#“my second Australian” he had some training! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

holllandtrash · 10 months

Text

fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information.

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt.

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try.

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You.

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was.

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did.

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better.

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point.

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues.

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated.

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word.

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco.

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend.

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you.

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you.

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there.

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you.

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager.

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever.

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen.

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck.

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about.

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could.

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?”

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained.

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time.

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time.

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked.

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes.

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you.

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking?

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic.

At least, you thought you didn’t.

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.”

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing.

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.”

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.”

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while.

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment.

He wasn’t going to let it escape him.

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you.

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere.

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend.

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could.

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips.

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words.

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth.

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him.

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications.

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before.

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain.

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear.

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat.

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night.

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team.

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time.

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful.

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed.

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too.

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between.

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride.

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car.

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you.

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage.

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you.

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story.

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday.

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest.

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered.

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out.

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner.

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts.

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea.

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel.

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry.

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on?

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1.

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different.

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race.

And somehow, you won.

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe.

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red.

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you.

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team.

He was so proud of you.

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching.

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that.

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining.

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name.

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love.

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it.

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love.

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence.

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions.

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?”

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face.

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently.

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation.

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season.

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it.

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren.

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel.

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023.

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early.

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked.

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders.

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different.

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break.

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily.

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours.

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news.

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Your heart sank.

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked.

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response.

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done.

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work.

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other.

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you.

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three.

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career.

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel.

part 2 haunted

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo one shot #danny ric #dr3 #f1 one shot #f1 fics #formula 1 x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo au

2K notes · View notes

keerysfreckles · 16 days

Text

decode — OP81 (au)

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: when two summer camp counselors fall in love in the span of two months

warnings: none! just a long one 😅 i got carried away oopsies, not proofread!!!

a/n: missing my summer camp hours 😞😞 this is how i cope

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n can't remember a summer when she wasn't at the summer camp in her home state. every summer since she was five years old, she was found at camp. when she was fourteen she signed up to be a junior counselor in training, then at sixteen became a counselor in training, and now at nineteen is an official camp counselor from one of the younger girl cabins.

y/n was ecstatic. she couldn't believe her eyes when she got the email that secured her summer job. except it wasn't going to feel like a job. she knew this wasn't going to feel like some chore like others would describe their job to be.

the whole bus ride up to the summer camp, y/n talked with her friends that went to camp with her in the previous years. her two closest friends were sat around her on the bus, sofia and nat. sofia met y/n during her second year of camp, and haven't stopped talking since. y/n and nat knew each other during camp during their last years as campers, but didn't start talking until their counselor in training years.

arriving at the camp felt so surreal for y/n. she was excited to see her second home, and her other friends that arrived yesterday by plane. she wondered if there were any unfamiliar faces this year, besides the new campers.

y/n, nat and sofia grabbed all their belongings and walked to their assigned cabins quickly. nat was going to be with the youngest of the girls, ages five and six. y/n was with the seven and eight year olds. sofia was on the other side of the girls' cabins, working with the twelve and thirteen year olds.

all of the counselors had "meetings" to attend before all the campers arrived tomorrow. no one really considered them as meetings however, knowing they were going to play ridiculous games in the large grassy field until sundown. the camp director thought it was a fun way to "get to know the other counselors".

as nat and sofia were getting a drink of water after a very intense game of dodgeball finished, a new counselor caught y/n's eye. there were three new counselors at camp, but this one was the only one that y/n really wanted to learn about. she looked at him from across the field. he seemed to be taller than her, with slightly pale skin and light brown hair.

"oh great, y/n's got another camp crush," nat appears by her, with sofia coming up on the other side.

"it's not a crush. i don't even know the guy!" y/n defends.

sofia and nat share a skeptical look, before sofia continues. "every year since you were seven you've found a guy to fawn over, and just because we're counselors now, we all know that's not stopping you."

nat chuckles at sofia's words, and y/n just rolls her eyes. she knew sofia was right, but she'd never admit that out loud.

after three more interesting games in the field, all of the counselors walked back up through the forest and towards the dining hall. there weren't any sort of seating arrangements, letting the counselors and other staff members sit wherever they'd like.

most of the counselors knew each other from being campers together, so they were all sat relatively close to one another.

luckily for y/n, the boy she was looking at earlier in the field was sat diagonally from her. she heard from sofia that she talked with him on the way back up from the field. he introduced himself to y/n and nat, and y/n instantly recognized his australian accent.

a handful of international counselors were found at camp every year, and y/n thought it always made it more interesting.

oscar, y/n, nat and sofia continued talking all throughout dinner. one of y/n's old friends from camp, lando, slid beside her halfway through dinner, and him and oscar got along pretty quickly.

at the end of the day, one of the many traditons at camp was for all the counselors to jump into the cold pool. don't ask y/n where this tradition exactly came from. she's been told so many times, yet she never remembers. however it came about, y/n was grateful. she's dreamt of doing this since she was a camper.

all of the counselors were lined up beside the pool, with the camp photographer, lauren, on the opposite side. the counselors were all still dressed, wearing their matching camp polos, and even kept their shoes on.

on the count of three they all jumped in, making the pool erupt in waves as twenty counselors splashed around. some got on each other's backs and were dunking one another, while other couldn't contain their laughter.

as y/n was wiping hair out of her eyes, oscar looked at her with a smirk adorning his lips.

she knew what he was about to do.

"no! oscar don't!" she tries to protest, but her laugh overpowers her words as oscar wraps his arms around the girl and pushes her under the water.

oscar watches y/n's smile widen once they're under water, and her hands are on his arms for a moment, only to push herself to the surface.

nat and sofia watched the interaction, as y/n now started splashing the aussie. "twenty bucks they're together by the end of the summer," nat wages.

"forty."

"thirty."

"thirty-five, final offer," sofia turns to nat.

"deal."

—

the morning the campers were arriving came quickly. so quickly y/n felt like she hasn't slept the night before. she was in the middle of making all the name tags for her campers bunk beds, so no one fights over who gets which one. she was cutting colored paper into simple flowers when sofia knocked on her cabin door.

"what's up sof?" y/n doesn't look up from her task.

"how'd you know it was me? it could've been nat," sofia sat on the twin bed, facing y/n.

"you walk heavy," y/n states, making sofia roll her eyes.

"whatever, unimportant," sofia quickly dismisses, "camp news is that a certain someone was talking about you after we jumped in the pool last night."

y/n groans, setting her paper and scissors down in her lap. "we've only been here twenty-four hours and there's already a rumor?"

"oh shush, you know you love it because lover boy was talking about you," sofia shoves y/n's leg playfully.

"first of all, don't call him lover boy. i only know his name. it's not like i'm deeply in love with him."

"you will be," sofia interrupts.

"second of all," y/n enunciates, "shouldn't you be getting ready for your campers to arrive?"

sofia laughs, "they're twleve year old, edgy, hormonal girls, they're not gonna want cute flowers and lady bugs saying who's sleeping where."

"you're no fun."

twenty-two minues pass and now all the counselors, the camp directior and co-director are all outside waiting for the buses to arrive. y/n was thrilled to meet her first set of campers.

the summer was broken up into three sessions, each session lasting two weeks. campers could choose to stay all three, but most only stayed for one.

y/n prayed her face wasn't flushed as she realized she was standing next to oscar. turns out, he was looking over campers the same age y/n was. the two made comfortable small talk until the buses finally pulled up into the dirt area.

once ever camper was off the bus and given their name tag, everyone made their way to the benches for announcements to start.

y/n's cabin was sat right in front of oscar's, with nat's right beside her. sofia's cabin was on the other handful of benches, considering they were the older campers.

announcements took an hour, as usual, and before everyone knew it, it was time for lunch.

the first lunch of the summer was always so special to y/n, even when she was a camper. this was when she met sofia, and years later she met nat in the mess hall as well.

lunch passed quickly, and y/n was back in her cabin, helping her campers fill out the forms to pick their camp schedules. she learned all of their names, and even learned about their favorite things. y/n's smile never left her face for the rest of the day.

—

three days into the first session and y/n was buzzing. she was in charge of the arts and crafts class campers could pick as one of their activites. she saw a few of her own campers in the morning, and surprisngly a few older boys during the afternoon.

she was in the middle of cleaning from the tye-dye the kids made today. she already hung up their shirts to dry, now she was cleaning off the tables where extra dye had gotten.

"do you need any help?" oscar stepped over the pile of rocks outside the arts and crafts shed, scaring y/n in the process.

"jesus osc, don't scare me like that," y/n laughs as her heartbeat comes back down.

oscar wasn't sure where the nickname came from, but he wanted it to stay.

"shouldn't you be watching over your swimming pool?" y/n asks, knowing oscar's sctivity this session was free swim. she didn't know what he was going to do the other two sessions, she meant to ask him later.

"nah, lando's got the last five minutes covered. all the campers got out anyway, complaining it was too cold." y/n knew lando from her last year as a camper. he was her first kiss, and call it cheesy but it was during the camp dance. neither of them speak ahout it to this day, and they planned to keep it that way.

oscar sat atop one of the cleaner parts of the table, chuckling as he notices y/n very colorful hands.

"why didn't you wear gloves?"

y/n shrugs, "gloves are too much of a hassle. plus after two showers i bet it'll come off."

"i could always dunk you in the pool again."

"no, no never again," y/n can't help but laugh.

y/n throws the dirty rags into a bucket, she makes a mental note to take it to the small camp laundromat later in the evening.

oscar hops down from the table, "do you want to walk with me to dinner?"

"you mean night time announcements?" y/n lets out a giggle at oscar's now pink cheeks.

"yeah uh– that's what i meant."

"how much were you really paying attention during the announcements really meant for the campers?"

"you know i could easily push you right now right?" oscar detours the conversation.

"oh i know you wouldn't."

oscar's about to reply, but y/n's name gets called by a few of her campers walking up beside the duo. she bids oscar goodbye, as she walks with the three younger campers.

dinner goes smoothly as it has been for the past couple of days. oscar smiles to himself when he realizes he's sat next to y/n tonight, with one of her best friends sat across from him.

the counselers were given a different table seating every day. the campers places stayed the same, and they were sat by others their ages. each table had twelve campers, with two counselers at the head and foot of the table.

the first fifteen minutes of every meal is silent, another camp tradition where no one truly knew where it came from. but after those fifteen minutes were up, the mess hall was buzzing yet again.

the campers were starting to take plates and dishes towards the side of the mess hall where the kitchen staff was. oscar stood up from his table, grabbed the extra dessert no one wanted and walked towards y/n.

she was talking with one of the girls at the table, while oscar silently placed the ice cream down. y/n looked to her right and smiled seeing who it was.

the interaction didn't go unnoticed by sofia or nat. sofia was walking back to her table when she saw oscar getting up, and she was quick to point it out to nat.

"you looked like you could use another dessert," oscar sat down on the empty bench besides y/n.

"well i'm sadly already full, but i'm sure maisie here wouldn't mind," y/n boops the blonde girl next to her on the nose before sliding the bowl towards her. "just don't tell the other campers," y/n whispers, earning a giggle from the camper.

"are you excited for the camp dance next week?" y/n asks oscar. each session had their own dance and carnival.

oscar nods, "oh definitely, but i'm more excited about the carnival."

"do you know who booth you guys are in charge of?"

"no clue, but probably something easy since i'm dealing with seven year olds," oscar laughs.

the two continue talking for a moment, until the camp director instructs for all the campers and counselors go to the main building for a movie night.

—

y/n couldn't believe her own eyes. she was watching kids leaving with their parents, while others got on buses to go back home. she was sad when she had to say goodbye to her campers that morning. nat gave her a hug, but it was still hard for her.

nevertheless, she was just as excited to meet the new campers arriving next week. during the counselor's week off, they get a different trip in between each session. the first was a trip to a waterpark near the camp, and everyone was buzzing when they got out of the camp vans.

the day was filled with most counselors riding the water slides, while other tanned or gossiped. there was thirty minutes left of their day pass, y/n and oscar planned on going into the lazy river before they had to go back to the camp.

over the past two weeks the pair has gotten extremely close. they hung out whenever they could. they'd sit by each other at any given moment. a few of the older campers noticed the chemistry that was starting to build between the two.

y/n's right hand and oscar's left one kept grazing while in the lazy river. neither of them were going to do anything about that.

"you've been quiet today," oscar speaks up, looking over to the girl.

"just grateful," her response was simple, but oscar knew how she felt. it was hard for him to say goodbye to his campers earlier in the week, but just like the girl, he was excited about the new campers coming this sunday.

after a few moments of silence, y/n starts to laugh.

"oh god, i broke her," oscar jokes.

y/n keeps laughing, "no, no. i just can't believe you knew practically every move to the line dances from the camp dance."

oscar's face slightly flushed, "you're just jealous of my dancing skills."

"sure osc, that's what it is."

—

exactly two weeks later and the second session camp carnival was in full swing. it was always held on the tennis courts, and each cabin was in charge of a booth. some were definitely better than others, consider five year olds had little to no patience.

at the start of the carnival y/n and her whole cabin were sat around the face painting table, fast forward an hour and a half, now y/n was sat alone, watching all the festivies around her.

