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#that’s so present and hyper aware in the film
propertyofwicked · 10 months
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people watching | spencer reid
spencer reid x bau!reader
inspo - people watching by conan gray
2.3k words
warnings: none really - canon character death, angst to comfort :)
they're counting months they've been together, almost 49
“y/n - how long have you worked with the BAU?” morgan asked, shooting you a smirk as you threw your head backwards with a load groan. 
“i don’t know? like, 4 years?”
“4 years, and 34 days, 2 hours and based on when we got called out for your first case, 34 minutes,” reid interjects the conversation without looking up from his file. 
“for someone who has worked here for 4 years, wouldn’t one assume that you would know we never get a whole week without a case?” morgan continued, ignoring reid’s comment, chuckling slightly at the face you pulled. you knew he was right, but something about garcia announcing there’s a new case made you grumpy. as a result you simply whined in response and pushed yourself up to walk to the round table room. morgan and jj walked ahead, but spencer stayed back to walk by your side. 
“hey, that made me realise we’ve been friends for 4 years - we should celebrate!” he said, not looking at you but carrying a smile on his face. 
“depending on the case, maybe we could do movie night when we get back?” you responded, but unlike him, you turned your head to respond to him. 
“that sounds good, did you know research has shown that spending time with loved ones, even doing something as mundane as watching a film, can increase your mental wellbeing?” this time he looked at you to respond, the smile still present on his face.
“so spending time with me is mundane?” you quipped, chuckling at the end of your sentence, so he’d know you were only messing. 
“reid, y/n, thanks for finally joining us,” hotch’s voice sounded across the room.
“sorry dad,” spencer joked, taking his seat next to alex.
they met in class for metaphysical philosophy
he tells his friends, "i like her 'cause she's so much smarter than me" 
they're having talks about their futures until 4:00 a.m
“hey spence?” you asked, filling the silence. the film you had been watching ending a while ago, but the two of you stayed sat on his sofa. at some point you had turned to face him, stretching across the chair with your legs over his. he didn’t mind - he compared it to the calming effects of a weighted blanket, rattling off the statistical benefits on anxiety. 
“yeah?” he looked up from his book, with a soft gaze in his eyes. 
“if you weren’t in the bau, what would you be doing right now?”
he paused for a moment, as if to think about his answer.
“i honestly don’t know. i don’t think i knew before i joined the bau either. had i not joined the fbi when i did, i think i’d still be in college just collecting degrees until i’d done them all,” he laughed to himself, “maybe a professor, i have taught a few classes.”
“i know - that’s how we met. you told that god awful joke about a horse who became hyper aware of his own reality.”
“hey! it wasn’t that bad.”
“spence - no one laughed.”
“you did.”
“and i regret that decision almost daily,” you respond, earning a light smack to the shin that was still thrown other his lap. 
“what about you? what would you be doing?”
“i used to think id be married by now but we both know how that ended,” you mention, referencing the ex boyfriend you and spencer both hated, “honestly though, i think id still be in the FBI but with counter intelligence like i had originally planned.”
“im glad you’re not,” he said with a smile. did he mean married or in a different department? you felt safer assuming the latter - it was safer to than getting your hopes up that some feelings might be reciprocated. so for now, you simply hummed in response and allowed the room to fall back into a comfortable silence. 
im only looking just to live through you vicariously ive never really been in love, not seriously
it was clear you had been mistaken, and in the most cruel and soul destroying way - through no fault but your own. he was happy, you could see. the way he no longer had bags living permanently under his eyes - he was sleeping. he’d sneak away to the payphone, assuming no one noticed. it started off serious, like he was only asking the other person direct questions. it didn’t stay that way. soon enough you found yourself sitting in the SUV, staring at him as he laughed into the phone, basically twirling the wire around his finger like a giddy teenage girl. spencer wasn’t yours anymore. you know he never was yours really, but still you held out hope that the lasting glances, the jokes, the comfort and the spontaneous movies nights meant something more to him. it was clear you had been mistaken. 
“you know if you keep staring at him like that your eyes might dry up,” JJ spoke from besides you one day. it made you jump - you hadn’t realised she was stood next to you and you certainly didn’t know how long she’d witnessed you staring at the side of spencer’s faces as he laughed and smiled over the phone. 
“i wasn’t staring,” you defended, but she gave you a look that said she knew you were lying, so you moved on, “who’s he talking to anyway?”
“we don’t know, but morgan and i think spencies got a girlfriend,” she taunted. you didn’t react, this wasn’t news to you - it didn’t take a profiler to work that out. jj didn’t say anything else, she just adjusted the strap of her bag and walked off to find hotch. eventually spencer put the phone down and walked over to you.
“hey you guys find anything?” he asked, it was a general question but it was clearly aimed at you. 
“nothing yet from me, garcia’s still digging stuff up on the victim though. it’s clear the unsub is organised, he’s been disposing these bodies for years, concealing their identities and he’s never been caught.” concealing their identities, you should know all about that reid, you thought to yourself but didn’t allow your face to waver.
“did you know that despite the rich history in the town, only 2,000 visit the area per year on average?”
“i didn’t, no.” it was a blunt response but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. but of course he did, mr 187 who couldn’t gauge most social cues but could tell when you were off with him. it wasn’t fair. how he could act like he loved you still, even though he clearly had someone worth keeping secret in his life. 
his hand reached up to rest on your shoulder, his tall frame towering over you, giving you an intense stare as he did.
“what’s up?” damn you and your profiling skills. you contemplated saying nothing, but that would only lead to more intense questioning, so you deflected, saying you were thinking about the profile. he seemed satisfied and left you to find hotch, just as jj had. 
cut people out like tags on my clothing i end up all alone but i still keep hoping
maeve was gone. that was her name, that was the woman that had made spencer happy in a way you couldn’t. she was gone, and emotionally, so was spencer. for weeks he moped, refusing to leave his apartment. but he was still your best friend. everyday, you sent him a message asking if he was ok, or needed anything, and everyday, it was left on read. whilst he needed his space, it wasn’t in your good conscience to leave him without support. 
walking up to his door was terrifying. why? you had been here thousands of times, spent hundreds of hours watching films on his sofa and yet your heart was beating so fast you felt as though it would tear through your ribcage and fall out on the floor in front of you. if spencer was here, he’d tell you that wasn’t physically possible and you’d more likely have a heart attack. he’d then reassure you by noting the statistical unlikeliness of having you having a heart attack. but he wasn’t, emotionally anyways. you knocked twice.
“go away garcia, i really appreciate everything you’ve done but please leave,” you heard him shout through the door. it was his voice alright, but deep and strained as if he had been crying for weeks - on second thought, he probably had.
“it’s me spence, not penelope. can you let me in?” you called back.
“no. please, i need some space.” ok, if that’s how he wanted to play it, tough love it was. 
“spencer reid if you do not open this door within the next ten seconds i will have morgan kick it down.” it seemed to work, you could hear a muffled sound of him standing up, shuffling across the floor and undoing the latch. you were not expecting the sight you saw when the door opened - it made your heart shred into tiny little pieces that you wanted to sew together and give to him. his hair was greasy, his facial hair had grown more than you’d ever seen it but worst of all, his skin was pale and his face seemed almost a hollow shell of the spencer you knew and loved.
“what do you want y/n?” he grumbled.
“i wanted to check in on you?” suddenly any tough love had gone out the window, and you doubted every word you said to him.
“ok, well im alive. you can go now.”
“spence ple-”
“i said i’m fine. y/n, i know you want me to sort myself out but im not ready to. please leave.”
“i don’t want you to ‘sort yourself out’ spence,” you paused to breathe, “you need to grieve, i understand that but i need you to look after yourself. however, you clearly don’t need me, you’re clearly coping so well on your own.” sarcasm was a defence mechanism - seeing him like that hurt you down to your very core, but they way he was treating you wasn’t fair. you turned on your heal, intending to leave with your dignity mostly intact, but as you go to take your first step a hand grabs you wrist, stopping you from moving.
“y/n, im sorry, please come in.” you offered him a restricted smile and stepped into this apartment, he followed close behind. you were expecting the worst, but this took it to another level. the curtains were drawn closed, takeout containers littered the counter, the floor and the coffee table - at least he was eating. spencer moved to the sofa, shoving books to the floor and offering you a seat. 
“talk to me spence, tell me everything going on in that big brain of yours.” and he did, you must’ve sat there for 2 hours as he told you about maeve, how he first contacted her, how she understood him, the way she laughed. he spoke about guilt, he believed it was his fault and that he’d never be able to forgive himself. only towards the end did he begin to cry, so you wrapped you arms around his torso and pulled him down to rest on your shoulder. to your surprise, his arms snaked around your waist and held you tight. the room fell into silence, as it had hundreds of time, but this one was not one of comfort as it usually was. 
after some time he sat up, “you know, IQ has no effect on the size of your brain. it may be cause a change in external appearance but the size itself will not change.” you couldn’t help but laugh - it wasn’t condescending, just the mere fact that he had spent two hours talking but still remembered to correct your original statement.
i wanna feel all that love and emotion be that attached to the person i'm holding
years passed since that day at spencer’s apartment. it took him a few more weeks, but he returned to work and returned to his normal self. he no longer thought of maeve, he thought of the future, he moved on in life whilst still holding a spot in his heart for her. soon, he became your best friend again - movie nights and take out were reinstated. sometimes he had to beg you to come round after a case to watch a movie. he remembered what life was like. 
that night was a night like many others. the credits rolled and the room became dark with no light blaring from the screen. silence. a comfortable one. tonight, you found yourself with your head laying on his lap, facing the tv, his arm rested on your hip and his fingers played with a hair tie absentmindedly. you said it was comfortable, he didn’t argue - spencer liked your presence. he appreciated you being in his life and never giving up on him. he admired your work ethic, and your friendship. you provided him an outlet, an escape from the stress and constant work.
“hey y/n,” he whispered, and you hummed in response, “i love you.”
“i love you too spencer.” your heart skipped a beat, but you knew he meant as friends, that’s all you were and all you’d ever be - you had grown to accept that. 
“no, y/n, i love you.” this made your head turn and you rolled onto your back to look up at him. “i mean it. i think i always knew deep down, but i couldn’t establish that that was what i was thinking. did you know studies show that some people have to feel love in order to love?”
“i love you too spencer.” you smiled up at him, squinting through your tired eyes, and his hand came down to stroke your cheek softly. 
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doobea · 8 months
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BLLK - Relationship HCs + Songs That Describes It PT. 2
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contents: gn!reader, super fluffy, sfw, established relationships, kinda proofread characters mentioned: sae, shidou, barou, oliver, yukimiya, karasu a/n: hehe part 2 c: (this ended up being WAY longer than the first one) also wanted to try my chance at writing for both yukimiya and karasu bc i feel like they're underrated
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sae - ride by hybs
not the biggest fan of PDA but will steal moments to hold your hand for just a second, giving it a little squeeze. for more physical reassurance, he loves taking his thumb and rubbing it across your palms and thighs.
he's hyper-aware of your surroundings whether you know it or not. if you're bending down to reach for something, one of his hands usually hovers over your head to make sure you don't hurt yourself on the way up. if he catches you shivering or sneezing for just a second then the next minute you're presented with a cup of tea and his demand for cuddles. you get the gist!
following up on the last point - whenever you get up from any surface, he always checks and dusts off anything that might cling to your bottoms or back.
sae is always out traveling and attending games, so phone calls are endless with him. even if the conversation has ended, there's something comforting about being on the line with him versus being in complete silence.
shidou - see you again by tyler, the creator
he is incredibly great with animals and that’s why you guys foster dogs together! it's no surprise for your neighbors to see the two of you walking an army of chihuahuas and german shepherds around the block every morning. it's also no surprise to everyone when he ends up adopting four of them; he claims no one can take care of them better than he can.
when it comes to washing dishes with shidou, he likes to make shapes out of the bubbles and blow them your way. this always ends up in a bubble-blowing battle that leaves the dishes to be washed the day after.
not really an extreme prankster, but what harm would an innocent sticky note on your back do? he likes to write jokes on them before sending you off to get errands.
gets abnormally invested in the drama in your social life. you tell him that one of your friends had just gone through a breakup? he's getting a bag of popcorn and already listing off questions pertaining to who's at fault.
barou - come inside of my heart by iv of spades
if you ever need to move he'll be there to help in a heartbeat. not only does he have the muscles to help you secure all the furniture, but he has the brains to let you know how to stack the items and what equipment you need to keep them pristine and in one piece.
even if he claims it’s a bother, it’s not! he’s the type to fix your messy cable management and will replace anything that looks like it needs “fixing” in your house. examples include buying you new sponges for the kitchen, restocking your fridge if you’re running low on essentials, and folding your laundry if you’re the type to leave it in the dryer after it’s done.
he hates having his photo taken but knows that you absolutely adore showing him off to your friends. when you first got yourself a camera, all the film was practically barou, barou and you, and shirtless barou. it took a while for him to warm up to the idea but when you came home with developed photos in hand, he can't help but litter the fridge with his favorite moments with you.
definitely listens to cheesy boy bands when he's tidying up the place. he gets easily embarrassed about it so he usually waits to clean up the area when you're out before turning the music up to max volume. there was a rare moment when you returned early and a flustered barou claimed that he didn't know how 'boyfriend' by big time rush came up in his playlist.
oliver - somebody by keshi
surprisingly one of the best people to go to IKEA with - and no it's not because of the fact that he's part Swedish. he'll be the type to get into character whenever you guys go into a showroom, acting as if it's an apartment that you guys share. he’s cute but be careful, he’s the type to sneak items into the cart when you’re not looking!
gets excited whenever pull him into the living room knowing that you'll be announcing a fashion show from your recent mall run. he'll play along and hype you up, taking photos and telling you to give him 360 spins.
a chronic blanket hogger! he complains about needing a bigger bed because his feet keep dangling off the edges and that he needs the blanket the most. if you offer to sleep on the couch so that he can get more space, oliver will just pout and join you wherever you end up sleeping.
when you guys were touring for apartments, it was your job to keep the leasing agent occupied with questions while he was in the other rooms subtly scratching the walls with his nails to see if the paint would hold up.
yukimiya - home by luke chiang
never forgets to bring the mail in. a majority of the time, yukimiya will throw away the useless magazines and ads, but on slow days he likes to sit down and sort through coupons and tries his attempt with the weekly crossword puzzles with you.
there's always a different scented candle in every room you guys share. when they're running low, the two of you typically go to the store and spend at least an hour trying out all the different smells that they have to offer. a new seasonal and two of the regular scents are the final items he settles for.
he'll drive to your workplace to bring you lunch if you've forgotten it for the day. most of the meals he ends up buying for you are typically way healthier and out of your budget than what you would usually make for yourself.
keeps your side of the bed warm for you after you come back from a long day! yukimiya believes it's bad luck to get in a cold bed so he's doing his job as a good boyfriend.
karasu - summer by brockhampton
expect a lot of late-night food runs with karasu and they're all unplanned. you guys could literally be driving back from a date night in the city and he’ll just be like “I want McDonald’s” and just pull in a drive-through. sometimes he’ll do it if he wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep.
is a very good listener but not a good comforter (he's trying to do better in the long run). due to his usual snarky personality, he's worried that he might say the wrong things and usually says little to nothing. when you're crying, the best he offers is back rubs and a long cuddle session afterward.
working out together with karasu is like having your dad help you with math homework. he's critical of how your form should look, always saying that you might hurt yourself in the long run if you're not placing your feet or shoulders at the correct angle.
it's canon that he's afraid of the ocean and can't swim that's why whenever you guys are at a pool, he requires you to hold onto his hand - claiming that he doesn't want you to float away.
