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burntheedges · 20 hours

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Maintenance Request Chapter 21

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 3.5k

chapter summary: back to work! and where is it that Joel works, exactly? 🤔

a/n: well, y'all, this is chapter 21 of 23. there are two more chapters and an epilogue, which will be posted on 5/24. so Maintenance Request will be fully posted this month. I can barely believe it. I'm feeling emotional about it so I might do some sort of fun ask thing as we get closer to the end. thank you all for reading. 🧡 and thank you as always to @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta 💕

chapter tags/warnings: flirting, kissing, lingerie mention, bra and chest mention, cursing, pet names (darlin’, baby, honey, cowboy, sweetheart, good girl, gorgeous), smut: groping, teasing, semi-public sex, desk sex, p-in-v sex, dirty talk, cuddling

Chapter 21

Friday, November 22 Thirteenth week of the semester

In the week after your successful brunch with Ellie, you felt lighter than air as you walked around campus. You knew you were smiling a lot, more than normal. You even smiled at Trevor once and he looked so taken aback and panicked that you almost laughed.

On Friday, you were meant to meet up and go to dinner after work, but Joel texted you that he was running behind just as you were packing up your bag. You decided to go find him at his office, which you still had never been to. You knew what building it was in, of course, but that was it.

As you walked across campus to the maintenance and grounds office, you realized that you still didn’t know what Joel’s role was, exactly. Or his title. You’d been assuming he was on the maintenance crew, but now that you really thought about it, that didn’t make sense. He was out and about too much and you’d seen him working with too many different teams of people.

Maybe he was actually with landscaping? But then why would he take maintenance requests?

You puzzled over it as you turned the corner and the small quad in front of the building with his office came into view. It was a nice green space tucked away in a corner of campus you rarely visited, since most of the buildings were administrative. Glancing around, you wondered why you’d never bothered to look up his role. Maybe it had just seemed straightforward until you tried to figure out what his actual title might be, just now.

As you entered and looked around the office, you noticed their front desk admin had already gone home for the weekend. You shrugged, and started to walk down the hallway of offices, figuring you’d find the one with his name on it eventually.

You passed the first few, brows furrowed, looking for his name and not finding it. You started to wander further down the hall to where you assumed the bosses’ offices would be. Maybe you passed it?

And then you saw it. The last office, in the corner – the one you figured would have a nice view of the small quad outside. And there was Joel’s name on the door.

Joel Miller, Director Construction, Facilities, Landscaping Landscape Architect

Your jaw dropped open. Director?

He was the boss? Of the entire department?!

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, mouth open, staring at the door, when suddenly it opened. Joel wasn’t looking up as he came through it – he had his eyes on his phone and his bag on his shoulder.

“Joel!” You almost shouted his name, too shocked to do anything else. He startled, eyes flying up to catch yours.

“Shit!” He shook his head. “Baby, I had no idea you were here.” He dropped his bag and pressed a hand to his chest. “Shit,” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “Where’d you come from?”

You ignored the question, too aghast at your discovery. “Joel Miller, are you the freaking boss?”

He blinked, looking taken aback. “Ah, yes, darlin’. I am.” He slipped his phone in his pocket and sort of gestured towards the nameplate on his door as he smiled at you, obviously confused.

“Joel!”

“... darlin’?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You felt like your mind was spinning and you couldn’t keep up, totally overwhelmed by this new information. “I thought you were, like, a maintenance guy!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I honestly thought you’d guessed, I suppose.”

“No!” He started to look a little worried and you realized maybe you were overreacting. You reached out to take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. The touch grounded you and you squeezed his hand. “Joel! I had no idea.”

He laughed. “Well, at first, I suppose I didn’t want you to be even more angry with me. You kept sayin’ I wasn’t the boss, so you couldn’t blame me for all the problems I was causin’ you.”

You groaned and leaned forward to rest your forehead on his shoulder. “I was so terrible.”

“Nah, baby, you were rightfully annoyed. And I didn’t want to admit I was in charge of the construction schedule. Or that I’d ordered the flowers.”

That last point startled you, and you laughed as you leaned back to look at him. “Oh, Joel, I’m sorry. They were pretty, though. Even if they made me sneeze.”

He shook his head. “Won’t be putting in any more of those.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t plan the landscaping for the entire university around my allergies.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Oh? I am the boss, you know. I can do what I like.”

You laughed again, but then stopped when something struck you and you tugged on his hand. “Joel, did you make your employees change out the flower beds around my building?!”

He smirked at you. “Nah, darlin’, I did that myself. Didn’t take too long.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You did all of that work? By yourself?”

“I wasn’t about to make my staff do it. Felt like askin’ ‘em to help me with something that wasn’t their job.”

You sighed, and smiled at him as another thought occurred to you. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, Mr. Director, speaking of things that aren’t your job, what were you doing taking maintenance requests, anyway?”

He grinned, a little sheepish again. “Well, I was filling in while we were short handed. Don’t usually do ‘em. Or leave my office so much. But I saw your name on the request, and, well.” He hesitated, and then nodded. “I was already leavin’ the office more, hoverin’ around our different work sites, on the off chance I’d run into you again. Was drivin’ the crew a little crazy, to be honest.”

You laughed, astonished. “You were?”

He nodded. “They were already givin' me grief for being around so much. ‘Don’t you have paperwork to do,’ and so on.” He laughed and lifted his free hand to trace his fingerstips down your arm. “When they saw you kiss me that day a few of ‘em put it together, why I was always around. When that maintenance request came through, it was right when I was beatin’ myself up and worryin’ I’d never get another chance to talk to you. Felt like fate.”

You smiled, charmed. “Maybe it was.” You looked at him, and then at his name on the door, and smirked. You dropped his hand and rested both of your palms on his chest. “You know, Mr. Director,” you started, pushing him and his bag backwards into his office and letting the door close behind you. “We haven’t christened your office yet.”

Joel grinned as he let himself be pushed, looking surprised and delighted. “No, honey, I don’t suppose we have.”

You took a moment to look around his office and you noticed he did, in fact, have a nice view of the quad. You felt his eyes on you as you walked over and shut the blinds. With the overhead lights off the room was suddenly darker, cast in soft shadows.

When you turned back and grinned at him he was already looking at you, eyes intent. “So, Mr. Director. Tell me. Any office fantasies I should know about?”

A slow smile crept over Joel’s face, and you felt your cheeks heat as it turned into something wicked. “Well, baby, I have to admit I have pictured you in here a time or two. In a couple daydreams.”

You bit your lip as you walked towards him and he reached out to grasp your hips to pull you closer. “Oh? And what was I doing in these dreams?”

He leaned in and pressed his smile to your cheek in a kiss. His voice was deep and gravelly as he murmured, “lettin’ me bend you over this desk. Sittin’ on my lap on the couch. Lying down across the desk and letting me get my mouth on your pussy. Will you let me do that, gorgeous?”

You shivered and nodded.You felt heat climbing up your spine as his words inspired images in your mind. “Which one, Joel?” You had no idea where to start.

Joel grinned as he leaned back to catch your eye again. “C’mere, baby.” He pulled you into a searing kiss that stole your breath and drove away whatever thoughts you’d been about to have. You were pretty sure by this point that you were never going to get used to the way this man kissed you.

As he moved his lips against yours, his hands slid down your back and crept under your shirt. You smiled and lifted your arms when prompted so he could pull it off. “Hmm, well, isn’t this pretty?” You followed his gaze down to your chest and the lacy bra that had caught his eye.

“Well, we did have a date planned. I know how much you like it.”

“I do like it, honey,” he confirmed as he thumbed over your nipple through the lace. You hummed. “And it’s even better when I know you’ve got it on but I’m the only one who gets to see it.”

Suddenly he wrapped his arms around you and spun you around so that you were leaning against the desk. “Take a seat, baby.” As you did, he gently freed your breasts from the lacy cups of your bra, licking over his bottom lip in concentration. “You are so goddamn gorgeous. Should just keep you right here, just like this. Would be great motivation for me, you know.”

You laughed when he winked at you. “Joel, I feel like that would be the opposite of motivation to get your work done.”

He pressed his smile against your own in a sweet kiss. “But then I could do this whenever I want.” He pulled you into a deeper kiss and thumbed your pants open at the same time.

You broke away and sucked in a breath as he tugged your pants down. Soon you were almost naked while he stood fully clothed in front of you, eyes dark. Something about the contrast made your heart start to pound.

“Well, Director Miller. Bend me over this desk.”

Joel let out a sound that sounded almost like a growl and stepped forward to grasp your hips again. He pulled you from the desk and flipped you around, pressing up against you from behind. You could feel his hard cock in his pants.

“Just like this, baby.” He pressed a line of kisses down your neck and you fell forward onto your elbows. “Shit, yeah, just like that.” He snaked his right hand down your side and over your ass until he could slip it between your legs to cup your pussy firmly from behind. “Honey, you are soakin’.”

You huffed a laugh. “You said you were going to take me over this desk, Joel, what did you expect?”

He bit your shoulder lightly. “You are so sexy, baby. Can’t wait to slip inside you.” Keeping his hand in place, Joel pushed forward and curled his middle finger until it rested against your entrance. You gasped. “You always feel so good.”

Joel kept pushing forward with his finger until it slipped inside you and you moaned, maybe too loudly. But everyone else was already gone for the day. He pressed kisses down your spine and you could feel that he was grinning.

“More, Joel–” you breathed. “Fuck me, cowboy.”

His hips stuttered against your own and he swore, lowly. “Yeah? Was gonna warm you up, sweetheart.”

You shook your head. “Already warmed up. Want you inside me.”

He nodded and reached down to quickly undo his pants. You felt his cock slip free and slide against your ass. You wiggled your hips and spread your legs wider in front of him.

He groaned. “Fuck do you look good like this.” He trailed his fingertips down your back and you shivered again. He slid his cock between your legs and you dropped your head to rest on your forearm, suddenly out of breath.

“Please–” you started to urge him forward, but he was already moving.

“That’s my good fucking girl.” He was breathing hard, too. You felt the head of his cock enter you and gasped. The angle was perfect. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you up, slowly, gently, relentlessly. “Takin’ it just like I asked. Shit, honey.”

Soon his hips came to rest against your ass and you both took a deep breath.

“Ok, baby?” he asked, sounding winded.

You nodded and smiled to yourself, knowing the effect your words would have on him. “I said take me, cowboy.”

He moaned again, and then he did.

You felt his right hand slide up your spine and find a home cupped around the back of your neck, pressing you down onto the desk. His left had a firm grip on your hip and you bit your lip as you imagined the hand-shaped bruise you’d likely have as a souvenir. “Stay right here, baby, just like that. So fucking gorgeous like this. Goddamn.”

Joel pulled out and slammed forward again, driving your breath out of your lungs. You watched a couple of pens rattle and roll off his desk. “Fuck.” He whispered as he did it again, and again, and again.

The rhythm he set was vicious. You found yourself clutching the far edge of the desk for leverage as he pounded into you, right on the spot that felt amazing. You tried to push back with your hips to meet him but it was so much, he was moving so hard and fast. You relaxed in his hold and let him sweep you away.

“This is better than anything I ever imagined, baby. Fuck. You look so fucking good over my desk.” He squeezed your hip on his next downstroke and you whimpered. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight, honey. Fucking love this cunt.” Your breath hitched. “Don’t know how’m gonna get any work done in here. Gonna close my eyes and see this perfect ass, feel this perfect fucking cunt, every fucking time I sit at my desk.” He pulled his hand from your neck and you made a noise in protest, but he soothed it down your back. With a firm grip he used both hands to tug your hips up and back towards him and the new angle made your arms shake.

He leaned forward, almost lying against your back, and murmured in your ear. “Can we do this every day, honey? I’ll ask real nice.” He nipped at your neck and you sighed. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggled, but it turned into a moan as he snapped his hips forward again.

“Y’know–” your breath hitched. “We’d get caught, Joel.”

He nodded. “I know, but a man can dream, can’t he?”

You could feel it building inside of you and you weren’t surprised when his left hand began to snake forward around your hip to find your clit. Joel could read you like a book, especially when you were about to come.

“And fuck, baby, if this isn’t better than anything I could have dreamed up for myself. Daydreams ain’t got nothin’ on you, gorgeous.”

He began to circle your clit in the same rhythm of his hips and you closed your eyes. You were so fucking close.

“Joel–”

“That’s right,” he pressed open mouth kisses across your shoulder. “Give it to me, honey. Let me have it.” He bit down lightly on your shoulder and you shivered, again. “Be my good girl and come.”

His hips kept up their devastating pace and suddenly you were there, you were falling over the edge with only Joel’s arms to hold you up.

You cried out, and he belatedly covered your mouth with his free hand. “Shhh, sweetheart. Fuck.” hips sped up as you squeezed his cock. “M’gonna–”

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder hard as his hips snapped forward one more time. He came with a devastating low moan of your name. You felt his muscles relax against your back and closed your eyes, overwhelmed.

You crept back to awareness and the realization that Joel was almost smothering you on top of his desk.

“Joel–” your voice was mildly strangled and he suddenly stood, almost too fast. His cock tugged backwards slightly and you winced. “Careful–”

He sighed. “Shit, sorry sweetheart. Let me–” he slid out of you slowly and you squeezed your legs together to keep his cum inside of you. “C’mere.” He pulled you up gently until you were leaning back against him and guided you to the couch you only just now realized was behind you.

You followed as he pulled you down, and soon enough you found yourself tucked against his side with his arm around your shoulders, lying down and entangled on the couch. You snuggled into him and felt him press several gentle kisses along your hairline.

“That was so fucking perfect, baby,” he whispered against your hair. “Shit. So much better than I ever imagined.” He tightened his arms around you and you sank into his embrace.

After a few minutes of just breathing together, though, you felt your curiosity return.

“So, Mr. Director.” He snorted and you grinned at the way you could feel it in his chest. “How’d you end up in this job?” You trailed your fingers down his naked chest and smiled when he made a contented noise in response.

“Well, I can’t remember if I told you before that it’s all Tess’ fault. We met about 15 years ago, and it didn’t take long for her to start pestering me about getting a degree. You’re too smart, Joel, you should go to school. Look at your work, it’s too good.” You laughed at his imitation, knowing it didn’t really sound much like her. “And she knew I wasn’t satisfied with just construction.” He sighed. “So anyway, she pestered me into community college and then roped Frank and Tommy into helpin’ me get through the whole degree while takin’ care of Sarah. The business took off sometime in there, so Tommy got himself together a bit to take that over.”

You leaned back and smiled up at him. “I’m glad. You are really smart, you know.”

He blushed. “Well, I started lookin’ for more steady work after I finished school, so I could be around more for Sarah. And I didn’t start out as the director, I started out with the grounds crew. But since I also knew about construction and a bit of maintenance, well, I moved up. Turns out havin’ experience with construction and contracting, and the degree and schoolin’ in landscape architecture, well. It’s almost the ideal combination for managing this office of lunatics.”

You laughed. “That makes sense. You have the practical skills and the knowledge to back it up.”

Joel nodded. “Anyway. I’ve been here about 6 or 7 years. Know my crew pretty well. But I was surprised I’d never seen you before, last summer. Would’ve noticed for sure.” He ran a hand up and down your forearm that was resting on his chest.

“Well, it’s only my second year here. I feel like I would’ve noticed you, too.” You slid your hand up to cup his cheek and smiled when he turned into it to press a soft kiss to your palm. “I’m glad we found each other anyway.”

He pulled you closer into his arms and kissed your forehead. “Me too, honey. You got no idea how much.”

…

you (5:47 PM): you will never guess what I just learned

bestie (5:49 PM): what

you (5:50 PM): Joel is the DIRECTOR (5:51 PM): OF HIS DEPARTMENT

bestie (5:52 PM): …yes (5:52 PM): babe (5:53 PM): did you seriously not know that

you (5:54 PM): Beth!! (5:54 PM): why did you know that?

bestie (5:55 PM): I googled him (5:55 PM): like, 3 months ago (5:56 PM): you didn’t??

you (5:57 PM): um 🫣

bestie (5:58 PM): ??? what is wrong with you (5:59 PM): you didn’t look him up like the second you learned his name??

you (5:51 PM): I knew he worked here! I don’t know how the grounds department works

bestie (5:52 PM): oh my god (5:53 PM): you are ridiculous

you (5:55 PM): shut up (5:55 PM): why didn’t you tell me??

bestie (5:57 PM): it never occurred to me for even a second that you didn’t google him yourself (5:58 PM): I threatened to go to his office!! Because I knew where it was!

you (6:00 PM): ok forget it

bestie (6:01 PM): no way (6:02 PM): I’m not anywhere near done making fun of you for this yet

you (6:05 PM): 🙄

...

a/n: the truth is out! Joel is the big boss! 😂 I know some of you guessed it but I hope the reveal was fun lol

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #x reader #maintenance request fic #JHCGBDM

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yeeterthek33per · 9 months

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It's Only Up From Here (Steph Catley x Caitlin Foord x Reader)

A/n id just like to say, poor Cait man, girl's got a goose egg and for what? The ref to play blind person when she gets fouled again?

You'll bounce back part 4, have fun!

