimm, Independent! Who doesn’t? You like him, too, Waterloo, I’ve seen the two of you have several civil conversations. You’re not fooling me.”

Roy’s skin crawls. Having heart to heart isn’t his forte, but he’s started this and he will see it finished.

“Look, perhaps you’ve played for the same team your entire life and you never thought about playing for another team. Hell, I know I haven’t, but now I’m wondering and there’s no shame in that. Perhaps for you this isn’t the first time you’ve wondered, maybe you’ve even played that game before, I don’t fucking know.”

“No, I haven’t,” Ted confesses. “I’ve had moments where I thought– but no, I’ve never done anything about it.”

“Right, well. Maybe you weren’t ready or they weren’t the right team for you.” He pauses then swears. “Fuck, I can’t tell you what to do or feel, I’m just saying you should think about it.”

Ted’s eyes falls to his latte.

Silence stretches again between them, not as easy-going as it was earlier but not suffocating, not pressing. The both of them have some introspection to do.

Roy eats another biscuit, chewing with a bit more force than necessary.

“Sport,” Ted drawls. “What a metaphor.”

The week that follows their conversation, Roy finds Ted quieter than usual though lighter also.

Often now, Roy bears witness to Ted’s silent musing, gaze targeted on Trent who appears wary about this new development.

Trent in return shoots Roy suspicious glances that Roy simply ignores.

The ball is in their court.

It comes to no surprise that Roy, unwilling witness as he is, should be faced with its resolution.

It happens during lunch break. Most of the team is at the cafeteria, including Beard. Roy has finished his meal quickly because to review a few tactics before they are set off to start working again.

Of fucking course, Ted and Trent are in the office, standing close and talking softly.

Roy is ready to turn around and make his exit, yet he’s stopped in his tracks.

Something is happening there.

He could go and leave them to it, but there’s also a part of him that wants to make sure they aren’t being idiots again. So, silent and unnoticed, he walks closer to listen in.

“So there you have it,” Ted is saying. “I think I’ve liked you for a long time but I was too blind to see it. You know what they say about having it right in front of you. But I want to make clear that I don’t expect anything from you, alright? I’m just telling you because I believe in honesty, honesty with yourself and with the people that matter to you. I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t ever keep to myself how I value others.”

“Ted,” Trent sighs and he sounds oh so very besotted. “I’m afraid you’re still blind. I’ve destroyed my decade-long journalism career because it forced me into a position to hurt you. I’m here at Richmond not to write about the club, but to write about you. Ted. Of course I have feelings for you. Don’t be daft.”

Roy can see enough into the room to see the beaming smile of one Ted Lasso and the adoring shine of one Trent Crimm’s eyes.

He’s seen enough, more than enough in fact.

But now, at least, his nightmare has ended, and he won’t have to suffer their pining and flirting any more.

Still quiet, Roy goes away before they can spot him.

As he makes his way back to the cafeteria, Roy ponders about the merits of being brave and facing one’s fears. It may be time to follow his own advice.

There’s this new recipe he wanted to try and make – if he had some guests, it could be the excuse he needed to make it.

Roy arrives at Richmond AFC feeling lighter than he had in weeks. The team is still losing, but his training with Jamie is going great and he has no doubt the prick will outclass Zava soon enough.

More than that, Roy has reached out to Keeley and together and with Jamie too, they are heading somewhere with this something between them. It’s tentative, uncertain, but it’s hopeful.

There’s something to be said about trying, about staying and enjoying it while it lasts because perhaps, if they’re lucky, this thing will last for a long time.

Roy walks into the coaches’ office lost in thoughts.

His musing is soon crushed though as he finds himself staring in horror at Ted tucking Trent’s hair behind his ear, the both of them gazing openly and lovingly at each other.

No.

This was supposed to get better. They were supposed to stop with the lovey-dovey shit.

Oh, fuck.

By helping them get together, Roy has made it worse – out with the pining, and in with the blatant adoration.

“Fucking hell you two,” Roy swears, already turning around. “Get a room.”

“We are in a room,” Trent points you, “you walked in there.”

Roy doesn’t answer, but he does give them the middle finger.

Good thing that he has his back turned to them, he couldn’t let them know that he’s fighting a smile.