"you know you can enjoy the carnival too right?" oscar comes out of nowhere, making y/n jump slightly.

"can you stop scaring me like that?" she laughs, and scoots her chair over so he can sit in the empty one.

he hands her the cotton candy from his other hand, receiving a thank you from y/n.

"but really, why are you here by yourself when you should be out there," he pauses to point to all the campers and a few counselors dancing to an ariana grande song.

"what if someone wants their face painted and no one's here to help?" y/n picks at the light pink cotton candy.

"you and i both know every camper who wanted their face painted came here right away."

"yeah okay," y/n agrees, "but not everyone's gotten their face painted."

"who hasn't? there's maybe three campers without something on their cheek."

"you," y/n smirks. she hands her cotton candy to oscar before grabbing the tray of face paints.

oscar groans, "is this payback for dunking you in the pool?"

"yes, that's exactly it," she giggles.

oscar watched as y/n stood from her chair. she was contemplating what to do, but eventually ordered oscar to close his eyes. 'screw it' y/n internally spoke, as she dabbed the non-toxic red face paint onto her lips with a clean brush. she set down the mirror, happy with the amount and bent down to kiss oscar's cheek.

it took him by surprise, and he could feel his cheeks redden at the feeling of her fingers on his chin and lips on his cheek.

y/n begins wiping her mouth, ridding the left over red paint. oscar smiles, "well now it's only fair i give you something in return."

y/n shakes her head, still having a smile adorning her features, "i'm the one working the face paint table, not you osc."

oscar's about to argue, but lando, nat and sofia all come running to the table as the campers are starting to leave the tennis courts.

"hey are you guys–"

lando cuts nat off with a chuckle, "nice face paint osc." that earns him a punch in the arm by sofia.

nat rolls her eyes before continuing, "you two ready for the counselor campout tonight?"

y/n's been talking about the campout since the start of summer, to anybody that'll listen.

the group of five went their seperate ways towards their cabins to pack a small bag for the night, and made sure to say goodnight to their campers, before a counselor in training came in the cabin for the night.

the counselors split up between two pick up trucks, with people riding inside and in the back. y/n and oscar's legs kept hitting each others after almost every bump, not that either of them minded.

the girls slept in one tent while the boys slept in the other. camp rules that both groups hated. it was starting to get dark when they arrived, so the boys started cooking pre-made hamburgers on a makeshift little grill over the fire, while the girls set up the tents.

during dinner everyone split up into their own groups. oscar, y/n, lando, nat and sofia put their chairs close to each other as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the sound of the crickets around them.

"is that a new hoodie y/n?" nat asks, curiosity filling her voice.

sofia joins in, "yeah, i don't think i've seen that."

y/n involuntarily blushes, "it's oscar's. he's letting me borrow it cause i got cold."

lando gives oscar a small high five while nat and sofia share a look. a look that the two have been sharing at least once a day.

—

four days later and y/n is upset once again. the second session campers are filtering out of the camp, and it feels five times worst than the first time y/n dealt with it. oscar walks up to the sad girl and places his hand lightly on her back.

"will pancakes and a hug cheer you up?" he smiles while handing her a plate with three pancakes covered in syrup.

y/n laughs and turns to face oscar, "both would definitely cheer me up."

y/n wraps her arms around the boy, and her body is flooded with warmth at the contact. she rests her head against his shoulder, her nose brushing ever so slightly against his neck. goosebumps rise on oscar's arms.

oscar leads the pair over to an empty bench so y/n can enjoy her pancakes to get her mind off the campers leaving.

"jeez osc, did you put enough syrup on these?" she laughs.

oscar throws his hands up in defence, "i didn't know how much you like."

a moment of silence passes between the duo, before y/n breaks it.

"are you gonna want your hoodie back? because it's extremly comfortable and it might make it's way into my suitcase by the end of the summer."

oscar smiles, "keep it. maybe it'll give me a reason to visit you after summer."

y/n reciprocates a smile, but a sad feeling makes it's way through her body again. she doesn't know what her and oscar are going to do after summer. neither of them have brought it up. the thought of having to leave oscar and never see him again terrified the girl.

—

the camp was well into session three, and y/n was more than excited for today. it was her twentieth birthday, the session three camp dance was tonight, and it was her favorite theme every summer.

y/n was helping her campers get ready, thanking herself for getting ready beforehand. she thought they all looked adorable in their different 70s inspired outfits. they ranged from bell bottom leggings, flashy colorful skirts, and fringed vests.

y/n and her cabin was walking towards the tennis courts, as well as the other cabins. just as they turned the corner, oscar was standing off to the side of the gate. y/n saw, and smiled as he beckoned her over.

she told her campers to go with nat's cabin, before running towards oscar, being careful not to fall in her chunky platform boots.

oscar takes in her appearance with a smile on his face. from her white platform boots, to her pink colorful dress with the flared longsleeves, and finishing with her white headband.

"you look adorable," he spoke, his words coming out faster than his brain could think.

y/n couldn't help but blush, "thank you osc. you don't look too bad yourself."

now y/n looks over oscar's outfit. she giggles as it's such a similar outfit to what pierce brosnan wore on the cover of the mamma mia poster. fitting perfectly to tonight's 70s disco theme.

"did you find my birthday present for you?"

y/n nods, remembering the small wrapped box placed at the bottom step of her cabin.

"i haven't opened it yet, just like the card said."

"good, and don't forget to meet me back here after all your campers are asleep yeah?"

y/n nods again, "what could you be planning piastri?"

oscar shrugs playfully, "guess you'll have to wait and see."

before the australian leaves, he kisses y/n's forehead. it happened so quickly y/n could barely comprehend it before he was already gone.

after almost two hours of dancing, picking at snacks and talking, y/n was finally feeling her feet starting to hurt. maybe the platform boots were a bit much, but she still thought they were adorable. she groaned as she sat down for the first time that night.

"hey, you alright?"

she picks up her head, seeing oscar standing in front of her with two cups of water. he hands one to her before sitting in the empty chair beside her.

"i don't think my feet have ever hurt this badly before," she laughs while unzipping her boots. she could care less about how dirty the ground was right now, she needed her feet to breathe.

"so glad i didn't wear the platform boots i packed," oscar joked, and his smile grew once y/n started laughing. he never got tired of hearing her laugh.

"have you had a good birthday so far?"

y/n lets out a content sigh while leaning her head on oscar's shoulder. "i have osc, it's been really fun. and i can't wait to see what you have planned for later."

—

just as oscar instructed on his birthday note to y/n that was attached to her birthday present, she's currently waiting in the tennis courts. her counselor in training was looking after her cabin, but all y/n could think about is what on earth oscar could be planning.

her fingers fidget with the blue bow on top of the box, and she's thankful she changed out of her boots and into her converse. she threw on oscar's hoodie she still hasn't given back, because it always gets chillier at night.

her thoughts were interrupted however, when the lights to the tennis court turned off. all she heard around her was whispered voices and shuffling feet.

"guys?" she laughs, more than confused on what they could be doing.

the lights suddenly turn back on, and y/n can't help but laugh at the four in front of her.

"happy birthday y/n!" her friends yell.

sofia's holding a small pile of presents, one from each of them (minus oscar's gift in her hand).

nat and lando are busy holding up a small banner, wishing y/n a happy birthday.

finally oscar was holding a pink box, which y/n could only guess was a birthday cake.

"guys!" y/n gushes, her heart feeling extra full at the moment.

everyone sets down whatever was in their hands to hug the birthday girl. oscar's hug was a bit longer than the others, and y/n definitely noticed.

"you guys didn't have to do anything for my birthday. it being on the day of my favorite camp activity was plenty."

nat shushes her, "nope, we all agreed we were doing something for your birthday as soon as the session started."

lando pipes up besides nat with a green and black wrapped gift in his hands, "enough with the sappy shit, open my gift first y/n."

y/n sits down before opening the gifts. nat and sofia sit to her left, while lando stands in front and oscar stands behind her to her right.

she opened everyone's gift, thanking each of them afterwards, and finally got to oscar's gift. the one she's been waiting for all day. she tears the blue ribbon off and takes the lid off.

however, y/n's confused once she sees two plane tickets. one to new york from maine, and one back to maine from new york.

"osc what is this?"

oscar squats down and holds himself up by placing his hand on y/n's thigh.

his voice was soft as he explained, "my mom helped me with this one. i called her before this session started, and i got her to buy the tickets for me. she was able to get then shipped before your birthday. so now you can come out to new york for two weeks with me."

y/n keeps looking at the plane tickets in her hands. her eyes were filling with tears while oscar spoke. no one's ever done anything like this before.

lando, nat and sofia left quietly, giving the pair a minute alone.

"love?" oscar lets the nickname slip before he has time to catch himself.

"no one's ever done something like this for me before," y/n's quiet, not wanting her voice to give out.

"hey," oscar wipes a tear that was falling on her cheek, "you deserve this. we get to spend two great weeks together, and you'll even get to see my cool apartment."

y/n laughs at his attempt to cheer her up, and is glad it's working.

y/n pulls oscar into one of the tightest hugs imaginable. he stumbles slightly, but holds onto the girl just as tight.

"thank you osc," she whispers into his neck, before placing a light kiss to the exposed skin.

y/n starts pulling away from the hug, but oscar just holds onto her tighter. he silently moves his left hand to cup her jaw, with his thumb catching another loose tear.

from outside of the tennis court, the eavesdropping trio all gasp as the two finally kiss. after weeks of endless flirting and longing glaces, they're finally kissing.

y/n holds onto oscar even tighter now. partially for stability, and partially to make sure he's really there. that this was really happening.

the two barely pull apart, their lips only having centimeters between them.

just as the two go to kiss again, sofia pops out from the darkness and into the light of the tennis court. "six feet of space!"

nat's quick to cover her mouth after she mentions leaving room for god, and nat and lando are quick to apologize, letting oscar and y/n be alone again.

—

"there you are!"

oscar's pulled from his thoughts as y/n makes her way over towards him.

he's sat on the bench outside the unoccupied cabin near the volleyball court. he went there a lot this summer, always giving him the space to think.

"i've been looking everywhere for you," y/n smiles while sitting beside him.

oscar can't help but smile when she does. he's told her a thousand times how contagious her smile is.

"are you excited?"

y/n didn't need oscar to elaborate, she knew exactly what he meant. today was the last day of summer camp. all of the campers left yesterday, and today was the day y/n and oscar were flying to new york together.

"i don't even think excited is in the ballpark to describe how i'm feeling," y/n laughs, leaning into oscar.

after a moment of silence, y/n's curiosity gets the best of her. "osc?" he hums in response, "what are we?"

oscar smiles to himself, "well i was hoping i'd get to call you my girlfriend."

y/n's smile grows immensely. "only if i get to call you my boyfriend," she giggles.

oscar kisses her softly on the lips, before interlocking his fingers with hers.

"oh!" y/n pipes up, "yesterday one of my girls made us matching bracelets."

y/n takes two bracelets out of her (oscar's) hoodie pocket. they were both pink, with different shades of pink beads threaded through the string. one said "O ♡ (your initial)" and vice verse with the other bracelet. oscar chuckles as he takes the one starting with his own initial.

"i love it," he looks down at it once more, "i'm never taking this off by the way."

before y/n reciprocate, the camp director comes around, telling them this is their last call to leave the camp and say goodbye to who ever you need to.

nat and sofia both left by bus earlier in the day, leaving oscar to deal with an unhappy y/n for an hour until he gave her another one of his hoodies.

"are you ready to go?" y/n stands while holding her hands out.

oscar gladly takes her hands in his, "yep. just one more kiss in the place where i fell in love with you."

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x fem reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x female reader #oscar piastri x female!reader #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri au #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fic #f1 au #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri imagine

313 notes · View notes

cheriladycl01 · 3 months

Text

Surrounded by Ice - Kimi Raikkonen x FigureSkater! Reader

Plot: The Iceman just surrounds himself with Ice in every aspect of his life

A/N: Just a short little Kimi drabble, more exciting stuff coming soon, just been swamped with Uni!

Credit to summerblueringo for the GIF

"How does it feel to bring home a gold medal for your country, again?" the interviewer asks and a big grin appears on your face.

"I mean, i love the sport and I've worked hard to get where I am. I think this year there were many other contestants who also deserved gold and everyone who took part today were amazing!" you keep smiling, it had been a really amazing set for you today. You'd even broke some records while here.

"And now what is your plan?" they ask holding the mic closer to you.

"Well my husband is waiting for me, just over there. So i think he wants to give me his congratulations" you say pointing out our stoic looking husband who was waiting in the background, keeping to himself watching the world go past.

"Ah yes, Kimi Raikkonen! The Ice Man, who arguably married Queen of the Ice" he jokes making you laugh a little. You had heard similar jokes many times since you'd married Kimi.

"Yes, obviously being here in South Korea for the Winter Olympics has been amazing, and I'll be sure to train hard for 2022 but now I'm needed to go support my lovely lovely husband in his fast cars" you exclaim, knowing that the Australian Grand Prix was round the corner.