Sorry y'all, I'm still salty. At least she got a free hat, though... right?

Also, 18+ (teeny bit)

You'd all played your hearts out. It wasn't supposed to end this way. Everything just slipped away way too quickly.

One goal from Asllani was enough to drop the shoulders of the most energetic people on the field. Some of the team still had a fire going, but in the end, nobody could convert anything.

Sam ended up worse off than when she started, and the stubborn idiot begged Tony to keep her on. She couldn't jump to meet headers where she needed to, and no crosses were where any of you needed to send them.

The weight of the game was certainly a massive lot, but in the end, all you could feel was disbelief but also relief. Relief, the whole thing was finally over. Relief that you could go back to your club and just play without so much stress.

Plus, you only had your transfer to worry about now. Luckily enough, Arsenal quickly accepted your manager's ask to join the club.

As much as you loved playing in sweden with your family, you loved your girls and wanted to move in with them, and this was the next big step for the three of you.

Still, the weight of the loss would bare down on you all for months to come, if not the years until the next world cup began, and even then, would you still succeed like you did?

Would the country still love you all enough to support you, then?

Would you even make the team? You know you're only twenty-seven, but still, you never know.

The crowd applauds you as you move around the field. Everything just feels like it's on a flow at this point. Nothing's really registering. You thank the fans, and give away your shirt and boots to the crowd.

Walking around in shorts and a sports bra, taking photos with fans, signing gear, everything just goes in one swift motion.

Steph just looks purely exhausted as she walks around the field. Tear stained face since she can no longer fight them, the battle for the cup finally over for you all.

Caitlin just looks blank, eyes empty as she gives away her boots and shakes hands with the swedes.

You hug Magda, congratulating her on the win as she consoles you for the loss. Having known each other briefly at Chelsea, where you spent about a six month stint on loan, playing in the midfield.

You tell her to say hi to Pernille for you, and you part ways, walking over to where your team is gathering for the circle. You all watch the swedish team receive their medals, celebrating the third place win for the fourth time.

Sam is sitting on the bench, away from the group, but still aplauding the effort.

You meet her eye, and all you can see is the disappointment and what is most likely building frustration at tweaking her calf again.

You knew she didn't blame Magda for it. It was a rough game, and tensions were high, and there was no way it was intentional.

You get up from your position on the grass to go to her, slipping into the seat beside her, arm around her shoulders.

You don't say anything. There isn't really anything you can console your best friend and captain with at this point.

She just leans into you until it's time to go to back into the locker room with one final wave and the last of media duties.

--------------

Steph and Caitlin are both pretty much going through the motions by the end of the night. You know they're hurting, and everything just feels so tense.

By the end of team dinner, they're both silent, and you can only give them small back rubs and smiles to encourage them a bit as you all process the loss. The others are slowly back to conversing normally. Some are still barely processing.

Mini is sat by Kyra and Charlie, the three doing their best to keep a happy face for Harper, to which you do wander over eventually, giving the girl a small tickle and kiss on the cheek.

You hug Mini from behind the couch she's sitting on, pressing a small kiss to her cheek as well, and pat Charlie and Kyra on the shoulders as you pull away.

You head up towards your room, wanting to call it an early night. Normally, you'd go to Caitlin and Steph's room, but Steph stayed behind with the girls, and Caitlin looked like she wanted to be alone for the night.

However, you're proven wrong when a hand grabs yours to walk you back to her room.

The moment you're in the door, her face is buried in your neck, and her hands slip under the back of your hoodie, holding you tight to her.

Your arms slip under hers, wrapping up around her shoulders, and you bury your nose into her left.

"Hey, pretty girl."

She just grunts into your neck.

You pull her away enough to have a look at her face. The bandage is still over her brow, but it's looking like a massive goose egg now and starting to bruise over her eye.

You let your hand brush her hair back.

"How's your head feel?"

"Meh, it's fine. They want me on the usual concussion watch. Hurts a little, but it's not that bad."

You smile softly, but it feels more like a grimace, so you lean up and press a light kiss to the bandage.

"Man, they were really going in on you tonight, weren't they? They should have let Mini and me fight Asllani earlier."

She cracks a smile at that

"No fighting, babe, we don't need more black eyes."

You raise a brow at her.

"You're the one telling me that?"

She chuckles a little.

"Also, you're assuming we'd lose." You playfully pout.

She pulls you down onto her lap as she steps back towards the bed.

"Pft, I know damn well you'd sit her on her ass. That doesn't mean you need to, though. I also didn't mention who would get a black eye in that scenario."

You giggle and lean down, careful not to bump her head and kiss her softly. Her hands slip up underneath the back of your t-shirt, and you sigh when she caresses your lower back.

One of her hands trails down and slips underneath the waistband of your sports sweats and gently squeezes your ass.

You huff against her, smacking her arm lightly as she gets a cheeky smirk on her face the moment you pull away.

"What? Not even one for the shiner?"

You chuckle, poking her in the sternum.

"No baby, besides, no strenuous activity on concussion watch."

"Who said I was the one cumming later?"

She wiggles her eyebrows but winces slightly after. You just shake your head lightly.

"My point exactly, you won't stop at just one. Also, stop moving your brows. You know it doesn't help."

Caitlin just looks up at you again with a mischievous twinkle.

"Kiss me better?"

You roll your eyes at her, but lean down to take her lips with your own anyway.

Her hands move from under your shirt at the back to the front, scratching gently down your stomach. You shiver but stand your ground, keeping the kiss light.

You know you're a gonner the moment she runs her tongue along your bottom lip.

You both pull away for a second, and her lips trail down your throat and your eyes close at the contact. Her teeth nip at your collarbone, and your hands settle on her shoulders as hers slip further up your shirt and under your sports bra.

"Jesus, baby, if we get caught again, this one's on you." You're panting along side the words.

Your hips rock softly against her, and the smug look in her eyes tells you she really doesn't care about being caught.

She tugs at your shirt and pulls it over your head, letting her hand dip below your pants waistband. Her head dips lower to press kisses across the top of your chest, just above the elastic.

Right as her fingertips slip below the band of your sports boxers, the door opens behind you both, making you jump slightly.

Caitlin quickly tosses you beneath her, shielding you from view with a small curse.

When you both realise it's only Steph, you relax.

"Hey, sweetheart."

She raises a brow at the two of you, shutting the door behind her. You stand up to meet her with a small peck to the lips, but her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes.

"Hey, pretty girl."

Your hands rub her arms softly, a small frown taking your features as you watch her. She's exhausted and looks just about torn down completely.

"How you feeling?"

"Still just kind of processing, same as the others, though."

A small sigh leaves her lips as she leaves one last peck to yours before stepping past you to see Caitlin.

She kisses the striker softly, murmuring asking about her head.

"Doing fine, babe, usual concussion watch. She's pretty, though, ain't she?"

Steph chuckles softly at her and presses a kiss to the bandage as well, and plops down onto the bed face down.

You and Caitlin exchange looks, and you urge Steph up the bed, but she just grumbles softly, legs still hanging over the edge.

"Baby, C'mon, you gotta move, or it's really gonna hurt tomorrow."

She says something, but it's just muffled as she's buried face first into the bed.

Caitlin sighs, brushing Steph's hair to the side as she turns her head.

"It's gonna hurt anyways." It's said a soft whine, but you know what she means when she says it.

You sit on the other side of her and rub her back gently.

"I know, baby, but you have to at least give yourself a decent night's rest, okay?"

She grunts, shuffling up the bed but doesn't move from her face-down splat position.

A loving half smile encompasses Caitlin's lips, and she scoots along the bed to sit up against the headrest, lifting Steph's arm to rest over her legs, and she rubs it gently.

You do the same, knowing you have to stay up to make sure Caitlin can complete her concussion checks every few hours, setting your phone alarm to wake you up if you drift off, knowing you can turn the alarm off beforehand if you're still awake.

Steph squeezes both your thighs softly, but does manage to turn onto her side to rest her head on your lap, arm draped over your legs.

Caitlin shoves a pillow behind her head and quickly drifts off, and you lean her slightly more inwards to not let her fall off the bed.

Your hand combs through Steph's hair, scratching lightly at her scalp as you scroll through your phone.

Various messages of encouragement, and others saying thanks. Thank you to the Matildas. Thank you to the family you're a part of. Describing your team's efforts as heroic and forever in commemoration as they dedicate their cheers to the team.

You can only thank whatever deity above brought this country to love you all like they do.

-------------

Throughout the night, Caitlin's concussion checks go without issue. Though she does get a little grumpy after the fifth time and then almost doesn't bother answering you the sixth.

By the seventh and final check, she just shoves you grumpily before you quietly flick her and remind her she's only putting her own health at risk here and that you just wont let her sleep at all as that's the only other procedure.

You finally get her to answer the questions at that.

Steph, somehow, it's a miracle, honestly, stays asleep throughout this whole debacle, and you magically stay awake until 7am where the trainer's come knocking to collect Caitlin, and to let you sleep for a few hours before you have to be up for the ceremony.

Steph latches back onto you the moment you settle in the bed, and she lets you sleep for another half hour after she's woken up.

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After the whole presentation and Steph and the rest of you are pleasantly surprised by her favourite song's artist, Nikki Webster, you're all exhausted and ready to crash again.

Tony allows the day to rest and relax off the game before an early morning recovery session the next day.

You spend it curled up with your favourite girls, Caitlin now safely away from any concussion worries.

You end up waking in the late afternoon from your long nap. Steph is seated beside you on her phone, hand rubbing circles in your back.

Caitlin is in the bathroom showering.

"Hey you."

You hum softly, stretching out slightly before relaxing back into matress below you.

"Afternoon, I assume?"

"Yeah, you didn't sleep too long, it's only been about five hours."

"Mmkay, did Mini stop by at all?"

"Yeah, she was looking for you since you didn't return to the room with her last night. She figured you'd be here. She said if you woke up within a few hours, she'd be downstairs in the rec room with Harper and the girls."

"Oky." You kind of half process it in your sleepy state, nuzzling your nose into the side of Steph's leg. She only looks on amused around her phone at you.

"You gonna go down?"

You make a half committed answer, shrugging lightly, just cuddling into her leg further. Her hand scratches at the back of your neck lightly.

Steph just sighs, knowing you won't sleep later but doesn't have it in her to wake you when you dose off again.

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With the next days passing by, final preparations are made to pack up camp and to go back to your respective clubs before the next one.

You all take the time to grieve the loss, and you even manage to break through to Sam a little, catching her alone and having a sit down conversation with her about everything.

She let's you know the next day how thankful she is for your little shoves over the last few days and getting her walls to come down.

You just remind her that that's what best friends are for.

Steph and Caitlin come to terms with it on their own, and you make sure you're there to wipe away any tears.

You'd already made your peace, ready to start the next chapter with your loves and ready to move on to the Olympic qualifiers.

You hope with all your heart that you can fight harder and go all the way this time.

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Sorry, this one is a little lacking, guys. I swear I was trying to find a way to end it without cutting it short, but it kind of carries on towards the end. Again, apologies for that.

#woso #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #steph catley imagine #steph catley imagines #steph catley x reader #caitlin foord imagines #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord x reader

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Text

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 7

Warnings: oh boy okay so Angst! profanity! Violence! Mentions of blood! Injury! Abusive-ish behavior!!! MARTIN!!!!!! Ferran! Blackmail!! Just shitty behavior!!!! pls don't read if you're not comfortable!

Word Count: 14.1k (fun fact! If you've read all 7 parts, you've read 87 pages single space!)

A/N: Guys this is one of the chapters I had planned out from the beginning. I really have poured a lot of my own soul into this, so I hope y'all enjoy! I'm actually so ready to read the reactions to this one lol. GIF by @rubendiasatl

You thought you had met the love of your life in college. He appeared to be perfect. He was the captain of the swim team, rumored to get a national championship that year in the 100m freestyle. He was the secretary of Phi Pi Delta, the largest business fraternity in the region, set to work on Wall Street making $200k right after graduation. You two were the perfect couple: Ryan, with his perfect hair and perfect smile, the sexy, sporty Spanish girl on his arm. You were conquering medicine as he ruled the world of finance. Sometimes on your walk to class, you would daydream about what your wedding would look like.

You did everything that was required of you as "Ryan's girl". You were an academic badass, but in a completely different field, so he could have a smart girl that would never be his competition. You worked as a sports manager, showing that "Ryan's girl" was a powerhouse on her own that commanded respect, but turned into a shy little lamb around her man. You worked hard and played harder, going to every PPD event and mixer. You always drank to show people that you weren't a prude, but you were never the girl hunched over the toilet losing her innards. You were good at beer pong, but only when Ryan was your partner. You played 7 minutes in heaven, but were so cold and intimidating that everyone left with blue balls and a muttering of "what a bitch". For 8 months of your senior year, you were "Ryan's girl", and you were the absolute best at playing the part.

It was a tiring job, but one you balanced with all your other actions. You learned how to get him and his friends basketball tickets mere hours before tipoff. You were an expert at covering hickies, but also enhancing them when he wanted to prove to the guys at a rival frat that he wasn’t soft. You killed your complaints and your gag reflex, knees growing used to the rough carpet of the frat house. You never asked for his location, and never made a face when other girls talked about how much they wanted your man. You never bored him with talks of your futures after graduation. You were perfect.

You looked perfect the day you walked into the frat house, hair pulled back in a slick ponytail to show off the piercings in your ear and the tightness of your polo shirt. Your khakis hugged your thighs, Jordan’s pristine as you slipped them off before heading upstairs. The basketball team had offered you a full time position; you could stay for the next several years if you so chose. Everything was perfect. The sky was the perfect shade of blue. The air was the perfect temperature with a perfect breeze. And as you opened the door to your boyfriend’s room, you saw a bare figure on top of him, connected at their cores, with her mouth shaped in a perfect “O”. And one perfect tear ran down your cheek as you silently walked back down the stairs, ignoring the yells about it not being what it looked like, and left Ryan behind forever.

You hadn’t thought about Ryan in years. But his memory came back to you as you pulled up to Martin’s house and found his car parked out in front of his door instead of it’s usual place in the garage. The Benz stared back at you, looking so different from that first date. It had been bright and welcoming and joyous that very first time it rolled up in front of your building. Now it was different, the blue taking on a more hue, feeling ominous and serious. It was the color of midnight - the color of fear. Why was the precious Benz parked out front? Martin wouldn't even let some valets park his car for fear of it getting scratched. His tires were still turned. The Benz was crooked in the driveway.

You walked up to the door, and you thought about Ryan again. You thought about the countless texts he sent you afterwards, telling you how much he loved you and how he would never do it again. And you read every single one, waiting with baited breath for him to say what you needed to hear: that he regretted it. That he had made a terrible mistake when he was out of his mind and he hated every second. But it never came. He wanted you, but he never regretted that moment with her. He never felt remorse about the moment he decided she was more important than you were. It didn't make you sad or angry - just empty. It was like a hold had been carved out, and it was another reminder that it would never be filled. You would never be the first choice. You would never be that girl that was above it all. You would always be a pretty good girl that needed to be supplemented by someone else.

The hole within you had not been filled, but it started to be covered by some good people in your lives. Your friends at your physiology program made you always feel competent and capable in what you were doing in school. Angelika and your other university friends gave you comfort, covering the emptiness with warm feelings. And now, you had the boys at Barca had worked to cover that hole with positive affirmations, reminding you that you were just as much a part of the team and how much you were valued. And there was a bit of the hole that started to close, one centimeter at a time, every time you looked at your phone and saw that Gavi was checking up on you.

You felt that hole fill with butterflies as you wrote out your Christmas card to him. You hadn't wanted it to come across as cheesy or desperate, despite you reassuring yourself that you couldn't be desperate if you were in a relationship. You had begged the media team for any photo of you and Gavi, knowing how much the sentiment would mean to him. One thing you had noticed during your two brief appearances in Pablo's home was his appreciation for the few pictures he had. They were taped to the wall beside the door: photos from his youth at his La Masia matches, his family on vacation, and a polaroid with a few of the Barca boys. A part of you hoped you would make it onto the wall.

But with each knock on Martin's door that went unanswered, the butterflies disintegrated, filling you with smoke and ash and bile, the hole in your very soul aching. As you turned the doorknob, you felt it give way easily - the door was unlocked. He had come home, car parked haphazardly, with the door remaining unlocked. You braced yourself, not exactly sure for what, and entered the house.

You should have seen it coming. You should have known from his demeanor and the way he spoke to you when you were with him versus when you were away. You should have listened to the whispers on the internet and in the locker room. But you ignored it all, believing that people were inherently good and caring. And now your naivety had all culminated and led to this moment: you standing in Martin's entryway, staring at his hideous brown couch, a trail of clothes leading from your feet to the naked girl perched on the dark fabric. The two of you locked eyes, and her mouth dropped agape. She grabbed the closest piece of fabric to cover her bare form, her pale cheeks turning scarlet from embarrassment.

"Bonita, hurry up so I can call my girl-"

Martin's eyes locked with yours, stopping dead in his tracks and freezing as his girl on the couch did. You waited for either of them to speak. With baited breath you waited for the feminine screams of "you have a girlfriend?" and the begs to provide an explanation. But the air was heavy with nothing but guilt and the disappointment of being caught. As your breath grew heavier, the nausea settled into your stomach. You tried to muster a tear, deciding it would be less embarrassing to cry than to throw up on the tile.