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discokicks · 2 months
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THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.
PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.
(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)
pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.
word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)
chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.
author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags
PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)
There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.
Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.
This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.
Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.
However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.
Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic. 
And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry. 
All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.
They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.
And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.
Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing. 
This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.
You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least. 
The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”
Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.
What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it. 
And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.
Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”
Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”
You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”
“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”
“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices. 
Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”
The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.
But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.
The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.
Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”
That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”
You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”
Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”
His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it. 
But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.
The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.
“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”
That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”
“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”
That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”
The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”
“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”
The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…
Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”
You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”
Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”
You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.
But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.
“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”
That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”
“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”
“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”
His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”
Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion. 
“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”
Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”
Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”
“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”
Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”
The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.
“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.
You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”
You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?
Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”
You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”
Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.
“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”
Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”
You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”
“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”
Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.
“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”
“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”
“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.
You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”
Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.
His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.
But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple. 
But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”
He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you. 
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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.”
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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?)
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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.”
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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.
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(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington
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i-wanna-die-like-now · 6 months
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Day 13: Stiches!
So I decided to add a short fix for this prompt because I couldn't draw my idea in a day.
Jazz moved down the stairs slowly, almost robotically, if she was more aware of her surroundings maybe she would have noticed she was getting the blood from her hands all over the clean walls that she used for support or that the blood that covered her clothes was dripping onto the steps and soaking into her socks leaving bloody footprints after her. But she didn't notice, her mind had shut down and detached from her body, it had been that way for a while now. She knew what it meant and she knew it was in response to- she knew what it was in response to. 
It's for the better.
She tells herself as she finally reaches the bottom of the stairs. 
It'll be easier.
Jazz couldn't tell if she actually believed that or was just trying to comfort herself, nothing about the situation was easy. 
The living room is empty, it took her a while to notice the TV playing the end credits to the film her parents had clearly just finished. Their small chatter drifted out of the kitchen, it made her feel sick that they sounded so happy, however, the laugh that burst out of her mother made something deeper churn in her chest. 
How dare she laugh after what she did. How could she still smile and act like nothing had happened? 
By the time Jazz reached the kitchen doorway her hands were shaking.
Her parents' screams sounded far away to her ears, Danny's screams echoed in her mind, his were far more haunting. The memory of his cries of pain and sobbing brought her attention back to her parents and the matter at hand. Their horrified faces morph into panic as they make a move to get closer, maybe they were trying to comfort her or maybe they thought she was injured. 
Jazz couldn't tell. 
It didn't matter. 
"Don't touch me." The words were odd on her tongue, heavy in her mouth, she wondered if she had even said them at all or if she had imagined it. It hadn't felt like she had but her parents' expressions and body language showed that she did in fact voice it, they were both pulled back like they had been slapped. 
Good. 
"Jazzy?" Her Da- Jack's usually booming voice was quiet and soft, timid. It didn't suit his large frame, but Jazz felt herself grow angry at that. A seething anger that pulled her mind back into the present, her body heaved in a huge breath and for the first time in the last three hours Jazz felt it. 
She suddenly felt hyper-aware of the blood that clung to her skin, her shirt was drenched and sticking to her frame in a way that made her feel sick. 
Just how much blood had Danny lost? How much did he lose before she found him? 
How much had he lost while they cut into him? 
A rough scream rips out of her throat, she felt it more than heard it. Her throat burned, it had been burning since her first scream of the night, at finding her brother- it was almost a relief for Jazz to be able to feel it again. Or it would have been if she also didn't have to feel the emotions that came with it.
All she could muster out was a broken "Don't fuck-ing call me that." She hates that her voice breaks, that she's showing them how vulnerable she feels. She needs to stand her ground. Slamming her hand against the doorframe Jazz lets out a sneer and puffs out her chest in mock confidence. 
"You don't have the right to call me that. Not anymore." As painful as it was, Jazz put one foot in front of the other and made her way to the lab's door, it was closed. 
It wasn't often the lab's door was closed, even when they had been building the portal it had usually stayed open, Jazz had spent months beating herself up for that after Danny's accident. The self-loathing doubled when she found out he had died. 
She was supposed to protect him. 
Without thinking too much into it Jazz rips open the door, she had to get rid of that stupid portal for good. Ignoring the shocked gasp from Jack and angry yelling from Maddie as she stares into the basement where her parents had spent her whole childhood. Where her parents had built the thing that killed her baby brother and made the weapons they used to hurt him. To catch him. To tie him down and-
The lights were off but that didn't matter because the portal was illuminating the lab. She made her way down the steps quickly only to be stopped by a tug on her arm. 
"Jazz! What do you think you're doing, it's dangerous, get back here!" Maddie's hand locked onto her and pulled her back, the blood that was soaked into her socks caused Jazz to slip and fall down the last few steps and out of her grasp.
"Jazz!" 
Maddie's voice sounded distorted to her ears as she took in the sight of the lab from the floor, the green glow lighting up the metal surfaces, the portal was closed. 
Her hand curled into a fist as the metal table that sat almost in the middle of the room came into focus, ectoplasm coated the surface and the tools they had used lay scattered on the ground. She could hear her parents talking but none of the words reached her. 
This is where they did it. 
"This is where you did it." 
Why? 
"Why."
"Jazz what are you talking about, come on let me help you get up, are you okay? You're covered in-in.." Jack trails off.
"Blood." She finishes for him. 
There had been so much blood, she hadn't know what to do. With that much, she knew the wound was too deep to leave alone, no matter how much he protested, no matter how much he tried to convince her he would "heal in no time". 
She didn't know what she had been expecting when she lifted his shirt, maybe a burn or a gash. 
Jack pulled her into his arms to help her stand, worry pulling on his features as Jazz stared ahead, her face drained of all colour. 
"Oh! Jazzy-pants don't you worry about that-" 
Danny's skin was cold, far too cold for what's considered normal for humans but he's half ghost so surely it's normal… surely that's a good thing his core is ice, maybe it was healing him- 
"You have to tell us what's going on, Jazz please talk to u-" 
She had a med kit under her bed, she had helped him out with plenty of injuries before so why was he being so reluctant to let her help-
"For god sake Jasmine!" 
Snapping her eyes over to Maddie Jazz takes a step back and then another, and another. 
She had came down here to get rid of the thing that killed her brother, she hadn't been expecting to see the evidence of what they had done to him laying out in plain sight. 
"You're evil, you- Fuck. How could you even do that to another living thing!" The confusion was clear on their faces but Jazz was already reaching for the Anti-Creep stick that was leaning against the wall, anger bubbling over. "You've always been this way, I don't know how I didn't see it sooner, I really should have. I should have known Danny wasn't safe to be around you, he was so sure that you would be okay with it in time." 
"Jazz what are you-" Jazz cuts Jack off as she slams the bat into one of the bazookas they had hanging up on display. The metal sparks and crashes to the ground drowning out her parents' screams of panic and surprise. 
"All these inventions." She lifts the bat above her head and swings it down to crush the rest of it. "Of course, he wasn't safe!" Her throat burned even more as her voice got louder. "He was never safe, I should have seen it years ago, oh god how couldn't I see it!" 
Jazz's voice borders on hysterical as she swings the bat again, this time breaking some beakers that were laying out. 
"You never cared for him, you never cared for me!" Voice breaking Jazz feels her tears boil over. 
"Jasmine! Stop it, what are you doing? Jack stop her!" Maddie's voice was tight as she ordered Jack. 
"Mads what am I-" 
"Fucking try!" Jazz screams over Jack, swinging the bat towards her father, her tears burn. 
"Jazz I can't, please just, I can't-" He looked so weak, his eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids looked weighed down. He needed to stay awake. 
"You have to try, god damn it Danny fucking try!" She was using a sewing needle, a fucking sewing needle, to sew him back together. It was bending. Her hands wont stop shaking. Pulling them back she wipes the blood off and onto her shirt quickly before getting back into position, using her fingers she pulls the skin together, wiping her hands did nothing. She redies the bent needle with her other hand.
Danny lets out a pained whimper as she forces the needle through his skin again, pulling it through the gaping wound on his stomach and pulling the thread tight. 
She can see his organs. 
She repeats the motion. 
Eyes wild and face pulled into a scowl she keeps the bat pointed at them. 
"You've spent your life on this lab, on your research!" She spits the word as if it were something disgusting. "That blood came from a living breathing person!" 
"Jazz please calm down, that's ectoplasm, it's not blood." Maddie uses a tone she does often, the condescending edge she gets whenever Jazz brings up the psychology of ghosts. "I assure you that no living thing was harmed." 
Although her hands were raised in a surrendering gesture she held herself confidently. 
Jazz's tongue felt heavy, her body boiling as her anger reached its peak, she didn't even think twice before swinging the bat at their other inventions. 
The inventions they made to harm her brother. 
The row of guns spark and crash as she beats them with the bat, lifting it above her head she forces it down again and again until she was sure they were unusable. 
"These always came first, your inventions or research or experiments!" After one last swing of the bat Jazz leans down and catches her breath, her voice breaking as she lowers it to a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if you knew all along and were just toying with him." She looks over her shoulder, her parents' forms blurred by her tears. "and the sick part is I'm still not even sure." 
"Jazz honey what are you talking about? Please put the Anti-Creep stick down and talk to me, were your parents-" Jack has his arm out, reaching for her with a pained expression. 
"You were his parents too!" Jazz screeches. "Although parents is a reach, I was his parent! I raised him, I cooked for him! I held him at night when he had nightmares! I'm the one that had to fix him!" She couldn't see through her tears, she couldn't hear from the rushing of blood in her ears. The only thing she could see was her brother laying down as he sobbed, covered in blood and holding his own organs in with his hands while she took a sewing needle to his skin to stitch him back together. 
She wanted to rush back to him but first, she needed to destroy the rest of the lab, the portal. 
At least she would have if it wasn't for Jack wrapping his huge arms around her body and lifting her into the air. 
"Jazz please calm down, talk to us, you're not making any sense!" 
"Exactly Jasmine! You're spouting nonsense and destroying our work!" Maddie's voice cuts into her, it causes her chest to burn. Letting out an animalistic scream she kicks and thrashes around in Jack's arms. 
"You cut into him! You fucking monsters, your work killed him!" Jazz couldn't help the sob that tore its way out of her throat. "He thought you'd get better! He always had faith in you and you used that knife and ripped him open!" 
She could feel Jack go stiff, his arms loosening around her as he let out a puff of air. 
"I had to stitch him back together just like I've been stitching this family back together for years! Because that's exactly what I've been doing and I hate myself for it! If I didn't spend my life stitching everything together then maybe he wouldn't have died!" Finally, her thrashing caused her to be dislodged from Jack's arms, she made quick work of shoving him away and getting past her now pale mother and towards the portal. 
It only took a few perfectly aimed swings to render it useless.
"Jazzy-"
"He died trying to fix this portal for you." 
"Phantom he-" Maddie paused, looking over at Jazz with an expression she had never worn before. "He's a ghost honey-" Jazz's bitter laugh silenced both of them. 
"Half." 
She could tell by the horror on Jack's face that he understood, she knew Maddie did too. Maybe she was in denial. 
She needs to call Vlad, he would let them stay with him for a while if she explained the situation. 
"If you had even cared slightly about Danny you would have seen the signs, it didn't take me long to figure it out and I'm not a ghost expert." Jazz drops the bat on the ground, stepping over it to make her way back upstairs, ignoring the yells of her parents as she slams the lab door closed. Locking it for good measure. 
She feels the numbness of before washing over her as she picks up the house phone and dials Vlads number. 
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went to a showing of aristotle and dante at my local theater today and it was everything I could have hoped for and I enjoyed every single second of it and it made my heart so full
but I was also forced into hyper awareness of the oppression of queer people that is still so present today.
there were no posters for the film at my theater, and the name of the movie wasn’t even displayed outside of the theater like all the rest of the movies are. it was also only showing in one of the theaters that isn’t updated with nice recliner chairs. and there were two reasons I could come up with for these things and neither of them are good.
on the one hand, maybe it’s just the homophobia of the theater company that they don’t want to advertise that they’re showing a queer film and they don’t want to waste one of their nice updated theaters on a film that they don’t think will draw a crowd. but another option that seems more realistic to me and also somehow much sadder is that the lack of advertisement was meant to create a safer environment for queer people coming to see this movie. posters can’t be vandalized if they’re not there in the first place. not displaying the title of the movie outside the theater means you don’t know which theater it’s showing in unless you buy a ticket, which means it would be more difficult for someone to go to the theater with the intention of hurting those who are seeing this film.
I am so grateful that this movie even exists and I am so glad that it is showing near me because the majority of theaters simple aren’t showing it. but I am also so saddened by the oppression that’s still so present even during this celebration of queerness
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saikokirakira · 2 years
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Just a Ransom Fic for now
[edit 17/09: idiot me forgot to add a plot summary. this is what happens when you thirst too much. 🤡]
summary: After being released from prison, Ransom hides away in a bar at the lesser end of town. He finds you, a pecular little thing, and wonders how much he can screw you over. Literally and figuratively.
or...
Ransom is adult-grounded and decides to cause chaos, starting with you. Luckily, you're down to fuck.
a/n: choosing to post this first because it has been collecting dust since – checks version history – march. might need feedback if the rest of my draft is worth adding parts. this is also the filthiest thing i posted (but not wrote) so far.
also... my personal author's note from february for myself was pretty funny.
[Note: The power went out while I was writing the snu-snu. It was God telling me to go do my bedtime routine, and as punishment, I am gonna have to take a fucking cold shower without the heater.]
word count: 4.9k (60 words away from 5k of pure thirst, good lawd)
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warning/tags: MINORS DNI, 18+ only, Ransom 'Sweater Daddy' Drysdale (walking red flag), reader is kinda dumb, p in v sex, no mentions of y/n, dumbification, size difference/size kink, oral (both receiving/giving), mentions of drug use, alcohol, language/cursing, non-canon to the film (Harlan lives), not proofread (i'm literally dozing off while doing final checks), self-indulgent fic
When Ransom first met you, you were almost a breath of fresh air. Given that he was in prison for a couple of months, being in that seedy little bar was literally fresh air to him. He almost thought that your voice was wasted on the piss-drunk people who weren’t even paying attention.
In fact, Ransom was surprised people were even listening when they booed after you mentioned that you were taking a fifteen-minute break after your first set. You seemed to take it as a compliment when you blew a kiss to the person who booed the loudest, which Ransom figured out as a plea for one more song. You hopped off the small platform and skipped over to the bar right beside to the man who couldn’t take his eyes off you.
“Enjoying the show?” you asked, your voice still holding that sweet melodic tone even when you weren’t singing.
Ransom was about to snide at your comment, until he caught himself, realising that you were asking him a genuine question about your performance. “I’ve heard better,” he said nonchalantly.