"Ah yes, it's looking like a good season for Ferrari! And we can tell from your outfit today they already have your support"

"My support is for whatever team my husband is in, so Ferrari have had my support since Kimi has raced with them!"

You left the interview thanking your team before finding Kimi waiting for you quietly.

"Home?" you ask and he nods silently grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the arena.

"You were fantastic today!" he smiles, holding you and pulling you into a kiss.

"Yeah? You liked the new twist i did?" you ask, your routine today being one of the hardest you'd ever done. You mascara had infact started to run, from the sweat building on your forehead throughout the day.

"I like everything you do"

You guys both went back to the hotel, packing up all of your gear that had been here for the past month you'd stayed in Korea for. Once you were sure you hadn't left anything behind you made your way to the airport.

Kimi now only had a month until Australia, his personal trainer had come with you to Korea to help him train while he was out there supporting you.

Now, you'd train while you were travelling with Kimi. Finding ice while on the road with him was always difficult, but finding places to just work out and keep your fitness up was never hard as you'd train alongside Kimi. It was one of the ways to spend extra time with him during the season when he was most busy.

In the free month before Australia you started your research on where you could go in Melbourne to skate, you found somewhere that Kimi was happy with you going too as it wasn't too far from the hotel you'd be staying in or the race track for if anything went wrong.

"Will you watch me on the Sunday though?" he'd asked you as you were both lying in bed the night before you were due to fly to Australia.

"When have I ever not?" you ask, turning over in bed to look at him.

"Hmmm, I can for sure think of one time..." he smirks looking over you.

"If your talking about China, almost 10 years ago that doesn't even count!" you laugh, poking his cheek a little.

Your husband never failed to amaze you, his striking blue eyes and his soft blonde hair was what initially drew you in. But it was your first interaction with him that made you fall for him fully.

It was the Autumn of 2008 and you were 22 and you had just won your second Gold Medal in China, you'd stayed there for the months after the games as they left the Beijing Olympic Park open and it seemed like a good place to stay and to train.

You managed to get tickets to other sporting events in the months you stayed there such as Snow Boarding, Golf but the best one was when the Chinese Grand Prix came about.

You were active on the socials you had back then, and so it wasn't hard for Sauber BMW to reach out to you and give you a guest pass.

You'd been walking round the paddock, just investigating when you'd bumped right into the Finnish Ferrari driver. He had just stared at you while holding a tight grip on your wrist so you didn't fall over.

You remember him asking if you were okay, and some other questions that you hadn't heard fully as your brain had gone foggy at the sound of his soft, yet deep voice.

It was a little embarrassing, when he'd tried to speak Finnish to you, and then decided on English, but with no reply he was left stumped and awkwardly standing there.

He'd soon left after that but you were on each other's minds for the whole day. You tried to keep up conversations with the BMW drivers Robert and Nick but your mind kept drifting the the Finnish Driver for Ferrari.

He found you after the race, and just stared at you for a while before you made the first move speaking to him. And the rest was history.

You spent the next 5 years together as partners, it was convenient for someone like Kimi who raced all through the year apart from summer and winter to end up with someone in a sport who only competed for a month in the summer and winter. It meant that they also still got a break with each other.

After 5 years, Kimi let the big question unload and now you'd been married for 5 years.

"Of course, my love! You know that!" you smile, pulling him closer to you. You tuck yourself into his surprisingly warm embrace, considering his nickname was 'Iceman' he was the warmest person you'd ever had the privilege of meeting.

"I was thinking ..." he breathes, his voice a little higher and whiny than normal.

"Mmmmm, you don't do that often?" you tease, a hand running up and down his back.

"Well, I'm the ice man, your the Ice Queen... i was thinking maybe it's time we have an Ice Baby?" he whispers in the softest most unsure tone you'd ever heard.

"You think now's a good time?" you ask, and thinking about it... it was. You yourself had two years before the next Olympics in 2020, and Kimi was at a point in his career where he could leave and live comfortably if he needed and wanted to.

"I haven't told you this, but they want the Sauber kid in my spot. I'll be going to Alpha Romeo next year. I feel like I've done what i can and I've had my time in the sport... and we aren't getting any younger. Especially me..." he jokes, being 44 now.

"Mmmmmm I think now is the perfect time" you smile.

Flash forward to the Austin Grand Prix and you were 6 months pregnant. You'd already announced it and so many people were excited for you and Kimi, through the season he had loads of interviews. All against his will of course but people saw a different side to him when he talked about you and the soon to be baby.

It was a great race for Kimi in Austin, he pulled through with his first win of the season, valuable points that helped contribute towards his position in the drivers standings.

"So Kimi, first win of the season today! How are you feeling?" an interviewer asks, he was sat in a panel with some of the other drivers in a debrief.

"It was good to get a win, this season has been tough. We've had an interesting year with veteran drivers like myself, Seb, Fernando and Lewis being pushed by newer or younger drivers who are proving to be good competition like Charles, Max and Pierre" he answers.

"There have been rumors that you wont be here with us next season?" he pushes and Kimi roles his eyes.

"If I'm not it's not an issue... racing is my hobby that i get paid to do. I'll leave when i want to" he admits without letting anything slip that Ferrari wouldn't want to come public knowledge.

"Lets move on to you Lewis..."

And for the rest of the interview all he could think of was coming back to you.

Once your daughter was born in January before the start of the 2019 season and Kimi moving to Alfa Romeo everyone on the grid wanted to meet her. So of course, you were obligated to come to Australia for pre-season testing. Your 3 month old being so intrigued at the busy rush of everything around her.

She was a fan and driver fav around. Everyone had a picture with her and introduced themselves as her uncle and that they would look after her. People like Lewis, Seb and Charles all came with little gifts for her, Seb even had someone make her a custom team Ferrari top so she could fit in with her father and her Uncle Sebastian.

"Today was amazing!" you sighed as you leaned into your husband who currently held your daughter against his bare chest.

"Mmmm, I think you should both take a break though, at least until Summer break and join me afterwards" he smiles, knowing that the heavy time change from Monaco to Australia wasn't good for your or the baby.

"Well, I may as well come to Bahrain with you... its on the way back. But I will leave after that" you smile, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I love you, thank you for giving me this life" he smiles looking between you and his daughter.

"I wouldn't have it any of way" you grin.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #kimi raikkonen #kimi räikkönen #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen one shot #kimi raikkonen x you #kimi raikkonen imagine

514 notes · View notes

lazycats-stuff · 7 months

Note

Can I ask for a follow up on Australian bat!bro reader where he gets annoyed bc they won’t let him drink alcohol or smth? Here in Australia there is alot of underage drinking. (I mean I got high and tipsy at my 17th birthday party with parental permission💀)

Just thinking about the culture shock most of them would get 😭

Lol, it's the same thing here where I live. Alcohol flows around here. Despite being an adult, I don't drink at all. I just hate alcohol. Also, I know this is short, but it's fine...

Summary: (Y/N) wants to drink. The fam is not allowing it.

Warnings: Underage drinking,

Australia and America couldn't be anymore different when it came to drinking. In America, a simple of drop for a person under 21 is disappointing to parents. Siblings would probably be happy and proud and would look for each.

In Australia, you just need parent's permission. Oh how nice that was back then. (Y/N) remembered how he got tipsy on one of his birthdays at the time. It was lit and (Y/N) loved it. Of course, he wouldn't drink as if he is an alcoholic.

He would only drink in company of others and that would be a glass tops. Not even a second one. He can't get embarrassed in public now. But there was a slight problem now too.

His family is the biggest problem. Well, some of them are, not all of them are the problem.

Jason is amazing when it came to drinking. The two would sometimes drink together and it was so fun. (Y/N) didn't like to drink something like a shot. He would like to savor the flavor of the drink, whether or not it was some wine or scotch.

Or even some votka.

You don't just drink it, you savor it. And that's what he does every time he drinks with Jason. Sometimes there are times when they just drink in silence, enjoying the company. That usually meant that sharing a bottle something between them two.

Sometimes it was just quiet chatter in between them. It was funny and Jason was the supplier for them both. In return, he got 5 bucks from (Y/N) for his efforts.

It's not easy to hide anything in this household. Everyone was trained to observe and it was just... Sometimes it gets to you and you try hard to hide things.

Damian is the one who doesn't care, but would advise (Y/N) not to drink it. Damian is only thinking about his self awareness and his cognitive thinking in some situations.

Damian is just like Bruce, can't drink for the life of him. Not that he wants to anyway. It's not good for your awareness and Damian always had to be vigilant and observant.

And besides, Damian likes (Y/N) and he just wants to make sure that he is okay. He also likes (Y/N)'s accent a lot. And considering that (Y/N) is not a vigilante and despite the training, (Y/N) is a cinnamon roll according to Damian.

Dick was the one who was against it completely. He didn't like it, he hated it and he wanted (Y/N) to stop drinking. He remembers nearly having a heart attack when he saw (Y/N) drinking for the first time, ever so nonchalantly.

He never ran so fast to get the glass out of (Y/N)'s hands. He was so confused at (Y/N)'s blank look and a simple what. It seems that the concept of drinking below the age of 21 is a foreign thing, something unheard of.

And that's when he got vigilant with (Y/N). It made (Y/N) sigh every time he saw Dick lurking somewhere, watching him. It made his insane and that's how he got better with hiding alcohol.

(Y/N) thought that drinking below 21 in America is like being an alcoholic.

Tim didn't have a say in anything in regards to this matter at all. He was addicted to coffee and he is the one who needs to kind of let go of it. So much caffeine is not healthy at all.

An occasional drink is fine. So much cups of coffee are not.

The two just shrugged towards one another in passing, (Y/N) with some alcohol and Tim with his coffee. They didn't even say anything to each other at this point. Just a nod or a shrug of their shoulders.

That was more than enough.

Now Bruce... Well, he knew that Australia has different laws and that drinking there is something that's more lenient. In America, unless you turn 21 you are, in (Y/N)'s mind, you are really missing in life.

The first time Bruce saw (Y/N) drink he paled and tried to get it away from him, but then asked him about the customs regarding the drinking in Australia.

(Y/N) explained it to him and Bruce advised him not to drink. Well, Bruce started hiding the alcohol in the house. Nobody really drank so it wasn't a difficult thing to hide. However, he knew that Jason is a supplier.

So he had to keep an eye out.

And Alfred? Oh boy, that man hates when (Y/N) drinks. He doesn't care about traditions in Australia. He spent some time in Australia and while he loved the Aussies and the way they drank, he didn't like it when his grandson did.

(Y/N) knew that he had to evade (Y/N) with everything in him. Jason hid the alcohol in his room, knowing that Alfred rarely goes into his room and (Y/N) and Jason agreed to it.

The last time when (Y/N) got caught by Alfred, a shoe went flying past his head. There was yelling and Alfred threatened with something bigger. (Y/N) managed to duck just in time to get in his room where Jason was waiting.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #jason todd x male reader #batman x male reader #red hood x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #nightwing x male reader #dick grayson x male reader

440 notes · View notes

maxsimagination · 1 month

Note

can you make a Alanna Kennedy fic ?

𝙬𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙞𝙩 - 𝙖.𝙠𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙙𝙮

warnings: none

------

it was that time of the year again.

while most would think of christmas, as a footballer, your first thought is national team call ups.

i wasn’t old by any means, only 21 years old, but i still hadn’t had my first cap.

most of my teammates at manchester knew, especially alanna. both of us were australian, the only difference being that she’d been playing for the matilda’s years longer than i had.

it was a training day today, an early start so i was driving down to my favourite coffee shop before reaching the fields.

“yn!!”

i heard a familiar voice shout after i’d hopped out of my car in the parking lot.

“lani!!”

i knew it was the blonde waiting for me at the entrance, just like she did every morning.

we walked in together, joining the rest of the girls before the coaches called us all out onto the pitch to start training. it was a solid session today, most of the team sweating profusely at the end. gareth had us running drills for at least two hours before we had another hour rest then back in the gym for weights.

finally we were finished and all the girls walked out, so ready to head home. i was walking to my car when alanna sauntered up behind me and jumped into my car with me.

“lani why are you in my car? you have your own car and house.”

i laughed at her antics but she simply grinned at me.

“well, my dear yn. i don’t have my car here today, mary drove me in. and i want to go to your house, it has a cat.”

i should’ve known she wanted to come to see marley. i’d adopted her a year ago when i signed for city and moved to england to play. alanna was the first person i met and had helped me move into my apartment.

marley had taken an instant liking to the tall blonde defender, which had surprised me and alanna. she usually wasn’t keen on people and lani was usually a dog person.

but every time she got the chance lani would tag along to see marley, never missing the chance to see her favourite feline. and she brought cat treats with her.

when we reached my place, marley was right there waiting at the door when we got in. alanna reached down to pick her up, cradling the purring cat to her chest. i laughed at the two, they were the cutest thing i had to get a picture.

the three of us spent that afternoon and evening doing some cleaning, cooking some dinner and watching netflix. and by we i mean me, while the other two sat on the couch and waited for me to finish so they could watch the netflix too.

it was roughly 07:00 pm when my phone rang. i answered, not thinking much of it.

“yn? this is tony gustavsson. how are you?”

i froze for a second, my brain not believing what my ears were hearing.