"Bonita, it's not what it looks like. If we could just talk-"

"How are you going to use the same pet name for the both of us?" You asked, patience finally snapping. The emotions from the last four months came flooding through, boiling the blood in your veins. You had cut yourself up and torn your very being apart to please this man. The things you wore and said and did and ate and enjoyed were all altered to fit his impossible standard. You were playing a part again. You had sacrificed so much of yourself for one crumb of affection and security, and once again you weren't enough.

"Just calm down an let me explain."

You tried with every fiber of your being to keep the tears at bay - you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt you.

"All I ever did was try and be a good girlfriend. Do you realize that? Through the stupid dinner dates and your rants about football, I tried to be patient and fun and understanding. I never complained, not once, about your lack of support or how everything you did made it clear you didn't like me. I dealt with all of your cold fronts, your unfounded jealous, your below mediocre sex - all of it, because that's what you do when you're in a fucking relationship until someone finally cuts the cord and frees you both. But you didn't have the decency to pretend." You spat the words out at him, no longer caring about if you cried.

"The least you could do was not fuck anyone else in the house that you asked me to move in to."

Everyone on the room had gone silent, from Martin to his mistress. How could he retaliate? Where could he start? The flood gates had been opened, and the realization of how much this man made you hate your life was flowing freely.

"Goodbye Martin." You turned and walked out the door, your keys in hand, ready to go home and lose consciousness. Tomorrow you would wake up and be as you were - single and free of the burden this relationship placed on you.

"Come back here." You heard Martin's voice shout behind you, before a hand reached out and grabbed you by the wrist, ripping your keys from your hands, cutting your palm in the process. As the red fluid pooled in your palm, you looked up at Martin in shock and fear. He looked back at you, then at your outstretched hand still pooling with blood.

"Shit, I'm- I didn't mean to do that. But you can't just drive away until you let me speak. I won't let you."

"As if you're allowed to decide what I can and can't do. Give me back my keys before I call the police."

"You're not calling anyone or doing anything until I speak to you." Martin said, lunging at you and grabbing the sleeve of your shirt. You cried out and struggled against him as he tried to pull you towards the house, hoping to prevent a scene in front of the neighbors. Martin's side piece stood at the door, now fully clothed, watching silently as the two of you struggled by the entryway.

"Get off of me you cheating sack of shit! I don't want to hear anything you have to say, let me go!" His grip loosened as you pulled away, unable to restrain you with both hands for fear you would take your car keys back.

"Bonita, I'm not trying to hurt you, I love you and I-"

"Bullshit! And stop calling me fucking bonita." You tried to reach for your keys again, but Martin's hand came and wrapped tightly around the collar of your shirt.

"No. You don't get to abandon me without hearing what I have to say. All I have ever done is try and look past how difficult you are to love and be around," his grip tightened on your collar, the fabric now bunching to restrict your airway slightly. "And now that I've made one mistake you think you get to just run? You're not going anywhere until I say you can. If you know what's good for you, you'll just listen."

The bile started to rise in your throat as your heart beat faster. For the first time in your life, you really felt like you were in danger. The sting of your palm was hard to ignore now, the blood nestling into the lines on your palm, dots littered across your pant leg. Once you felt Martin's grip loosen lightly, you put all your weight behind you and shoved him as hard as you could, causing him to fall backwards. You bolted for the door, keys forgotten as you ran at a speed you didn't know you were capable of.

The fall did not deter him for long, as you heard your name in Martin's deep, agitated voice carry to your ears on the night air, accompanied by heavy, fast footsteps. You were being chased. Heart racing, your feet slammed against the pavement, trying to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your throat started to tighten with anxiety, fight or flight now in full control. You didn't even know where you were going. You took whatever turn felt natural, willing yourself not to turn around.

Martin realized with every step he took that it was too late to turn back. There was now street camera of him chasing you shirtless through the streets of a Barcelona neighborhood. He wasn't even sure why he had done it. By it he meant the chasing - not the sleeping with other women. That part was quite simple. He was 24 now, and it was time he was photographed with the same girl more than once. His club going days had become the topic of every family dinner and every call with his mother.

"Martin, when are you going to stop going to the club every night and actually bring us a nice girl? You're ruining your reputation by taking all these different girls home."

He was nothing if not a boy that wanted to make his mother happy. When he say Angelika in the club that day, he sensed he had been getting close. She was funny and outgoing and actually had a job that didn't involve her sponsoring Bang energy on the internet. But she was still at the club on a Tuesday night, and had flirted her way into the VIP section. Too high maintenance. But then as he left the club, pretty young drunk thing slung over his arm, he got to see you.

Initially, you didn't make a huge impression. Boring looking and kind of loud - not the girl he would usually go for. He was still a little hazy from the club air, sweat and tequila still lingering in his lungs. He had just handed Angelika off to you, before he took a look at the back of your car. A few stickers were there, displaying the name of your universities, and a bright blue one that read 'ask me about ACL tears!'. It sparked his interest - not only that you could afford the car, but that you were obviously decently intelligent to be touting all these universities. It prompted Martin to ask for your number, just as a backup in case finding a "good girl" was harder than he thought.

It was, in fact, much harder than he thought to find a girl to bring home to his mother. All the smart girls tended not to give him the time of day, either taken or too busy. Pretty girl were too expensive and high strung - not what he needed. And those sweet girls that he found at the supermarket and the park? Most of them were ready to live the football WAG life, wanting to go public with him immediately. If there's one thing Martin was sure of, it was that he wasn't ready too commit to just one screw for any period of time. He had a rotation of girls in and out of his bed, shower, car - he couldn't just cut all of them off.

That's exactly what was on his mind when he saw Angelika in line for the club again. She was cute enough to take home that night, but girls usually didn't open up without some conversation. He can't remember how the topic turned to you, but Angelika gushed about how much she adored you.

"But she's just so busy. She's always so focused on work that she doesn't have much time to even process what's going on around her."

Getting you was quite easy after that. He had listened to girls long enough to understand how to keep them happy. It was the lack of instant sex that really hurt his pride. This was not the 1940s - he was not going to wait 3 months, taking a girl out and showering her with love, just to get some pussy. He would just supplement with other women. Ferran was often the person that would help him get girls, as they usually recognized the young Barca bench boy before they realized who Martin was. So they worked as a team: Martin supplying money and alcohol, and Ferran supplying girls.

It was when Gavi started to enter the picture that he, for the first time in his life, felt the angry weeds of jealousy take root in his throat. No matter what he did behind closed doors, you were his, not Gavi's, and it would be a cold day in hell before he let a love-sick teenager take his girl. Now he was chasing you down the street, 10 days before he planned to introduce you to his mother at Christmas, willing all the neighbors to stay away from the windows and ignore the eventual screams they heard from the street.

Your eyes focused, the adrenaline fog leaving your brain as you wildly scanned the street: this was Gavi's neighborhood. Identifying the houses, you made a sharp right turn and ran towards his house at end of the street. You prayed that he was still awake as you got to the door, banging as hard as you could, and yelling out his name.

"Pablo! Let me in! Get the fuck away from me!"

You watched as Martin slowed down, walking towards you cautiously with his hands in the air. He moved his lips to say something, but your heartbeat was in your ears, tears streaming down your face as you kept banging on the door. The slit across your palm seared with pain, and every pang circulated more fear through you. Martin was capable and willing to hurt you.

The door opened, and you caught a glimpse of Gavi's face. That was enough reassurance for your legs to give out from the effort, sobs still shaking your entire being as you fell into his chest. Your palms grabbed at his shirt, needing anything to ground you in reality. Gavi was not a large boy; Martin had 5 inches and 6 years on Gavi, which would make any betting man wary of the outcome if a fight were to break out. But none of that mattered to you. Gavi's arms were around you, holding you up and against him, and you felt safe.

Gavi tore his eyes away from Martin, who was shirtless and frozen in his walkway, to look at you. As he pulled you away from his chest slowly, he felt a warm wet spot spread across his shirt. It was too large to be tears. He wished he hadn't looked down to see the red spot darkening his t-shirt. Grabbing your wrists, he looked at the jagged cut on the skin there, still bleeding freely. Gavi hugged you closer into his chest, one hand around your waist and one by your head, hiding you in his shoulder as you continued to cry.

"What did he do?" He asked, voice tight and strained. You shook your head, crying harder, trying to gulp down any air to stop the light-headedness. You could not see or think straight, the questions too overwhelming.

"Pablito, just let me talk to my girl, and go back inside." Martin instructed, walking towards the two of you slowly, as a hunter would approach a deer. You clung onto Gavi tighter, a shrill 'No!' yelped against his skin, sobs coming back in full force. Gavi couldn't stand it. The blood in his veins grew hotter the longer he held your fragile form. He was quick to anger, but this was different. You had run to his house crying and bleeding because of the vile man you had been dating. On an average day, he was ready to go to blows because of a stray leg in a football match. This was more serious - more sinister. He had hurt you in ways Gavi couldn't fathom a man hurting any woman, let alone you. He turned over the idea of manslaughter in his head as he tried again.

"Please, y/n. Please tell me what he did. Because at this rate, I'm going to kill him. Y/n, please."

Gulping down breath after desperate breath, you muttered out what had happened to Gavi in the best way you could. You knew there was nothing you could say to get Gavi to just walk away, but you couldn't stand the idea of Pablo doing irreparable damage to his future on your behalf.

"Found him... cheating... took my... k-keys.. that's why m-my hand. But I'm-"

"Don't you dare tell me you're okay." Gavi put you down on the ground, resting your back against the wall before he stood. The edges of his vision were dark and red, and in that moment he swore he could have killed Martin with his bare hands. When would this man have taken enough? Martin had snatched you off the market, keeping you hostage in a crumbling, decaying relationship while Gavi fawned over you. Martin chipped away at you soul, dimming the once radiant light that enamored those you encountered. Martin made you insecure and self-hating, all while keeping a line of girls wrapped around his bedroom to fool around with as you chased your dreams. Martin had taken everything Gavi had loved about you and poisoned it, leaving the ashes of a bright young woman in his path. Now he would pay for it.

"Martin, give me her keys and get the fuck away from my property before I make your mother regret the day she lost her virginity." Gavi was seething, You looked up at his squared shoulders and tight face, and couldn't tell if the wisps of smoke emanating from him were real or not. You wanted to stand, block the warpath Pablo was on, and prevent the violence you knew was about to ensue, but your head and eyes felt heavy, keeping you firmly planted to the ground.

"Ay, Pablito, no need to be vulgar. Don't you think it's silly for you to be involving yourself in a little lover's quarrel at this time? Go inside and let me take care of my girlfriend." Martin took a step with every word he said, now less than a meter from Gavi, whose fists were curled and strained.

"Lover's quarrel? She's bleeding and had to run from you screaming. You've stolen her keys and now you want me to let you harass her further? Give me her keys and fuck off, before my patience runs out. Because I've been eager to bash your skull for weeks now."

Martin took another step forward, now on the same plane as you and Gavi. He locked Pablo's vision as he pulled your keys from his pocket, tossing them at your feet. You flinched at the noise scared to look up at Martin. Just the sound of his voice sent ripples through you.

"There, bonita. You have your keys back. Now enough of this nonsense and come with me." A fist curled into your hair and pulled you upwards, causing a scream to release from your throat. Gavi watched all of this happen in slow motion. He took two steps towards Martin, vision now fully red, and connected his closed fist with Martin's lower jaw. The accompanying CRACK could probably have been heard all the way in Madrid. The grip had disappeared from your head, and you used your last bit of strength to push yourself from the floor and run into Gavi's house, keys firmly in your grasp for protection. You peered through the window, catching Martin spit out a large glob of blood, more crimson dripping from his mouth like a dog drooling.

Martin wasn't provided much more time to recover as Gavi grabbed his collar, pulling him in once again, and again cracking him hard right beneath his eye socket. The delicate skin there split, and more blood oozed from Martin. It didn't bring Gavi disgust or joy. There was no space in his entire being to feel anything other than the need to protect you. Moving his grasp from Martin's collar to his hair, he hit him one final time, a bone split and a scream polluting the otherwise silent air of the Barcelona night. You thought to yourself, rather ironically, if the naked girl in his living room knew how to set a broken nose. Pablo pushed Martin to the ground, the older landing on his face sprawled across the concrete of the pavement.

"If you get up and you're not running, I'll break another bone."

Martin struggled to breath, the blood running away from his body in rivers, dripping onto the street.

"You little piece of shit! Just wait till I call the police! You'll be in jail until you're 70. You little cunt." Martin wailed, on his knees gripping his throbbing fractured nose. Gavi approached Martin, picking him up by the collar once again. It was quite a sight to behold: the younger and smaller boy lifting Martin off the ground, blood dripping from a broken nose on to Gavi's tensed forearm, as his hazel eyes conveyed murderous intent.

"In case the blood has already left your brain, allow me to remind you: the cameras saw you chasing a woman through the street. There is a decent amount of her blood on you and at your house. Everything from that moment on is self defense. And I can absolutely afford a better lawyer than you can, little boy. So best run and put some ice on that nose before you become more permanently deformed than you were originally." Martin was thrown to the pavement once again, cries of pain bouncing between the stone of the buildings. He picked himself off the ground, not daring to glance over his shoulder, as he hobbled back home.

Gavi took a deep breath, looking down at his hands in the light of the street lamp. It had been a long time since his anger was allowed to run wild. Usually there was a player (or 6) holding him back from blows. But that was football. Nothing was ever that serious in football. This was different. It was you. And as he entered his home, locking eyes with your huddled form by his couch, the thought appeared in his mind clear as crystal: you were someone he would kill for, and someone he would die for.

But now wasn't the time for such a confession. It was the time for Gavi to step up as your friend and provide you with comfort and support. He walked into the house and started to head for the bathroom before you called out to him.

"Pablo? Where are you going?" Your voice was small and fragile, like that of a scared child when the thunder got too loud. Keys still gripped tightly in shaky hands, you pushed yourself off the floor, and Gavi rushed to meet your stride, helping stabilize you as you stood. You were not close to fainting anymore, but the fear still pumped through you, making it harder to walk at more than a snail's pace. Eyes locking with Gavi's, you brought a hand up to rest on his bicep, squeezing it lightly to provide him with some reassurance that you were okay. Hand trailing down, you wrapped your fingers gently around his wrists, turning his hands over to look at his knuckles. The skin had cracked and burst from the impact against Martin's skull. Bruises bloomed on the high points, droplets of blood - owner unknown - littered his fingers and hand, the scarlet a contrast against his warm tan. As you ran a thumb over one of the open cuts, Gavi hissed, trying to pull away from your touch. You looked back up at him with tears welling in your eyes anew.

"You're hurt." You croaked out, not wanting to continue crying in front of him. He grabbed your hand, holding it against his as he rubbed over the drying cut through your palm.

"So are you. But we'll be okay." He smiled at you, and you could have sworn that there was an actual fist squeezing your heart in your chest. He pulled you towards the staircase with him.

"Come on, we need to wash our hands. You've taught me enough about infections to know we shouldn't wait much longer."

"I obviously haven't taught you enough, because for open cuts like this we need rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, not water."

Gavi stopped on the stairs, still gripping your wrist as his smile broke out, returning warmth to his face. Even when he had hit Martin, you hadn't feared Pablo. You knew the anger was residual, and he would never turn this harbored rage your direction. It had brought a few baby butterflies to your stomach, knowing that Gavi had thrown his tranquility and caution to the wind just to defend you. But this was the Pablo you liked the most: the one that smiled for you in a way that seemed to appear only when you were around.

"There you go, doctora. Putting that degree to use. I think I have a first aid kit in my room. The medics gave me one to keep after I got my second black eye." The statement, not meant as a joke, allowed a laugh to run through you, cutting through some of the lingering heaviness. You wondered if this experience would forever trauma-bond you to Gavi forever. But you knew subconsciously that Pablo was already bonded to you. You would never be able to look at the Barca crest or the dew on the grass or the chocolate milk in the store without thinking of Pablo. You would never be able to choose anyone else's contact at 2am to send a random text to, because you need Pablo to be the one to send the response. You knew in that moment that Pablo was going to be in your life forever.

Walking into his bedroom, Pablo peeled his blood-stained shirt off, tossing it onto the bed.

"You should..." Your sentence trailed off as Pablo faced you, shirtless with sweats hanging low on his hips, waistband of his boxers tight against the V of his torso. You had seen attractive men shirtless before, but something about it being Pablo, and the two of you being alone in his bedroom, made everything seem more charged and, for lack of a better term, sinful. He tiled his head in questioning, prompting you to finish your sentence. Clearing your throat, you looked at the shirt instead of Pablo and continued.

"You should put peroxide on that shirt now to get the blood out so it doesn't stain."

"I think getting some peroxide on your open wound is more important right now." He said, returning to his dresses to rummage around for his first aid kit. You stood awkwardly against the wall, unsure how to proceed. You didn't feel comfortable enough to sit on his bed, and though it would be weird to seat yourself on Gavi's floor. He turned back around, watching you scan the room and calculate if you should sit or stand.