#tedtrent #tedependent #tedtrent fic #ted lasso #roy kent #trent crimm #my writing #this is so messy but also i enjoyed writing it so there you have it #please if you read it and you like it do consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging this post #literally i need feedback to live lol #also i haven't posted in a while and i'm like?? so nervous about this for some reason???

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months

Text

Thunderstorm

Media Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet

Kinda ASMR a little bit

I had attempted to sleep for the last few hours but sleep was not on the cards for tonight.

Not if the darkness remained in the sky, if the clouds dwelled low, if the rain persisted to stream, if the thunder grumbled on and the strikes still struck the land with such brutality.

The other nurses were fast asleep, the storm was not a hindrance to them.

But it brought so many horrid memories for me.

I had clambered from my bed in the utter darkness past many others nevertheless sleeping, and went to the small window attempting to see an end to the storm but there was no such end in sight.

Solely darkness, solely fear, solely the harsh sounds and looming threat.

I pulled myself from the window and shut the curtain, I slowly sauntered across the frigid stone floor of the hospital, my nightie seemed to glide with me as I walked.

I took a candle from the side and held it in my hand as I walked through the muted hospital, the few who were here were asleep in their beds, the patients resting, and any staff still awake quiet in the darkness and the violence of the storm that had stolen our power.

I did my best not to pass anyone as I knew slowly walking through the dark haunting passages of the hospital with a nightgown candle in hand would make me appear otherworldly.

I reached the lobby and saw the rain pummeling the doors open of course if needed but the streets were empty the whole port sealed in their homes.

"Y/n..." Her voice lingered in my memories

But I kept walking I turned taking a few steps on the stairwell, all that lit the hospital was my small candle as I slowly moved

"Y/n sweetheart come out!" She called to me echoing on the raindrops and thunder rumbles, the sudden flashes from lightning enough to freeze my body, my candle quavering from my unstable grip.

I continued up the stairs for a moment I felt small, my candle taller, my footsteps tinier as if in the flickers of the lightning flashes I went from now to my body that night, But I kept walking reaching the second floor, I ran my hand across the bannister as I always did doing my best not to be fearful as the sounds only grew more vociferous and more frequent.

The storm was getting closer, more fierce.

I jumped as I heard the thunder crack through the sky like the earth itself was opening to swallow us up.

I began to run the rest of the way until I found myself at the dark wooden door.

For a moment I was utterly frozen unable to even consider what I was doing but my fear outweighed everything else.

And I tapped on the door three times.

"It's open." He called from within,

I forced the door open and slowly stepped inside seeing the little room for the young doctor, the windows shut up tight but the shadow of the rain fell across the room so much I could barely see him as he lay in his bed.

He moved a little to look at me better moving his sheets and looking down at me "Y/n?"

"Hello, Dr Dawkins."

"What are you doing here?"

"The storm... It uhhh..." I began having to sniffle my nose and wipe away a tear,

he didn't speak, he merely moved over a little and spread his sheets invitingly, and for the first time since the rain began, I smiled. I slowly went over and set my candle on his bedside table before I climbed in with him leaving my head on one side of his pillow, as he had the other our noses just touching, he pulled the covers over me so I could be nice and cosy,

"Hello Y/n,"

"Hello, Jack,"

"You scared me a little, thought some little ghost girl was coming to haunt me."

"Do I look that much like a ghost?"

"Wondering the corridors by candlelight in your nightie... yes. you do."

"I'm sorry-"

"It's fine. Maybe you scared some of them straight down there" he chuckled "I take it you want to stay? like you do every storm?"

"If it's not too much trouble?"

"Of course not, I was missing my little storm snuggle" He joked "Come here" he offered his arms

"You sure?"

"Come on."

I smiled and moved closer and he left me to settle my head on his chest, my arm over his stomach, his hand moved around me the other gently and softly playing with the loose hair at the end of my braid. For a while, we merely lay together, his delicate cotton sheets around us, his warm body around me, the only sound our peaceful breaths, the rain striking the window, and the periodic thunder or spark of sparkling lightning.

Many of which made me jump but Jack would hold me a little tighter seconds before like he knew when the thunder was coming and prepared me for it, if any time I jumped, squealed, or began to let tears slip he would kiss the top of my head and whisper sweet things to me.

"It's okay. Your okay. You're safe here with me. I won't let anything happen to you" He whispered barely even audible

The Thunder rumbled so loud and so intense it shook the hospital around us.