“yea hi tony i’m good, what can i do for you?”

“well, as you know it’s almost international break, and i’ve yet to select the team for the matilda’s. i would like to personally offer you a place on the squad.”

i sat in silence for a solid minute before i remembered i had to respond.

“you’re joking.”

“i can assure you i’m not.”

tony could tell i was astounded, laughing at how unbelieving i was.

“you want me to play for the matilda’s?”

“yes.”

“oh my god. thankyou.”

“thankyou, yn. i’ll let that sink in for you. have a good night.”

he hung up the call, thank goodness, because i was stunned into a statue. alanna had been comfortably sitting on the couch with marley the whole time when she noticed how shocked i was.

“are you okay?”

i nodded, just needing a bit longer to process things.

“i got the call up.”

alanna snapped her head up.

“no. please don’t tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not joking. tony just called me.”

it was then that we both broke into squeals and laughter. i was so excited and ecstatic, i couldn’t believe i was getting my first ever national team call up.

“you did it.”

“we did it, lani.

couldn’t have done it without you.”

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #alanna kennedy #alanna kennedy x reader #alanna kennedy imagine

163 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 7 months

Text

Stay With Me

Daniel Ricciardo x blind!Reader

Summary: Reader runs into Daniel at a race. He sticks around longer than she is expecting.

Warnings: Pretty major age gap

Notes: blindness is a spectrum!!! I'm basing this off my own vision. No perifreal for the win!

Masterlist

Twenty-one. She's twenty fucking one years old. How had she managed to get herself into this situation and being blind majority of her life? No idea.

To say she is panicking would be an understatment. She's terrified. No idea where she is. Can't find her friend. And she hates her cane so she didn't bring it cause the ground is flat around here.

They'd gotten separated for a few seconds. Yet she still managed to get turned around.

She keeps bumping into people who shout at her to watch it. Her heart is in her throat as she attempts to find the wall. She wants to sit and cry and never move again.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump. She braces for the shove out of the way. But it never comes.

"Are you alright?" Says an Australian accented male.

"Just lost..." She trails. The idea of explaining that she's blind isn't what she wants to do right now. She doesn't look blind which has made people call her a liar and overdramatic. Something she's not sure she could handle right now.

She tries to rapidly scan what she can of the males face. From what she can gather, he's Daniel Ricciardo. Typical. At least he's nice. Maybe he won't notice her internal and external panic.

"Can I help you get where your going?"

"I'm looking for my friend, actually. Just got turned around." Her nervous laugh makes an appearance.

"Any chance you can call them?"

She face palms herself mentally. She would've done so already if she could find a wall of any kind that people didn't shove her off.

"I was going to - but I can't seem to find a wall. I know I don't look it but I'm blind." She grimaces at herself. Her mind preparing for the inevitable-

"That's kinda cool!" Not the response she was expecting. "Are you comfortable taking my arm?"

She hesitantly says yes, still waiting for him to just drop her off somewhere ridiculous. As a cruel joke or something.

She's seen Daniel race. He's not doing it currently, but he's still a major part of the sport. Her brain logically knows that he's not going to do anything. Yet the all-consuming fear of being told off is eating away at her.

Daniel guides her hand to his bicep. Exactly like how someone who is trained to lead someone visually impaired would do. It's the first thing she truly notices about him.

The second is how warm his skin is.

The walk for about a minute. Daniel pulls her hand off him and sets it gently against the cold metal of what she's assuming to be, is a wall.

"Sorry if I startled you earlier. You seemed panicked." He apologizes. It's sincere. She can hear it in his voice.

"I just thought you might be another person trying to shove me out of the way." She laughs nervously again. She hates that stupid laugh. "Can I ask where you learned to do human guide?"

"Had a friend who was blind as a teenager. I guess I just retained some of what I learned."

She may not be able to see his smile, but she can hear it. It puts her at ease. Then, she pulls her phone out of her pocket to text her friend and drop her location.

"You don't have to wait for me if you don't want to. I really appreciate your help."

"I don't mind, really! You seem interesting and I like interesting people."

She prays her blush isn't noticeable. She can feel the heat in her cheeks rising, but maybe he won't notice.

"Maybe we can continue this over dinner?"

In all her years, she'd never been asked out. And now she's being asked to dinner by Daniel Ricciardo.

"You should know first that I'm twenty-one."

"And?"

"As long as you don't care, then I'd love to go to dinner."

She'd assumed he'd be at some after party. But then again, it's only the second race of the season. Maybe they don't do after parties this early.

He'd picked her up from her hotel room. She went for a simple look since she didn't really have much else. A date was not on her agenda this weekend.

A date with Daniel fucking Ricciardo. It sounds straight out of a book. Or a romantic comedy of some sort.

The thing was, it wasn't comedic. Sure, Daniel made her laugh. But she never felt embarrassed.

He's caring and gentle. He told her weird jokes and funny stories. He listened to her when she said things.

Then he promised to call her.

Part of her is doubtful that he will reach out to her again. Yet that little hopeful voice in her brain says just maybe.

And that little voice was correct for once. Daniel messaged more than she expected.

He texted her daily and called her at night. He sent her pictures of anything and everything.

They just talked. For hours.

She really couldn't see why he would like her so much. It's not like she's the most interesting person. She's not rich. She feels very average aside from the lack of vision.

"I don't understand why you find me so interesting." She'd expressed over a phone call one night. "I feel rather boring compared to the girls you see most of the time."

"But those girls aren't you. You smile at the most mundane things that you find absolutely fascinating. You listen to me rant about life and never tell me to shut up. You give good advice and you're intelligent."

It sent butterflies into her stomach. A blush creeps over her cheeks, and she's glad he can't see her right now.

"But I feel like I can't compare. Like I'll never be able to live up to the expectations."

"Fuck 'em all, as I like to say. Stay with me and I'll show you ever reason I love you and why you should love yourself as much as I do."

And that's exactly what she did.

394 notes · View notes

discokicks · 9 months

Text

FOX IN THE BOX — ROY KENT.

PART TWO of ACES AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

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

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

summary: back in 2012, you and roy meet for the first time. in 2023, you sign a one-year contract with richmond and have to work with roy for the first time. both go about as well as you’d expect.

word count & rating: 9.6k, R (roy kent says fuck and does fuck!)

chapter warnings: swearing, light sexual innuendos and light references to sex, mentions of alcohol and partying (the olympians get DOWN in olympic village) minor allusions to what happened to reader at west ham, major football talk, roy kent is rich, original character intros and plot (author really likes a plot, woo boy), angst, and of course, fluff.

author’s note: ok wow, thank you for all the love on the first chapter! wildly unexpected but much appreciated. this one’s got a bit more to it— jumping timelines, original characters, lotta soccer/football talk, reader and roy don’t know how to act (in more ways than one). also did crazy research into the 2012 olympics for this, so no one tell me my timeline’s off or i’ll cry. also also, is roy's sister named molly or is that just evidence that i've read too many fics? whatever it is, her name's molly! thank you again for the love and i hope you all enjoy! love you all tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

You meet Roy Kent for the first time at midnight, in a rookie’s dorm room in the Olympic Village.

It’s a seemingly unlikely place for a football phenom like him to be. You’d expected all of those guys to choose to be elsewhere, exploiting their home-country advantage to hang out in their posh flats. But there they were, carrying out their team bonding efforts to prepare for their game tomorrow.

Knowing what you know about Roy now, it’s fitting for him to have been there. But in this moment, you’re shocked to see the likes of him in Olympic Village.

It’s a place that’s convinced you that your college career was only good for preparing you for it. And you’re not even talking about the sports aspect of it. You’re talking about the shit-show, chaos-menu of athletes from around the world, acting as though it’s the first week of freshman year.

Despite the fact that alcohol, drugs, and any other traditional party favors are completely off-limits on-premises, it doesn’t seem to deter your fellow Olympians from running the dorms like it’s a frat party. You’re half-convinced you’re going to get a classic ‘who do you know here’ from the trust-fund-looking Australian swimmer you pass getting into your building, but he just sends a heartbreaking smile at you and your teammate as you walk in.

Your team’s fresh off the bus from Glasgow, having just beat France at Hampden Park. It was a hell of a way to open, despite the Opening Ceremony not taking place for another two days. As a younger player who’d proven herself in last year’s World Cup, you were the starting striker in your first Olympic game ever, scoring the second goal of the match and assisting the fourth. The adrenaline of it all hadn’t quite worn off yet.

It’s clear that your teammate’s feeling the same way. Melanie Rivera, your left winger and for all intents and purposes, best friend, is straight-up vibrating. You’d met during World Cup training, where you two had instantly clicked and she’d taken you under her wing to show you the ropes and what it meant to play at this level. Despite this being her second Olympics, the feeling of a win never goes away. Or at least, that’s what she tells you.

The two of you are practically bouncing off the walls as you arrive on your floor, giggling to yourselves about different things that had happened during the game. Your fluent-in-French full-back telling off a French forward when she got too close to your goalie. The mid-game mishap where some French girl’s cleat went flying. The ‘bullshit’ yellow card Mel had received right before the half (Mel knew it was a fair call, she’d totally pushed that girl).

“She was asking for it, though,” Mel insists, collapsing onto your bed as you enter your shared room. “Pulling on my shirt the whole game. I have two rules. Two. Don’t—”

You roll your eyes, having heard these rules a million times. “—touch my goalie, and don’t—”

“—touch my fucking kit,” she finishes, throwing her hands up exasperatedly. Her eyes shut with a huff. “They’re pretty simple. Don’t know why people can’t follow them.”

“Yeah, it’s a travesty,” you reply dryly. Your lip curls into a grimace as you look at her. “You wanna know what my rules are?”

One of Mel’s eyes opens with a knowing smile. “Don’t be sweaty on your bed?”

“Oh, so we do remember,” you say, falsely cheery. The faux smile falls from your face. “Get off. Or at least shower. I want to go to bed and I don’t want to like, smell you.”

Mel rolls off your bed with a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she relents. “But you can’t go to bed.”

Your expression remains unamused. “And why not?”

“Because the British men’s team is hanging out upstairs,” she states as if the answer’s obvious.

“Right. Of course,” you reply. “So, we’re crashing their team bonding?”

“No,” she says, pointing at you. “Their women’s team crashed. And then Jack texted me to tell us to come up.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Is Paige there?”

Mel shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Maybe.”

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So, you’re forcing me to stay awake so I can wingman you?”

Mel flops on your bed once more. “Please,” she cries. “Dude, I like her so fucking much. We’ve been texting since the Cup and I don’t know, this year I think I’ve got a chance.”

“Why can’t Jack wingman you? He’s clearly down to set you two up,” you say, sounding a bit whiny. “Also, why are they hanging out here? I thought they’d rent a place or stay at their own houses.”

“They make the rookies stay in the Village their first years. It's for the experience, or whatever,” she answers. That’s brushed to the side quickly. “Also, Jack is a fucking awful wingman. The only type of scoring he’s good at is on the field.” She looks at you expectantly. “And I can’t go up there alone. I’ll look like a loser.”

You gape at her. “You are twenty-seven years old.”

“And I’ll look like a twenty-seven-year-old friendless loser!” When she sees the expression you’re wearing, she tilts on her side. “Say yes or I’ll roll around in your bed.”

You cover your face with your hands, an exhausted laugh echoing into your palms. This clearly is a losing battle, and you decide you’re going to be a good friend tonight. “Fine,” you groan, hearing your bed squeak as she launches herself off of it with a cheer. “An hour. That’s it. And then I’m going to bed and never talking to you again.”

“I can live with that,” she yells, bounding for the shower in your room. “I’ll text Jack that we’ll be up in thirty!”

“You owe me so big!” you reply.

You can hear Mel’s grin when she says, “I love you, too!”

Thirty minutes later, you’re freshly showered and up three floors, standing outside of the rookie’s dorm room. You can hear just how loud it is from outside and you suddenly really feel like you’re back in college again.

It takes Mel a solid three minutes to work up the courage to knock on the door, something that you’re sure would have taken longer if you hadn’t reached out and done it yourself. She scowls at you, but the door opens before she can cuss you out.

Jack Wilson, Tottingham sweeper and three-time Olympian, answers the door with a wide smile. You’d met him a handful of times due to his friendship with Mel and he was just as lovely as everyone had said. There was a charming sort of awkwardness about him despite his status as a professional footballer, but it made him all the more endearing to you.

“Glad you finally decided to show,” he said to you two, opening the door wider for you to enter. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks,” Mel said, eyes already scanning the small dorm living room for Paige. “What’s up with the team bonding in the dorms?”

You’re also looking around the room, sending smiles to the handful of girls you recognize. “Game tomorrow. Coach wanted us to do dinner as a team, so we ate in that big hall. And we--” he says, pointing to two guys on the couch, “--wanted to see the Village this year. So here we are.”

Your eyes follow his finger to the men, one of which isn’t familiar. The other, you immediately identify as Roy Kent. And his eyes are on you.

He’s easily recognizable, curly hair a bit more tame and managed than the iconic, half-assed mullet he’d had when he first signed with Chelsea. That ever-present scowl only lifts a little when he sees that you and Mel have arrived, but you honestly can’t see much change in his expression due to his drawn brows.