"You're covered in blood." He said. You looked down at your shirt. You definitely had some splotches, but you wouldn't use the word covered.

"It's fine, I'll change when i get home..." You trailed off again. Your car was outside Martin's house, and there was no way you could possibly bring yourself to go back there tonight. Maybe Gavi would be kind enough to walk over with you in the dark.

"You're spending the night here. There's no way I'm going to let you be by yourself tonight. Let me get you something to change into." He said, moving past you towards the closet.

"Oh no, Pablo, it's fine. I should really go back to my place-"

"Why?" He asked, abruptly turning to face you. He walked towards you, and your heart rate picked up as he stood within your air space.

"Why do you need to go home? We are on international break for the season. I don't start training until next week. You just finished your finals, so you don't need to do anything tomorrow. And, more importantly, the only way to get to your house is to either go get your car from your psycho abusive ex and drive home at this time of night, which is not happening. Or for you to take a taxi home, which is also not happening. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He turned back to the closet, rummaging through his clothes before pulling out a pair of sweat pants and a La Masia t-shirt. Placing them in your hands, he turned back to his mission to find the first aid kit.

"The bathroom is through there. You can go and get changed and wash up. What's mine is yours."

Nodding, you shuffled towards the bathroom. The door was quickly shut and locked behind you, and you stared at yourself in the mirror. You definitely looked worse for wear, mascara smudged under your eyes, which were red and puffy from sobbing. You washed your face with your non-injured hand, thanking Pablo silently for owning a decent face wash. As you stripped off your dirty clothes, you couldn't help the images that flashed in your mind, and the thoughts that seeped through your subconscious. You remembered the daydreams you had for several weeks, bursts of his eyes and lips and hands, and thoughts of all the ways they could touch you. Your cheeks burned as you grabbed a washcloth, running cool water onto your skin to remove the sweat and grime lingering. You thought of that day on the couch, when you had finally entertained the idea of seeing Pablo in a sexually attractive light. Bumps raised onto your skin as you fully wrapped your head around the situation. You were in your underwear in Gavi's bedroom, only a bathroom door separating the two of you.

A part of you wanted to open the door - to present yourself to Pablo, physically and emotionally bare, and tell him your feelings. But what were your feelings? You felt safe with Pablo, supported, and able to be your authentic self. Was this a friendship that you had over committed to? Was Pablo treating you any differently to how he would treat Pedri or one of the boys? You pushed those feelings aside, slipping on his clothes, breathing the scent of his detergent in deeply. You took one last glance in the mirror, reminding yourself that you had a tendency to spontaneously combust when it came to relationships, and you wouldn't allow yourself to do that with Pablo. He was going to be in your life for a long time - you wouldn't accept anything otherwise - but maybe the role he was meant to fill was that of a close friend and never more.

You walked out and saw Pablo rubbing his bare chest with an alcohol pad, cleaning the excess blood from his chest. He had changed into some clean shorts, and turned to face you when he heard the door. His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, taking in the sight. His shirt hung off your shoulders slightly, draped over your frame and covering your form in worn cotton fabric. His sweats hugged your hips, sliding precariously low on your torso and lose in the thighs, just small enough for them to not pool at your ankles. Gavi's mouth went dry as he stared at you. You crossed your arms over your chest, covering yourself with your folded dirty clothes. Gavi caught a glimpse of your bra in the pile. He had no moisture in his mouth whatsoever.

"What are you staring at, Gavi? Close your mouth you'll catch a fly." You said, trying to come across cool and unbothered despite the situation. He swallowed hard, trying to form a single sentence.

"They fit. I'm surprised." That was all he could muster.

"Me too. I thought everything would be too short on me." You teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Low blow, doctora. come help me with these bandages."

He sat on the floor with the first aid kit, and you joined him on the soft rug, protecting from the chill of the tile in December. You grabbed the different solutions and began cleaning his hands. His hands were rough and calloused to the touch, and you made a mental note to get him some lotion as a late Christmas gift. You moved slowly over each knuckle, cleaning the blood and bruises, gently moving your fingers across Pablo's skin. You heard gentle hisses at the burning sensation from the alcohol, but he kept his protests to a minimum as you worked.

It was easy for Gavi to distract himself from the pain when you were the one sitting in front of him. The burn of his hands was basically forgotten as he traced the curves of your face with his eyes. That familiar look of concentration settled into your features, warming Gavi's heart. You were coming back, in short bursts and fleeting moments, but everything he loved about you was still there. Try as he did, he could not prevent his eyes from moving lower, settling on his shirt draped over you. It was one of his most well-loved shirts - the one that he had gotten when he began playing for La Masia's senior team. This is when he started to bulk up, biceps and pecs stretching out the shirt, creating the baggy look he currently saw on you. The colors had faded from dozens of washes, and it was now pilling and threadbare - really something that should never see the light of day.

But here you were wearing it, and suddenly there was no article of clothing that had ever made a woman look sexier. The baggy fabric moved with you, and when you turned behind you to gram more gauze, it tightened against your bare chest, and Gavi willed himself not to focus on it. He couldn't - not right now. No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't describe what about it made the shirt look so good on you. It was just the fact that it was his shirt. You were in his house, in his bedroom, wearing his shirt. You were merging with his space, and in a way, becoming a part of his home. It was the closest you had ever been to being his.

You finished bandaging his hands, looking at your work, and making sure that everything was secure so he wouldn't lose the dressings in his sleep. Engrossed in the moment, you leaned down and kissed the top of Gavi's knuckles, pulling back before realizing what you did. You both stared at each other, mutually deciding it was best not to comment on what just occurred. You quickly cleaned and dressed your own cut, with Gavi's assistance, and once the bandage was secured, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. All the boxes were finally ticked - you and Gavi were safe and clean and dressed, and now your body felt relaxed enough to crash from the exhaustion of the day. Pablo noticed your eyes drooping, and moved off the floor, helping you stand as well.

"Let me go get an extra blanket." He said, moving towards the door. You followed him out of the room, and he turned to you, confused.

"Where are you going?" He asked, arm against the wall and blocking your path.

"The other room?" You said, phrasing it as a question.

"The guest room doesn't have a bed in it yet. My sister is helping me pick one out since she visits the most often."

"To the couch, then." You said, and Pablo's eyebrows scrunched together in frustration.

"You're not sleeping on the couch. You've had a stressful day to say the least. You're going to sleep on the ridiculously expensive mattress and get a good night's rest."

"Then where are you going to sleep?" You asked, heart skipping a beat at some of the possible answers.

"The couch. I want to give you your space. Let me go get that extra blanket - the top floor gets cold in the winter."

You grabbed his arm stopping him from continuing down the staircase.

"You're not going to destroy your back by sleeping on the couch again. You're about to get called up for the national team, and their physios suck. They will replace you with a 3rd tier player before they help you fix a dorsal muscle strain. You have to sleep on the bed Pablo."

"I don't actually have to do anything. This is my house."

You both stared at each other, the two of you unmoving on your position, and both ignoring the obviously solution to your argument. After a minute, it was Pablo who was brave enough to make the suggestion.

"We could always just... both sleep on the bed. If you're comfortable with that. We can made a divider in the middle and everything."

Blushing, you looked at the floor before responding.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Gavi got into bed, shirtless in a pair of shorts, and beckoned you to join. You walked slowly to the other side of the bed, crawling in and pulling up the covers, body stiff and muscles tense.

"I forgot to get the lights." You whispered quietly, making a move to get up. Suddenly the lights switched off, leaving the two of you in complete darkness, a weak ray of light filtering in from the half-moon.

"Expensive houses have a lot of pointless features, but this one is actually useful." Pablo said quietly, mentally kicking himself for making small talk about a light switch. He curled on his side away from you, uncomfortable but wanting to give you your own space, and let out a deep breath. You peered at Gavi, and then curled the other way, also in discomfort, but too scared to face him while conscious. It was too much. He was so close: enough to hold in your arms, to exchange body heat, to listen to his heartbeat and be lulled to sleep. But it was too much of a leap to take. It was too far out of your comfort zone, and you couldn't risk the delicate relationship with a desperate and ill-timed proclamation of... whatever it was you were feeling.

Pablo's heart hammered in his chest. Though it had been his idea, he had never actually thought it through. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder before, and he had survived, so he figured this experience wouldn't be that much harder. He was so sorely mistaken. The fact that you were laying an arm's length away from him kept his nerves on fire, and he couldn't even keep his eyes closed for more than a minute as the time. Despite the winter chill, his body was on fire, and the lack of clothing didn't help. You had just been attacked by your ex boyfriend, and Gavi wanted to hold you in his arms and protect you from the entire world. Patience wasn't his best trait, but he knew that it wasn't the time to ask you to be his. He needed to wait. He needed to be there for you right now

"Pablo?"

An hour after the two of you had settled, lights off and room quiet, you called out for him. Sleep escaped the two of you, and he turned over almost instantly when he heard you whisper his name. Turning to face each other, your eyes adjusted so that you could look at his features in the dark. He was beautiful. There was no denying how conventionally attractive Pablo was. But there were so many little things that enhanced his beauty, only visible from this close. You wished the moon would shine a little brighter so that you could look at the flecks in his eyes, and count the lashes fluttering above them. His features were relaxed, lids drooping and lips slightly puffed out. The scars and moles on his face were the only markings on the smooth skin, and you longer to run your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes.

"Can... can we do something? To help me sleep? But then promise you'll forget about it tomorrow?"

Pablo swallowed hard for the nth time that night. He hesitated. There was no way he could promise to forget a single moment of this night with you, but he could control himself from speaking about it, and that was all he really needed to do.

"Anything."

You sat up in bed, moving quickly before your confidence evaporated completely. You moved in to the center of the bed, prompting Gavi to do the same. He moved slowly and warily, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the middle of the King-sized island.

"Lay down," You said, voice shaking slightly. You were terrified, but you knew that was the only way you would ever find rest before the sun came up. Pablo laid down, stiff as a board, half expecting you to make a desperate dash for the couch. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes before you laid down beside him. You turned on your side, resting a hand on Gavi's chest. Pablo's eyes widened as he finally processed what your request was. He raised his arm, draping it over your shoulders, allowing you to cuddle even closer into his side. Your head now laid on his bare chest, his hammering heart loud in your ear. He brought his other arm around you as well, resting his hand over yours on his chest. The two of you held each other close, seemingly for dear life, and finally sighed out in belief.

There was no way to describe this feeling. The feeling of you resting against Pablo, arms and legs tangled together, with his head rested above yours. Your hands together, occupying each others' air. There was no way to describe it except for right. There was no awkwardness or strained breathing anymore. There was relaxation and comfortable silence enveloping the two of you. The rest of the world faded away, and in that moment, Pablo could have sworn that he had ascended to heaven.

"You saved me Pablo." You whispered out against him, needing to tell him someway, somehow, how much you appreciated him.

"Anyone would have interfered, doctora." He whispered back, being bold and caressing the skin of your arm that he encased with his.

"Not just today. In general. Since I met you, Pablo, you've made my life better. I just wanted to let you know. Good night."

Gavi tensed so hard it set off a headache. He couldn't cry, not while you were in his arms. He had always been seen as an asset because of his skill, always being told how valuable he was in that respect. But you saw him as a person, and not only did you tolerate it, but you cherished it. You made him proud to be himself.

"You too, in ways you can't even imagine. Good night, y/n."

Despite the way it started, the international and Christmas break was rather uneventful. Your little "sleepover" with Gavi saw the two of you sleeping in until 1pm, a rare occurrence for the both of you. Usually you both had too much going on, both on the schedule and in your minds, to sleep for such prolonged times. Wiser minds might have stopped and questioned why being in each others' arms brought a wash of such immense peace, but alas. There was no such reflection. Only waking up in the middle of the day, exchanging awkward smiled before getting up to change. Gavi had awoken with your leg draped across him and half an erection, causing him to bolt for the bathroom when you turned to check your phone. He wanted to say something - anything - about the night before. But he had promised to "forget", sealing his lips until further notice.

He turned the shower to the coldest setting, trying to stay silent as he killed his hard-on in the least loving way possible. You took the opportunity to slip into your sweats from the night before, and putting Gavi's t-shirt back on. Yours still had bubbled blood from the events and peroxide of the previous night. As you sorted out your hair, Gavi emerged from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips, showing off his toned chest and deep V once again. You lifted yourself and turned to face the wall, looking up at the Lord through the ceiling and asking why you were being faced with such temptation.

"Don't look." Pablo instructed, and you heard the towel thud to the floor. It make your cheeks burn and you crossed your legs tightly. You tried to think of anything else to stop yourself from taking your medical history with Gavi and constructing a complete mental image.

"Pedri is going to ... do you want a clean shirt?" Gavi asked, now in a clean sweatshirt and jeans. There was something about seeing you in his clothes that made him borderline insane. He couldn't tell if he needed you to stop, or needed you to do it every day.

"Oh, no, this one is fine. Thanks again - I'll wash it and return it as soon as I can."

"You can keep it." Gavi replied, turning back to his closet. The last thing he needed was to become aroused whenever he saw the folded shirt in his house. He grabbed a sweatshirt and tossed it to you as well.

"Are you donating clothes to me now? My salary isn't that bad, Pablo." You laughed out as you caught it.

"It's December, doctora. You should know that it's not great to go out in the cold. Your hoodie is still in your car, so wear this for now. Speaking of - Pedri is on his way over. He's gonna drive your car back to your place, and we'll take his. That way you never need to go near that dick's house again."

You slipped the green sweatshirt over your head, and were instantly attacked with the smell of body wash and cologne. Gavi had worn this recently. You brought the sleeves up and took a deep breath again before rushing downstairs to follow Gavi. It was a one time occurrence - you wouldn't allow yourself to get close to Pablo like this again. You were coworkers, first and foremost.

The two of you climbed into Pedri's car, you in the driver's seat and Gavi in the passenger, fingers trembling as you took the familiar turns. You stopped about a block away, dropping Pedri off, and driving off to the café the three of you had agreed to meet at to avoid any chance of being followed. You made idle conversation with Gavi, the two of you feeling the obvious tension. Pedri brought you your car, and you left the boys, giving them both a quick hug goodbye before going home to process the insane 24 hours you just had.

The boys were headed back to Gavi's to pack before heading to Madrid for national team training. On the way home, Pablo bounced his leg, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows more than usual.

"Hermano," Pedri started, "whatever you need to say, please just say it."

"But I'm not supposed to."

"Then stop with the fucking anxious ticks! Either speak or stay silent, but don't drive me crazy. It's a long day." Pedri ended his scolding with a light laugh. He knew Pablo better than anyone, and could tell it was only a matter of time before the younger boy started to spill his guts. Gavi wanted to stay strong, holding the promise he made to you extra close to his heart and his honor, and picked up his phone to pass the time. He opened up his twitter, refreshing the feed.

"Oh fuck. I'm in trouble."

Yes, the break was rather uneventful. You filled your time with studying, revising medical plans, and watching the international matches on TV. You tried your best to stay inside to avoid seeing anybody. You were still mourning the end of your relationship with Martin. Despite the confirmation that Martin was borderline clinically insane, it still weighed heavily on you, day by day, that you had once again been cheated on. That you had once again molded yourself into the absolutely closest thing to perfection, and had again fallen short. The winter weather also made you more lethargic, less keen to go outside and interact with others. And finally, you were terrified of anyone on the street recognizing you.

In hindsight, you should have made Pedri just walk and get your car. Or you should have waited until you knew Martin wasn't home and done it yourself. Because the thing about Pedri's lush green mini Cooper was that is was one of the most recognized cars in Spain, and so girls would flock to every single one they saw. His car had been posted enough for the most dedicated to have the license plate committed to memory. So driving around in such a recognizable car with the most sought-after footballer in Spain might not have been the best idea - especially during the day when the window tints weren't as effective. It took less than an hour for you and Gavi's pictures to be circulated around fan accounts, with people commenting on everything. The fact that you were driving, the hoodie you were wearing, the way that Gavi looked at you- the list was endless.

It took another 4 hours for people to figure out who you were. @gaviraconcubine on twitter had thankfully recognized you as one of the physios from game clips, and informed the rest of the rabid mob. Some had been satisfied with the answer, while others believed this an even more damning piece of information.

@gaviraconcubine: ok so the girl Gavi was with in the car is one of the barca physios - all the squad follows her + some shots of her on the field ! Gavi nation we're safe ;P

4,788 Likes 2,003 Retweets 834 Replies

@barcabarcabarca : guys shes literally a staff member???? gavi cant talk to female staff now wtf

@mrspgavira : if he ignored all of us to fall in love with the first ugly ass girl he bumped into at work ill take a swim with a toaster

@88rizzing : so she just started w barca this szn and got gavi? alexa play mastermind

@loonastansbrazil : more drivers for gavi!! she too old to be his girl

Barca staff were on public record, and so by the end of the day, your social media, school, and entire life history had been published on social media for people to scrutinize. It had sent you spiraling, suddenly being at the center of extreme amounts of attention from teen girls and 45-year old Barca stans alike.