Like earlier, you didn’t take it to heart. You took the small virgin cocktail you got from the bartender, who gave Ransom a nasty look behind your back. You took a long sip before sucking on the orange wedge. “Sure, you have,” you replied, turning to the bartender and giving him a childish orange wedge smile.
Ransom narrowed his eyes before coming to the conclusion that you speak in the literal sense. Two months in prison, and he was still hyper-aware of the constant snarky and snide conversations from his family. Like he said, breath of fresh air.
“You don’t look like you’re from around these parts,” you noted, making Ransom raise a brow at you. “The clothes, the way you present yourself,” you shrugged. “Also, most of the regulars here know each other.”
“Let’s just say it’s the only bar in town where I won’t run into people who know me,” Ransom said, swallowing what’s left of his drink in one shot.
Especially those fuckers from the country club who bailed on him as soon as those cops arrested him.
You hummed in thought before going back to nursing your own drink. You didn’t look like you cared to know more or even ponder further on the mystery of his identity. Ransom liked that you minded your own business, but maybe too much. Your disinterest might not make you want to end up in his bed at the end of the night.
A man walked up to you and whispered something in your ear. You smiled and nodded before passing back your cocktail glass across the bar. “Thanks for the drink, Mel,” you said. Then you glanced to Ransom. “Back to work. Enjoy the rest of the performance, new guy.” You hopped off your stool and skipped back to the platform.
“Good luck, pal.”
Ransom turned to Mel, the elderly bartender that shot him the dirty look earlier. He immediately got on Ransom’s nerves for not being able to mind his own business and eavesdropping. “Two more beers might improve my chances then,” he ordered with a plastic smile but not an ounce of emotion behind his eyes.
Mel was not discreet in hiding his disgust as he handed Ransom two bottles. “Look, rich guy,” he began, “they’re a good kid. I can serve you all the alcohol you want, but you best find your conquest someplace else.”
This old man is really getting on his nerves. Ransom unconsciously zoned him out as his attention was pulled in by your voice. You were right how most people in the bar knew each other. You were singing a song in a foreign language that had everyone cheering and clapping along. They were entranced by you.
… and so was Ransom.
The rest of your final set went with songs that anyone else can zone out to focus on their drinks or company. At one moment, Ransom’s focus shifted to a leggy brunette that insisted he buy her two drinks. Seems like he had his company for the night sorted out.
Except that she asked too many questions.
Ransom was not unfamiliar with female company that constantly questioned him about his background. Like you said, the way he dressed, the way he presented himself, even the way he talked, displayed how high up he was in social standings. Now, it just was nothing more than an inconvenience.
With Ransom’s face plastered on every celebrity – and often, business news section for his third DUI — was it even his third? Maybe fourth? — Harlan and Linda finally cut him loose for another bad rep he caused on the family business. Well, maybe as loose as they can take without the press making more of an issue out of it. He served his couple of months since none of his shit family would pay his bail, and he didn’t even have enough on his account because Harlan insisted that Ransom pay the fines and his car repairs by himself.
To make things worse, Ransom had to earn his allowance again by working as Harlan’s research assistant for a few months. Like some fucking child. Which meant he has to stay in town and couldn’t go back to Boston.
Now, he was sitting in a seedy bar to avoid people who know him and still expected to hang around his family until his goddamn parole ended. His self-seething boiled an angry burn in the pit of his stomach, so he began ordering in the shots. If he gets another DUI, so be it. By his fifth shot, the brunette was getting upset at the lack of attention that she turned her attention to the gentleman across the bar.
Ransom didn’t care one bit.
“I know I’m no professional, but you don’t need to get wasted after hearing me sing, dude.”
Ransom turned to the source of melodic giggles and saw you back in the stool you occupied an hour ago. Wait. Did she – or they, whatever that old fart said – just call me dude?
“Definitely not interested in me,” Ransom unconsciously muttered to himself out loud before clearing his last shot glass.
“On the contrary, I find you very interesting,” you chimed, nursing another orange-y mocktail. “I don’t get new faces among my audience, and you look like you know how to have a good time.”
Ransom raised his brow, his interest now spiked. Reads people well, but shit at judging character. He took a glance at Mel, who was busy making drinks for a group of people across the bar. Eat shit, Mel. He smirked as he leaned forward to you. “Are you open to all kinds of fun?”
You tilted your head to the side, looking charming as ever. “What kind of fun are we talking about specifically?”
If Ransom wasn’t the asshole he was, he would be scared over how this person managed to be so openly trusting with that innocent aura they carried. It was almost as if they were hiding something. Then again, so was he.
~
Maybe Ransom wasn’t going to get another DUI after all. All he needed was a “your place or mine” question, and she – they, damn it – offered to drive at their apartment, mentioning that they had somewhere to be in the morning. By the time they got to their place, he was almost surprised at how the building looked.
It wasn’t a place Ransom would choose to live, but it was definitely around the upper middle-class area of the town, which was something that a bar singer could never afford. Definitely hiding something, he mused. At least he wasn’t going to regret not insisting they go to his place.
“Let’s go? Or are you too drunk? I can drive you home and call a cab from there,” you offered, worry flashing in those innocent eyes.
Ransom scoffed. He was never too drunk for sex. He was never too drunk to drive himself home either. To prove his own point, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in for a searing hot kiss, not caring that the gear lever was probably digging into your abdomen somewhere.
You smiled against Ransom’s lips before pulling away, tasting a mix of alcohol on your lips. You rubbed at your waist, where the lever lodged itself while Ransom took your breath away, and said, “Okay, dude, you proved your point.” After a pause, you snickered, “Well, not really.”
Ransom rolled his eyes. “Jesus, call me Ransom, enough with ‘dude,’” he said, getting off his Beamer.
You did the same and locked the doors before tossing the keys over to Ransom. His inebriated state had him fumbling over them in his fingers but catching them ultimately. You giggled at the sight, which Ransom thought sounded almost like tinkling bells as he followed you up the steps to the building entrance.
Once both of you were shut inside the elevator, Ransom caged you into a corner and bent down to capture your lips. He didn’t acknowledge how tiny you were in stature until now. The top of your head barely reached his shoulder that, after a while, Ransom decided to lift you by the waist and hook your legs around his waist.
Everything your legs felt was pure hard muscle, all concealed by his thick cable-knit sweater. You didn’t even expect how tiny his waist was until he kept your thighs firmly around it. With your thighs secured, Ransom’s hands slithered up your skirt, grabbing a good handful of your ass that had you whimpering against his lips.
You opened your eyes and glanced at the elevator screen. One floor left. You pecked Ransom’s lips one more time before hopping off the open elevator. At the end of the hall, you grabbed your keys from your purse and unlocked your apartment with Ransom following behind you.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Ransom was on you like a starved man. He lifted you on his shoulder, making you screech and giggle uncontrollably, something that only made the heat in Ransom’s belly bubble further. “Bedroom?” he grunted.
“Open door on the left,” you said, your hands sneaking up his thighs. “Wow,” was all you can muster when you stuffed your hands in the back pocket of his pants. Even his ass was pure muscle.
Without any form of gentleness or grace, Ransom dumped you on the bed and began stripping off his clothes, which prompted you to do the same. However, once you got to your stockings, Ransom wagged a finger at you to stop. As you looked at him in question, he finished pulling off his pants, leaving him in his tented boxers.
Clad with only your bra and stockings with your skirt bunched up by your ribcage, you whistled at the sight of Ransom’s sculpted body. “Can I just...?” you trailed off before reaching up to touch his pec, then his broad shoulder before feeling down the very biceps that flexed under his sweater when he manhandled you. “Dude, you’re crazy ripped.”
Ransom flashed you an unamused look from the name before pushing you on your back to the mattress. Your surprised gasp was music to his ears. The second one when he ripped your stockings right at the middle was far sweeter than the first.
“Ransom!” you finally cried out, pouting at your abused clothing.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be crying out my name for better reasons in just a second,” Ransom teased, unhooking your bra with experienced ease before tossing it to the side. He leaned back to admire what he was about to ruin and was pleased to see how you were already so worked up by him simply undressing you.
“I’m mostly crying for my stockings though.”
Ignoring you, Ransom grabbed the thin strip of your thong and dragged it to the side, exposing your slick folds to him. “All this for me? We barely even started yet,” he chuckled, running the pad of his index finger along your slit.
Your hips jumped off the mattress, and you let out a needy moan. Jesus, they should sing those moans at the bar instead, Ransom thought. More...
“Take them off,” you gasped, pulling at the elastic of your stockings. “Ransom, take them off.”
“No.” Ransom slapped your thigh as a warning. “You behave and keep these on. Maybe I’ll reward you if you stay good and keep calling me by my name.”
“Ransom,” you moaned, pushing your hips up as a means to find some sort of friction. “Ransom...”
“So needy, so obedient,” Ransom hummed, finally slipping a finger into your warmth. He appreciated how you eagerly took him in and was ready for more. His biceps were already stinging from your nails digging down as you begged for more.
Yet throughout all that desperation, those eyes looked up at Ransom with the same innocence out on the stage. It filled him with an overwhelming urge to just ruin you but also keep that innocence just for him. Only him.
And he has the entire night taking it all.
Ransom pulled you to the edge of your bed then dangled your legs over his massive shoulders. He heard your breath hitch at the first contact of his lips on the exposed skin of your inner thigh. His amusement extended when you whined out his name again as your hips strained against the firm grip he had on them.
A pinch on your thigh had you yelp when Ransom gave you another warning of behaving. Clenching your toes and fisting your sheets, you relaxed and spread your legs wider, but not before shooting him an impatient glare. That look resulted to a full bite on the opposite thigh, making you cry out.
“Please,” you moaned, panting in anticipation. “I’ve been good so far.” At this stage, you couldn’t even rub your legs together with Ransom settled between them. Your pleasure and relief all relied on him giving you what you needed.
Ransom seemed to take so much pleasure seeing you at his mercy, squirming and crying out for him. He flattened the pad of his tongue and licked a rough trail on your pulsing nub.
“Holy shit,” you hissed, wanting to run your hands all over his hair but chose to dig your nails into the mattress. You didn’t want to seem forward or too personal with the gesture. You were also pretty sure that he took his time styling it. He looks real pretty.
Annoyed that your mind was drifting someplace else, Ransom worked his mouth with an unrelenting pace that had you coming back and moaning without any regard of your neighbours. The walls weren’t paper thin at all, but the volume of the noises Ransom was pulling out of your lips from every suck and lick wasn’t something to underestimate. Heaven forbid you would start screaming by the end of the night, and damn, you were that close when he added his fingers to the mix.
You were quickly losing your breath from the overwhelming pleasure that was running through your veins. Your hyper-fixation on Ransom’s mouth working his magic didn’t even make you notice that your fingers had been pulling at his scalp, just as you wanted earlier. With his own hands busy, you managed to sit up and curl down over his head, scrambling for some sense of control, but Ransom wouldn’t have it.
“Ransom,” you gasped, feeling the coil tighten in your belly.
Ransom pulled his mouth away from your pearl and replaced it with his thumb, wanting to look at your face as you fell apart. Your hair, cropped short, was sticking to all sorts of direction. Seeing your head titled back and eyes squeezed shut, he usually didn’t care, but this time, he wanted to see this girl — fuck, person, whatever — come by his hand.
“No! Why?” you cried out, sitting up and whining as he abruptly stopped altogether. You growled, the adorable sound reminding Ransom of Harlan’s dogs when they were puppies, before they became total nightmares whenever he stopped by. He thought it was cute how you growled and thought you actually had a chance as you struggled by moving your hips with his fingers still inside you.
“That’s right,” Ransom smirked, curling his fingers inside your warmth, causing you to shudder but not enough to come. “Keep your eyes on me, pixie.”
In the midst of your lust-filled haze, you managed to raise a brow at the odd nickname. You heard babe, baby, doll, even the occasional love, but this one... you liked. You allowed it with a bite of your lip as his thumb roughly rubbed at your clit, your eyes fluttering shut again.
“Now, are you gonna be a good g– be good for me?” Ransom caught himself, and he almost hated himself for caring so much about how you identified yourself. I just don’t want to put them out of the mood now that I’m knuckles deep in their pussy, he reasoned with himself.
“Why are you being mean? I’ve been good for you the entire time,” you cried out, falling back on the bed. You could feel your orgasm slipping further and further away, frustration taking its place. You closed your thighs in a desperate attempt to move Ransom’s hand by your control.
“Hmm, let’s see,” Ransom drawled, moving his fingers at an impossibly slow pace from the confined space you created for yourself. “I gave you orders to look at me—”
“I’m looking at you now!”
Ransom glared at you before moving his index finger to pinch at your swollen nub, squeezing a surprised squeal out of you. “Forgetting your manners, pixie,” he spat out.
You opened your mouth, readying for a retort, when the haughty look on Ransom’s face made you rethink on pulling a bratty one on him. With a pout, you spread your legs and sat up, your hands gripping at Ransom’s shoulders. “I need it Ransom, please,” you sweetly begged, your tongue darting out to run against the smirk on his lips.
It must have worked because Ransom lightly pushed you back on the bed and began pumping his fingers at a satisfying pace but still controlled as a warning to keep you aware of him. This time, he also kept his free hand on your knee to keep your legs open. With the pressure building back in your core, you were almost in tears to have Ransom get you there faster. Your head began to turn into mush as you babbled out a mix of his name and pleases.
“Ransom, I’m close,” you panted, your half-lidded eyes struggling to stay open.
Aside from the flush on his neck and chest, Ransom kept his arrogant, self-assured air around him, revelling at the mess that you were right now. “Go on,” he smirked, letting go of your knee to run a trail up your torso. His hand ended up at your neck, and Ransom swore you felt your walls clench on his fingers from the slight pressure on your throat.
Next time, Ransom thought, biting his lips at the thought of an actual next time. When his hand moved down to your breast instead, you almost looked disappointed, but Ransom didn’t let you linger as he curled his fingers just at the right spot, which was all it took for you to fall apart. Ransom leaned over you to catch a perfect view as you cried out through your orgasm, grinding helplessly against his hand.
When your cries died down to tired moans and hums, Ransom slipped his fingers out, causing you to shiver. If you weren’t as flushed and breathless as you were, the embarrassment would definitely show on your face as Ransom held out his hand, wet with your slick and come. Even his signet ring on his pinky now had different kind of shine to it.
“What a mess, Pixie,” Ransom tutted. “You’re too fucked out from just my fingers.” When he began lowering back down your thighs, he hushed your protests, moaning about your sensitivity. “Shh, let me clean you up.”
Ransom managed to drag a smaller yet still thigh-quivering orgasm out of you with his tongue before he finally stripped you off all clothing. He pulled your thighs off his shoulders and climbed back up the bed after a small stop to retrieve a packet from his pants. With a firm grip on your waist, he lifted you onto his lap as he laid back against your headboard, wordlessly telling you what to do.
With your wobbly limbs, you hooked your arms around his neck and captured those soft lips, tasting remnants of yourself on his tongue. Sounds of wet kisses and the crinkling of a foil wrapper filled the room for a good minute before Ransom tapped your bottom as a signal. Reluctantly pulling away from his lips, you raised your hips to position his cockhead at your entrance before slowly sinking down. Despite coming twice, you still felt the burning intrusion of the fat head pushing through.