While you’d relied on Mel for the majority of your connections to this new world of football, she’d never really seemed to hang out with the likes of Roy. From what you’d gathered, despite his rather high status, he was a bit of a recluse. Yes, he went out constantly, and yes (if the tabloids were right), he’d certainly dated around, nobody really seemed to know much about him.

When he’d come up in a team game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ with famous footballers, Mel had told the group that he was a guy of few words, and of the words he did say, ‘fuck’ seemed to be his favorite. Your friend and teammate Katie O’Connor was ready with a terrible impression of him when she answered with ‘fuck,’ especially after Mel also confirmed that the Gina Gershon news was true.

You try to ignore this as you go over to introduce yourself to them, despite the fact it’s currently setting up camp in your brain. “Nice to meet you guys,” you say to Roy and the other boy on the couch. Jack takes a spot next to you on the floor as you take an empty chair next to the couch. Paige waves at you from her spot when you sit.

Roy nods at you in acknowledgment. “Good showing out there.”

Jack points at you. “Bloody insane goal you had,” he says. “I think I’d break my back if I tried to do a scorpion kick like that. It was fucking class.”

You grin. “Well, lucky for Tottenham, they keep you on the other side,” you say, then quietly add, “Not that it would make a difference.”

You see Roy’s lips twitch up from the corner of your eye, and you bite back a laugh as Jack physically deflates before you. Mel’s heard your comment and runs over to sit on the arm of your chair, which is conveniently close to Paige. “Ooh, is it shit on Tottenham time? Because I haven’t seen your ass in months, so I got a whole list, man.”

As the two of them begin to argue in the way they do, you sit at watch them with a smile. They’d had this type of relationship since you’d met them back at the Cup, when Jack had flown into Germany to see your final games. Despite the loss, those were a wild couple of weeks.

The moment your brain starts to recount them, you can feel a pair of eyes on you. It snaps you out of your haze completely. Especially when you realize that it’s Roy Kent who’s staring at you once more.

You blink at him, slightly confused by the attention. “Hi?”

He nods at you again. He seems to take a moment to evaluate you, and then, “You overthink.”

“W-What?” you ask. The word comes out clunky and confused.

Roy motions to the TV that’s on across the room, one that’s showing highlights from your game. “Out there,” he says. “You overthink.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. You, feeling unbelievably out of sorts and unsure of what brought this on, Roy, secure and casual, like he just stated the weather.

Before you can question him, he nods at you for a final time, then stands up. “I’m going home,” he tells the group. “You lot better be fucking ready for the game tomorrow.”

Roy’s out of the room before anyone can say a proper goodbye to him, but no one bats an eye. No questions follow.

Except you, of course. You’ve got a fucking million.

You overthink on the field? Where the fuck had he gotten that from? How had he seen it? While there were some times, yeah, you got a bit in your head, you’d never considered yourself an overthinker. And even if you were, the overthinking produced results, right? You liked to think you were just three steps ahead of everyone else out there. Not an overthinker.

But what made him say that? What had he seen? Was it your hesitation outside the box in the first fifteen that resulted in you losing the ball? Was it the switch you’d made to get to the goal when your right winger had it on the side? Was there a look on your face when you’d taken that free kick in the second half? You were pretty in your head then, but hey, it led to Mel scoring.

Overthinking. Pfft. He didn’t know what he was talking about.

But then again, what the fuck was he talking about?

The thought of this unknown bomb dropped on you without any sort of answers quickly and completely took over your mind. Criticism about your playing had never bothered you (you were a twenty-five-year-old female soccer player, and you’d had more horrendous coaches than you could count), but this? This was something that literally made you itch. And you weren’t going to be able to scratch it until you knew what the hell he meant.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found yourself practically chasing Roy out of the room, whipping your head around to figure out which way he’d gone. Lucky for you, the dorm’s slow lifts were on your side.

Roy stood by the elevator, checking something on his phone as he waited. He clearly doesn’t hear you coming because he nearly drops it when you ask, “What do you mean I overthink?”

“What the fuck?” And now he’s staring at you like you’re the crazy one.

“I should be asking you that!” you say, then motion back to the direction of the dorm. “You tell me I overthink, stare at me with no follow-up, then leave? Who does that?” You’re way too animated for past midnight, but you don’t care. “Because even if I was an overthinker, which I’m not, that sort of stuff is probably the worst thing you can do. Not leaving on a note like that is like, rule number one.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

“Yeah, well, there are,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. When he continues to just stare at you, you make a face that you hope will cue him to go on. “So, go ahead. Please explain yourself.”

“Explain the overthinking thing?” he asks. “I thought it was pretty fucking simple.”

You roll your eyes. “No, what made you say that? Was it a play I had? Was it something I did? What did you see? I’m just curious as to—”

“You came up the field toward the end of the game,” he says, effectively cutting you off. “And you made a pass to Rivera that led to another pass, then a goal.”

You nod at him, not seeing his point at all. “Yeah? So? It was a great goal by Katie.”

Roy’s expression turns slightly frustrated, as if he’s annoyed that you don’t immediately catch on. “It was a great goal. But the fucking second you saw Rivera next to you, you started thinking ahead,” he tells you. “So far ahead that you didn’t notice how slow and fucking awful your mark was and that you could have had a better goal if you’d stopped thinking.”

There are approximately fifteen seconds of dead air between you two as you attempt to take in what he just said to you. “So, let me get this straight,” you begin. “You’re saying I’m bad because I think too much about teamwork?”

For a moment, you think Roy’s going to slam his head into the elevator door. Instead, he just turns to the buttons and presses them once more. “Fuck’s sake, could these be any fucking slower?”

You’re too far gone at this point to even be offended. “Uh, it doesn’t matter. You started this. You’re not going anywhere until we finish it. Why does me not being a selfish dick make me bad?”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You’re not. Clearly,” he responds. You note a bit of the classic ‘Roy Kent’ anger laced within his words and it makes you snap your mouth shut. “I’m just saying. You’re at your best when you’re not so fucking nice and when you don’t fucking think.”

Unconsciously, your arms cross over your chest. “I’ve got twenty-two years of playing time and about ten coaches that would disagree with that.”

Once more, you see the corner of his mouth slide upward as he glances at you. “If that’s the case, then your coaches were all idiots. They weren’t smart enough to let you loose.”

An unexpected warmth rises to your cheeks. But instead of acknowledging it, you ask, “What, like you’d be a better one?” Before he can respond to that, you’re talking again. “And even if all of that were true, I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

Roy’s brow creases. “Do what?”

“Not… think ahead,” you say. “Or not think at all. That being three steps ahead thing is kind of, well, my thing.” You offer a shrug. “The generous, teamwork thing too. I like that. It’s what makes me good.”

Roy continues to look at you, but says nothing. For a moment, all is quiet as he just… stares, almost as if he can see through you. Like he’s privy to something you’re not, or he’s had some sort of revelation about you. You’re not sure anyone’s ever looked at your this hard. It’s a bit unnerving and you have to fight to not avert your eyes.

Before you can begin to further overthink that (god fucking damn it), he’s holding his phone out to you. You stare down at it blankly.

“You’re showing me your phone,” you state, but it’s almost a question.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Put in your fucking number,” he says.

Your lips purse as you hesitate, but you find yourself reaching out for it. “Is this how you typically do it?” you ask, typing your name into his contacts. “You neg a girl for five minutes straight and then ask her for her number?”

Roy rolls his eyes again, but there’s humor amongst the annoyance this time. “I’m going to text you a time and an address,” he tells you. You hand him his phone back. “Be there on Friday after the Opening Ceremony.”

The elevator had finally arrived in the middle of his sentence and you eye him wearily as he steps in. “Just… show up to this address?” you ask. “Do I get context? Like, what to expect? What am I dressing for?”

“Overthinking,” he reminds you as he presses the button for the lobby. “Just fucking be there.”

Before you can object further or tell him that you were not in fact overthinking, you were just a woman in a foreign city concerned for your safety, he leans forward to stop the doors from closing. He’s got one hand up and has a small smirk on his face.

“And just so we’re crystal fucking clear,” he says. “If I were trying to chat you up, you’d fucking know it.”

Your eyes immediately fix into a glare and the doors close before you can say anything in response. “Asshole,” you mutter to yourself, but you’re already flipping your phone over to see if he’s texted you.

(You won’t know this until much, much later, but Roy Kent let out a loud and regretful ‘fuck!’ as soon as he was five floors down, absolutely cringing at the idea that he used a line like that on someone like you. It plagued him for three years straight.)

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023)

On a day when Roy not only had the strangest interaction of his life with Jamie Tartt in the Boot Room, but he also found out that Trent fucking Crimm would be lingering around all season, he was sure that he was done with surprises at Nelson Road.

That quickly proved to be false, as he soon found that Ted was rounding the team up in the media room for some sort of meeting.

Roy saw Beard as he was leaving the Coaches’ Office and sent a questioning look his way. “Did I miss film on the agenda?”

Beard shook his head. “Nope. Impromptu. We just heard back.”

“Heard back?” Roy asked, watching Beard go to leave the room. “The fuck are you on about?”

Beard smiled at him in the doorway. “We got her,” he said and left with a skip in his step that Roy wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

They’d gotten her? Got who?

Then it hit Roy. Oh. You. They’d gotten you.

You’d said yes. You were joining Richmond. He’d helped convince you. Despite everything, despite all that had happened and everything you two had done, you’d said yes. You were willing to work with him. You were now going to be back in his life for worse or for better. And not just back in his life, but a fucking constant in it.

Then that hit Roy. The reality of it all fucking bodyslams him and it makes his heart race. After eight years of cold-turkey no-contact, he was going to be seeing you every day. After everything he’d done. After everything you had done.

Roy realized then that he didn’t exactly consider this feeling. That he was so blindsided by Rebecca’s request and by seeing you that he didn’t even think about this. It had been hard enough to work up the nerve to confront and speak to you once. Would it feel like that all season? Had you considered this?

But then, he remembered you and how you think about every fucking angle of every situation. You definitely had thought about this. And if you were willing to push the discomfort, the awkwardness, the whatever in order to have this job, he supposed he had to be too.

Roy swore under his breath, turning away from his desk to get his head back on straight. The team was waiting for him. He could mope about this in the comfort of his own home later.

He arrived in the room just as the rest of the team was getting in. The boys were buzzing. Between the news of a potential Zava acquisition and the Trent Crimm book development, as well as whatever this was, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. Roy didn’t blame them. It was a lot for one day.

(It’d been a lot for him too. With everyone now knowing about his break-up with Keeley, to fucking Trent Crimm, to you, he was surprised he hadn’t gone outside to scream yet. But he presumed that was coming.)

“Alright fellas, listen up,” Ted said from the front of the room, holding his hand up to get everyone’s attention. The team quieted down after a moment. “I know there’s been a lot of talk going around this week. And I know y’all are excited. But I’ve got some more news.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” Dani said, sending a wave of agreement through the group. “It’s hurting my head.”

Ted chuckled. “I know. Mine too. And we’re the ones who have to manage all this,” he said, motioning to Beard and Roy who stood against the wall. “But this is good news.”

Good news? That was something the team could manage.

“So, how many of you are familiar with the Women’s World Cup that happened back in 2015?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

A murmur went through the team. “America won?” Colin offered. “Crazy final game that was.”

Isaac pointed at Roy. “You did some shit for Sky Sports for this Cup, right?”

As the boys began to recall this, Jaan Mas said, “Why they gave you another pundit job after that completely blows my mind.”

“Yes, Roy did do some TV work over here,” Ted answered after the laughter died down. “And yes, America won. But does anyone remember what this Cup started to be called?”

It seemed as though no one had an answer. That is, until Beard cleared his throat said, “The Summer of Fourteen, baby!”

Ted snapped at his best friend. “That’s exactly right, Coach. And despite it being the 2015 Cup, they called it that because of this woman right here.”

Ted had brought up what is perhaps the most iconic photo of you to date. It’s one of the first things to come up if you were to Google yourself, a picture that’s haunted you for the last eight years. It’s from the 2015 quarter-final. You’re mid-penalty kick against China, scowl on your face as your foot collides with the ball, blood dripping down your face from the broken nose you’d received moments before.

(It’s certainly not the most elegant or flattering picture of you that exists, especially when your fellow teammates’ search results yielded photos of them at the ESPYs, but you still think you’ve never looked like more of a badass.)

Ted said your name smoothly as he pointed to you on the screen, annunciating all syllables. “Wildly prolific USA Women's athlete despite her rather short time in the league. And while she was always good, y’know, starting striker since she began and all that—” He chuckled, turning to look at his other coaches, who had knowing smiles on their faces. “—I don’t know. There was something in the water in 2015. Because she just became…”

Ted trailed off, looking for the word. This time, Roy found it before Beard. “A nightmare,” he said, with a suppressed yet fond sort of smile. “She was a fucking nightmare out there.”

“In a good way, of course,” Ted cleared up, earning a nod from Roy. “But, yeah. A nightmare. Wonderful teammate and fantastic playmaker, but man…” Ted trailed off with a low whistle. “We were all glad she played for our neck of the woods.”