[Pablo]: hey

[Pablo]: im rlly sorry about all the stuff online

[Pablo]: it should all die down soon. will be done at 9pm and I can call you

So that's what you did. Cook, clean, study, watch football, and get in disguise if you ever needed to go out. You spent your evenings chatting with Gavi. First it was about the media circus that you two were going through.

"It'll die down eventually. I'll stand too close to another girl and then everybody will leave you alone."

"Or accuse you of being a cheater."

"Has enough time passed for us to make cheating jokes?"

But as your fears started to ease an your mentions dried up, the conversations went back to the casual, playful tone that always filled the air whenever you and Gavi conversed. It was easier to talk to Gavi than it was with anyone else. You still spoke to your other friends, checking in on Angelika periodically over text, but no one could fill an hour FaceTime call like Gavi could, making it feel like mere minutes. Often, the two of you were both lounging, you on your couch and him in whatever hotel bed the national team had provided. As the days went on, you grew more comfortable answering the phone sans makeup, showing the most natural parts of yourself to who was shaping up quickly to be your closest friend.

Returning to work after the break may have been harder than the break itself. The office was abuzz with the rumors about you and Gavi. For the first few days, you ignored all the chatter. You had seen enough online to know that not knowing was always better. You didn't care what anyone said about you, as long as you proved you were an asset to the team. That is until Antonio came into your office one day with a sealed envelope. He was finishing up with some loose ends in Barcelona, before making his way to the UK to start in Manchester after the January transfer window had closed. He walked into your office, a large manila envelope in hand, and placed it on your desk.

"What's this?" You asked, peering at it from behind your glasses. Antonio was not one to make jokes or pull pranks, so it confused you to see him now, giggling in your office like a school girl.

"Oh this? Nothing important. Just a backup plan. Now it's my turn to ask the questions." He said, coming around and sitting atop your desk.

"Is it true that you're sleeping with Gavi?"

It had been a long time since you had seethed with this much rage. First, shock and embarrassment flooded your veins, freezing you in place, leaving you like a deer in headlights before the question. Antonio's ringing laugh is what pulled you out of your trance. You quickly denied the rumor, stating that you and Gavi were friends, but everything remained strictly professional.

"We heard you went to his house after the last home game before the break, and didn't leave until the following day, and wearing his clothes as well! You don't have to lie to me, I won't tell Dr. G or Xavi. So how was he?"

You promptly instructed Antonio to get the hell out of your office, and you made a move to head to the practice field. How dare Gavi: tell people you slept together when you did nothing of the sort. Well, you did something of the sort, but not in that way! Your job was already in jeopardy as it was, and it didn't help your case to be allegedly sleeping with one of the players. Talk about acts that increase favoritism. As you turned to corner to head to the field, you were met with a hard chest instead. Looking up, you saw the one face you had been trying to avoid all week: Ferran.

"My favorite little nurse. I haven't seen you since before the break. How have you been?" His arms were crossed over his chest, smirk and arrogance across his face. He blocked your path, and you sighed before responding.

"I don't have time to chat, Ferran. I was headed to the practice field to speak to-"

"Gavi? Yeah, I don't think so. My hamstrings need work. You're coming with me."

You followed closely behind, annoyance bubbling in your throat as you followed Ferran to your office. He laid on the examination bed as you closed the door, using the small sink to wash your hands, and donning a pair of clean gloves as he rolled up his shorts and laid on his stomach.

"So sad to hear about you and Martin, y/n. You two really did make a cute couple. I saw him at the end of the break - he's really looking quite worse for wear."

Uncapping your athletic salve, you started working the mixture between your fingers before moving to Ferran's thigh.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you're a cheater. Usually quite a deal-breaker in a relationship."

You had resolved no to speak to the striker on your table, knowing that everything he said would only egg you on further, creating more opportunities for you to slip up and be unemployed. But there was something in you that Martin had broken, no, stolen, that made staying silent astronomically more difficult than it had been. So your tongue release from your cheek quicker than you could process, and you steeled yourself once again to work on his legs. What were his legs even tired from? It's not like he was playing regularly.

"You know that there's more than one way to cheat on a person, right?" Ferran questioned, folding his arms to get more comfortable on the table. You shifted your eyes to look at him, one brow raised in confusion. Your lip curled up in disgust, and again your found yourself speaking without intention.

"I don't want to hear about all the different ways he cheated on me. I know you two are friends or whatever, but I'm not interested in the rest of his dirty laundry."

"I'm not talking about Martin. The other cheater in question is you."

Movements slowing, you locked eyes with Ferran, who held your gaze with confidence - like he was holding all the cards, and you were none the wiser.

"I didn't go around sleeping with other people while I was in a committed relationship." You deadpanned, not enjoying how the morning was progressing.

"Right, that was Martin - how unoriginal if you both did the same thing. He went around and slept with a couple other girls to satisfy his base desires. It's bad, but what you did is much worse, little nurse."

You tore your gaze away from Ferran, working his legs with new vigor, restraining yourself from just grabbing onto the flesh and squeezing until he screamed out in pain.

"This is not a professional topic of conversation and you shouldn't bring it into the workplace." You replied, but your voice had started to waiver.

"Oh yes it is, because it revolves around one of your coworkers. While Martin was out working and training an doing other things - or other people - you were also being unfaithful. Sure you didn't sleep with someone, but you were in a 'committed relationship', as you put it, when you started to fall for Pablito."

You pulled your hands away from Ferran like he had spontaneously combust, running from the flames. The look of bewilderment was not one you could suppress in that moment. Your throat had gone completely dry, but you knew the longer you remained silent, the more Ferran would interpret it as a confirmation of his theory.

"That's - it's not true. Gavi and I are coworkers, friends if you really want to push it. It's highly inappropriate for you to assume otherwise. Look I know you want me to lose-"

"Lose your job?" Ferran laughed callously. "Oh no, hermosa. I love seeing you run around here in those tight scrubs, hair pulled back - you're like my own personal masseuse. I just hate when some people get special treatment. And you and Pablito haven't exactly been subtle."

"There's nothing going on between-"

"Bullshit. What kind of employee is willing to come in early and work unpaid hours for just another member of the squad? He's the only one with your personal number. You drive him home after practice. Everyone knows that those hours he spends locked away after national team training, he's talking to you. For fuck's sake, you hadn't even been broken up with Martin for a day before you spent the night at his place!"

Eyes locked with the floor, your breathing quickened as Ferran's words too root in you. Did everyone think this way? Was it a common assumption that you harbored "special feelings" for Gavi? He continued without allowing you to recover.

"So you can get on your high horse and spew your woes about how your boyfriend slept with someone else. But you let little Pablito get access to the deepest, most intimate parts of your soul, and despite having a boyfriend, you let yourself love him. You let yourself love Gavi the night you watched him throw up outside the club, young and stupid and delirious, and yet you let Martin think he had a chance to be your man, your one, your soulmate. That's what most people would call emotional cheating. And it still makes you a shit person."

Your temples pounded, headache coming on from the lack of air in your system. You couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't process the information being thrown at your brain. Had Ferran been present that first night at the club half a year ago? Had someone else remembered you, recounting the details to everyone involved? Did Gavi know that you were there, and had seen him in that state? Antonio's question from earlier flashed in your mind, and though you had assumed Gavi's lips had gotten loose, the real culprit was sitting in front of you buttered like a turkey. Everything else would have to wait - because you might lose your job if you didn't get this question answered.

"Have you been telling people I slept with Gavi?" You asked, the pain in your voice clinging to every word.

"I haven't been telling people anything that isn't true. I may have mentioned to a couple of the second-team players that you and Martin had broken up. I may have also mentioned that when I went to console my physically and emotionally battered friend, I watched you and Gavi leave his house, together, and you were in his clothes. Well, I didn't really need to provide that one, did I? The pictures are everywhere. And maybe there was a thing or two about how Martin has always been wary of Pablito, who seemed to always go out of his way to be at your beck and call. People connected their own dots."

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You asked, voice desperate as you ripped of your gloves, coming around the table to face the slippery eel that was Ferran Torres directly.

"Why can you not stand the sight of me so much that you need me to lose everything I've worked for my whole life?"

The smirk was glued to his face, and the mal intent in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

"Just because I like watching you squirm. And if they fire you, it's no worry to me at all. The team managers are already embracing this 'diversity' thing, so another bubbly, bouncy little thing in scrubs will be in swiftly to take your place."

Ferran got up, readjusting his training uniform and making his way to the door. You couldn't speak. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball behind your desk. The entire staff thought you were sleeping with Gavi, and the thoughts spiraled onward. Did they think that's why you hadn't gotten fired after Ferran's complaint? Did anyone think you were qualified beyond just a toy for one of the players?

"I would steer clear of Gavi, hermosa. No more late drives, no more sleepovers. Rumor has it, word's gotten all the way up to Xavi. Would hate to have to give him confirmation that you two are more than friends. Because then you'd be looking for physio jobs in the village football teams."

"But we're not." You replied, voice strained and broken.

"Then keep it that way."

Since Pedri's nonexistent project with Adidas had ended, he was back to giving Gavi rides. It's not that he minded - the younger boy was always talkative and good company. But It was the waiting around that made Pedri want to scream. For the entire time they had been on international leave, you were the only thing Pablo thought about and spoke of, filling any silent moments sending messages to as a precursor for your nightly calls. Pedri was mistaken in thinking this teenage lovesick behavior would cease once they returned to Cam Nou.

Every day after practice, Gavi would move at the most glacial, snail-like pace just to time his exit with yours, accompanying you on the walk to your car. Today was no different. As Gavi took his time in the locker room doing Lord knows what, Pedri caught a glimpse of you speeding down the corridor. He wanted to greet you, to ask if you were okay, but he couldn't get the words out before you rushed past him. He turned into the locker room and yelled at his passanger.

"Hurry up hermano! She already left!"

[6 Missed Calls]: Gavi

You ignored the buzz of your phone on your table as you curled into yourself, tears streaming down your face. It was beyond what you could bear. You had sacrificed so much throughout your life to get the "dream" you were supposed to be living now: perfect life in a perfect city, with your perfect job and perfect friends. But all of it had been set ablaze. Your apartment had never felt lonelier or colder, as you looked at the chairs that had never been used, the floor that only you walked on. Since leaving America you found yourself with few to no friends. You never went out or saw anyone, dedicating yourself to excelling in your program. The only friend you ever had over was Angelika, and even she had not graced your home for weeks upon weeks. You had isolated yourself from everyone to make sure you were perfect at work - never tired or hungover, never a thread or hair out of place. Now you were friendless and single, curled up on your couch, cursing every decision you had ever made.

The last person you wanted to see or speak to was Pablo. Pablo, who had entered your life so suddenly, and taken up residence in your brain and heart, was the sole common thread between everything crumbling around you. You willed yourself to be angry with him. You tried your hardest to blame him for every misfortune that had come your way. Your lack of friends, many of whom distanced themselves when you started working for Barca under a perception that you were "too good for them". Your waning relationship with Angelika, which began when Pablo started to tunnel his way into your life, consuming more and more of your time. Your failed relationship with Martin, which was perfectly stale and stable before Gavi showed you what it was really like to be made a priority. The current precarious state of your job, it was his fault, because of his consistent fighting with Ferran, which provoked him to file his empty complaint.

You wanted to curse Gavi and the day you had met him, but you couldn't do it. You couldn't bring yourself to even have an ill thought about Pablo. All you could do was curse yourself. You had known deep down for so long how you really felt. From that night you spoke to him in the club, identity yet unknown, but all his vulnerability on display, you had known that there was something pulling you into his orbit. You had known that the hoops you jumped through for him were special, and not inconveniences you would shoulder for anyone else. You had known when you searched for him on the field, in your contacts, in your subconscious that no one would ever bring you this much peace. His eyes, his words, the energy that radiated from him were rarities, seen once in a lifetime, and often squandered by those to late to grab them. And so you sat on your couch, tears pouring down your face as the realization enveloped you, too great to hide any longer: Pablo Paez Gavira was your best friend, and you were heart-achingly, soul-crushingly in love with him, but you would never be able to do anything about it.

Gavi had given up after 6 missed calls and 18 unanswered text messages. He knew that you would call him when you were ready to do so, but the anxiety gnawed at him nonetheless. He couldn't stand the thought of you upset, and would move heaven and earth just to make sure you were doing fine. He was currently checking his phone for notifications ever 30-45 seconds, leg once again bouncing - much to Pedri's dismay. The two of them, accompanied by Alejandro and Eric, were at a restaurant catching up with some friends. Gavi paid no mind to anyone. He was too preoccupied to engage in idle conversation. Rather, he just wanted to hear the sound of your voice -no , your breathing even, to calm his worries.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, tearing his gaze away from the screen. A short blond stood before him - one of Eric's friends - and she spoke directly to him, asking questions about his age and if he also played for the club. Unhappy with the interruption, Gavi gave quick and curt responses, trying to avoid a prolonged conversation. This did not deter the girl, who introduced herself as Jacinta, from getting Gavi's undivided attention, as she sat beside him, legs pressed against each other, and rested a hand on his thigh. Before he could react, he heard the gasp of his name, swiveling around to find several teenage girls huddled by the front of the restaurant, phones out and whispering to each other. Gavi had lost his appetite, excusing himself and taking a taxi back to his, checking his phone frequently as he prayed for you to give him any indication that you were alive.

Your phone rang once again, and the tone echoing through your apartment was one you welcomed eagerly: Angelika's. You had not heard from her in the last month, trying to give her enough space to do her work, while still reminding her you were there for support.

"Angelika! It's so good to hear from you."

"I'm moving to Paris."

Your face fell as you turned the words over in your mind.

"You're...what?"

You sat up on the phone, listening to Angelika explain how she had impressed her colleagues, being promoted to their Paris office to work on more couture and avant-garde looks. She gushed about what an amazing opportunity it was as you tried to stop yourself from throwing up. How was it that you were losing everything in your life all at once.

"That's so amazing, Ange."

That was all you could muster, deciding to be a good friend and leave your worries and fears to the side, letting her bask in the triumph of her accomplishment. You responded with how proud you were, how much she deserved this, and how you knew she would do amazing things.

"Does Gavi have a girlfriend?"

The sudden mention of Gavi's name alone was enough to knock the wind out of you, but the context of the question really threatened to have you spill your guts on the rug.

"Not that I know of." You said, the feeling of dread dripping into your gut like tar.

"One of the Barca fan pages just posted a pic of him with some girl at dinner. Look I just sent it. I didn't know he was old enough to be getting girls like that. You two are friends, right?"

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the blonde girl's hand on Gavi's thigh. She wasn't his girlfriend. If anyone were to know that Gavi were in a committed relationship, it would be you. But this knowledge didn't help the wounded feeling that settled into you. You were home, pining after this little footballer, as he effortlessly flirted with other women. You were once again in pieces over a man that did not think of you the way you thought of him.

"Yeah, we're friends, I guess."

You would never be more than Gavi's physiotherapist and someone he occasionally sent Tiktoks to. Gavi was a deity in his field, a name that struck fear and respect in the hearts of the opposition. He was a symbol of the next generation of football royalty, and a man that could have any woman at his feet with a lick of his lips and a wave of his hand. This is what he was destined for: days in the spotlight, photographs with mysterious beauties, and a loyal fanbase that worshipped his every move. None of that involved you: an employee. Why would he want you? There was nothing you could give him that didn't come in a prettier package. He would never look at you as more than a friend, because you walked with the common crowd, and he was among the elite. Gavi could have any girl that he wants, and it was obvious he didn't want you.

You moved from the couch and walked to your table, waking up the computer that sat upon it. You glanced at the envelope Antonio had slid to you earlier, and thought about his offer. What did you have left? You typed a quick email to Xavi requesting a brief meeting the following morning, before heading to bed, trying to sleep away the suffocating feeling that clung to you.

Gavi was at your office door when you walked in the following morning, despite you arriving 20 minutes earlier than usual. His arms were crossed, face scrunched in worry, but his features relaxed when you walked to the door. He tried to help you with your belongings, but you refused. You exchanged a dry good morning before entering your office, avoiding his gaze. He asked how you were feeling, and if anything had happened the previous day. Eyes glued to your computer, you responded shortly, informing him that everything was fine and that you had a meeting with Xavi you needed to prepare for.

"Doctora, did I do something?"

You finally looked at Gavi, taking in his pained expression. It hurt in ways medicine understand for you to be freezing him out like this, and yet, all you could do was think about the image of Gavi coupled with Ferran's words. Was it worth it to risk everything for someone who would never be yours? You shook you head, informing him again that everything was fine. Everything was far from fine: you felt like you had been thrown off a cliff, your sense of purpose and direction and meaning in life shattered. But you didn't want to burden Gavi with this knowledge. So you stood and collected your folders, lips pursed tightly. You would just have to pretend that you weren't desperate to confess to Pablo that he was the reason that you breathed air, and that you were focused on your meeting and nothing else.

He was not satisfied with your answer. Gavi searched for your eyes, trying to understand what he could have possibly done wrong to get you to change on him so quickly - to become so cold. But you refused to meet his gaze, and he was left to his own theories. Had the rumors of you two together repulsed you from him? Were you unable to look him in the eye now that someone had put the thought in your head that you two could be more than friends? Had you finally decided you were too mature and good for him? He had chewed his lips and inner cheek all night pondering these possibilities.