I wanted to scream but all I could manage from fear was a panicked whine tears flooding down my face and I gripped him tightly

"shhh shhh shhh... it's okay." He told me kissing my head "It's almost over. It's almost over."

"How do you know that?" I asked as his hand came picking up the sheet to wipe my tears

"Because I have seen enough storms to know."

"How many storms have you seen?"

"Ohh god. Too many to count." he said "I lived in London. you know that right? london has this dense viscous fog that rolls on the wind, so thick you can barely see the hand in front of your face, only interrupted by the rain, grey clouds that stretch on for miles with no break, no rest for a moment, just rain, you barely see light some months, just this grey with a damp rain tumbling on you." he explained "And then I was a sailor. Storms at sea are worse because you are fighting mother nature herself, and she's pissed. Everything is thrown at you and the ship wants to work with the waves, but the ship can't go with the waves... or all of us aboard will die. it wants to ride the storm a simple gust can turn you up and around in your bed, a little rain makes the deck un-walkable, the rain so fast and cold it feels like needles in your skin, you don't know if is raining or you drowning, the dark clouds leave it so dark at sea without another light for miles you're left to face the storm and all its terrors blind, hoping to god that scream wasn't your friend flying overboard, and praying something doesn't come loose and send you plummeting into the dark freezing water." he explained in a gentle tone and he glanced down at me noticing my face "... that doesn't make you feel better does it?"

I simply shook my head

"Sorry y/n. I didn't mean to scare you"

"It's okay... it is kinda comforting." I smiled nuzzling a little closer

"Really?"

"It is. I like hearing you talk." I smiled "And it does make me feel safe. if you could do that... then you can keep me safe"

"Of course, I can keep you safe darling, I will fight the storm away if that will help you sleep" he whispered

"Thank you, Jack." I smiled pressing a little kiss on his chest

"Why are you so scared of storms?" He asks

"Y/n..." I forced her from my mind

"My mother," I answered

"What happened to her?"

"It was storming... she so loved storms. So rare for her, she went out one night in the storm dancing in the rain, and she begged me to come out and dance with her." I explained "By the time I got to the porch... I saw her dancing, she was so beautiful but I only saw her a moment before this huge flash, this sound loud enough to shatter the earth. And she was gone."

"Gone?"

"Lightning stuck her. What I saw was left of her... could barely be called a person let alone my mother." I explained, "Ever since... whenever a storm is over, I heard her calling out to me, I heard her calling me to dance in the rain like the storm wants me to..."

"I'm so sorry y/n." he said "I promise you the storm doesn't want you, it might feel like that sometimes but the storm doesn't want you, it's just passing though, I promise you nothing bad is going to happen to you, not while you're here with me. Just stay here with me till the storm passes."

"And if it never passes?" I whispered a tear running down my cheek

he smiled picking my chin up to see him and he kissed away my tears "Then I'll keep you safe, and protect you, forever." He smiled pressing a soft kiss to my lips "Just stay here in my arms where you're safe darling, I'll take care of you." He reassured

"Thank you Jack" I smiled squeezing him tightly

"You're welcome, come on try and get some sleep."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Okay... just get cosy on me, shut your eyes and just listen." He said almost whispering into my hair "Listen to the little taps of the raindrops, how each raindrop sounds a little different, see if you can tell how far away a drop lands just from the sound" He muttered his hand resting on my hip his fingertips gently tapping along with the sounds of raindrops "Listen to how the drops on the glass aren't the same as the drops on the roof, like different instruments playing the same tune, listen to how the wind rolls on through the trees and stone walls and scurries around the little street corners, listen to my breathing feel the slow gentle breaths, I'll match my breathing with you okay, we'll sync up" he smiled "You breath... very fast. remind me to look into that tomorrow. or is it just you're scared?"

"A little of both"

"Okay, just listen to the sound of my voice" he cooed kissing my head "Is it soothing..."

"Yes Jack your very soothing"

"Feel the soft covers, feel my skin, and just relax, nothing can hurt you. So just drift away somewhere magical" he muttered

"I'm already somewhere magical"

"Alright, just relax and be here with me in this moment. Okay darling?"

"Umm humm" I nodded as I began to drift away

"No ones gonna hurt my darling, I swear. and if she gets any bad dreams, I shall kiss them away." He cooed

“Thank you jack, goodnight”

“Goodnight y/n.”

#tbs #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagines #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #the artful dodger #jackdawkins

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