Jamie’s hand went up. “Didn’t she just get like, hired and fired by West Ham?”

“Wonderful segue there, Jamie,” Ted said. “Because yes, that is true. She was with West Ham for a couple months. First female coach in the league. Pretty impressive stuff, and it was a pretty big deal. And then something went wrong, and they let her go.” The team made a noise of acknowledgment, all of them having seen it in the news. “And I don’t know what happened, and we probably won’t know what happened, but we knew she was too good to leave the league. Lucky for us, we need a new coach. And she needs a new job.”

There was a wide smile on his face when Sam asked, “So she will be joining Richmond?”

“That she is, Sam,” Ted replied, earning yet another eruption of chatter amongst the group. “She’ll be joining us on Monday. And while I know you fellas will do everything you can to make her feel welcome and will show her the same level of respect that you show us up here—” Ted pointed to his coaches once more, glancing down at the computer in front of him. “—I’m going to show you why she deserves it more than us.”

A YouTube video of your highlights appeared on the big screen, going full-screen as the quick ad ended. Ted stepped back from the computer, sitting down on the stool behind him to watch along with the rest.

Your famous 2012-France-Scorpion-Kick goal just so happens to be the first thing up and Roy’s heart nearly stops. It’d been years since he’d seen this clip and he was immediately transported back to the night you two met. A ghost of a smile unconsciously made its way up his face as he watched your body contort to flip around, and the ball soar into the net. It was a goal of pure and utter instinct. You hadn’t thought about it. You just ran in there like a maniac and knew what to do. That one gets an immediate reaction from the team.

The next one is a play you’d set up in the Quarter-Final New Zealand game, with a bunch of quick passing in the box to confuse and rattle the defense. Melanie Rivera had sent you a world-class assist for an even better goal, one that earns you the title of ‘Fox in the Box’ from the past commentator on screen. The next, an impressive goal scored after an injury you’d had in the Semi-Finals against Canada. Then, and perhaps most famously, your assist to Katie O’Connor from midfield to win the Gold.

And they hadn’t even gotten to the World Cup yet.

The World Cup footage made up the other three-fourths of the video. It was a completely different side of you, one that had thrown caution to the wind, one that had a huge fucking chip on her shoulder, one that was just… insane. In all the best ways and meanings.

Roy’s shock of the day, though, comes after a highlight of you completely blowing past three Colombian defenders. You’d broken the fourth’s ankles with your footwork in the box for a quick goal. Footwork of yours that had been massively improved, Roy noted. And he would know, he’s the one who did it.

Arlo White’s voice filled up the room. “And yet another breakaway goal from USA’s Mean Fourteen!” The clip said. “It’s just remarkable to watch her work this year, don’t you think, Roy?”

Roy felt all eyes on him when he heard his own voice on the speakers. “I don’t know what USA would do without her,” 2015 Roy Kent said. “I’d hate to have her against me.”

It was strange for Roy to hear his own voice mock him like that. And as the team began to cheer for him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. They didn’t even know.

The highlight reel continued for another couple of minutes, and it seemed with each play, the boys became more excited about the prospect of being coached by someone like you. Beard and Ted were evidently just as ecstatic about the development, and Roy knew he had to get on board. Warp his feelings and nerves and whatever else into something resembling his team’s attitude.

After all, he was the reason you were joining.

The lights came up as soon as the video ended, snapping Roy back to reality. Ted smiled at the team. “Alright, fellas. Now, let’s get to work on the welcome party.”

The boys hooped and hollered, each of them getting up to join in whatever Ted had planned. Beard looked over at Roy as the rest filed out.

“You think we’re ready for her?” he asked.

Roy hated the weird fucking sixth sense Beard had when it came to… well, everything. He made Roy feel like he was completely transparent. “We’re ready for her,” he replied.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he was assuring Beard or himself.

PRESENT DAY. (EARLY AUGUST, 2023.)

You sign a one-year coaching contract with AFC Richmond that Monday in Rebecca Walton’s office.

The news broke that you’d been picked up by Richmond on Friday, something that had completely come alive in the press world. Your face was plastered over all of the papers yet again, newscasters seemed to mention your name every time you turned on your TV, and social media was set on fire. Everyone had something to say about this move and the majority of it wasn’t too positive.

You tried to keep your nose out of it, knowing just how much you did not need to see people talking about you like that. The majority of the negativity was from West Ham fans, wishing Richmond ‘luck’ with the likes of you, others wishing you good riddance.

If they knew how happy you were to be out of there, you’re not so sure they’d be as excited to let you go.

Though signings on every level in this league were typically more public affairs, ones with major press conferences and coverage, you’d requested this to be quieter. Just a few statements from the people who mattered and a pen and paper. You’d been in the media a bit too much for your liking over these past couple of months, and if you could get some exclusivity, you’d take it.

Rebecca, thankfully, was more than happy to comply. You’d been in contact with her practically non-stop since you’d called her, and she’d been nothing but lovely to you. Each interaction with her made you feel better about this job, despite the cloud of anxiety that still hung over you.

You’re sitting in a chair opposite Rebecca’s desk when a message from Mel comes through. i always liked richmond better than west ham anyway, she says. paige and i bought shirts and will be at every game.

A photo comes through shortly after of her three-year-old toddler, decked out in a Jamie Tartt jersey. oliver’s already got his!

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, fingers tapping against your screen with a quick response. adorable. give him and paige a hug for me. and i’ll be freaking out so bad at every game that i’m gonna need you there anyway, so i’m holding you to that.

you’ll be incredible. knock ‘em dead, kid.

Rebecca re-enters her office before you can respond with a thank you. She’s got Coach Ted Lasso in tow, who could not be grinning brighter at you. The second you see him, you think about everything Nate had told you during your short time at West Ham, and something within you just can’t believe it. The energy of Richmond had been different as soon as you walked through the door. The good kind of different. And their manager appeared to not be an exception.

Ted greets you immediately with an outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he says after your introduction. “I gotta tell you, we’re all mighty excited that you’re here.”

“I think I might be more excited,” you reply, and it’s an honest answer. Or at least, you’d been able to shift your nerves about the job into excitement. You’d only anxiety-thrown up once today. You figured that was an accomplishment. “Seriously. Thank you both again for the opportunity.”

“We’re just grateful you said yes,” Rebecca says. You can tell she means it. “The team’s been buzzing all week.”

The nerves return at the mention of the team, but you mentally scream at yourself to get over it. “Well, I’m just excited to get started.”

“Speaking of getting started, we should probably head downstairs,” Ted says to Rebecca. “I wanna show our new coach around a bit before practice gets going.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Rebecca responds. “I’ve got a couple more things for you to sign before you leave today, so just make sure to stop by. If you have any questions, my door’s always open, or you can ask Leslie, who you met earlier, who’s always wandering around somewhere.” Her smile gets warmer as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “And we really are pleased to have you joining us.”

You wonder for a moment how a woman like her could have ever been married to an asshole like Rupert, but you suppose that’s a story for another day. “Thank you,” you say again, a bit of that anxiety washing away. “I’m happy to be here.”

Ted leads you out of the office, his tour starting from the minute you exit. He offers a bit of insight into himself and his time at Richmond, his past two years working with Rebecca, then launches into what he knows about the history of the place (and you don’t have the heart to tell him that Rebecca had already done that when you’d arrived).

The facility is gorgeous, but it feels a bit more lived-in and welcoming than what you remember about West Ham. Everything there was so manicured and monochromatic and sterile. Nothing about it felt like a place you’d want to work.

Richmond is the opposite. It’s bright and colorful and you can hear people laughing as soon as you step down into the lower level. While your nervousness about the team still lingers, you can feel it easing. You’ll see how long that lasts.

You’re stepping into the Coaches’ Office before you even realize it, mind too occupied with taking in your new surroundings and trying to keep up with Ted’s story. You resent the overwhelming amount of relief you feel when you realize there are only two men in the office, and neither of them are Roy.

One is sitting with his feet crossed up on his desk and a book in his face. The other is writing on a notepad at a separate desk. You’re surprised by the speed at which both of them jump up to greet you as you and Ted enter.

“Alright, Coach, this is Coach Beard,” Ted says, and you meet Beard’s hand for a shake. “He’s one of the guys you’ll be working with this season.”

“Nice to meet you,” Beard says, nodding your way.

“You too,” you reply. Your eyes are drawn to the book he placed down on his desk and you allow yourself to grin. “I love Merlin Sheldrake.” When his brows shoot up in surprise, you shrug. “I’ve got a lot of time in the off-season.”

Beard’s eyes light up. “We’ll get along just fine.”

Your grin grows and you hear Ted’s voice from behind you. “Is that that mushroom book?” he asks. “I don’t think Beard’s ever found someone who reads that stuff too. I guess we’ve now got two Fun-guys in the group.”

You glance over at Beard. “Now it's a Fung-us.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Ted’s hand come up to his mouth as he looks over at his best friend. For whatever reason, it’s clear that the two of them are trying to contain their excitement. Before you can question it, Ted places a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, you’ll fit right in here, Ace.”

The nickname catches you off guard. It’s something that you haven’t heard since your playing days, something that the commentators and pundits loved to call you. It was always a compliment when they said it, but something about the way that your new manager says it makes it sound more like a title than a name. Like that’s what you are.

It immediately makes you feel welcome and you can feel yourself warm into their excitement.

The other man in the room, who’s been watching this interaction in amusement, steps forward to hold out his hand to you as well. “Trent Crimm.”

Now, it’s your turn to raise your brows. “You’re the writer who keeps calling me?”

A smile that could also be a cringe appears on his face. “Guilty,” he answers. “Just trying to cover all the bases for the book.”

“I get it,” you tell him. “If you still want a quote, I’d be happy to give you one. But I can’t guarantee it’s going to be clean.”

Trent chuckles. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

There’s a moment where you almost question what he means by that, but you brush it off. Especially now that Ted’s started talking again. “Roy's running a little late, but I’ve heard y’all already know each other, so we’re not technically missing an introduction.”

That makes you pause. You’d figured that when Roy had appeared on your doorstep he’d told at least Rebecca about your past, and that the probability he’d told the staff was high too. But exactly how much had he told them? Did they know the basics or did they know everything?

You then realize it’s Roy you’re talking about. There was no way in hell he’d told them anything more than what Ted said. That you knew each other. Maybe that things hadn’t ended smoothly. But that was it.

That, at least, gives you a bit more confidence. Ted turns to you and leads you back into the small, adjoining room you’d walked through, pointing at an almost empty desk. “That’s yours,” he tells you. “Feel free to dress it up with whatever you want, and get yourself unpacked. We’re starting practice in about fifteen minutes and Coach Beard and I gotta set some things up, but I’d like to introduce you to the fellas before you start shadowing. That all sound good?”

You grip the strap of your backpack and nod at him with a smile. “Works for me, Coach.”

Ted grins, patting you on the arm. “Glad to hear it.”

And with that, he returns to his desk, making sure to leave the door open as he leaves.

You plop your backpack on your desk and begin to empty out your things. You grab your laptop first and place it on your desk, followed by a couple of knick-knacks and photos you brought along, ones that never felt at home at your desk at West Ham. There’s a rational piece of you that knows you should stop comparing the two places, but the pettier, more aggressive side of you tells it to fuck off.

(You like to listen to that one when you can these days.)

You’re holding a photo of a baby Oliver dressed in a Women’s USA onesie when you hear someone else walk into the room. You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

Roy Kent is standing in the doorway, staring at you like he completely forgot your signing day was today.

Of course, Roy hadn’t. He’d been pacing around his flat all morning because of it. It was actually why he was late to work. But he hadn’t expected to see you as soon as he walked in. In his office. Now, your office too, he supposed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, much like you did when you saw each other again for the first time last week. However, it appears that you’re both acutely aware of the three sets of eyes that are on you two from the other room.

Like you’re snapping into a scene in a play, Roy’s expression rids itself of all surprise. “Coach,” he says stiffly, nodding at you.

Coach. You suddenly remember your previous conversation. It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues.

Well, if he won’t let there be any issues, you’re sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of causing any.

So, instead, you return his nod. “Coach,” you greet him. As he puts his things on the desk opposite yours, your heart falls into your stomach, “A-Are we…”

“Sharing an office?” he finishes for you. You nod weakly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” you say, then awkwardly add, “Fun.”

“I’m over the fucking moon,” he deadpans.

You bite your tongue, trying not to retort too quickly to a comment like that. You look away from him and to the keys in his hand and you prepare for the small talk you’re about to force yourself to engage in. “Tough ride in?”

It seems to take him a moment to process the question. The awkwardness of it all lingers. “Something like that,” he answers. However, his gaze is stuck on the picture in your hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Your brows furrow and you glance down. So much for small talk. “This?” You hold up the photo. “Oh, this is, uh, Oliver. Mel and Paige’s son.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says in a way that’s almost inquisitive, though the relief in his voice is palpable. You try to ignore that. “I didn’t know they had a kid.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. “You clearly don’t follow Mel on anything,” you reply, then pause. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t do social media.”