Ransom took great amusement at the sight of you trying your best to take him in. As small as you were, you managed to take more than half of him before your thighs began shaking. You could definitely take more of him, but damn if he wasn’t starting to feel like coming then and there.
“Tsk, do you need my help? Still?” Ransom asked. “Did you become a useless dumb baby from coming twice?” He tutted as he pulled your face to his, biting at your bottom lip that settled into a pout from his condescending tone.
“Your fi-fingers please,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulder.
Though he would’ve liked to keep you on your toes a little while more, Ransom started to feel the pressure building as well. With a twinge of impatience, which has always been one of his defining qualities, he reached in between you to give you what you needed. Taking him in another inch deep in your tight walls, he finally let out a groan, which turned into a hiss when your walls clenched on him again.
“You like hearing how good you make me feel?” Ransom’s voice was rough and raspy against your ear. “You’re doing so well, Pixie. Just a little bit more.”
You shivered at Ransom’s hot heavy breathing against your ear, combining with the slow circles he was rubbing on your swollen pearl. You did want to take more, but damn, you felt so full that you swore that you can feel every vein lining his dick against your walls. The very thought made you clamp around him again, making you shudder at his breathy moan. You wanted to hear more, just as he pried moan after moan from you earlier.
Now on a mission, you steadied your knees, gripping his broad shoulders for support as you rose up until only the tip of his cock was left inside you. Arrogantly, Ransom remained seated back, both amused and turned on over how committed you were to take all of him in. Not many of his conquests were that bold to take all of him if they didn’t do so in one go. Maybe the truly kinky ones, he mused.
You carefully looked down, and Ransom, definitely knowing what he was doing, pulled his hand away from your clit, to give you an open view of you and him connected. Even though your hole was plugged by Ransom’s cock, it didn’t stop you from leaking down his shaft. You whimpered at the sight, squirming in your place until Ransom grabbed a good handful of your ass, squeezing tight.
“Don’t you dare lose me from that sweet cunt, Pixie. Or else.”
You shuddered at the thought. Would he grab your neck again? Put you over his knee? All terribly bad yet so good ideas, but you focused on the task at hand instead. You hooked your hands around the back of Ransom’s neck, keeping his gaze level to yours. Then… you sank down to his full length.
Holy shitballs. The pleasure that washed over his face and that delicious long groan was enough to make you come. And you did.
“Fuck,” Ransom panted, feeling you pulse around him. He so desperately wanted to follow you over the edge, but this was his first pussy since he got out. He was not ending this night that quickly, not with an unusual find like you. “That’s it,” he grunted, grabbing your hips to pull you underneath him on the mattress. Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, Ransom did not even hesitate to start pounding into your abused hole.
“Wait,” you gasped, feeling the line between pain and pleasure blur. “Ransom, wait!”
Ransom grunted, annoyed but slowed down regardless. “Hurts?”
You shook your head, yet not being able to help your hips jerking up to meet his thrusts. “’m sensitive,” you squeaked.
Ransom let out a noise between a scoff and a chuckle before going back to his unforgiving pace. “You will give me one more,” he declared. “You’ll be good for me, right?”
Not trusting yourself to speak, you nodded frantically.
“What was that? Use your words, Pixie,” Ransom said, his hand reaching down to place a warning thumb on your clit. Still, his pace caused his finger to move and stroke at the bundle of nerves, sending electricity down to your toes.
You cried and tried to pull his hand away. “No more,” you begged. “Can’t. No more.”
He easily moved your hand away and shoved it back to your side. “One more, one more,” Ransom panted, his release quickly approaching. “Fuck, you feel so good.” His rhythm was starting to falter as he chased his peak while you were reduced into a mess of babbles and cries.
“Your pussy is fucking choking me,” Ransom growled. “You’re going to make me come. Yeah? Are you gonna let me come on that pretty mouth of yours?”
“Yes, yes, yes, Ransom!” you babbled almost noncoherently.
“Fuck!” Ransom shouted as you squirted around him, the wetness spraying on his thighs. He quickly pulled out and crawled up to you, ripping off the condom and tossing it to the side. He tapped the head of his cock against your waiting tongue.
Your eyes locked into Ransom’s towering figure as he knelt over the side of your head, roughly stroking himself to finish. Then there it was. The man’s O-face was so deliciously sinful that your core traitorously throbbed just from the sight of it.
Spray after spray of his come filled your mouth. Ransom carefully held the back of your head but not pulling you deep enough to reach the back of your throat, and you knew exactly why. When Ransom started to calm down, you pulled away but not before giving his tip one last suckle to catch the remaining drops.
You leaned up on your elbows, not trusting your legs to sit down. You looked up at Ransom who was staring down at you, panting and eyes dark. You flashed him a close-lipped smile before sticking out your tongue, showing him most of his spend, thick and heavy. You giggled when you swirled your tongue around your lips, dribbling all over your chin.
Ransom’s cock twitched at the sight, making him growl at you in warning. As much as he wanted to keep you up until it was bright outside, he was starting to feel the downside effects of all the alcohol he consumed at the base of his skull. Maybe if he had a bump he could definitely go on, but the drugs he carried that night was confiscated when he got arrested.
Instead, Ransom cupped your jaw, tilting your head higher. His thumb scooped back his come and pushed it back into your mouth. He then pressed his thumb against your lips, keeping them shut. Much to his approval, he saw the slight movement of your throat. Not a quitter, he mused.
“Did I do good?” you looked up at him hopefully.
Ransom smirked. “You were a very good g— you were good, Pixie,” he said, dropping down on the bed beside you to catch his breath.
You giggled. “I don’t know what Mel told you, but you can still call me girl, you know. I don’t mind either way.”
Ransom scoffed, caught red-handed. “I didn’t want to assume.”
“Nice to know you actually care, dude,” you said, finally deciding to sit up. You absolutely needed to go use the bathroom now. Maybe brush your teeth.
Swinging your legs at the edge of the bed to test them, you carefully stood up and made your way into the bathroom, aware of Ransom’s eyes on your backside. Once inside the bathroom, you grabbed your toothbrush, loaded it with toothpaste, then took a seat on the toilet. After relieving yourself, you finished brushing your teeth before going back to your bedroom.
Much to your surprise, Ransom was still on your bed, now passed out. Even though he seemed to be the type to leave right after a hook-up, you figured all that alcohol he had at Mel’s finally caught up to him. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time a one-night stand actually stayed the night on your bed.
Though you may have underestimated his size because your double-sized bed made it seem like a single from all the space he took.
269 notes · View notes
kentoswifey · 2 years
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dreams come true
fushiguro toji, jjk
your boyf convinces you to film with him
8teen+ , wc1559 + ~250 words in sm posts. camboy!toji; dirty talk; daddy, princess, slut/bitch, fuckhole used; doggy; breeding; slight manhandling; pussy slapping; ass play (sticks his thumb in, gape mentioned); degradation; slight overstim; biting; begging; crying; minor praise; this is for 🤰anon thank you @notsissannis for betaing! note: the pictures of twitter/text messages kept getting flagged so they're included as text. the most recent 'tweet' will always be at the bottom of the chain to make reading easy
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sunday afternoon @/zenji you guys are mad bc i haven't done a live? i didn't even fucking charge this month @/zenji i got a girl now. she gets that part of me @/zenji chill. she doesn't give a shit whit i do. my choice to step back @/zenji wanna watch me fuck her? why? so you can pretend? pathetic
tuesday night @/zenji dreams come true you desperate sluts. she agreed. filmed vid not live @/zenji will be free bc my baby is a saint and feels bad i've neglected you
friday afternoon @/zenji posts today at 3pm pst @/zenji if you pay for sc check for new content @/zenji of course it's no faces. you guys aren't fucking new come on now @/zenji [phub link] baby girl gets mounted and bred 🖤
.
-he chuckles, pulling his shirt off and tossing it near you on the bed. You reach for it, manicured nails catching as you grip the soft fabric and pull it closer to your face. You’re already hidden from view, even in the high quality of the camera’s resolution you’re little more than a blur of [dark/light] hair, body angled perfectly for the camera with your ass up and back arched as you wait for him.
“You really that desperate, huh? To get fucked for the camera? For everyone to know how much of a filthy fucking baby you are for Daddy?”
You say something the mic doesn’t pick up but it causes him to chuckle again. “Don’t remind you?”
He tugs his pants from his hips, cock bobbing between his thighs. It’s different from normal, from the webcam view of him jacking off or fucking pussy pockets for others entertainment. Now, it hangs thick and heavy, dark and leaking pre as he takes himself in his fist.
“Don’t worry, Princess. Daddy’s gonna fuck you the way you need.”
“Deserve,” you whine, pushing your hips back toward him.
“Mmm? Yeah,” he says, a smirk in his voice as he joins you on the bed. As he positions himself on his knees, he slaps your ass; you jump, whimpering in reply, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you arch your back deeper, presenting more of yourself to him as he says, “The way you deserve. For showing these sloppy holes to everyone.
“Look at you.” He pumps his fist over his cock, free hand playing with your visibly wet pussy. “Fucking soaked,” he shames you as you whimper. “Could fuck your ass you’re so wet. Shit.”
He lets go of his cock, using both hands as he grips the curve of your ass, pulling you apart for everyone to get a better look at your shiny, well fucked holes. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself, baby.”
“Zenji-”
He slaps your pussy, cock visibly throbbing then you scream in surprise. “Keep quiet. Gonna give you what you deserve now, yeah?”
You wiggle your hips as he settles a hand near the small of your back. He shifts to drag his thumb up your wet, messy slit and slide into the column of your ass before easing in.
“Thank you,” you rasp, each breath deeper than the last  in anticipation. “Thank you for slapping my-my-”
“Say it,” he prompts, fisting his cock again. “Don’t act brand-fucking-new, baby. Show ‘em why I can’t be bothered to go live to jack off anymore.”
You cry out as he pushes his thumb as deep as possible and hooks it, showing off a little gape for the camera. He groans at the sight, hips canting forward needily. His cock bobs at the action, stomach tensing and ass clenching, and together you’re wonderful. Obviously familiar with and hungry for each other, hyper aware of what the other needs.
And it’s highlighted as you moan deliriously, rubbing your face into his shirt sweetly before saying, “Th-than’q for slapping my fuckhole” -he laughs, the sound unhinged as he squeezes his cock- “and taking care o-of my other sloppy hole.”
“Good job, Princess. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You’re trembling under him, holes clenching needily as you pant, “N-no, Daddy. Please fuck me. I wa-want it so bad. Wanna feel your cock stretching my- haaa, yes.”
Toji rubs the head of his cock along your slit before shoving in, letting go of himself to hold you in place. Your asshole tightens around his thumb, the both of you groaning as he fits flat against your ass. “Fuck,” he pants as you cry and attempt to wiggle around, gripping his shirt tighter.
“Please, please, please,” you beg, voice thick and near hollow with lust, audibly highlighting the way you’re just a series of holes for him to use. “Zen-Zenji- Daddy- please.”
His head falls back for a moment as he indulges in the way your clench desperately him, holding you firm when you attempt to fuck yourself back on him.
“Careful, baby,” he finally says, dark amusement in his voice. “Don’t hurt yourself.” He starts to fuck you slowly, pulling you back and forth like doll on his cock. “You know Daddy doesn’t like it when you hurt yourself.”
“Faster, plea-please. Please breed my hole. Fuck me fu-ull, full of your cum, Daddy. Need it-”
You cry out as he begins to fuck into you, faster and harder as he bullies the full length of his cock into you each time.
“I know, baby.” He supports himself on one knee, the other fitting astride your hip as he plants his foot next to you, ass flexing as he fucks you faster, breeds you like you deserve. “Daddy’s cock feels good in your sloppy lil’ fuckhole, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah!” A few whimpers escape you with each clap of skin, each slap of his heavy balls to your cunt. “S’good. Gimme-” Your voice breaks as he bounces you on his cock, the sounds of him fucking you messy and wet. “Cum, Daddy. Gimme your cum. Wanna- haa, yes, yes, yes. Mmm, wa-wanna have your babies, Zenji.”
He growls, pushing you down on the bed, each thrust more brutal than the last as you begin to babble. “‘m gonna cum, Daddy.”
He rasps out a laugh, unrelenting when you start to cum. He holds you down, fucking you through it as he makes incoherent statements about your cunt milking him and you being a needy little bitch in heat that makes you cry and tremble even more as one orgasm bleeds into another.
“T- Zenji. Too much. Please,” you mewl. “Can’t take it, Daddy. Too much.”
His laugh is cruel as he leans over you with an open mouth. His knee falls to reveal him biting you, his thrusts going sloppy at this angle.
“Daddy- fuck. Too much. I can’t take it, please.”
He shoves your face into the bed with a groan, muffling you as you begin to cry. “Thought you wanted to-to be bred, hmmm? Thought my baby needed Daddy’s cum?” He keeps holding you down, ignoring your tears as he uses you for his own pleasure.
“You deserve it, remember? Haaa, fuck baby. Earned it, even.” He groans, shoving more of his weight into you as he fucks you into a sobbing mess. “Be happy Daddy wants his cum deep inside your fuckhole.
“You want it, right? For me to take care of you? Fuck a baby into your empty, fertile little womb?” He laughs as you say something unintelligible. “Hmm? What was that?”
He lets you up, taking hold of your shoulders as you gasp for clear breath through your tears. You turn your face away from the camera as he fucks you, your hair falling over your shoulder in a way that makes the anonymity incredibly sexy, adding to the idea of you being anybody as your fingers search for purchase. His head falls back between his shoulders as he moans in pleasure, the sound barely audible over your continued, fractured sobbing and every wet squelch of his cock into your pussy.
“I can feel how bad you want it, Princess.”
“I need it-” you cry, voice thick and fucked out, and he laughs in lust-fueled joy. “I’m your li-little bitch in heat-”
“Fuck-”
“一t-to breed. Need it, ple-please. Give- give- fuck. Fuck a baby into m-me Daddyyyy.”
He leans forward, chest fitting against your back as he weighs into you. His hips snap against your ass, balls tightening as he pushes your hair away from the back of your neck. 
“Fuck,” he groans, tongue slipping from between his lips as he litters your skin with love bites. “Wanna give it to you, Princess.
“Cuz you’re such a- a well trained hole for me, baby. Getting bred on my fat cock like a good little bitch- fuck, fuck, fuck-”
Your gasp is audible, exhausted as you cum again, quietly begging for him to stop regardless of how empty the request is. His groan is muffled in your shoulder before he pulls away, the suction of his lips parting with your skin distracting. He pants, open mouthed as he fucks you with short, hard strokes as he nears his ends. “That’s it. Cum all over Daddy, Princess.”
He pushes you to lay flat on your stomach as he sits up, his thick cock keeping you full as he straddles the back of your plush thighs. “Gonna fill you up, baby- haa, fuck. So fucking good, baby. Fuck yeah. Take it, take it, take it.”
His hands grip your hips as he fucks you harder and harder until he growls deep in his chest and burying his cock in you, ass tensing and muscles clenching as he cums. It’s hot, it always is, but it’s made even more so by the way his hands rub at your body, soothing before he collapses forward. He catches himself before he crushes you, pressing kisses along your skin as he continues to moan blissfully.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby girl?” He asks, voice deep and low as he lets himself come down. He’s still fucking you, rutting into you lazily to keep his cum plugged inside. “What’s up?”