"Please, y/n, if I did something, let me make it right."

"Gavi." Bad sign. You never called him Gavi when you were happy with him. Gavi was his official name in the team, the professional term you addressed him by. His stomach sank, and everything in him screamed to take you into his arms, not letting you go until he once again heard the sweet sound of "Pablo" drip from your lips like honey.

You wanted to grab him and shake him, scream at him, and cry into his shoulder. You wanted to tell him that there was no way for him to make it right, unless he was ready to have you, wholly and completely, never letting you go no matter the consequences. You wanted to tell him the only thing that could fix it was the one thing you could never ask for: his love.

"I need you... to stay away from me for a while."

Gavi could swear e felt his heart crack in two. What could he have possibly done? What heinous crime had he committed that made you need such a high degree of separation. He had been right there: he had you in his arms, laid on his chest, and heartbeat synching with his own. Now, everything was slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and he was watching you disappear before his very eyes.

"Not because I'm angry with you, but I just... need space."

Gavi could do nothing but stare, mouth agape, begging every power that be for this to be a cruel joke. But you continued to shuffle your papers, and the punchline never came. Before he could form a response, a knock resounded from the door, and Xavi walked into the office.

"Gavi, you're here early." He said, eyebrow raised at you in suspicion. The young footballer swallowed this hurt and his pride, clearing his throat to speak.

"Yeah, just came to get some more medical tape. Doctora y/l/n told me we have some in the locker room. I'll be going now."

Gave left your office, shutting the door behind him, but he could not move. He leaned against the wall, trying to fill his lungs with air, but the breaths he took didn't feel like enough. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he was reminded of his childhood, when the other boys would bully him and push him around the field. That was the last time he properly cried of pain. It was happening now, for the first time in 11 years, but this was a different kind of pain. There were needles pricking every inch of his skin, and he could do nothing except let the pain overtake him. What could he have possibly done to push you away?

He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of Xavi's voice through the door. He knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he needed to hear you. He needed to listen to you speak, hear the normalcy in your voice, if he ever wanted to move from that God forsaken spot in front of your door.

"-a little late notice. You should try and schedule further in advance for coming meetings." Xavi said. It was unusual for Gavi to hear you be scolded. When had you asked to meet him?

"I apologize, mister, but it was all some very late occurrences, and I didn't want to delay."

"Alright then, go ahead."

"As you know, we are about 10 days into the January transfer window, and while players are getting offers from all over, this is also the time when clubs try and change staff."

Pablo put a hand over his mouth to cover any sounds he made and prevent himself from vomiting. He didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, I'm aware." Xavi responded. "Antonio is leaving us during this window."

"Exactly. That's actually what I wanted to speak to you about. Antonio, as we all know, is a very talented physiotherapist and sports medic, meaning he got offers from a number of clubs. He received a position as head of physiotherapy at Chelsea, which he had to reject obviously to join Man City. Yesterday, he graciously got the offer forwarded to me."

"Miss y/n, please clarify your intentions. I am not very good at understanding subtext." Xavi laughed out.