“It’s a waste of fucking time,” he says, reaching out to look at the photo. When you hand it to him, he mutters, “I think Rivera would have me blocked if I did, though.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” you say honestly. You take the picture back from him and place it on your desk. Your next question comes out casual, and you can’t help but be proud of how nicely this is all flowing. “Speaking of kids, how’s Phoebe doing? And how’s Molly?”

You’re not expecting the hint of shock on Roy’s face when you turn back to him. It’s as if he can’t believe you’ve remembered his sister’s name, or his niece that you met when she was no more than six months old. You want to slap him upside the head for looking at you like that because, of course, you fucking remember that, but a knock on the door from the other room interrupts your conversation.

Trent’s standing hesitantly in the doorway, notepad in hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and he appears to be avoiding eye contact with Roy. “But if you were serious about talking, would you be free to do it tomorrow?”

You offer him a warm smile, hoping that’ll contrast Roy’s crossed arms and hard stare directed at him. “Sure thing.”

“No,” Roy immediately says. “You’re not fucking talking to him.”

Confusion takes over. “Why not?” you ask.

“Because no one’s fucking talking to him,” is Roy’s answer, firm, with no room for argument. His eyes never leave Trent. “And don’t try to fucking weasel your way into this team through someone who doesn’t fucking know any better, Crimm. You’re fucking better than that.”

You’re gaping at Roy as Trent nods at you kindly and retreats into the locker room. When you look back into the office to see if you can get some clarity from one of your other new colleagues, you notice that they’re both missing. Ted did say they had to set some things up.

You suppose that just gives you the ability to talk freely to Roy now.

“I’m sorry,” you say, whipping back to Roy who’s already facing his desk. “Has he not been given the O-K to write a book about this team?”

Roy grunts. “He has. But it doesn’t mean we’re fucking talking to him.”

“Well, doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose of him writing a book?”

“You’re catching on.”

You lean back against your desk, folding your arms to take on Roy’s previous stance. “Oh, I see,” you say in understanding. “This is a Kent Rule.”

He doesn’t have to be facing you for you to know he rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s totally a Kent Rule.” You stare at his back as he shifts his shoulders in discomfort. “You hate him, so you’re forcing the team to hate him. Enemy mine is enemy yours? That’s Kent Rule number three, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It’s a team rule,” he states. “I’m just enforcing it.”

“Right,” you agree, though your voice says differently. “Each person here hates him so much that they allowed him to write a book here.”

Roy shakes his head with a scoff. “Fuck’s sake, I forgot how fucking irritating you were.”

“I’m not being irritating. You’re being evasive.” You only get another grunt in response. Fed up, your frustration at his lack of an explanation starts to seep into your tone. “So, what? I’m just supposed to ice that nice guy out because you say so?”

When Roy finally looks at you, he’s scowling. “He’s not fucking nice,” he says. “And you don’t know anything.”

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me,” you argue.

“My word’s not good enough?”

You glare at him. “Your word hasn’t been good enough in eight fucking years.”

Roy shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Definitely not telling you now.”

“Okay, enough,” you say, scanning the room and the hall to make sure no one’s watching the two of you. You put a hand up before he can retaliate with anything. “Look, if this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay? And we can’t argue here. Not here.” You motion to the office around you. “I can’t work with that shit. Alright?”

For a moment, it’s like you can look into Roy’s mind. You watch him appear to recount last week’s talk, just as you did minutes ago. Professional. Civil. No issues.

“Fine,” he finally sighs, knowing you’re right.

“Fine,” you reply. You take a breath. “So, if he sucks and you don’t want me to talk to him, you need to tell me why. You can’t just order me around like I’m one of the guys, especially not in front of people. I’m your equal here, Roy. Whether you like it or not.”

Roy shakes his head. “You’ve always been my equal,” he says, though it’s a bit softer. “You fucking know that.”

His words leave a lump in your throat that you’re not anticipating. “Well, you’re not acting like it.”

His head tilts back, eyes falling shut. His shoulders tense up. Heavy sigh. Dear God, he really doesn’t want to tell you, huh?

And then it hits you. Oh, fuck does it hit you. He doesn’t want to tell you.

And you get why.

Roy’s talking as soon as you open your mouth to apologize for pushing him. “The others don’t know either. I’ll tell you when I tell them,” he offers. “That’s the fucking best you’re getting from me.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, so you offer a nod. “Fine,” you say softly.

The nod is returned. “Fine.”

The conversation feels finished, but there’s still one more thing you want to say. “And can we agree right here that we’re not going to argue in front of anyone? Just like you said?” you ask. “Like, if you want to pick a fight, just like, pull me into the Boot Room or something. This shit can’t affect the way we do our jobs.”

Humor slants Roy’s expression. “Boot Room fights?”

You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean. Not in front of the team.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he says with a nod. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

From the outside of the office, you can hear the team start to file into the locker room from their gym facility, laughing just the same as when you heard them earlier. The alone sound makes you tense up. Roy narrows his eyes at you.

“Speaking of,” he says cautiously. “I think it might be time for your introduction. Hope you like primary school-level art done by grown fucking men.”

That takes you out of your headspace immediately. “I’m sorry, what?”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012.)

Mabley Green. Friday. 23:30.

Wear some training gear.

I can send a car for you so you know you’re not being murdered.

You’d read the three messages you’d received two days ago from Roy Kent about a million times. While you’d replied to him that his sending a car felt very mafia boss and definitely doesn’t eliminate the murder possibility, you’d still gathered up the courage to dress up in your nicest sweats, escape from the Village after the Opening Ceremony festivities, and meet his driver on the outskirts.

(Of course, you said yes to the driver. Roy Kent was fucking loaded and if he were going to be strange and summon you places, you were going to take his free transportation.)

You’d confirmed your whereabouts and situation approximately thirty-five thousand times to Mel, who had nothing but questions for you.

“Roy Kent. Like Chelsea’s finest, here, there, every fucking where Roy Kent?” That’s the one.

“Is sending a car for you to go to where?” I don’t know, it looks like a soccer field.

“To do what?” Battle Pokemon. I don’t fucking know, Mel. I think he wants to train me.

“Train you or train you?” Why are you saying it like that?

“Because this has to be a weird hook-up thing that famous footballers do, right?” He made it very clear he had no interest. Also, pause. What about me says I’d fuck on a pitch?

“He could bring an air mattress.” Oh my God, I’m leaving.

But as you arrived to this completely empty field, with nobody but your overly friendly driver, Roger to back you up, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. This was weird, wasn’t it? You were meeting up with this guy you barely knew at an abandoned location just because he told you that you were an overthinker? Your mother would be absolutely horrified if she knew. You’d broken just about every Stranger Danger rule she’d set.

However, the second that you stepped out of the car to see Roy illuminated by the field lights, standing with his hood up and a bag of footballs thrown over his shoulder, you knew this was legit. And the anxiety washed away. But a few of the nerves stayed.

“Glad you showed,” he greets, turning to walk to the field as you fell into step with him.

You look over at him expectantly. “So, you are coaching me.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” he says. “I just want to get you out of your head.”

You nod in faux agreement. “Right. Because that’s not coaching.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s called being a nice fucking person.”

“Right,” you say again. “Because Roy Kent is known best for his kindness.”

He turns to you. Something sparks in you when you notice that he appears to be humored by all of this. “You should be thanking me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” you apologize, sending him a wide smile as you two make it to the field. “Thank you, Coach.” Roy rolls his eyes again and you chuckle softly. “I’ll thank you when I know for a fact you’re not gonna murder me.”

He watches as you plop yourself down on the pitch to stretch a bit. “If I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought a fucking witness.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Roger could be your Ryan Gosling.”

Roy actually laughs at that one. It’s a sound that you’d never expected to hear, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to hear it again. “I wouldn’t trust him to do that kind of driving. Chatty prick can barely get around London.”

“Hey,” you chide. “He was very nice.”

“He’s fucking incredible. Been with him since my Sunderland days. Still a chatty prick.”

You can’t help but smile at the fondness that’s crept into his voice, but you say nothing about it. You bring your knee to your chest in a stretch and look up at him. “So, what’s the plan here, Coach?”

“Not your coach.”

“Right, sorry. What’s the plan here, Zodiac?”

Roy shakes his head, fighting to keep his lips even. “I want to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” you ask. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll train with you until your team's out,” he says. “Whenever our match schedules align, we can figure out a time to do shit until you need to go home.”

Your smile turns cocky. “And if we win?”

He practically snorts. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if we do?”

“Then we’ll train until then,” he replies. “And I’ll give you whatever you fucking want.”

You’re not sure what that entails, but anything you want from Roy fucking Kent? It’s an offer that may be too good to pass up. But still, one question lingers. “In exchange for what?”

“What?” he asks.

You stand, lifting one of your feet from the ground so that you can pull it up behind you in another stretch. “A deal works two ways. Exchanging goods or services and all that,” you tell him. “What’s in it for you?”

Roy shrugs. “I need to train too,” he answers. It's a bit simple, a bit evasive. “That’s what’s in it for me.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you say, “you can’t be serious. You want to train with me just to train?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you respond, slowly realizing he’s serious. “I guess I just kind of assumed when I heard ‘deal’ that you’d want something in return.”

“Well, that’s all I fucking want,” he tells you. “If I think of anything else you can do for me, I’ll let you know.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh escapes you. “I’ll be anxiously anticipating your demands.”

He’s turned to his bag of footballs and crouches to grab one, glancing up at you as he rises. “So?” he asks. “Do we have a fucking deal, or what?”

Your foot goes down as you look at him, evaluating him and his offer. You shift your gaze to the field, to the big lights around you, then to the night sky that tells you it’s almost the next day.

You have a game in Glasgow again tomorrow against Colombia. You’re out past curfew and know your team would both kill you and congratulate you if they knew where you were. You have to be on a bus in less than eight hours.

But here’s Roy Kent, standing with you on an abandoned pitch in London, offering to train with you. And what kind of idiot passes that up?

“Deal,” you agree, taking the ball from his hand. “Now, where do we start?”

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

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

166 notes · View notes

livinlikebailey · 14 days

Text

Marauders as things my friend group has said

“Sometimes I forget how many dead people there are.” - Sirius @ Regulus during a family history lesson.

“ I’m gonna bite your toes while you’re sleeping,,, nibble, nibble, nibble” - a drunk Barty @ Evan who is ignoring him.

James: Drops phone on his face. James: claps friends theme song. James: picks phone back up like nothing happened.

“I’m a bi guy, a simple bi guy and I am 99% Lilly Evans and 1% Regulus Black.” - James Potter

“ Why do all the cute ones gotta be Deatheaters?” - Rita @ Bellatrix

“Iron chickens do not have iron testicals” - a very drunk Sirius @ an unfortunately sober Remus.

“I have decided that i am a snack it just no one is hungry” - Peter

Marlene: Climbs on train track bridge Dorcas: “Oh you are so fucking dumb, I look away for 2 seconds”

“No bite, no smile!” - Remus @ James who is trying to take a picture of him too close to the full moon.

“If i was there i’d slap her i don't care if she's 9” - Mary to lily after hearing about the shit her sister was doing to her. “James, I am a pussy.” - Peter to James about the forbidden forest.

“I would be James’ sugar bab- AHH!” - Lily about James to Mary.

“I have to go through all my saves and delete the videos of him because he turned out to be a pedophile… Hey! I had a chance with him” - Remus probably at some point.

“Was that CORPSE? Woop!” - Drunk Remus at a party.

Remus: “ughhhh” Sirius: “what?” Remus: “I hurt and I'm dying.” Sirius: “don't die, that's for kids”

Barty : sits up really quick "guys I just swallowed the nail, it's in my throat." Barty: proceeds to cough up the nail

Pandora: shows Regulus a picture she drew "this is cute" Regulus: "you're cute. wait that didn't go how I wanted it to.”

Barty: “RACCOON WORLDS DOMINATION”

Sirius: “Do I look like a freaking rat?” Regulus: ….. Sirius: “Don't answer that”

Effie: hears a song playing from james’ room “I used to listen to this song in grade school.” James: “Oh so it's really old then.”

Remus: "sips coffee stressfully"

Barty: "seductively eats toes"

Evan: "for your next random gift I'll get you a screwdriver Barty: "thanks I'm gonna kill myself with it"

Marlene: whining "mom James got me addicted to cocaine" wait I mean Crack cookies" - Marlene @ Effie

Nymphadora: tries to lick cat. Andromeda: "don't lick the kitty." Dora: proceeds to lick cat.

Barty: "school sh**tings" gives thumbs up

Sirius: shows Remus their high heels Remus: "okay whore" smacks hand over mouth "wait i- that wasn't supposed to come out" Sirius: laughs their ass off

James: yells across the store to mom “mom!" Random person at the checkout: looks at James "I am not mom."

“Effie’s a Milf” - Marlene

“I don't have nothing, other than a few std's” -Remus

“You can eat half a mermaid before you're a cannibal” - Pandora to Regulus

“Probably shouldn't be doing it but we’re definitely going to continue anyway” - Remus, Sirius, James and Peter in sync.

very confused Peter: “leprechauns don't play quidditch.”