“Don’t pull out.”
He laughs, the sound shifting from fond to delirious in seconds. “Don’t pull out? I’m not fucking done with you, baby-”
.
friday late afternoon
@/zenji yes that's really how i fuck my girl. what type of question is that @/zenji no not always. she likes breeding before her period 😛 @/zenji not pregnant. yet 😈 @/zenji how tf am i supposed to know if YOU saw a ring on her finger? watch the video again it's fucking free @/zenji another vid? dk. i've seen all the sick shit you want me to do to her tho you fucking perverts @/zenji dk how i feel about you sluts thinking about my girl like this 🧐
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wifey ❤️ [friday evening, text]
they want to see you again all types of disgusting ideas of what we should do
i saw
👀 wdym
i was curious and bored. read the comments
i...wouldn't mind if you filmed in secret
baby my cock is rock fucking hard rn when are you coming home
[pic of your nails w nail tech in the background] in the middle of getting my toes done
fuck. so like an hour
less but yeah
[pic of his hard cock, sweat pants pulled below his balls and shirt pulled up over his stomach]
👀🖤🖤🖤
that made my pussy perk up toji fuck
share that one
took it for you
go play 😚 i wanna see what they say they'd do for you
damn no love
if it's good i'll do it for you when i get home
and i'm making you your fav for dinner smh
needy 😘😘😘😘
i love you the most 🧎‍♀️
but don't cum without me
bc i want that for myself Daddy<3
.
friday evening
@/zenji [pic he sent yn] she isn't home. come play on sc 🤫
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hudson-whorenet · 8 months
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Random Cars thoughts I think about all the time pt.1
It’s currently fairly late (early?) and I can’t sleep so imma talk about things in the cars universe that I think about near constantly. Ok 1 2 3 GO
Mater private eye
Dude I think about this short all the fucking time man, but do you know what the best part about it is imo?
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This character design RIGHT here. DUDEEEEE ok this might just be my sheer adoration of classic/vintage cars but this bitch showed up and I went feral a bit. First of I cannot believe they created such a bomb ass character for this five minute short and he’s just never seen again but dude it fits the 1920’s theme so perfectly, the way they’ve exaggerated the front fenders to resemble the turned up collar of a trench coat, the way his roof resembles a flat cap like it’s literally so COOL MAN. I actually can’t stress enough how excited my pathetic little monkey brain got when I saw this design for the first time. The fact (In my opinion) that they were trying to mirror the car seen in peaky blinders (1927 Bentley 6.5 litre) is also extremely cool as you can see the whole gangster element really come through in the character before he’s even properly introduced RAHHHH. I’m so incredibly biased about this because this design alone hits like three of my hyper fixations at once but RAHAHRBHAHAHSBS HES SO FUCKING COOL I NEED TO OWN HIS DIE CAST AHHH
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The Thomasville racers
I would just like to state my love for the thomasville racers. YES I know they play a moderate role in the third film and get plenty of screen time I guess but in my humble opinion THEY DESERVE MORE. Do you have ANY idea how hard a prequel movie/series would go (I KNOW ITS EXTREMELY UNLIKELY AND KINDA IMPOSSIBLE) I would give a kidney to see these characters in their prime, just from the flash backs of their races I just know it would be so much fun to watch. Seeing them interact with Doc would be an absolute highlight, being able to gauge their own personal relationships with him, Louise’s feelings towards him (fucking pop off babe love her) it would all be so interesting to see and I would start backflipping irl if Pixar EVER announced they were going to expand on them as characters. Also river is the best I didn’t talk abt him here because I don’t have any immediate thoughts but be’s silly and I enjoy him.
Car biology
Now there is one thing that comes to mind in this fucking fandom when you talk about car biology, and that is the obvious how the fuck do they reproduce. DOESN’T MATTER I HAVE A BIGGER QUESTION. Are their eyes wet. Hear me out here ok, cars cry, we see it happen and there’s implications at multiple different points throughout the franchise that they have tears. Does this mean their eyes are wet??? Or are they crying wiper fluid or something? I feel like that would make sense but the line between what are bodily fluids and what are yummy delicious beverages is so painfully blurred that It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re chugging wiper fluid too. The eyes are wet argument is overall kinda silly because we see lifeless car wrecks in some of the shorts and the windshield is still intact! So this presents something worse than eyes are wet, it implies that the car itself is like an exoskeleton and all the meaty important parts are on the inside! Yay! I only say this because we know they have brains obviously and it’s mentioned in some official book that I can’t remember the name of right now but it’s CANON they have brains. So are the brains MEAT? Because if the brains are meat then the eyes are probably squishy too!! But if they have windshields and we think about the exoskeleton thing are their eyes just freakish gelatinous cubes smushed behind the windshield? BUT IF THATS THE CASE WHY DO THEY NEED EYELIDS? I’m aware that this is all highly stupid and trivial but Pixar made too many decisions with absolutely no was to explain them in a child-friendly way and ultimately backed themselves into a corner about stuff like this and now there’s sleep deprived neurodivergents on tumblr dot com trying to pick up the pieces.
Anyway that’s it for this one I might post more of these in the future because it’s fun to just rant about ridiculous shit for no reason lmao
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counsellormurdock · 1 year
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Matt Murdock's Attention Scale
Okay, actually gunna post this after consideration (i just get nervous!), and seeing @reallydifferentcaptain's post about the comic blurb with matt and how his sense work like a spot light and requires focus.
my bit of inspiration for this came from the epi. Nelson v Murdock.
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so anyway, here's my take on how matt can amp up his attention, a few applications of each level, and the impacts that it has on him to do so.
Uncontrolled: moments when matt doesn’t have direct control over his senses. these moments are not often and don’t always infer a dire situation. times when waking up from sleep or unconsciousness, in those few moments before he gets his bearings, matt is at an uncontrolled attention level. gaining control is highly dependent on the situation that led to a lack of control.
Energy Expenditure: negligible
Physical Affects: usually none
Casual: still aware of all his surroundings but isn’t necessarily paying strict attention to anyone one thing. everything matt’s senses are telling him culminates into white noise. often occurs when he zones out, or when he’s trying to meditate and relax.
Energy Expenditure: low
Physical Affects: usually none
Undivided: senses are more contained to the people in a close vicinity. depending on where his focus lies, can easily listen to someone’s heartbeat or a conversation a few rooms over. tends to be at this level of focus while at work or other social settings. allows matt to be present but also still aware of what’s around him.
Energy Expenditure: low-moderate
Physical Affects: not the direct cause, but associated with excessive fatigue if maintained for extended periods without sleep
Focused: paying attention to a specific person(s) or thing(s), able to track movements, listen for heartbeats and breathing. able to determine the general location of individuals in question. ideal for safe cracking and listening to conversations in sound proofed rooms. also, for watching a film, listening to an audiobook, at a concert, etc. can tune the outside world enough to be able to enjoy the media at hand.
Energy Expenditure: moderate
Physical Affects: fatigue if held for multiple hours, potential for headaches
Fixated: similar to focused, but more accurate determination of the location of an object or person. i.e., can tell what building someone is in. able determine the different ingredients in food. can smell hormonal changes in a person. i.e., an adrenaline rush, or if someone has been poisoned through traces in their sweat.
Energy Expenditure: high
Physical Affects: fatigue after an hour or so, headaches, lightheadedness.  
Hyper-fixated: inclusive of fixated, even more accurate determination of location, i.e., what room/floor the person is in within that building. can tell you the amount of each ingredient in something down to about twenty milligrams. feel minor changes in air temperature based on body heat around him within a ten-foot radius.
Energy Expenditure: significant
Physical Affects: fatigue, migraines, dizziness, nausea
Pinpoint: his attention focused to the height that he can force it, able to locate people within a nearly perfectly accurate range. able to detect the exclusion of things, to find where there is specifically silence or other such absences. can only operate at this level for short periods of time without risking consequences.
Energy Expenditure: severe
Physical Affects: migraines, nose bleeds, dizziness, confusion, potential unconsciousness
Overwhelmed: unable to focus on any given thing, sensory input is happening faster than matt’s able to understand and process it.
Energy Expenditure: moderate-high
Physical Affects: confusion, mental shut down, loss of sense of physical self, nausea and vomiting, headache/migraine.
Exclusionary: when his focus is turned inward, generally when attempting to block out the world or a specific stimulus. can range something simple such as ignoring the buzzing of a fly or trying to get a hold of himself after being overwhelmed.
Energy Expenditure: low-high
Physical Affects: usually none, potential for fatigue over long periods  
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cock-holliday · 1 year
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I posted 32,336 times in 2022
That's 6,153 more posts than 2021!
2,496 posts created (8%)
29,840 posts reblogged (92%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@wizardpotions
@hambubbie
@howboutthatbreadtho
@the44th
I tagged 5,352 of my posts in 2022
#txf - 1,561 posts
#msr - 496 posts
#dana scully - 257 posts
#fox mulder - 238 posts
#ask meme - 175 posts
#ask - 118 posts
#resident evil - 113 posts
#tlovm - 100 posts
#anon ask - 95 posts
#critical role - 93 posts
Longest Tag: 140 characters
#it’s not how i want the final turnout and it’s printed on an old shirt but it was a solid first test and i’m keeping this version regardless
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
People stuck listening to me talk about my blorbos
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27,970 notes - Posted April 7, 2022
#4
I think it’s so funny when negative emotions cancel themselves out. I’ll be nervous about a presentation but I’m too tired to be nervous. Or you’re not in the mood to get something done but due date panic gives you motivation. You’re sleep deprived but something makes you mad and wakes you up. The brain is incredible. What a shit show.
30,052 notes - Posted January 28, 2022
#3
I have no idea what is and isn’t considered common knowledge, so I have a tendency to start stories like “So you know how [hyper-specific niche life event that a handful of people in the world are aware of]” or “Are you familiar with the concept of moving pictures? Sometimes referred to as ‘films’ or ‘movies’?”
30,878 notes - Posted July 12, 2022
#2
Of course you have white hair and trauma
46,892 notes - Posted March 3, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
People who switch pronouns in songs to no-homo the situation are so funny. The idea literally never even occurred to me as a kid. Couldn’t be me. I am a woman scorned. I am a man who had his heart broken. I am a guy who hates his hometown. I’m a country boy, I’m a city girl. I’m a slut. I’m addicted to cocaine. It’s a song, man.
48,455 notes - Posted November 23, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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variousqueerthings · 2 years
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cis people making movies about trans people like
this cis actor who dared to get into the mindset of a depressed, self-hating ugly weirdo with no other defining characteristics or plot is so brave and deserves awards for crossdressing
the writing/directing team also deserve awards for going out of their comfort zone and making something so totally unrelatable to us all that we can gawk at and say "so sad" about
I'm going to look in a mirror and hate myself while naked (but in a voyeuristic way, as if self-aware that there's a cinema full of cis people who will be watching this scene with binoculars)
more nudity - even if I'm literally portrayed by a child, my complete nudity exists to convince you, The Cis Viewer, that I am Not The Sex I Present Myself As
"lying" - "pretending" - "delusional" - "phase" - "sick" -- repeat one of these words or synonyms thereof every 5 minutes
an inventive array of hatecrimes
these cis actors portraying trans people have literally harassed and abused trans people in real life
more sympathy for the family and friends who reject, mock, and possibly violently assault the trans character, than for the trans character
more self-hating nudity, just in case the first time around wasn't enough for you, gotta make sure you get your money's worth
characters talking about the trans character, while that character is in the room, in ways that are dehumanising - within the context of the movie, it's not considered dehumanising
ok for a change let's boldly explore the idea that this kid character isn't trans, but it's all a phase, which makes all the violence and rejection worth it
also no awareness of the real overlaps between gay and trans communities - never shall the twain meet, because we've done literally no research and nobody trans was spoken to once and actually the director lowkey doesn't believe in trans people
"this director thinks all trans people are misguided, self-hating gay people" propaganda
all this character thinks about and cares about is their body, all day and every day, because we don't actually know how to write this character (because once again: being trans is totally unrelatable to normal people)
this movie made in the 90s with cis actors is actually better than this movie made in 2016 with a cis actor because it cared about narrative and character-writing and community-focus as the entry point, which weirdly enough makes for an actual story and not 2 hours of navel-gazy hyper-pretentious artistic nude shots
2 hours of navel-gazy hyper-pretentious artistic nude shots. bonus points if the movie is depressing as hell too
everyone is either in a boring middle-class household or a sex-worker. at least the sex-worker might have some trans friends... might
trans people are lonely and alone. they know nobody else who is trans and never seek trans community. they are sad. and also alone, did we mention how lonely and alone all trans people are?
cis actor shows up to the award's show looking aggressively gendered to fend off any accusations that they're anything but all-man/all-woman
cis actor makes a tearjerky speech about how we have to all love and support one another that hundreds of abusers of power sniffle to. there are no out trans creators or artists in the crowd
this sexual abuser of trans women says he hopes he'll be the last cis man to portray a trans woman while getting his award... he is not (nor does his career suffer at all for the abuse)
compares trans people to trees, which is fair because we're written with about the same amount of pathos on average
is this trans actress getting hired in big productions after appearing in this award-winning film/show? I haven't seen her in anything in years...
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The Mask You Live In: Toxic Masculinity
You might be familiar with the term “toxic masculinity”, but most are not familiar with it’s influence on all of society and how early its onset is. Toxic masculinity is essentially a set of attitudes or behaviors that perpetuate harmful stereotypes associated with men.
Toxic masculinity is defined as a set of attitudes or behaviors that perpetuate harmful stereotypes associated with men. Much like compulsive heteronormativity, masculinity is defined and imposed upon boys at very young ages. Toxic masculinity can develop traits such as physical aggression, fear of emotions and numbness, homophobia, hyper independence, degradation of the feminine, and a pressure to appear "tough". These traits are more common, but toxic masculinity can present itself in varying ways. The documentary The Mask You Live In provided an in-depth look at toxic masculinity in children. Through a series of interviews, audiences saw first hand the detriments toxic masculinity creates and carries into adulthood. One expert observes how, "We have constructed an idea of masculinity in the United States that doesn’t give young boys a way to feel secure in their masculinity. So we make them go prove it all the time." (Kimmel, The Mask You Live In).
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So when does it begin?