"Yes sir. I'll be direct then: I am considering leaving F.C. Barcelona at the end of the transfer window."

~~~~~~~

A/N: guys pls don't kill me I'm sorry for the end (not rlly lol). I hope you all enjoyed what is officially the longest part of the series to date!! Got close to my 15k goal, but not there yet - maybe in the next part. My hands are actually cramping from all the writing this is borderline self-inflicted torture lol. Did y'all catch the subtle title/ lyric references? As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! Esp watching the way people think the story is going to progress because sometimes y'all are spot on and sometimes y'all are wayyyy off and I'm like "wait that would actually be a great plot for another series". Anyways love you all and hope you enjoy!! Part 8??? She's gonna be intense y'all.

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl @altgojo @urmomdotcom5678 @eliseline @invidia-of-alhambra @pixwls @stell4rrrs @80sloverry @car1no-xx @mrsgavira @888bear @kylianmbappee @ivyhrry @gaviypedrisbride @grlwithprblms

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discokicks · 4 months

Text

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

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

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

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

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

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fine. Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

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

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You easily score on him not a second later.

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not true—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

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

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

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

You blink at it. “What is that?”

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

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

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

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

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

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

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Court Jester?”

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

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

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

“My hair?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

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

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

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

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think that’s a great one.”

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

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

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

“Great.”

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

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

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

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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dirtybg3confessions · 4 months

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Blog Moderation FAQs

Hi everyone!

Every time we answer an ask about the queue/inbox situation we get several of the same suggestions in our inbox. While we truly appreciate those of you trying to be helpful, I wanted to take some time to address some of the suggestions and the reasons behind our position on said suggestions.

Have you considered closing the ask box for a while until you work through what you have?

No. With as many asks as there are in the box, it would result in the ask box being closed for quite some time, which we don't think is really what anyone wants!

Closing the box would allow for us to "catch up", but it also would mean potential dry periods of content.

Keeping the ask box open means we need to scroll forever to reach the old asks, but it also means that we are set to deliver consistent content for a while, and are never at risk for an empty queue when the inevitable drop in fandom interest hits.

Why don't you post more frequently?

Actually, we do! We've exploded recently, so many of you may not remember ye olden days of our blog's founder doing their best as a one person show and we got one post a day... ish. Then, when the ask box exploded to 100 asks (haha) they brought in the first round of new mods (including me!). During this time, we were able to build a solid queue. We were then able to post 5-6 times a day.

With a healthy queue and a healthy ask box, we were able to bump the post frequency to 12 times a day. Most of the first wave of mods worked through some asks and then largely went inactive. This is fine, it happens. After struggling to keep up a frequency of 12/day as a one person show once again, we recruited new mods with some activity guidelines.

To maintain a posting frequency of 12 times a day, each mod needs to add 3 posts to the queue a day, or 21 posts to the queue a week. We ask that every mod contributes 30 times a week, that way we have a healthy buffer of content for holidays, emergencies, and just general time away from the internet.

While the confessions are sent in by y'all and editing them in photoshop is a generally simple process, it still does take time. Time in the game to find and take the screenshots, time in the editing software to create the image, then posting and tagging appropriately. Those cursed edits y'all love so much take even more time.

We're all adults here. And your mods are too. They have lives off of tumblr, often complete with bills and day jobs. Honestly, less fun than the little horny blog, but *vague gestures towards capitalist hellscape*

For these reasons, posting 12 times a day is going to be a hard cap for the foreseeable future. In the most loving way possible: If you are submitting an ask now and expecting to see it a week or even a month from now, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Submit your ask and know that it will be appreciated by the community when its time comes.

"A confession is never late, nor is it early. A confession arrives precisely when it means to." - Elminster (probably)

Why don't you just get more mods?

Have you heard the phrase "too many cooks in the kitchen"? Every person added to a process adds another variable, and the more variables, the harder it is to deliver a consistent experience. Additionally, the goal is to find people who can stay pretty consistently active, which can be a hard ask for a lot of people. We're very grateful for the team that we have now, and we aren't seeking new mods at this time.

Why don't you post more confessions about (character/female/etc)?

We are a submissions blog. We work with the content we are given. You need to be the horny you wish to see in the world. I know in general there's a lack of confessions for female characters, and there's an analysis to be made about how different gender/sexual identities interact with fandom and how that affects the content available in communities for consumption, but I'm not the person to make it.

Thank you all for continuing to be amazing, it is truly an honor to serve 🫡

#not confessions #faq #mod tri

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storiesbyjes2g · 4 months

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Simblr Gratitude Day

I've been in a serious adulting and holiday prep pattern this week and haven't been able to be here much, so I'm behind on a lot of your content and missed this really cool event. But will that stop me from participating? Not one bit! I finally have a moment to chill, so here we go!

Y'all know how much I appreciate you, but I'll never stop expressing it. Whoever came up with this idea, kudos to you! There's often so much negativity in this community and I love that we're not gonna let it win. Let's make spreading love a way of life!

@ladybugsimblr, you are the best co-conspirator collab partner, and I appreciate you putting up with my foolishness on the daily lol. Your friendship has been so refreshing, and I am really glad to know you!

@trumpets0ng, you keep my sims in constant supply of super amazing builds, and my stories have never looked better. I appreciate you also putting up with my shenanigans and am glad to have a chance to get to know you outside of sims things.

@mysimsloveaffair, it has been a privilege to get to know you better! I love seeing you pop up in my messages, and collaborating with you has been so fun. Thanks for allowing me into your life!

@maladi777, you have been around since the very beginning of my Sims 4 life, read every single story, witnessed every glow up, and have been part of every community I've joined. So the question remains...who is stalking who?? I appreciate your stalwart friendship and love that I can say I have known you for as long as I have.

@percosim @saps-sims, you're my reblogging tag team! I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have nearly as many followers with you guys consistently spreading the word. It's really amazing what you do, and I appreciate it so much!

@someone-elsa, you ask the BEST questions, and I always look forward to them. And you know I'm loving your lookbooks right now!

@soulsimmin, I LOVE talking to you whether it's sims, design, or some random bizarreness that just occurred! And I love how deep you get into my stories and characters. Your comments keep me rolling lol. Sometimes I'll add some subtle obscure funny and say to myself, if she is the only one who gets it and laughs, I've been successful lol. Thank you!

@bridgeportbritt, I appreciate your check-ins! These internet friendships we all have can be a minefield sometimes, and it's hard to know how people are affected by things. I appreciate you asking! And I appreciate you loving my sims!

@gingerbeardmansim, @thelastairsimblr, @gogomadu, @wannabecatwriter, @digital-deluxe, @budgie2budgie, @dreamstatesims, @eslanes, @ellemant, @hazelminesims, @cross-design, @micrathene-w, @shesthespinstersimmer, @haziewhims, @whyhellosims, @chcltroses, @geminispeaketh, @n1ck1s1ms, @beebeesiims, @wifemomsimmer, @nyrarachelle, @nilonne, @utamuse, @pinkchocolatesims, @kimbogee, @missmoodring, @lazysunjade, @nightlifeseries, @deardiaryts4, @ladytee918, and everyone who has ever liked or commented, to the lurkers, to my newest followers I am not familiar with yet, I appreciate you all SO very much! Those of you who write, build, make cc, and everything else creative, you know how we all get in our heads sometimes. All of you keep us going, and your interactions do not go unnoticed. 💛

Love you all!!

#simblr appreciation day #simblr love

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emerald-echeveria-plant · 2 years

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((y'all loved part one so much, here's part two))

Bowser x reader AGaIn

• Bowser gets jealous very easily. He can't stand you talking to someone else. What's SO important that he can't be included in the conversation?? Are they trying to take you away from him?? Of course they are! Fools! Bowser is always a step ahead of everyone else! He attempts to burn them alive. Luckily, your friend manages to escape only with their ass on fire. Bowser later apologies to you for trying to kill your friend.

• He'd want to get married as soon as possible. Three months of dating and he thinks you're both ready to tie the knot. On one of your dates, he's made a very loud and extravagant proposal. With fireworks, sparklers, many flowers, and some of Kamek's magic to spice things up. The engagement ring is a large diamond that weighs your hand own because of how big it is. If you don't accept his engagement, Bowser will get very upset. Thinking you don't love him anymore. After telling him you're not ready for marriage, Bowser will understand. This gives him the opportunity to try to make a better proposal. It you do accept his proposal, Bowser will want the wedding the exact next day. He REALLY wants to marry you. To be able to call you his spouse. To make you the queen/king of the koopas. You wake up to a white wedding dress/suit set up at your disposal. Bowser himself is in a matching white tuxedo. Kamek officiates the wedding between the two of you. The honeymoon would be on an island. In a expensive suite with a hot tub. Bowser is all to eager to spend his first night with you, if you know what I mean ;)

• if someone's bothering/harassing you, you tell Bowser at all times. He makes sure that they regret upsetting you. As much as Bowser acts like a sweet guy because of you, he's still has that maniacal evil turtle monster apart of him. If you ask him what happened to your harasser, Bowser tells you not to worry about! And to not check the dungeon for a few days.

• makes the dumbest, corniest jokes to make you laugh. Unless it relates to dark humor. And the joked are d a r k.

• Bowser doesn't know how to cook or bake. After learning Peach makes a cake for Mario, he once tried to do the same for you. Instead of it coming out like Bowser pictured it, beautiful and delicious and such. The cake came out burnt, lumpy, and raw. He tried using Kamek's wand to fix it but it only made things worse. With the abomination of the cake becoming a monster. Bowser manages to defeat the cake monster by destroying it with his fire breath. That's the exact same time when you happen to show up. The cake monster explodes, causing a huge mess. Some cake gets on you and Bowser. The two of you clean up the place before Kamek finds out. All the while, Bowser recounts the story of what happened. You admire him for his efforts but beg him to please read the instructions next time.

• Bowser is known to get competitive during games. Kart racing, board games, and even tennis. He taunts the other teams that he'll crush them. When Bowser starts losing, he'll mean that literally. Except against you. Bowser even purposefully loses because he wants you to win. Anything to make his lover happy.

• As much as he loves to sing, he also loves to dance. Tango, freestyle, any style! Bowser loves to dance with you the most. He'll have the koopas play some classical music as the two of you dance the night away under the moonlight.

• He loves visiting the beach a lot. Mainly because he enjoys laying on the sand and sunbathing. Nothing like warning up the scales! You and Bowser build sand castles. You built one that looked similar to his own castle. He almost cried tears of joy when he saw it. Swimming is fun too! That's when Bowser isn't trying to make cannonballs or terrorizing the local cheep cheeps.

• Bowser goes to sleep very late because he either has some unfinished business to attend to or is stuck in another meeting. Bowser thinks about being curled up against you. Wishing that he could feel you instead of having to listen to Kamek or the koopas ramble about plans. It's gets frustrating at times. Once it is finally over, Bowser quickly makes his way to your shared bedroom. Depending if you sleep early, Bowser will carefully curl up against you. Making sure to not wake you up. Waking up his darling is the last thing on his mind. If you sleep late, Bowser is pleased to see you up. He tells you why he arrived later than usual. Complaining about having to be held back again. He'd the king of the koopas! Bowser shouldn't have to listen to anybody else! It's infuriating! Although, he's much happier and calmer now. Now, he can just cuddle with you in bed.

#bowser #bowser x reader #mario movie

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dandyleyen · 1 month

Text

Dungeon Meshi - My Thoughts (Ch1-10)

Each section gets written out as I am reading. Keep in mind that I have finished episodes 1-12 of Cooking in Dungeon and that I have read chapters 27-31 (excluding 28.5)

Chapter 1.

I assume we’ll get info in this later on but I wonder why the country was sealed away in the first place.

“I bestow my entire kingdom upon the one who defeats the magician." - The King (presumably) I know that the anime does get into this a bit more as we go on and that a new king (or queen ?) would be crowned eventually but I wonder why it is that the king (if he is who he says he is) wants to allow his kingdom to be given away. Curious.

Side note, but I adore Laios talking about the dungeon ecosystem and food chain. Would love to seen an in-depth trophic web with different ecosystems of the dungeon. You could also include the factors that aren’t natural to the ecosystem, so like,,, the various races that go into the dungeon and how they effect the environment around them with adventuring and other things. I wonder if there are any concept maps made already for this type of thing. We’re seeing a basic food chain but I want it in depth !!

Laios is very cute, send tweet !

Chapter 2.

I do find it very sweet that Laios is asking Marcille if she wants anything specific to eat.

Laios is such a little weirdo. God, I love him. This was also the first occasion of me wanting to try one of the foods they made. The tart looks really good and I'm currently regretting reading this before dinner :|

Chapter 3.

I had it in my mind that chimeras were like a very specific animal combo, but hearing Laios calling the basilisk a chimera put that into perspective for me. Like,, yeah no that makes sense. Interesting.

Chapter 4.

Marcille and Falin on the front page :( Guys.

The episode for this was a rough watch for me because of how Marcille was getting treated tbh, and it's similar now while reading but I did feel more with the show. I get the concerns that the party has, because they need to hurry (mind you, Laios literally holds them up down the line with the painting stuff in the other level), but implying she is already being a bit of a burden by saying she'll be "more of a burden" if she collapses is,,,, not Chilchuck's best moment.

"Not being useful to anyone makes me feel so lonely..." - Marcille I liked her already leading up to this but this was one of this things that got me to latch onto her so quickly. I do appreciate that Chilchuck did initially go to apologize for having called her a burden, and that Laios pointed out that everyone was useful in the team but with different strengths. Them :(

Chapter 5.

Chilchuck fighting for his life and trying not to get his shit rocked by the traps going off is incredibly funny and I feel for him. My neurotic little guy,,, love him.

Laios wanting to take the bones home is incredibly endearing. Me too, buddy, me too.

Chapter 6.

Touden siblings flashback !! I care about them so much, you guys.

Laios looks so dejected about not being able to eat living armor,,, what a freak /pos. He isn't wrong though, if you can beat it you can probably also eat it.

Chapter 7.

MARCILLE WEARING THE ARMOR IN THE FRONT PAGE ??? Oh my god . Christ. Not even a warning ? God. Oh my god. I'm kicking my feet and giggling, y'all she is so,, . Christ.

Love that Laios got to discover something that likely no one else knew about just because he was soo hell-bent on eating different monsters.

Downside: I couldn't rock with the meal in this chapter. Too... mollusk-y. Mollusks freak me out.

Chapter 7.5.

Ohhh this is everything to me. Monster biology !! We get to learn more about how monsters are seen and spoken about in-universe. I adore this. I can't remember if the anime shows any of this section, but I think it's an incredibly fun part of the world-building. It makes it feel real.

Chapter 8.

This is incredibly nitpicky but it's a little annoying when people use "symbiotic relationship" to ONLY mean a beneficial relationship on both ends. Chilchuck asks if the vegetables act as parasites to the golems and Senshi says that it's the opposite and then proceeds to call it a symbiotic relationship because they help one another. He's not entirely wrong, but symbiotic relationships include parasitism ! Mutualism (the relationship between the golems and the vegetables), commensalism, parasitism, and competition are all symbiotic relationships. Again, incredibly nitpicky but this always bothers me.

"It's a crime to tamper with magical creatures without permission" - Marcille Girl,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, don't even talk about crimes rn when you know damn well what you're getting up to in your free time*

On another note, I love how we learn more about Senshi's motivations in staying down there and all he does to protect the ecosystem functions.

Chapter 9.

One of the first signs, to my knowledge, that the dungeon is acting strange. The red dragon itself (himself ? herself ? theirself ?) is acting a bit strangely ! We learn earlier on that red dragons aren't very mobile and the characters assume (hope, really) it would be resting after such activity, but here we learn that it's on the move and showing up closer to the orcs. The orcs have pretty much been here the longest and even they see that as odd. Makes you wonder.

The baby orc ! What a cutie. I love that the kid is the one to suggest they share the meal and that Marcille tries to smooth the situation over. I like how fuzzy the orcs are. It caught me off guard in the anime but the fur is a neat touch.

Laios not really considering the possibility of defeating the mad sorcerer and becoming king. Pretty boys are often allergic to thinking.

ALSO, Laios talking about Falin always gets to me :(

Chapter 10.

Is it even necessary to tell y'all that I immediately latched onto Kabru ? I'm transmasc, ofc I latched onto him. Same with the anime. It was funny to get invested in him only to see him and his party immediately getting their shit rocked.

We're being told again that the dungeon has been acting strangely, which is not new info to us but it does help to build a case for it. Kabru points out that he's been told about the dungeon layout changing day-by-day* and the monsters becoming more aggressive.

Ah. Marcille essentially flash-banging the group (and the bugs) is incredibly relatable. I can't do bugs. I cannot and I will not. I know the meal looks incredibly pretty, but I physically would not be able to consume it knowing that it's just,,, bugs. I don't even eat lobster and shrimp due to how bug-like they are. It's bugs !

---- *Asterisks-marked comments are marked because they are points I know that become relevant down the line because I've either seen it already or read about it already. I will wait to get there in the chronology to speak more on it, but this is my way to point out some foreshadowing that I am aware of.

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enhastolemyheart · 1 year

Text

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY! — NISHIMURA RIKI

PAIRING | niki x gn!reader

GENRE | pure fluff, angst (but not really), est. relationship, uni au, mention of Jo from &team, its takes place in a party setting, but there's no content like drugs, alcohol etc. mentioned, i mean cmon i wouldn't do that to niki y'all so its a pg friendly party.

WARNINGS | mentions of food and drinks, Niki ignores the reader, summer au, reader is whipped (lol), niki is too, proofread but please do tell me if any mistakes

PROMPTS USED | 6- "can you stop ignoring me please" and 88- "wait a minute... are you jealous?"

WORD COUNT | 2.5k + (DAYUM, wasn't expecting that-)

A/N | this is my first ever oneshot! thank you @badmuni for requesting! hopefully it's up to your expectations :)) this took a while to write ngl, i was jus under the impression of getting it perfect and trying to rush into it but i realised that i shd write when I'm in a flow and that works best for me!! Enjoy!! I only made it into a uni au so it would fit my idea better so please don't come @ me— reblogs are feedback are very much appreciated!

09:13 pm.

It’s a Saturday night. And your lovely boyfriend took you to one of his friends’ Jay’s party he was hosting as a celebration to start off the summer.

You honestly did not want to attend. No offence, his friends are great, and they treat you very nicely, but all you wanted to do was spend some time with your boyfriend at home, all cozy in pyjamas and a movie night, maybe even build a ‘lil blanket fort ‘cause why not? And you told him that. But all he did was pull out his signature puppy eyes and his ‘lil signature pout and beg you to go to the party with him.

‘Please y/n, we rarely hang out outside, and it is summer! So, we should be outside having fun, partying.’ he tries to reason with you.

And of course, you, yes you, being very much whipped for him, lets him have his way.

—

You sit there idly, eyes scanning the crowd of people. And that's a lot of people. Half the universities’ student body is probably here. Your eyes land on your boyfriend, who seems to be dancing with Jay and Sunghoon and jake. They were all situated a few feet away from the table you're sitting in, Heeseung is off to the side dancing with a girl who he has been supposedly seeing for the past two weeks.

You huff not so loudly but it was somehow loud enough for your Niki to hear, and that leads to him making his way over to you, with a huge lovestruck grin on his face. He observed you as walked towards you, doe eyes scanning the crowd, your fingers playing with the brim of the glass you were holding on the table with the other hand. Your hair is neatly styled and flow-y and he loves that look on you, even if you look in everything, this is his favourite.

“Hello baby.”

Your attention from the crowd shifts to lad in a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up till it touches his elbows in front of you. You let out a big smile upon seeing his face. You turn towards him in the high stool you were sitting in, leaving the cup on the table, “hello.”

“Are you enjoying the party so far?” he asks as he puts his arms on either side of the stool, caging you in his arms in some sort of way. He leans in and gives a small peck on your cheek causing you to smile even more.

You slowly press your palms against his chest before dragging them upwards and wrapping them around your boyfriends’ neck, “it’s not bad. Just wanted some time with you is all.”

He chuckles lowly before leaning in, pressing a small kiss on your soft lips, “whatever my baby wants, is what my baby gets.” He put his hands in front of you, signaling you to take it. And so you do, and the next thing you know, he’s taking you to a corner of the dancefloor, the floor vibrating because of the bass of the song being played as well as the way the peoples’ bodies are moving like there is no tomorrow.

He gently places his hands on the sides of your waist firmly, yours going around his shoulders. You both sway to the beat together, huge smiles slapped across both of your faces. He even pulls away occasionally to take your palm in his and lightly twirl you around, this move makes you break out in laughter, which causes him to laugh as well, heart swelling. getting close to each other again, your side cheek pressed against his chest and his hands moving lower to your hips.

You bask in each others’ presence. You close your eyes to cherish this little moment you had together, making your night one of the best nights you’ve had. He takes you face in his hands, cradling it while looking into your eyes with the only feeling you both could explain right now.

Love.

His gaze lowers from your orbs to your soft and plump lips. The way they look so kissable right now. He couldn't resist the urge to not kiss you, so he leans in halfway, waiting patiently for you to catch on. You do catch on it the second he looks at your lips, so you lean in the rest of the way, lips finally touching. Both of you break out in grins as you kiss, his hands delicately holding your face and yours wrapping around his waist, squeezing the material of his shirt.

“I love you y/n.” he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear before looking into your eyes.

You stand on your tippy toes and give him a peck, “and I love you.”

Niki hums as you call out to him, “my feet are getting tired.” he chuckles before taking your hand in his, before making way to the table where you were initially sitting at, “okay let’s go sit down, I'll get you a drink.”

“Okay.”

You sit down at the table, and he kisses your hand while maintaining eye contact with you before he walks away. You rest your head on your palm as you wait for your Niki, you look at your nails, keeping a mental note to colour them your favourite shade now that you don’t have to worry about school and its rules for the next two months.

“y/n?”

You whip your head towards the direction where that sound came from and you couldn’t believe your eyes. You see your longtime childhood best friend, Jo. He was your partner in crime your whole life up until sophomore year of high school. He had to transfer because of his father’s job but nonetheless, tried to keep in touch but ultimately stopped because school was just getting busy, and now you're soon to be sophomore of college after this summer.

He gets closer to you and you jump out of your seat to greet him in a hug, “Jo? Oh my god how long has it been since I've seen you? How are you?” he lowly chuckles as he pulls away, taking in your features, saying that you didn't glow up would be an understatement. You have matured so much over the course of your last two years of school, features much more prominent and even earning yourself a pretty and amazing boyfriend.

“Yeah, I'm good. It was hard—” Jo gets cut off when he sees a figure approaching from behind you and wrapping their arms around your waist. You lightly jump at the sudden contact but melt into it knowing it is Niki. Niki gives a lip-tight smile to the boy before turning to you, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. He witnessed your ‘lil moment with the boy and did not like it.

“y/n, who is this guy?” Niki asks in a sweet but sarcastic tone, eyes shooting lasers at the poor boy.

“I’m Jo,” he answers before you could, taking a step forward, extending his hand out, “and you are?”

“I’m Niki, their boyfriend.” your cheeks became hot at the way he introduced himself. More than six months into dating yet he always makes your heart race and cheeks burn. Jo awkwardly puts his hand back down to his side after he sees that the gesture wasn't returned.

“Ah I see,” your friend exclaimed before looking at you, “well it was nice seeing you again y/n, hopefully we can catch up properly.” Niki did not avert his gaze from the boy, he couldn't deny the fact that he was good looking. It made him all insecure.