Early pressure to conform to a societal idea of masculinity begins with children’s media. You might remember Mulan, a family favorite and certainly one of mine. However the song “I’ll Make A Man Out of You” sung by Shang during a training session, is a prime example of toxic masculinity. The song appears to suggest that a healthy form of inspiration is preying on insecurities, and cultivating aggression. Hence the line, “You're a spineless, pale, pathetic lot/And you haven't got a clue/Somehow I'll make a man out of you" (Dina, Leygerman. Romper). Several other family favorites and classic movies like Beauty and The Beast, Shrek, The Princess Bride, and Home Alone perpetuate stereotypical masculine storylines and pressures that while comedic, may send a wrong message to impressionable young children. Beauty and The Beast, with a seemingly empowered female lead is still dwarfed with an emotionally manipulative Beast, and a third sexist “manly” Gaston. From praised and romanticized aggression in male characters, to manipulative and abusive father figures (think King Triton from Little Mermaid). From Hercules, Prince Eric, and John Smith, the ideal man is buff, strong, aggressive and undoubtedly attracted to women. So, as Timothee Beneke states, “Why is it that successfully enduring distress is so central to proving manhood and proving superiority, not only in the United States but in most of the cultures in the world?” (Beneke, Proving Manhood). Why do we expose children to these harmful tropes through entertainment? Thankfully, while these movies remain classics, children’s media has slowly followed the rising amount of awareness of toxic masculinity and has succeeded in making content that will raise a generation of strong and vulnerable young men. In recent years, the animated film genre has introduced a much more healthy and realistic thematic arc. Movies like How To Train Your Dragon 3, Ralph Breaks The Internet, and Spider-Man: Into the Spider Verse, are all box-office hits that rely on a much more refreshing approach to character development. The entire series of How To Train Your Dragon has followed the main character Hiccup, a gentle young Viking, on his quest to find himself in a culture and community that values traditional masculinity. Spider-Man: Into the Spider Verse has introduced a new take on the Spider Man arcs, with a young Miles Morales learning how to balance a father’s expectations, healing from a violent uncle, and battling an antagonist who has taken to destruction to cope with his family’s deaths. While these films may sound mature for younger audiences, they have made millions while balancing important morals and breathtaking animation. If anything, these films prove there is hope for an upcoming generation to combat the learned behaviors of toxic masculinity and heal our communities and then the world.
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Sources:
Bahr, Robyn. “Critic's Notebook: How Animated Film Is Indicting Toxic Masculinity.” The Hollywood Reporter, The Hollywood Reporter, 1 Mar. 2019, https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/how-animated-film-is-indicting-toxic-masculinity-1190399/.
Leygerman, Dina. “8 Kid Movies That Actually Perpetuate Toxic Masculinity.” Romper, Romper, 18 Jan. 2018, https://www.romper.com/p/8-kid-movies-that-actually-perpetuate-toxic-masculinity-7936481.
“The Mask You Live In.” The Representation Project, 29 Mar. 2022, https://therepproject.org/films/the-mask-you-live-in/.
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xtinacherry · 24 days
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Matsumoto's Funeral Parade of Roses 3/3
The minute I saw this film was queer-centered made me really excited to watch it! I love seeing queer representation during this time period. The film was a little hard to follow at some points as it jumps into different memories and scenes pretty abruptly and also implements a documentary feel. I personally really enjoyed how this movie was produced and directed, I feel like it kept me tied in and itching to know what the hell was going on, which I'm sure was the intention. The way the film portrayed the actors in the film made it a little fuzzy on their gender preferences, so I tried looking it up and it says they are transgender women, so I will be running with that unless anyone can correct me on otherwise! 
We seem to follow Eddie through her trials and tribulations with her past and present as an employee at a gay bar underneath Madame Leda, who she seems to fear and hate, and Gonda, the partner of Leda and the person she is sleeping with. There is a rivalry between Leda and Eddie. Gonda and Eddie are secretly sleeping with each other, and Leda is well aware of it. Gonda intends to replace Leda with Eddie as the Madame of the bar, which we see come to fruition toward the end of the film. However, one night when Eddie is showering, Gonda finds an old photograph of her and her family, in which he discovers he is her father. This leads to the suicide of both of them.
We see how the past affects her even into the present day, jumping into flashbacks of her traumatic childhood surrounding both her awakening into her gender and sexuality and her complicated (very complicated as we learn in the end) relationship with her parents. I really appreciated this film because it really brings queer culture to life during a time I did not know had a lot of standing in media. After looking more into the movie, it had really great receival, which was also surprising to me. I also read that the movie allowed for a wider audience to gain a perspective of the lives within the queer community, whether receiving satisfaction in their own curiosities or even gaining sympathy for the lives they endure. I thought the documentary-esque direction they used offered the ability to pull the audience outside of just the depiction of queer life but the reality of it as well, displaying how the actors themselves are queer, their identity within it, how it relates to their own lives and gender expression, and their genuine opinions on how they are represented throughout the film. I was blown away with how much I enjoyed this film, and its probably my favorite we have watched thus far. 
I love how Eddie’s character was depicted. She is this beautiful, hyper-femme, happy, young, and care-free individual. She seems very comfortable in her gender expression. From what I remember, she never denies that she is a man, and even calls herself gay, but in terms of queer theory this can be a more complex explanation to this. I feel like this film was trying to express this complexity of gender expression and identity, and how there is no use to apply one’s identity to a binary. Not only this, but it is up for the person to decide how they wish to express this. 
Overall, I really liked this film. Not only did it provide some insight on queer representation and expression, but it provided vital queer history during the time and displayed queer spaces as well. 
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cailinrogersfinearts · 5 months
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Updated IPO
Independent Project Outline 
213.442 Art Studio lVB
Student Name: Cailin Rogers
Student ID: 2004095
Amendment #:
Amendment date: 
Tutorial Group Lecturers: Bryce Galloway, Raul Ortega 
1. Focus: (50-100 words): 
This semester I wish to investigate Internet culture, popular culture and positions of power in the modern world as  research tools into critiquing patriarchal powers, contemporary feminisms and my own privilege. I am interested in the ways seemingly shallow aspects of ‘21st century girlhood’ such as online niches, subcultures, music and aesthetic value have changed trajectories of the ways we view contemporary femininity. I aim to hold an importance on comedic value, utilising satire as a means to poke fun at aspects of the male gaze as well as presenting a sense of self awareness and nuanced critique as a women, but a privileged one, navigating a patriarchal world. 
2. Background: (200-300 words): 
My research practice has covered a variety of questions throughout the years, but with a core focus consistently surrounding themes of femininity, feminism, power and personal lived experience. Semester two of last year I found a focus within female representation in film and media, particularly horrors and the female revenge sub genre as a rich source of feminist allegory. Through this focus I moved from a previous sculpture based practice into video work. 
I researched both objectively and subjectively ‘good’ and ‘bad’ female representations in various films and the feminist theory behind these representations. I used this research and my own lived experience as a base to create performative storytelling through video work. From the knowledge of my research surrounding style and characterisation in horrors, I created video aesthetic motifs, characterisation and dramatic imagery. The first of my videos being a scene with large amounts of fake blood, girls dressed in hyper-feminine styles and cleaning props, in which the girls sensually ‘cleaned’ the puddle of blood, spreading it painterly across the whole floor. I kept an open ended narrative (no beginning to indicate how we got there and no conclusive ending) to allow for interpretive analysis and focus on movement and character to project a story. 
I felt I found a good balance of exploring and creating with my own personal perspective and experience in mind, while also creating something that is open ended and enjoyable for various viewers to interpret. I intend to continue with this balance of personal exploration shown through my work while also highly valuing interpretive analysis and external research. I also valued interpretive analysis/viewer response as a tool of research in itself, something I intend to explore further. The way in which people respond to the aesthetics within my work has been interesting and ironically speaks to the context of my work. pushing heavier emphasis and satirical obviousness in my aesthetics and characterisation is a goal moving forward.
I will continue exploring sound as a component in my video work, but would like to explore further collaboration in this area as I am aware my strengths do not lie in audio work. I aim to push myself with equipment; using higher quality cameras (e.g. the Black Magic), filming locations, and install (projection, multiple channels, and mixed media). I wish to expand on creative mixed media video installation, I would like to find a marriage between my sculptural and video practice so that they inform one another and find new meanings. 
3. References: 
Texts:
Lim, Bliss Cua. “Dolls in Fragments: Daisies as Feminist Allegory.” Camera Obscura, vol. 16,  no. 3, 2001, pp. 37-68.
Gill, Rosalind. et al. “Postfeminism, popular feminism and neoliberal feminism? Sarah Banet Weiser, Rosalind Gill and Catherine Rottenberg in conversation.” Feminist Theory, vol. 21, no. 1, 2019, pp. 3-24.
Thwaites, Rachel. “Making a Choice or Taking a Stand? Choice Feminism, Political Engagement and Contemporary Feminist Movement.” Feminist Theory, vol. 18, no. 1, 2016, pp. 55-68.
Gill, Rosalind. “Postfeminist Media Culture: Elements of a Sensibility.” European Journal of Cultural Studies, vol. 10, no. 2, 2007, pp. 147-166.
Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” Screen, vol. 16, no. 3, 1975, pp. 6-18.
Davis, Rachel E. "" Tell me you own me, gimme them coins": postfeminist fascination with Lolita, Lana Del Rey, and sugar culture on Tumblr." (2017).
Artists:
Arvida Bystrom. Mixed media artist. https://www.arvidabystrom.se/
Sam Duckor-Jones. Mixed media artist. https://www.samduckorjones.com/
Juno Calypso. Photographer and video artist. https://www.junocalypso.com/
Amalia Ulman. Artist and film director. https://amaliaulman.eu/
‘Mashulka World’, Sculpture artist. https://mashulka.world/projects/
Laurie Beth Zuckerman. Sculpture, installation artist. https://www.lauriezuckerman.com/
Films:
Barney, Matthew, director. The Cremaster Cycle. 1994-2002.
Chytilová, Věra, director. Daisies. 1966.
Endelman, Stephen, director. Jawbreaker. TriStar Pictures, Sony Pictures,1999.
Babbit, Jamie, director. But I’m a Cheerleader. Lionsgate, 1999.
Fennell, Emerald, director. Promising Young Woman. FilmNation Entertainment, 2020.
Kusama, Karyn, director. Jennifer's Body. 20th Century Studios, Fox Atomic, 2009.
4. Process: 
What do you intend to make (i.e., painting, sculpture, video, etc.), and how (materials and processes). What knowledge and skills do you need to gain, investigations to undertake, and at what point will you critically reflect on your progress. Produce a timeline of the above that extends to the end of the year submission. This section should not extend on the concepts outlined in the ‘Focus’ section, but should be a nuts n bolts description of the tasks you are setting yourself:
I intend to make mixed media video installation work. I want to film mainly in the studio and make sculptural objects, from found and constructed materials, that inform my videos. I intent to use camera equipment, that I’ve used before as well as equipment and software I haven’t used before, and will need to gain the skills to do so (e.g green screening, different cameras etc) . I will need to reflect on the ways working on both sculptural and video works alongside each other with affect my process moving from a practice of using those medias separately. I will also be working site specifically for the first time with taking the exhibition paper and will gain the skills installing my work in an unfamiliar, untraditional space. I will need to collaborate with other people in my process, working alongside friends to act/model in my shoots, as well as working collaboratively for sound/music.
Week 1: brainstorming ideas, collecting artist models, planning, collecting materials for ‘alter sculpture’
Week 2: sanding, painting, decorating shelfs for alter
Week 3: Rōpū critTues 9am Mar 14, feedback notes
Draft IPO due Fri 9am Mar 17
Week 4: reflect on crit, plan and shoot video for projection mapping 
Week 5: edit video, learn how to use mad mapper,  and install for Formative assessment crits Fri am Mar 30
Week 6: expand ideas and reflect from crit, continue research, continue edits and sculpture 
Study Break: re- editing, planning for site specific exhibition install, 
Week 7: re-edit angel footage, measure exhibition site and make plans/works according
Week 8: adding more shelves, exporting new tv and projection vids for exhibition 
Week 9: test exhibition install, make adjustments, get final sound from Lian
Week 10: final adjustments to work, exports, build screen for projection, buy final materials (candles)
Week 11: install for exhibition. Opening night. Gallery sitting and reflections. Planning for exposure
Week 12: re-shoot, edit, install tests
Week 13: Final hand in Fri 10.30am Jun 9
5. Resources: 
Do you need a studio space, and/or access to any particular equipment? What kinds of materials do you think you will be using: identify any health and safety issues (and how you intend to deal with these issues), and where and how you will get these. This will probably take the form of an annotated list.
Video cameras (4k video camera, 6k black magic)
Lighting (location lighting and continuous studio lighting)
Tripods
Microphone for creating foley sound (borrowed from frank)
Dark space to display/install video work
Tv monitors and projector
Music artist for sound collaboration (my friend Lian who I’ve worked with before)
Models/actors and consent forms
Costuming, props, makeup, possible makeup artists or assistance on set
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violetwanderings · 6 months
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06.11.23
i'm almost to the end of my time here with j and holy fucking shit i could not be more ready to get the fuck outta here. i appreciate having all of these people as friends but it's very clear to me that these people do not have the ability to harbor the type of connection i want to foster with people. there's nothing wrong with my need for deeper connections and there's nothing inherently wrong with their lack of HOWEVER i'm starting to really piece together my opinion on j.
i suffer from a lot of trauma induced dementia but i want to try to recount my friendship with j.
i first met her when i started working at mcdonald's. i didn't have any friends at the time and was quiet literally going through /it/ i had just moved to iowa, failed out of college, broken up with my high school boyfriend, started a horrible relationship (from which she and d picked me up from the gas station) broke up then started ANOTHER horrible situationship (in which i frequently would go hang out with j in hopes z would reach out to me so i could go over there), moved in with her and two other "friends" thus marking one of the worst living situations i've been in
i remember distinctly a big insecurity of hers was that all of her friends ghosted her along the way. i attributed this to her size, her extroverted-ness and people's general tendency to be shitty. but that was when i was 18/19 and she was 23/24.
i am now 26 and she is 30. in six years she has not grown in a way that would show the level of maturity i require from people in my life. she is completely unserious about issues regarding safety and society. she is an avid consumer and frequently voices her displeasure about anything. other drivers. weather. her elderly neighbor. loud people. she radiates this small dog energy. she oozes a white woman ego that is so completely off-putting to me. it almost feels like she walks around playing a giant game of pretend. and maybe that's me. maybe i'm simply projecting onto her what was going through my mind when i was like that.
but they way she does things so performatively  jEsUs C hRisT. she can't even play with my cats without looking over at me for a reaction every thirty seconds. she has this weird neurotypical way of asking me to do something by suggesting it instead of just being direct.
she also is insanely hyper-aware of any change in my reaction. if i make a face at my computer screen she's asking "what is it?" if i giggle she's immediately asking "what's so funny?" and while this didn't bother me at first - after six months it become exhausting.
i specifically told her how much i hate being watched. how my family was constantly aware of how i presented and carried myself in public and how co-workers always filmed me. and yet i cannot move in this house without her being in my fkn business.
idk maybe i'm being too stand-offish. maybe the years of rejections and agoraphobia have finally peaked. or maybe i'm becoming aware of people that aren't who i thought they were. i mean she absolutely treats me differently now. she has this weird aire of superiority and she definitely did back in the day but it's different now. like when i ask her to be specific about something she makes this big sigh and says it in such a way i feel like it's annoying to ask her to be specific. and that's not my problem. that's a her thing that just doesn't mesh with me. but my issue is that i never know how to get out of these situations. taylor walters. sabrina. i constantly find myself in relationships with people i don't like or that don't treat me well. i know that's an unhealed childhood trauma thing and i'm trying really hard to overcome that it's just how do i elave? how do i cut people off? ghosting is the most emotionally 'safe' for me but it hinders my ability to develop conflict-resolution skills. having a discussion and 'breaking up' as friends seems like the next correct option but doesn't that seem over the top? doesn't it feel like that may be placing the value of my role in her life higher than what she sees it as? i feel it's presumptuous for me to go about it this way.
so my next to options are let time erode it away like water on a stone or be myself and pray to god it pushes her away. i'm kinda leaning towards the last one as i feel it will just happen naturally. "it's so hard to shine with a star as bright as me around" or whatever the hell blackstar would say.
but what if i'm all wrong? what if j is as close to a friend as i'll ever get? what if i have too much of an idealized concept of connection? if i throw this away am i damning myself to solitude?
sorry wrote a song cause that last line kinda went a lil apeshitbananamodemonkeymonkeymonkey
anyway, i feel like this is a lesson i am repeating for a reason. i think either i'm meant to embrace this friendship or leave it. i'm just scared i'm gonna pick the wrong one. but now i'm thinking what if there is no wrong one? simply two different paths. but it seems like i've had such a bad streak lately. maybe that's because i'm simply looking at it that way. to be quite honest this is an incredibly lucky down streak. i've had cushion after cushion to fall back on where most people wouldn't have one single one. i should be grateful but onviously i'm a shitty shitty little white person who feels entitled to more. or maybe it's juat a human thing in this case. i mean isn't it only natural to only be accustomed to your own suffering? you only know what you know. obviously you are aware of the concept of suffering for others and you feel it desperately when you are intimately engaging with them but when it's just you in your head sitting in a car or sitting on the couch you tend to just focus on your own problems and suddenly they become so large and terrifying. or completely improbable. i need to get my wisdom teeth out so badly. i need to get a vehicle so badly. i need to be independent. i need to build a quiet life for myself. i need to cast away the desire to be famous or be creative and just focus on survival and rebirth. my ego doesn't want to let go. i feel so behind and to let go now once again means to forgo my own interests. what if , again, this is the wrong choice? i constantly feel as though i am losing in choose your own adventure story. which i guess in retrospect that's kinda exactly what life is....
anyway i need to set up a good maladaptive daydream to carry me to sleep before i BRUSHMYTEETHBRUSHMYTEETHBRUSHMYTEEHT I WILL NOT GO TO BED/PASS OUT WITHOUT BRUSHING MY TEETH OHMYGOD PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE I BEG ILYSM ELO PLEASE SAVE OUR TEETH
lolk.