You reciprocate the smile, “yeah for sure!”

“Bye y/n.”

“Bye bye.” you waved your hand as he walked away. You turn to your boyfriend beside who seems to be avoiding your eye contact, jaw clenched.

“Who was that?” he asked you while looking at you, annoyance (and jealousy) laced in his voice.

You play with the side bangs that are in his eyes, “he was my childhood friend, he moved to Busan after sophomore year of high school. Maybe he is back in town for summer.”

“Yeah you mentioned him.” he huffs, you know that whatever happened a few seconds ago dampened his mood, so you will do whatever to bring back your bubbly boyfriend.

You were about to lean in to give him a kiss but were interrupted because of Jake who cleared his throat. “Sorry to ruin your guys’ moment, but Niki we need help with the music. Something is wrong.”

“Yeah I'll be there.'' Jake nods and walks away with that. He turns to before handing you your drink and giving you a peck on your lips, “I'll be back okay?”

You hum in acknowledgement and sit back in your stool, sighing.

—

09:56 pm

You didn’t think you’d be in the same position again.

Your head resting on your palm as you wait for your boyfriend. Jake said he just needed help with music, why the hell is it taking so long? You decide to wait for five more minutes but nothing changes.

Where the hell did Niki go? You get off your beloved seat and start to search for your man. Considering the fact he is a big giant, it wasn’t that hard. You make your way to him, he spots you a few feet away and rolls his eyes looking away. That's weird, was everything okay? Niki doesn’t usually get annoyed with you, only uses the emotion to tease you in case you tease him in the first place and he just pretends to shrug it off when in reality he becomes a blushy mess.

You tap lightly on his shoulder but he ignores it. I pout before pursuing your lips, brows furrowing, trying to decipher why he was ignoring you all of a sudden. He was just giggly and happy and blushing and having fun with you a minute ago. You walk around him to face him and look up at him, he looks like he wants to be left alone, kind of grumpy too.

“Do you wanna dance? my feet aren’t hurting anymore.” you ask as you take a hold of his wrist, he shrugs it off before looking at you in the eye, with a cold and hard stone face. Why is he acting like this?

It looked like he was burning holes through your skin when he was staring at you, emotionless, he then turned to the boys, saying that he needed another sprite. Ignoring you once again, he leaves. You don’t hesitate to follow him, you need to know why your boyfriend was acting like that and you wanted to fix it.

You don’t necessarily like this Niki, whenever he acts like this, he gives you the cold shoulder, and you did nothing wrong, or at least you thought you did. He did this one time, he left you in the dark for about two days, but his excuse was because his friends bet him to do that because Niki wanted to prove to them that he isn’t a clingy person.

But you love clingy Niki. The way he shows you care, treats you with kindness and makes you feel divine and like you’re on the top of the world. And you know that he loves treating you like that too.

“Is everything okay Niki? Did I do something wrong?” you ask as you try to reach out to him, but escapes by the mere second, avoiding eye contact with you as he waits for the person before to take a drink and leave.

He tunes out your voice that's asking him so many random questions and just focuses on what’s in front of him.

You wave your hand in front of his face, getting frustrated, “hello?? I'm talking to you. Can you stop ignoring me please?” He doesn’t respond. Instead he just takes a can, pops it open and takes a big gulp of the carbonated liquid. He turned to walk away but you were faster than that. You stop in front of him and take his wrist dragging him to a corner.

“Okay, you are going to tell me why you aren’t talking to me right now. And we are not going anywhere until I get an answer, ” You huff as you cross your arms on your chest and look at him fire in your eyes. Your eyes soften as you sigh, seeing him not moving an inch, “please just tell me Niki, you are worrying me.”

“No one asked you to be so worried about me y/n, why don’t you just go hang out with Josh.”

You raised your head with brows furrowed, “what are you talking about?”

He gulps down the rest of the liquid before throwing it away, coincidentally, the can fell into a bin, “you know what I'm talking about,” he takes a step closer, “you were so touchy and smile-y with that shithead, why don’t you go hang out with him?”

“We were childhood friends, we saw each other after more than 3 years and I didn’t know he would be back in town, “ you as well take a step closer, now only millimetres apart, “I’m sorry I got caught up in the moment I guess, he is just very touchy with people Niki.”

“I still don’t like him.” the boy in front of you utters under his breath.

“Wait a minute. . . are you jealous?” the smirk on your face grew a small bit when he widened his eyes.

“What?! No, of course not!” your boyfriend doesn’t hesitate to scream to defend himself.

“You were, weren't you?” you look at him with your eyes squinted. He turns red, cheeks heating up, fervently shaking his head to prove your statement wrong. As much as it is cute, you can never get your boy to admit the fact that he was jealous.

You just chuckle before bringing up a hand to his cheek, leaning in and kissing his lips, he kisses back instantly, one hand holding the side of your waist and the other on top your hand that is holding the side of his face. You pull away only to be met with his lips again, he turns his head to kiss you deeper. The both of you pull each other closer, smiling in your kiss before pulling away for real this time.

“I'm sorry y/n and I love you.” Niki says as he cradles your face in his hands, looking at you with lovestruck eyes.

“It's okay Niki, and I love you too.” you peck his lips, never getting enough of him.

“Now let’s go dance? I wanna show to all the people how great of a s/o I have and how good of a dancer they are.” He says smugly, kissing your cheek. You blush hard and try to avoid his gaze that’s making your cheeks redden even more.

“Yeah. let’s go.”

A/N | Aannnnddddd it's done!! yayy!! less gaurr!! again thank you muni for requesting, hope you liked it ;)) this is my first ever original writing post on here so hoping y'all support me. I am a baby writer so I'm always open to tips and advice!! Thank youu !!

PEACE AND LOVE <33

#<enhastolemyheart3 #enhypen #ni ki enhypen #niki enha #enhypen x reader #niki x reader #enha imagines #enha #enhypen drabbles

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tranquilpetrichor · 5 months

Text

zb1 as honkai: star rail players

— may this journey lead us starward.

synopsis: you end up getting the zb1 boys to play the popular hoyoverse space fantasy rpg called honkai: star rail, and this is how it goes...

genre: headcanon, fluff, crack

wc: 944

warnings: mentions of video game deaths, cursing, there may be unfamiliar video game terms

a/n: haha please lemme summon all the zerose that play this game. very self-indulgent headcanon. i actually have not played this for a couple weeks because college = busy so... yeah.

taglist: @restlessmaknae

sung hanbin

he now thinks it would be a fun idea to have the members play video games like this for content so there you go

i can see him looking at bronya and thinking "she's a great leader" because honestly so true

he starts off with a fairly standard team composition (shielder, healer, support, dps) because you know less is more

likes the story, finishes it fairly quickly

thinks the feature where characters text you is cute

gets really happy whenever you use his support character

kim jiwoong

absolutely confused as hell and really, you can't blame him

"wait, why i can't jump?"

you spend a bit of time explaining the turn-based combat stuff to him and now he does get it... sorta

doesn't play too much but sometimes does it on a free day

pulls for characters he finds pretty (so valid)

and that's how he ended up with luocha, imbibitor lunae, jing yuan and kafka

has decent luck too

zhang hao

plays with chinese dub, chinese dialogue text

pulls for as many characters from the xianzhou luofu as he can

a lore enjoyer, probably excitedly talking about his favorite parts with you

probably got sucked into all the side quests

busy testing out the simulated universe, enjoying every second of it

has the ost samudrartha on blast, he'd love to cover the song one day

having a field day with any lore-heavy updates

seok matthew

he probably tried memory of chaos with f2p characters "because he was bored" and already did it w cracked as hell 5 stars

i can see him having a bunch of the standard banner characters from losing the 50/50s

he prob saw welt and said “haraboji" which means grandpa. if y'all know that joke i love you.

curses a lot if he dies

if something actually ends up being too hard for you to beat he gladly tries to help you (he's sweet like that)

named the trailblazer (main character) woohyun

also loves exploration and just running around the map even if he can't find everything

finds it fun in his free time

kim taerae

plays it casually (because he’s probably already too dedicated to valorant or something to pick up another game)

yk i think he would be a fan of the music, this game has a very good ost

in the parlor car of the express there’s a phonograph and one of the songs you can play on there is called “take the journey”, it’s this acoustic guitar song with soothing vocals

if that’s not taerae, idk what is

as a music lover, he's probably listening to the whole ost for this game

a very proud serval main (no did you see that pic of him with the electric guitar on his birthday? i'm sure he can appreciate a fellow guitarist)

thinks it's funny that gepard uses serval's guitar case as a weapon

probably builds at least two good teams

and complains when realizing he didn't get that many materials from beating the calyxes (same)

ricky

plays with chinese dub, english text

lazy af, turned on auto battle feature we stan

plays maybe twice per week

dialogue skipper

yk this man is buying whatever the equivalent of the battle pass is for this game

he can and will whale for the characters he wants (and this man already has better 50/50 luck than you, for sure)

probably doesn't give a shit about meta when deciding to pull on banners even though because oh wow that character is cool

actually pulls on the lightcone banner (because he can)

sees asta and her constant purchases and goes yep that's relatable

he jokingly tries to name the trailblazer something like youngandrich

kim gyuvin

sometimes starts leveling up relics randomly not giving a crap about stats even though he probably should

"it's a 5 star one and the correct mainstat, so here we go!"

he shows you relics leveled all the way with absolutely shit substats just to troll and annoy you

another proud dialogue skipper

but when the trailblazer speaks, guyvin picks all the funny and wacky dialogue options

lets your support character do all the work for him

probably let excess exp accumulate until he finally does his equilibrium trial or whatever

thinks it would be funny to main sampo or qingque. so that's exactly what he does

says fuck it we ball and puts 4 dps characters on one team

randomly says character voice lines like "HELP ME MR. SVAROG" and you're just like "please shut up"

probably named the trailblazer eumppappa

park gunwook

the most likely to enjoy the game imo

also ends up getting good at it (because he’s talented and good at learning new things)

doesn’t like to auto battle, actually enjoys grinding battles

started laughing at you because he got gepard for his beginner pulls and you don’t even have him yet (but you laughed when he lost his 50/50 to himeko of all people so you’re even.)

has a decent amount of characters

you give him so many credits because you keep using his gepard

to return the favor, he uses your characters occasionally, mostly seele.

he likes putting shielders and healers as support characters because "some people need to be able to not die"

easily finds the chests, is a completionist

always updated and knows when new redeem codes are out

han yujin

very intently focused on the game, you find it hilarious

but since our maknae is very dedicated, you’re quite surprised at his trailblaze level..

“yujin, slow down, you’ve been playing for what, two days?"

he’s probably already reached somewhere around trailblaze level 25 already

truly a yanqing enjoyer, he likes everything about him and sees a bit of himself as yanqing is also young and dedicated to his particular craft (yes i wish i had him on my account shut up!)

sulks whenever he loses a 50/50

ngl i imagine ricky probably buys some stuff in-game for him

#kflixnet #kwritersworldnet #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zb1 scenarios #zb1 reactions #zb1 fics #zb1 drabbles #zb1 headcanons #zerobaseone x reader #zerobaseone imagines #tranquilpetrichorfic

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justabigassnerd · 1 year

Text

Overwhelmed

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Word count - 3,136

Warnings - overworking one's self, swearing, mention of passing out

Summary - you begin to overwork yourself and Jake tries to help out before it's too late

A/N - it's another part of Hangman junior y'all! This was a suggestion an anon sent in when I asked for some ideas on what to write for the Hangman junior universe since it's so well-loved by y'all (I am still open to ideas from y'all regarding this universe). Anyways I'll stop rambling now. As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!

If there was any feeling teenagers were familiar with. It was the feeling of being invincible, like they could do anything and shoulder any burden. You were no exception to this. You were also a Seresin which in your dad’s words made you ‘one stubborn kid.’ You trucked through what the world threw at you without complaint, always wanting to seem like you could take anything that came your way. But at one point it started building up to the point that you couldn’t handle any more.

At first, you picked up sports, giving yourself something to do after school and all your friends were doing it too so it seemed like fun. And it was. You loved getting to be part of a team and playing matches against opposing schools and feeling the joys of victories as well as the upsets of losing and promising to work harder. Soon after, you started tutoring people. You overheard a younger student complaining that they were struggling with their English homework and so you offered to give them a helping hand. As it happened in all schools, word got around that you were offering help and soon you were helping multiple people during your lunch periods and even having to spend time with people after school to tutor them. You were starting to get less and less time to relax and it was starting to weigh heavily on you. You hardly got time to eat or sleep due to the amount of work you were having to do. You had to do your own homework and then create small lesson plans for the people you were tutoring which led to you being awake until a stupid time.

Jake knew you’d picked up sports, he came to games if he could and he loved cheering and embarrassing you as much as possible. But he didn’t know about the tutoring and the amount of pressure you were putting on yourself every day. Even at the weekends, you were out at the library or visiting friends at their houses to tutor them or get in some sports practice. Jake was getting worried about how much you were out but he also knew that you deserved to have fun and be a teenager. He wanted you to have the childhood that he didn’t get. One day, however, your stress and exhaustion reached a breaking point. You had come home on a Friday afternoon after spending time tutoring a Freshman and you kicked your shoes off in the hall as a small sigh escaped your lips. You head up to your room and drop your bag off by your desk before heading back downstairs in search of food to bring up to your room. As you grab a plate from the cupboard, you hear your dad’s truck pulling up.

“Hey kiddo, how was school?” Your dad asks when he gets through the front door, searching through the house and finding you in the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. You offered no response, only shrugging weakly and keeping your focus on searching for food.

“Are you locking yourself away to study for that test you have on Monday or something?” Jake asks lightly, a slightly teasing tone to his voice. His face drops instantly when you slam the cupboard door and turn to face him angrily.

“Why the fuck did you have to remind me of that?!” You yell as you stare up at your dad, angry tears filling your eyes at the thought of the test you were sure you were going to fail with the lack of studying you’ve been able to do. Jake’s eyes widened at your outburst and he held his hands out in front of himself as a sign of peace.

“Whoa, are you okay y/n/n?” Jake asks, concern filling his voice as he watches you carefully.

“No, dad! Quite frankly I’m not okay! I have all this shit on my plate and I don’t get a chance to breathe!” You shout, the tears pouring down your face as your breaths become short and sharp. Jake doesn’t dare speak, he holds his hand out towards you and silently asks for your permission to touch you. When you nod, Jake wraps an arm around you, leads you into the living room, sits you down on the sofa and pulls you into a hug, gently shushing you as you bury your face in his shoulder. He didn’t give a shit that your tears were staining his shirt, he just cared about you. He ran a hand through your hair and whispered words of reassurance to you. He held you tight, rocking the two of you slightly as your sobs began to slow. When your tears stop, you bury yourself further into your dad's side, curling against him as your arms wind around his middle.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for yelling at you.” You apologise, your voice barely audible through the material of Jake’s shirt but he heard you regardless and instantly shook his head.

“No. You’re okay sweetheart. But I do want to know what caused this. I want to help.” Jake says, pressing a sweet kiss on the top of your head. You remain silent for a moment and Jake pulls away from the embrace slightly to look down at you.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we both get changed into something comfy and I’ll order a pizza and then we can talk.” Jake offers, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs as he smiles softly. You nod lightly and Jake gestures in the direction of the stairs with his head. The two of you head upstairs to your rooms so you could both get changed. You and Jake both change into a pair of sweatpants and a comfy t-shirt. You tug a hoodie on as you leave your room and you head downstairs to see your dad sitting on the sofa with a soft smile as you sit down beside him and instantly cuddle into his side once more.

“I’ve ordered the pizza. Let’s talk while we wait.” Jake says, looking down at you as you look back up at him. You nod slightly and take a deep breath, preparing yourself to speak.

“You knew I started doing some sports after school and that cut a lot into my personal time but at first it was manageable. Then I helped a Freshman with his English work and word got out about it which led to nearly everyone wanting me to tutor them because they know I get good grades. I don’t even have enough time to do my own homework because I’m so busy helping everyone else out. I don’t even get time to spend with you or Bradley or the Daggers. I just feel like there’s too much going on and I don’t know how to manage it.” You admit in a whisper, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands so you can wipe your tears away before they get the chance to fall. Jake listened to your every word carefully, nodding in understanding.

“Okay. What you’ve got to do sweetheart, is stand up for yourself. Don’t let anyone push you beyond your limits because they need you. You’re allowed time to relax and rest. Hell, everyone needs it or else we’d all be at our wit's end. Maybe you should stop tutoring people, and maybe take a break from sports for a bit, just so you can really rest up.” Jake says and he sees the initial panic in your eyes. You didn’t want to let anyone down, you were a people pleaser and he knew it so him telling you to take time for yourself was hard to digest.

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear any ‘but’s’. It’s so important that we take care of ourselves above anything else. Sometimes I have days where even flying seems like too much and I just take a day or two to rest and rejuvenate. You don’t owe these people you’re tutoring anything. Maybe they need help but they should ideally speak to their teachers about their struggles with the work rather than expecting you to spoon-feed it to them. Just, don’t be afraid to make time for yourself.” Jake says gently yet firmly, wanting to get his point across to you. As his words sink in, you nod slightly, understanding what he was saying.

“Okay.” You say as you nod, trying to fight back the guilt in your stomach at the thought of letting people down. Before anyone could speak, the doorbell rang and Jake got to his feet, heading to the front door and getting the pizza from the delivery guy and handing him a tip before closing the door and heading back into the living room.

“Voila. Pizza is here! You dig in and find a movie to watch. I’ll grab some drinks.” Jake says, opening the box and placing it on the coffee table before disappearing into the kitchen in search of drinks. When Jake returns from the kitchen he places the drinks down on the coffee table and settles himself on the end of the sofa again, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you lean into his side, tv remote in hand as you pick a movie on Netflix to watch. Once you hit play on a movie, you take a slice of pizza and start eating, feeling your body thank you as you eat. Once you’re full and satisfied you end up lying curled up on the sofa with your head in your dad’s lap as he grabs the fluffy blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over you. Jake then runs a hand through your hair gently as you watch the movie. Before the movie is even half over, Jake hears your breaths become slow and even and he knows you’ve fallen asleep. He didn’t have the heart to move you so he lets you stay put, continuing to watch the movie. When the movie is over, he puts a tv show on to play purely as background noise and during the first episode, Jake hears a key jangle in the front door and a smile graces his face knowing who it is. Bradley enters the house, kicking his shoes off in the hall and heading for the living room. His smile softens when he sees Jake with you on the sofa.

“You didn’t come to the Hard Deck.” Bradley muses jokingly as Jake sighs lightly, an apologetic look covering his face.

“I’m sorry. I was going to come but y/n needed me. I meant to send a text.” Jake apologises as Bradley shakes his head with a smile.

“It’s okay. We figured something had come up. Is she okay?” Bradley asks as he eases himself down to sit down on the floor by Jake’s leg.

“She’s a bit overwhelmed. She’s been tutoring people on top of doing sports and school. She’s not had a chance to step back and rest. I told her she shouldn’t be afraid to rest when she needs it and that she doesn’t need to worry about other people as much but I don’t think my words are enough. I have a feeling I’ll be putting her on house arrest for a couple of days to be sure she rests. I might have her stay home Monday as well.” Jake says, telling Bradley about what had happened earlier, and Bradley found himself frowning slightly at Jake’s words.

“Poor kid. I take it she was spending most of her time sorting out tuition plans for people and helping them out rather than taking time for herself?” Bradley asks quietly, looking up at Jake.

“I think so.” Jake says, looking from Bradley to you.

“I did the same thing in high school. It was when my mum started getting sick so I was doing anything I could to keep my mind off it. I got good grades so I figured if I put some good out into the world by helping people that it would come back in the form of my mum getting better. It wasn’t until I damn near passed out from exhaustion that Mav put a stop to it. I think I was on house arrest for a week for that one.” Bradley reflects, remembering how much he had pushed himself beyond his limits during that time at high school and how he hated the thought of you pushing yourself down a similar road.

“I’m glad she didn’t get to that point. I hate seeing her in any pain.” Jake says quietly, rubbing your back gently before turning his attention back to Bradley.

“She’ll be okay after some rest and plenty of food and water.” Bradley reassures, smiling up at Jake.

“You know you don’t have to stay, right? y/n will wake up if I try to move her and I don’t want to disturb her in case she can’t fall asleep again so I’m stuck here for the night. Save yourself.” Jake says, a joking grin on his face as he gestures towards the door.

“You know, I think I’ll stay. The floor’s not too uncomfortable and I have a great pillow right here.” Bradley says with a large smile, gesturing for Jake to pass him the spare blanket as he takes his Hawaiian shirt off, leaving his white t-shirt on and chucking the blanket over him before resting his head on Jake’s leg. Jake rolled his eyes at his boyfriend’s antics but found himself smiling at how much Bradley cared. Without thinking, Jake reached forward and started running his hand through Bradley’s hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp.

“That’s nice.” Bradley hums in appreciation as his eyes slip closed, leaning ever so slightly more against Jake as sleep begins to take hold of him. Jake watches as Bradley gives into the clutches of sleep with a soft smile on his face, smoothing Bradley’s hair back one more time before leaning back against the sofa cushions and allowing himself to fall asleep surrounded by the people he loves most.

The next morning, you woke up still on the sofa as the smell of pancakes hits your nose. You glance around, rubbing at your eyes as you sit up slightly.

“Morning, y/n/n.” You turn to see Bradley walking into the living room with a smile on his face.

“Morning Bradley.” You grin over at him.

“Morning sweetheart. I made your favourite.” Jake says as he enters behind Bradley, a tray in his hands as he approaches you. He places the tray on your lap as you sit up and plants a kiss on the top of your head. You smile as you look at the plate of chocolate chip pancakes and a cup of apple juice. Instinctively, you reach for your phone and your eyes widen when you see the time.

“It’s ten-thirty? I said I’d be at Mary’s place for eleven!” You exclaim, moving to put the tray aside so you could rush upstairs to get ready, only being stopped when Jake grabs you by the shoulders and sits you down.

“I don’t think so. I said yesterday that you need to take time to rest and you’re not doing that if you’re rushing out to help Mary with her schoolwork.” Jake says firmly, bending down so he could look you dead in the eyes.

“But Mary’s my friend.” You say quietly, your gaze falling to your lap.

“Sweetheart, I know she’s your friend, but you need to rest. Just send her a text telling her you can’t come.” Jake says and just before you can retort, Bradley appears by your dad’s side.

“He’s right, y/n. Overworking yourself is damaging. I know it’s hard to say no and to rest when you’re helping people out like this but you need to rest.” Bradley says gently, glancing down at you as you nod hesitantly.

“Okay, I’ll text her.” You say, opening your phone and texting your friend to let her know you couldn’t come around to hers to tutor her.

“Good. Now eat your pancakes.” Jake says, straightening up and ruffling your hair lightly before returning to the kitchen to make breakfast for him and Bradley.

“I know it feels bad to cancel on people when you said you’d help them but I promise in the long run it’ll be worth it. I went through a similar thing when I was younger.” Bradley admits, moving to sit alongside you. You didn’t respond, only looking over at him with a confused expression. You knew Bradley was kind, always willing to put others above himself but you couldn’t imagine him driving himself to the brink of exhaustion.

“That experience is the reason why I know it’s okay to take breaks when you need them. I will always care for others and help when they need it. But I won’t ever let someone take advantage of my kindness.” Bradley says, smiling down at you gently as you nod. Bradley’s words helped you understand that it’s okay to help people, but you don’t have to feel obligated to help them out every time they ask.

“I understand. Thank you, Bradley.” You say, wrapping your arms around him for a brief hug that he reciprocates happily.

“I’m going to help your dad finish breakfast. Eat yours and maybe get some more sleep if you need it. It’s a rest day we won’t judge.” Bradley winks before getting up from where he was sitting and heading into the kitchen to join Jake.

“Everything okay?” Jake asks, turning his head to look at Bradley as he enters the kitchen.

“All good. I was just sharing my experience with overworking myself. I think her worry was feeling that she was letting people down. But I think she’ll be okay.” Bradley says reassuringly, approaching Jake and wrapping his arms around his middle and hugging him from behind. Jake smiled as Bradley pressed kisses along his neck, trailing up to his jaw.

“Thank you for talking to her.” Jake says, flipping a pancake as Bradley tightens his hug slightly.

“You don’t have to thank me, Jake. She’s your daughter. I’d be an asshole to not help her when she needs it. You know I love you and I love her too.” Bradley says as Jake turns to press a kiss to Bradley’s cheek, both men grinning at the action.

As you finish your breakfast in the living room, you place the tray on the coffee table before lying back down along the sofa and tugging the blanket over you as you allow your eyes to slip shut with the sounds of your dad and Bradley talking and laughing in the kitchen filling your ears.

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