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animatedrapture · 3 years
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NIGHT ONE: OLYMPIC PRESENT
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Summary: What better gift is there to give Suna on his birthday than yourself? After all, you still have to congratulate him and his teammates for making it to the Olympics.
Content Warnings: Caring yet sadistic and possessive boyfriend Suna. Sensitive Female Reader. Gangbang. Oral (M. & F. Receiving.) Anal. Double penetration. Overstimulation. Choking. Dacryphilia. Tummy bulge. Voyeurism. Cum eating. Creampie. Degradation. Praise kink. Vaginal Penetration. Size kink. Pet names. Cockwarming but like, Suna’s cock in your ass. Use of "sir" & "daddy." Cuckolding. Impact Play. Male masturbation. Squirting. Aftercare. Filming. Mindbreak. Unprotected sex. Multiple orgasms.
Characters: Suna Rintarō. Hinata Shōyō. Bokuto Koutarou. Sakusa Kiyoomi. Miya Atsumu. Ojiro Aran.
Word Count: 5.5k
Violet's Note: HAPPY SUNA DAY! This is the first time I wrote a gangbang fic so I hope this was alright, I wish I could’ve added more of the people on the team but I was already overwhelmed at just the 6 of them, ngl. Huge thank you to Fairy for all the reassurance when I pitched the idea & for beta reading for me! To Bee for being the final proofreader which was a ton of help. To Mous, Ria, & Belle for indulging in my questions about characterization of their men <3
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Your boyfriend, Suna, has always been an experimentalist in bed. Lazy, yes. But boring? Absolutely not. It’s something you learn fairly early on in the relationship—he liked amusing himself—but most of all, he liked amusing himself with you.
“Hey bunny,” Suna mutters from behind you, his lips ghosting the skin where your neck and shoulders meet. You’re sitting in between his legs, eyes gleaming proudly as you stare at the roster of the Japan Olympic players—more specifically, on Suna’s profile amongst the list.
You hum in response, leaning further back into his chest.
“What d’ya think about getting fucked by the team?” His voice is so casual, teeth teasingly nipping on your skin. He barely needs your audible response to know the answer, when he hears the hitch in your breath and the immediate way your thighs clench together.
“The team?” your question almost comes out as a squeak, suddenly hyper-aware of him.
“Mhm,” His lips move up your neck to your ears, his breath against your skin making goosebumps rise through your body.
 “Just wanna show off how pretty you are all sensitive and fucked out,” He whispers, his hand sneaking between your thighs where your wetness pooled.
 “Besides…” He trails off, “My birthday’s comin’ up.”
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You feel like a little bunny in a den of foxes all ready to pounce on you. You try not to squirm under their stare, yet the rising heat from your neck, flushing your face, is enough indication.
Suna’s soft with you—for now, at least. It’s different when it’s just the two of you; and even more different when you’re being subjected under everyone else’s gaze. He’s sitting behind you on the mattress as he keenly observes you, chuckling as he watches you grip anxiously at the end of your silk robe—the only thing covering you.
“You okay, bunny?” He asks, large hands rubbing soothingly along your shoulders.
You nod, something that makes Suna hum, “Use your words and relax.”
His words make you exhale, sighing out the breath you’ve been holding, “’m okay,” you confirm. Suna gives you a soft pat on the head.
“You’re familiar with most of them, yeah? Atsumu, Aran-kun, Omi—” he pauses, looking back at them.
Atsumu winks back at you, giving you a knowing smile, years of playfully flirting with you making you feel less tense. Along with Aran, whose familiarity offers you a sense of comfort. You’re close enough with them that it gives you the sense to relax.
Your gaze drifts to Sakusa, his dark eyes staring down on you so intensely—you shy away, biting down on your lip. With Sakusa, it’s different; you don’t know him much except for the times you’ve met him, but the thing about him is that you’ve always had a small crush on him—that’s what makes you squirm and flush a darker shade of red.
“Next to Omi is Hinata,” the orange-haired boy gives you a bright smile, easily catching your eye, “And next to Hinata is Bokuto.”
Bokuto looks back at you inquisitively, yet with his eyes gleaming in anticipation.
“Ready, bunny?” This time, Suna looks back at you. You give him a shy smile.
“Yes.”
“That’s my good little slut,” He praises you, hands travelling around your waist, the tie of your silk robe in between his fingers, “Tell them what you want then.”
Your lips part, wanting to speak, yet your shyness mixed with a hint of embarrassment stops you—Suna catches on to your hesitance quickly.
“C’mon, be good for us,” he encourages you, finally pulling on the tie; your robe coming undone, slightly exposing you.
You can hear them curse under their breath, watching the teasing way Suna peels away the silk from your body, exposing you completely. The hairs along your skin rise, you can feel their eyes raking up and down your body.
Suna’s hands travel in between your thighs next, parting them. Your pussy is glistening with your wet slick, as he spreads your folds apart for all of them to see.
You whine out as his fingers run up and down your slit, head falling back to his shoulder and legs parting further apart unconsciously—as if you’re inviting them. It’s almost taunting, the way you tilt your head back with a loud sigh escaping your lips as Suna rubs against your clit in playful vexation.
“Want… Omi, please,” You finally answer breathlessly, wanting more. A few eyebrows shot up, Sakusa? But Suna could only chuckle—you’re just so predictable.
“Awww, bunny wants her crush to touch her, huh?” There’s an odd sense of humiliation to his question while Sakusa steps forward, nearing the both of you.
You’re unsure how Sakusa ever agreed to this, how Suna even brought it up to him—to them—but there wasn’t a single beat of hesitation to Sakusa’s actions as he grips on the back of your thigh, settling between your legs.
Suna directs your attention back to him with a simple tug on your hair—it’s harsh and commanding. Tears quickly spring up the corner of your eyes as you stare back into Suna’s eyes, heavily lidded and easily seducing, “You’re just such a greedy little whore, huh?”
You whimper. Suna’s raw possessiveness seeps through his words and how harsh his every action becomes—his every word becomes demeaning and mean, but it’s what makes you press your thighs together, already aching in need.
Suna slaps on the inside of your thigh as a warning. You moan at the pleasurable sting, a mark of his hand printing on your skin. You part your legs again and Suna is quick to dip a finger in your pussy.
“A crush on me…” Sakusa eyes you down like he’s judging you for it, uncaring about your current state. His gaze trails along your naked body until it snaps back up to meet your eye, “Any hard limits?”
You shake your head the best you can, “No sir, just watch out for the safe word,” you answer him, you can feel Suna’s fingers retreating from your drooling cunt, moving towards your mouth—you make sure you open up immediately, latching your lips around his fingers, looking up at Sakusa through your lashes as if you were an innocent little thing.
Slowly, Suna’s grip on your hair loosens until he lets go completely, pleased with the way you clean his fingers off your arousal.
You release Suna’s finger with a pop, finally sitting up and crawling towards Sakusa closer, looking up at him with wide eyes as you palm him through his pants, cock straining against it so painfully.
“Can I have you in my mouth, please?” You ask, your hands already fumbling to undo his pants.
Sakusa’s hands run through your hair so softly before he grips it with a harsh tug, making you gasp in surprise.
“Hurry up if you want it so bad,” his voice is cold, almost berating without the need for the actual words slipping out of his mouth.
You pull Sakusa’s cock out of his pants, hand immediately wrapping around his length and your tongue darting out to lick a stripe along the huge vein along his cock, from the base to his tip, giving it a chaste kiss before sucking on the drooling precum.
You let out a sudden moan when you feel Suna’s wet tongue run along your slit before latching on your clit. His ministrations make you moan around Sakusa’s cock as you take more of him in your mouth.
Sakusa groans as his cockhead hits the back of your throat, tightening around him when you gag, fresh tears already forming at the corner of your eyes.
You started bobbing your head along Sakusa’s length, taking him in so greedily. Wanting nothing more than to prove yourself, to get his approval.
Your thighs tremble from beneath you, reveling in the way Suna sucks on your folds, pushing his tongue inside you while you drip down the sheets.
Suna always knew how to make your body react exactly the way he wants you to; you can feel a familiar coil in your stomach building up, yet you make the mistake of moaning louder as you feel your first orgasm fast approaching—just like that, Suna’s mouth leaves your drooling cunt, clenching around nothing and aching for more.
You resist the urge to whimper, focusing on Sakusa’s cock stuffing your mouth full, trying to please him the best you can.
Suna chuckles at you, amused. “Such a spoiled brat, always asking for more,” He criticizes you, moving out of the bed to stand and watch you work your mouth around Sakusa.
“Thought you wanted Omi, though? Present yourself for him, bunny.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You release Sakusa from your mouth, moving in position with your ass up, head down the mattress, spreading your glistening folds.
“Please fuck my messy little pussy, sir,” you nearly beg, looking at him from the side, a string of curses following your words. Sakusa’s breath hitches, tongue darting out to lick over his lips.
All of them are thinking nearly the same thing: You’re such a well-trained slut.
Sakusa moves to the bed, kneeling behind you, your anticipation increasing when you feel his hard cock pressing against your folds.
“Nngh—! Fuck,” You cry out when you feel him push his cock into you in one swift thrust and in the moment you did, he tugs on your hair again, bringing you up to him.
“You’re going to keep quiet like a fuckdoll, alright?” His hand slapping over your mouth before you can let a sound out again.
The pain in your scalp stings, and it continues every time Sakusa thrusts into you, pulling on your hair with it.
You’re not sure when Suna got around to it, but when your eyes search for him, he’s sitting behind a small table—deadpan expression looking back at you.
What truly takes your attention, though, is the camera settled on the table, directed at you, red light blinking back at you so tauntingly.
Sakusa’s movements are firm and precise, the stroke of his cock pushing into your walls is delicious —the streak of harshness to it is sadistic.
Suna hums from the side where he sat, watching you with amusement, seeing your drool trailing down your cheeks, looking completely fucked out already. Moans you try to keep in coming out in high pitched whimpers.
You squeal when you feel Sakusa’s cock hit your sweet spot, mind-numbing from the pleasure.
Sakusa lets out a noise of disapproval, “Pathetically dumbed out already,” he comments, your cunt immediately clenching tightly around him at his degrading words, making him groan.
“Hinata,” Suna suddenly calls out.
“Yeah?” Hinata answers almost immediately, eyes sparkling in excitement.
“Help y/n shut up, won’t you?” Hinata’s eyebrows shot up, already understanding what Suna meant.
Hinata’s quick to move in front of you, taking his thick cock out for you. This is what makes Sakusa finally let go of your hair, hands retreating to the curve of your waist.
You look up at Hinata as he presses his cock against your lips—his precum smearing over, you look dazed and fucked out, yet you smile at him—opening your mouth like a good pet.
“You look so pretty, Y/N!” He exclaims with an encouraging smile, not wasting any time to push his cock into your mouth.
You really do look so pretty. Everyone in the room can agree, your body shines under the thin sheen of sweat but there’s a glow to your heated flushed face and dazed expression.
Both of Hinata’s hands rest on the back of your head, guiding you further down his thick length. You’re drooling around his cock,  messily sucking him off, your tongue running over the head.
Hinata’s hips push forward unconsciously, wanting more of your mouth, warm and wet around his dick as you suck him off. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head in a steady pace, focused on making him feel good.
He looks down at you mesmerized, unabashed by the moans slipping out of his mouth every single time he hits the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex.
Your pussy is convulsing around Sakusa’s cock as if you’re trying to milk him of his cum while he’s pounding into you, his thrusts helping you push Hinata��s cock in and out of your mouth.
Hinata groans, praising you, “You’re so go-good at this, y/n,” he stutters, absorbed by the pleasure. You moan around him, pleased at the praise even as his grip on the back of your head tightens, “Your lips look so nice around me.”
The thrill of feeling used like you’re nothing but a hole only increases when Sakusa’s thrusts become more and more erratic and careless. Your moans vibrate around Hinata’s length, his head tilting back while you work your mouth, pulling back and licking over his slit.
You pull your head back, looking up at him before speaking, “Cum in my mouth, pretty please?”
The faux innocence in your voice and in the way you look while you’re sticking your tongue out and pumping his thick length in your smaller hands is what does it for him.
Hinata cums in thick spurts, your mouth taking his length down your throat again. Your cunt clenches around Sakusa with your attempts not to gag on Hinata’s cock.
Sakusa, he grips around your waist so tightly that you’re sure it’s going to bruise as he chases his own high—his moans finally coming out more freely.
You swallow Hinata’s cum shooting down your throat before you take him out of your mouth with a pop with your body slacking—yet Sakusa takes your complete attention back to him with one particularly harsh thrust that has you coming undone around his cock.
“What a disgusting whore,” he leers at you, suddenly shoving your face down the mattress.
Your pussy squeezes around him, tensing so tightly he could barely move as his hot seed paints your walls white. You’re squirming and your moans are wanton, loving the feeling of being filled up.
It takes a moment before your walls relax around Sakusa. Everyone in the room is breathless, watching you and the slow drag of Sakusa’s cock leaving your pussy—gaze fixated on your cunt dripping with his cum while you clench around nothing.
Sakusa flips you over, his movements calculated and gentle. Humming, he eyes your fucked out state; you’re panting and the skin on your waist is already blooming with marks of his fingertips.
“You’re quite a good little cocksleeve, aren’t you?” he comments. It takes a while to process but you feel him pat your head softly, not waiting for your reply before turning away from you.
“Rin?” you call out to Suna weakly, head still swimming under bliss.
Suna is quick to stand from his seat, moving towards you immediately, his touch gentle. He presses a kiss on your forehead, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“You okay? Need a moment?” He asks, observing you and how your body is reacting to his touch, running a knuckle down your cheeks.
You shake your head, “No,” you lean to his touch, “Gotta be good and make you proud, daddy.”
You take Suna’s wrist, keeping your eyes locked to him as you move his hand between your legs, spreading them apart again. Taking his fingers in your hand, you use them to push the dripping cum back inside your pussy.
“Holy shit,” Atsumu curses, slack-jawed.
It was always obvious to him how submissive and pliant you are with Suna—Atsumu always seeing red stripes along Suna’s broad back whenever they change for training—but seeing this, you, right in front of him; so eager to be filled up and fucked, only fuels the hot desire that was already in the pit of his stomach.
You look over to Atsumu, giggling lightly. His dick almost hurts with the urge to finally take you—but you had other things in mind.
Your gaze fleets towards Aran before it darts back up to lock with Suna’s. “Prep me for Aran-kun, please?” 
Suna’s hand runs down your waist, rubbing lightly in soft affection yet silent possessiveness. He nods, already understanding what you want.
He moves away, walking towards the bedside table, opening a drawer. You move your attention to Bokuto, who’s slightly leaning over, looking like he couldn’t sit still any longer.
You catch his eye and he’s quick to offer you a bright grin.
“Hey, Bokuto,” you began, “Can you come take care of me?” You ask him, voice hypnotizingly inviting.
Bokuto stands from his seat, making his way over to you. He’s quick to capture your lips to his—kisses passionate and greedy, hands running over your buzzed out body, skimming every curve, every sensitive part.
Bokuto’s touch is rough with a sense of hurry to them, almost like the way Suna handles you whenever he’s pent up and frustrated. He pulls away just in time as Suna comes back with the lube in hand.
“On all fours, bunny,” Suna comes up behind you with a command, opening the cap of the lube. You follow through, but you don’t take your eyes off of Bokuto.
Your swollen lips are slightly parted, anticipation rising up your body as you watch him unzip his pants, taking his cock out.
The lube is cool against your skin, trickling down your ass. You give Bokuto all your attention, though, taking his length in your hand—he’s thick and long, the head of his cock glistening with pearly white precum.
Suna’s touch remains soft and soothing against your skin as he brings the lube over your ass, almost giving off the impression that he’s always like this with you—soft and patient.
But he’s always had a streak of sadism to him, too—something he never lets you forget. Suna pushes his thumb in your ass the least you expect him to, making you shriek.
This makes your grip around Bokuto’s cock slightly bit tighter. His hips buck into your hand eagerly.
“Oh god, baby,” He moans, wanting nothing more than to fuck your pretty little cunt. You run your hand around his length, giving his cock delicate little kitten licks, obviously provoking him.
Bokuto sucks in a harsh breath as he stares down at you—sure, you’re a sensitive little thing, but you’re so much like a vixen, asking for more even when it’s as if you can’t even take any more.
Suna lets out a low chuckle, always so amused by the way your body reacts to everything—and just when you thought he’s done, Suna’s palm comes down to your ass in a painful spank. 
It’s meant to hurt—it’s almost like he’s branding you, making sure he’s leaving his mark on you. You’re choking in a sob. It’s not the first time Suna’s spanked you this hard—but he does it always when you least expect him to.
It’s the shock that runs through your body that makes you cry, tears immediately running down your cheeks. Bokuto’s eyes brighten at the sight of you—you look so pitiful yet so, so fucking pretty with your tears streaming down your face.
“Aw…” he coos at you, his hand cupping your cheek to bring your face closer to his now; he grabs your attention so easily, so completely.
You’re almost embarrassed with the hiccups slipping from your mouth, tears free falling—yet the embarrassment melts away as if it was never there when he kisses your tears away, “You’re a really pretty crybaby, sweetheart.”
The praise blooms in your chest, feeling his cock twitch around your palm.
Bokuto is intoxicating enough that you don’t hear Suna call Aran over—you only snap out of it when you feel your body being lifted so easily, your back pressing against Aran’s chest.
Atsumu can’t help but let out a low whistle under his breath, seeing you sandwiched between Aran and Bokuto makes you look so tiny.
You wince when your ass meets Aran’s bare thigh, his hard cock pressing against your back, the feeling of his shaft pressing against you makes you want to moan—already imagining how he feels buried inside of you.
Aran, out of everyone, is softer. So much softer, it’s what provides you comfort and helps your overwhelmed state.
“Suna’s a bit too mean with ya, isn’t he?” He whispers in your ear, his large hand running over your ass soothingly, blooming with Suna’s handprint.
You nod in response, looking back at him. His eyes are captivating, pupils dilated, clouded with lust—yet he remains soft with you.
Your whole body feels hot with want, but he keeps you at bay as Bokuto brings his cock in between your folds, running up and down teasingly.
Aran spreads your legs further apart, lining up his cock to the entrance of your ass. Your body tenses up, forgetting to breathe for a moment.
“Hey, relax, pretty girl. We got ya,” his words are encouraging and undemanding. You let out a breath, leaning to his body further.
Aran’s hand travels between your thighs, fingers rubbing your sensitive nub to help you relax. 
Bokuto’s impatience and excitement gets the best of him, though, grabbing your attention by pushing his cock through your folds—your pussy almost immediately clamping down around the head of his cock.
“So tight, baby,” he grunts. You whimper, feeling like you’re being split open.
“Nngh—! B-Bo-” You try to call out his name, but you’re already crying again at the slow stretch, he’s barely completely inside yet he already feels so, so deep inside of you.
When he bottoms out, his eyes are trained on your belly—you’re too dazed by the sensation of his thick cock inside of you to notice when he’s pressing his palm to the bulge in your belly. It makes you squeal, legs jerking and mouth parting completely.
“Look how deep I am in you, baby,” he presses further—your hands immediately shooting down to wrap around his wrists, trying to make him pull his hand away, but you’re creaming around him and babbling nonsense so he doesn’t understand what exactly you want.
You feel overstimulated. Your cunt is dripping and gushing with your juices, running down to your ass as Aran starts to push himself inside of you too.
You gasp at the thickness of Aran stretching you out. It’s almost uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the delicious stretch of his cock and Bokuto’s, stimulating you until you feel like your head is underwater.
Aran is careful though, slowly letting you adjust to him inch by inch. You feel so, so full—so stretched out, and they revel at your tightness clenching around them.
You don’t even notice the way you’re already clawing at the both of them; nails digging so painfully into their skin.
Their thrusts start at a steady pace, steady rhythm, making sure you get the time you need to adjust and slowly get into it.
When their pace picks up, it’s breathtaking. Your eyes are rolling back, grip on their arms so tight that it stings yet it doesn’t matter to them.
Bokuto is quick to get caught up in the pleasure though, while you’re crying at the intense pleasure, tongue lolling out, he’s fucking into you harder and harder.
“God, you feel so nice around me,” one of his hands on your waist leaves, pressing down on your belly once again where his cock bulges every time he bottoms out.
And you look so adorable, so pretty, stuffed with two cocks too big for you and your body barely visible in between the two of them.
Suna takes his cock out, painfully straining against his pants, stroking himself at the sight of you—just enough to satiate a little bit of the ache.
Every squeal that leaves your mouth, Bokuto takes it as a sign that you love what he’s doing—and you do—but it’s too much and it’s what has your body jerking and twitching in between the two of them.
“You make the cutest sounds,” Aran tells you with a grunt.
It’s Aran who holds your legs apart as they both thrust into your stretched little holes. It’s Aran who continues to whisper reassurance and calming praise even as they abuse your holes.
The sound of skin slapping and squelching echoes through the room more erotically than it is embarrassing; and between Aran and Bokuto, you look like you’ve been reduced to nothing more but a hole to fuck.
Aran’s lips find your shoulder blades, sucking hickeys into them, you can feel him throbbing inside of you and his own thrusts are becoming more hurried than the usual carefulness to them.
You’re not sure how many times you’ve cum around them but there’s a slight pain as you feel the coil in your belly start to snap and you’re crying out again—face contorted into pleasure and eyes shut close as your orgasm wracks through you.
Your orgasm is what triggers theirs, their thrusts both stuttering before their hot cum shoots inside you, filling you up completely.
Their cum in you feels hot and satisfying, your throat is sore and you can feel your body slightly aching yet numb from pleasure at the same time.
Aran slowly pulls out of you first; your ass gaping and oozing with his cum. He gives you a kiss on the cheek, brushing your hair away from your face.
“Ya did so well for us, sweetheart,” he praises you, your chest rising and falling heavily.
Bokuto pulls away from you next, eyes glinting at the sight of your clenching pussy dripping with his cum.
His hand reaches out, fingers coming down to his cum oozing out, pushing back into your used hole—your thighs immediately closing together at the contact, still so sensitive and whimpering against the sheets.
This time, Suna doesn’t wait for you to call out to him. You look so spent, body covered in cum and sweat, your cheeks still stained from your tears.
He takes you in his arms, settling you on his lap, your back pressed to his chest.
“Really like makin’ me proud, huh?” He noses on your neck, breathing you in.
You mewl, leaning further to his body again. You’re so needy, so accustomed to him, so eager to please him.
Suna’s touch helps you relax; he knows this and always uses it to his advantage—hands running over your body so greedily, coaxing you out of your overwhelmed senses.
Suna’s slow, sensual touch feels like praise—the best kind. It’s what allows you to gather your thoughts.
He pushes your hair to the side next, lips pressing to your exposed neck, littering affectionate kisses down to your shoulder blades, his other hand slowly moving to wrap around your throat.
There it is. You think. His ever-present possessiveness engulfing you once again.
People say actions speak louder than words, and with Suna, there’s nothing more true, nothing more obvious.
Suna’s minimal action holds so many words behind them, a simple glance, a light squeeze around your throat, a tug on your finger—it’s constant and methodical to the point where your actions and his were borderline telepathic.
“You can take more, right, bunny?” He finally asks you.
Your response is immediate, just the way he likes it.
“Yes, daddy.”
“And what do sluts do when they want something?” his head tilts, nodding from you towards Atsumu.
“They present themselves,” you answer firmly.
“Go on then,” Suna takes his one hand away from your thighs, yet the other remains resting around your throat.
You part your legs again, slowly, eyes trained on Atsumu who stood not too far in front of you.
There’s a peculiar fire in his brown eyes—like he’s finally catching on to something. Something that Suna himself already knew.
There’s always been a silent rivalry between the two—barely the conscious kind either, but more like how the fates always entangle them in the same direction, like both of them going pro and reaching the same division, or making it to the Olympics, or… Atsumu’s obvious attraction towards you—whether it went beyond physical, you don’t know.
Your breathing picks up in anticipation as Atsumu finally nears you, his expression, for once, unreadable.
He takes your chin in between his fingers, making you look directly at him. Usually, Atsumu’s playful—an open book, you might even say—but as he stares down at you, you can’t help but shiver in intimidation.
“Yer quite sly for such a delicate little thing, aren’t ya?” Your voice is caught in your throat, even as your lips part, you’re not sure what to say.
He gives you a mirthless laugh and his gaze feels more like a glare.
“Tell Suna what ya want me to do to you,” there’s a challenge in his voice, daring you to actually do it, finally letting go of your chin.
You swallow a lump in your throat, swallow the hesitance that comes along with it, your lips parting to say it out loud.
“Hurry up, princess. I don’t have all day, look at him and tell him what ya want,” he pressures you further.
You tilt your head, looking back at Suna’s intense gaze.
“I-I want… ‘Tsumu to fuck me like you do, Rin. Want him to fuck me against you…”
Suna sucks in a breath, you can feel him twitch against your backside, his hand around your throat tightening.
He brings his mouth to your ear, “You’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve, bunny.” His voice is low and threatening, and for a split second, it scares you.
Atsumu brings your attention back to him by gripping on the back of our knees, bringing them against your chest.
“Ya heard her, Suna. Give her what she wants,” Atsumu smirks, he sounds smug—condescending, even, like he just won against Suna on something.
Suna glares at him before looking back at you, aligning his hard cock against your ass. “Remember bunny, you asked for this.”
He pushes inside of you in one glide, your mouth parting open in an instant like you’re about to scream but no noise comes out of you. It shouldn’t be as bad as it seems, Aran pumped your ass full of his cum, after all—but the stretch is sudden while you feel it all at once.
All you could do is whimper when you feel Atsumu lining the tip of his cock to your cunt, prodding at your entrance.
Atsumu shoves his fingers into your mouth before he pushes inside of you—shuddering at the feeling of your warm walls hugging around his length—not wasting any time before he’s rutting into you at a brutal pace.
Suna’s hand is wrapped around your throat. You feel light-headed, each one of Atsumu’s erratic thrusts pulling out mere squeaks from you. Your body is twitching in between the both of them, Suna’s cock nestled inside your ass—so deliciously stretching you out.
“Such a teasing little slut. Knew yer gonna get fucked so hard like this, huh?” Atsumu sounds almost angry, pushing in and out of your sloppy cunt with sharp thrusts despite the pitiful sounds you’re making. Fucking you like he hates you.
You’re gripping on their arms, drool spilling from your mouth, eyelids heavy and your consciousness already slowly slipping little by little.
Atsumu’s thrusts moves you against Suna’s cock buried inside of your ass, increasing the already consuming wave of pleasure racking through you.
You look so helpless. Like a dumb little slut put to her place, little incoherent babbles about how Atsumu’s so deep, how it’s too much, uselessly coming out of your mouth until your moans come out louder and your body starts tensing up in between them.
Your holes clamp around them, making them groan. Suna’s hand unconsciously squeezes around your throat tighter, a guttural grunt spilling out of his lips, giving you one sharp thrust before emptying his cum inside of you.
You thrash in between them, your thighs trembling under Atsumu’s hold, squirting all over his abdomen, throwing your head back at the feeling of Suna filling you up.
With a curse, Atsumu stills as his cum spills inside of you, moaning out your name.
When Atsumu pulls his softening dick out of you, he’s quick to shoves his fingers in your oversensitive cunt. Your cum and his coats his fingers before he pulls it out and shoves it back inside your mouth.
“Taste how fucking slutty ya are, princess.” He tells you.
Your brain feels foggy but you do as he says, swirling your tongue around his fingers the best you can, sucking ever so lightly.
You go completely limp against Suna just as Atsumu pulls his fingers out of your mouth, the last thing you feel is the affectionate kiss pressed against your neck.
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When you wake up, it’s nearly midnight. You’re in Suna’s arms, in his clothes, his face buried on the crook of your neck. You’re all clean but your body aches all over.
You pull away slightly, looking over to see Suna’s pretty face, calm and relaxed as he holds on to you.
He grumbles silently, peeking one eye open to look at you. “Sleep. You need rest,” he mumbles, pulling you closer.
You can’t help but laugh a little, smiling at his sleepy behavior.
You reach out, cupping his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his, “Happy Birthday, Rin.”
You can feel him smirk against your lips, “Damn right it was happy.”
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