Marlene: “like weewoo but not weewoo” exasperated and high off her ass

Sirius: “I like aids”

phone falls off bed Marlene in an Australian accent: "crikey my phone"

“I’m hooked up to so many wires i could connect to hbo on my heart monitor” - Lily on pain killers to James

"I don't think I can lick that, can I?" -Sirius playing goat simulator

watching cloudy with a chance of meatballs and it's at the part where the mayor destroys the machine and James says " I hope you see the error of your ways, you glutton!”

(talking about Cameron Monaghan) the murder child from my chemical romance - Sirius

"Fuckin’ Sirius"- Remus while asleep

Sirius "I've got middle fingers and i'm not afraid to use them" Regulus: "do it" Sirius "I’m a little afraid to use them"

Peter while asleep: groans and sits up fast James: "you okay?" Peter "not really." James: "What's wrong?" Peter: "I'm gonna have to use the loo to solve the thing."

Sirius: "So were you born in 2006, 2007?" Narcissa: "i was born in 2004" Regulus: "i don't mean this in a mean way but wow you are old"

Sirius: "I WANNA HOLD YOU" Remus "NO, LET ME MAKE COFFEE THEN YOU CAN"

Barty: "I'm gonna do a line off your dresser"

Barty: "i have a headache" pauses "and i have 2 more lines to do"

Mary: "I don't have to do acid I have the that back massager that messes with my balance receptor"

Barty: suddenly sits up Regulus: “are you okay” Barty: “i don't know, i'm just gonna go to sleep and try to see what's going on”

Barty: "Why not use a shotgun, it's easier, this is america." (was not in america)

"stop licking the oreos" - Reg @ Barty

"Do i really have to tell you not to mate with the cat"- McGonagall @ the marauders

Remus: “I can feel the brain damage,, and i've got another line”

“MY TRAUMA CAN'T HANDLE THIS!”- Sirius

“Ball licky licky titty croissant” - James trying to learn french from Regulus

“Ooo yay i love being kidnapped!”- Barty probably at some point

“The 3 c's cook, clean, cocktails”- Remus “The 3 b's bake broil blowjobs”- Sirius

“LET ME UPLOAD MY PORN DAMNIT” - Marlene probably

"Dorcas you should be my sugar mommy" - Pandora

"An air whore" Remus

"My skyrim character is Schizophrenic" - James

"I wanna blow up pumpkins, and People!!!!" -Bellatrix

"I can taste it in my eyeballs" - James

"you can't take terrorists to the airport"-Peter

"I'm really bad at swallowing" - Sirius

“you can't fuck a duck, you'd have to seduce it” - Evan

"Hey your boobs are crooked"- Marlene

"i’m sorry, i accused you of taking my grandpa" -Sirius

"im a gay virgin"-Regulus

"duck now motherfucker" Sirius @ James

"i wanna become a rug or everyone does a line of my ashes when i die" - Remus

"you can't be funny while I'm smoking" -Remus @ First year after he walked out the door

"I'm leaving, i don't care that much about being drug free" - Barty

28 notes · View notes

anime-addict-362 · 2 years

Text

Shinsou's Safe Place

Request: Hi! First of all - love your work, you're an amazing writer. Second, would you be open to do some sub hitoshi? ummm maybe sum starting with angst - maybe he feels not good enough/too villainous and y/n has to fuck it out of him?

A/N: Thanks for requesting :))) And sorry it took so long! I ran into some issues along the process of making it. I didn't know if fucking it out of him meant pegging or not, since I do write a lot of pegging things but I was already halfway through and it seemed too late to ask. I went ahead and stuck with just normal sex, since not everyone is into the whole pegging thing.

CW: Nsfw, Top (female) Y/N, Bottom Shinsou, Shinsou needs assurance, oral (receiving), fingering (receiving), hand job, riding, Shinsou begs a lot, Y/N likes teasing, some fluff in the end

× × × × × ×

Shinsou hadn't always been the most confident. There was always one insecurity or another poking at his mind whenever he was out of his house. His house was his safe space.

Alone in his smaller house, with all his needs and wants. He lived practically in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors, just trees and field. He was alone and he liked it like that.

No one was around to tell him to turn his music down, or tell him that he HaD tO WeAr PaNtS. Losers.

ESPECIALLY no one was around to tell him that he had to sleep at a regular time or couldn't have ice cream for dinner. He had no rules in his house. He had no insecurities in his house. It was HIS safe place.

Then Y/N came along.

He bumped into her in a train station, and completely knocked her down. Shinsou was quick to apologize and help her up. She looked awfully familiar but he couldn't think of her name.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay," He asked, grabbing her hand to help her onto her feet.

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay," He watched as she quickly went digging into her bag, then frowned. "My camera broke though."

"Fuck, okay, how much was it," He pulled his wallet out, at the view of the completely shattered camera.

"Nah, it's all good. I can replace it myself," She shrugged. "It's pretty expensive."

"And I have about 888,000 yen here," Shinsou shrugged.

(Uh just to give an idea maybe: 7000 US Dollars, 5,500 Pounds, 9,806 Australian Dollars)

"...you keep that much money on you," She questioned.

"I don't trust banks."

"Well okay," She shook her head. "But as long as the card is intact, it's fine. I have the money to replace it."

"Where do I know you from," Shinsou asked, getting genuinely curious.

"Oh! I'm a reporter. I do a lot of work that revolve around heroes and such," Then she tilted her head. "You want to pay me back?"

"Yeah, name a price and I got it," He looked back to his wallet.

"Let me do a story on you," His eyes shot up, watching her smile brighten.

"You recognize me?"

"I practically live around heroes, I spot them anywhere," She pulled out her phone. "Give me your number. I will be contacting you."

"And what happens if I don't let you do the story," He questioned.

"Then Japan shall know how Brain Rot shattered my camera and all my work and just walked away," His eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

She scoffed. "Hell no. I'm a reporter, not a bitch," She bit her lip. "But I do desperately need a new story. Villain attacks are going down so that means there is nothing interesting around. BUT if I can interview the one under ground hero who has never been in any kind of interview, then I get ahead of the game."

"...alright, deal," He nodded.

That was about 10 months ago. Shinsou ended up giving Y/N her story, but they also got to know each other during that time. They started dating admittedly quickly, but it worked out in the end so neither minded.

As for Shinsou, he always thought of he started dating someone that cared for him, especially like how Y/N did, his insecurities would magically go away. Why would he be insecure when someone as genuine and gorgeous as Y/N would love him?

He was wrong. If anything, they got worse. He was constantly worrying about his body, never wearing any less than a hoodie and sweatpants around her.

Always worried about his quirk accidentally going off, barely talking or zoning out to focus on not using it on her.

He was terrified of doing something wrong with touching her, so he let her start anything intimate.

He was scared he was going to say something wrong and ruin everything, so he was rehearsing things he would say to her like a dork.

Whenever Y/N asked about any of this, he brushed it off and enclosed himself in his own mind. Suddenly, his safe place wasn't his home anymore. He was constantly thinking of ways he would fuck up.

Shinsou degraded himself when he did something wrong, thinking Y/N would be mad at him. But she never was. She was never mad at him for anything. More just confused on why he was so closed off.

Shinsou had a particularly hard day, and was laid on his couch. The fire in the fireplace crackled, the only light that lit up the room. He stared at the wall, thinking about the horrible things people yelled at him that day.

So many horrible things. About his looks, the way he acted, his quirk, his ability to help others, it got to him. He didn't want to cry, he really didn't want to. But god, he couldn't help it.

He cried quietly into his pillow, trying to calm himself down. For fucks sake, he was a pro hero. He should be able to handle some words being thrown at him if he could take a gunshot to the leg.

Without thinking much, Shinsou grabbed his phone and called Y/N. She answered on the third ring.

"Hi Hitoshi," She sounded so happy. He almost hung up to not ruin her night with this.

"Hey Y/n... Are you busy? Can you come over? I had a bad day," His voice was shaky and he could barely keep it together enough to talk clear.

"What's wrong? I'm not busy, I'll be over in a little bit," She sounded worried.

"Okay. Thank you."

"Of course, darling."

It was about 20 minutes later when he heard keys jingle and her shoes clacking against the hardwood floors. "Honey, where are you?"

"Couch," He croaked out, forcing himself to sit up. He watched Y/N enter the living room, immediately sitting by him.

"What's wrong? What happened today," Her voice was so gentle, a hand going to push hair out of his face, the other wiping a tear away. "Unless you don't want to talk about it. I can just sit here if that works better for you."

Suddenly, Hitoshi just broke down. Y/N being that sweet to him was the last straw. He tucked himself into her arms as she rubbed his back, whispering that he was okay, rocking him gently.

Shinsou didn't remember the last time he was comforted like this but it felt nice. Y/N didn't let go of him, wiping his tears away and patiently waiting for him to calm down. He could only think of one question he had been dying to ask Y/N forever.

"Why do you love me," He looked up at her, not letting go or leaving her arms. "I'm genuinely asking."

"Honey," Y/N frowned, wiping the remaining tears from his face. "Where is this coming from?"

"I don't see how you could love me. I'm not that great of a hero, I'm so closed off, I'm not good looking, I could accidentally snap and use my quirk on you and that's terrifying. I want to know why you love me after all of that. How you could possibly see anything good in me?"

Y/N paused, then adjusted so Shinsou was more sat up and looking her in the eye. "I love everything about you, Hitoshi Shinsou. As corny as that sounds, it's true. I love your flaws just as much as I love your strengths."

Y/N sat up on her knees, kissing his forehead. "You're an amazing hero, Hitoshi. You make mistakes, every hero does. If anyone would know that, it's me. I don't mind you being closed off. You might accidentally use your quirk on me but you would never hurt me, huh? You would never let anything bad happen to me."

"No, I wouldn't," He shook his head, shivering when her lips lightly carressed his neck.

"As for your looks... You are the most gorgeous man I've ever see," She breathed, hands moving from his back to his sides. "You're beautiful purple eyes, the messy hair, the sexy eyebags."

"You're lying-"

"I'm not," She laid him down on the couch, getting on top of him. He felt her hands start to explore, and just breathed heavily in response. It felt nice. "Your body is perfect. Your perfectly sculpted hands, long legs, skinny yet so, so strong at the same time. You have it all, darling."

She held his hand, and then pulled it up to her lips gently. She kissed down his arm. "I love this hand. I love this wrist. I love this arm."

Shinsou huffed out a breath of air, watching and listening to her. She moved to his neck, whispering, "I love this neck. I love leaving hickies on your pale skin. They look so pretty on you. You always look good in purple."

Slowly, her hands slid under his shirt. "Is this okay, Hitoshi? Can I take your shirt off?"

"Yes," He nodded.

He helped her slide it off. He felt the warmth of the fire warm his skin, but goosebumps still ran up his arms as Y/N's nails lightly dragged against his chest. And again, she leaned down and started kissing.

"I love this chest, I love this stomach," She locked eyes with him and he didn't miss the way her back arched as she slid down, ass moving into the air. "I love your hips. I love your ribs."

Shinsou struggled to catch his breath. Then she leaned down to his nipple and kissed gently, before pulling it into her mouth with a moan. He whimpered, head wanting to fall back. But it was pushed against the armrest, making him watch this.

"I love these nipples. So pretty," She ran her nails over them, flicking them and watching him jump. Her hands slid to his sweatpants, and she looked to him for permission.

"Yes, please," Shinsou nodded quickly, lifting his hips and helping her. He was getting hard quickly.

Again, she leaned down and moved down his leg, kissing and carressing gently to the point, he wanted to shiver. "You're so pretty Shinsou. So gorgeous. So fucking handsome. I'm so in love with you. All of you."

She leaned forward, wrapping his legs around her waist. "Can I make you feel good, baby?"

"Yes, yes please," He groaned, moving closer. Shinsou watched Y/N smile sweetly at him, leaning down and finally giving him a proper kiss.

"I love your lips. They're so soft. They speak the voice that makes me repeatedly fall in love with you. They kiss me with so much adoration. They leave me constantly wanting more from you. More kisses, more talking, just more. That's all I ever want from your touch. I crave you. I crave more of you. I fucking love you, Hitoshi."

"I love you to- ah," He moaned as she grinded right between his legs, the rough fabric of her jeans rubbing against him perfectly.

"What was that," She giggled, biting his lip.

"I- I love- fuck, Y/N," She kept grinding on him.

"You're going to have to say it louder," She grabbed the arm rest behind his head for stability as she kept a pace of grinding on him.

"C'mon Y/N," He moaned, hands grabbing the couch. "I love you too, ple- please don't stop."

"I would never," She gasped like she was offended, then giggled as he pushed his hips against hers. "You're so desperate. Just over some grinding? I can do so much better than that."

"Please do it, oh god," He groaned, meeting her grinds in the pace she set.

"You want more, honey," He nodded roughly, nails digging into the couch. "Okay, spread your legs for me."

Shinsou obeyed, going still when she pulled away. She didn't bother to take his boxers off, just pulling them down and letting his dick free.

"You're even pretty down here," Y/N's hand lightly wrapped around his dick, slowly stroking him. His breathing kept getting heavier.

"Want more," He spoke after a minute.

Y/N sighed, continuing her slow pace. "Don't get greedy on me Shinsou. Take what I give you and you'll get what you want."

Shinsou just nodded, head laying back. His mind was spinning. He didn't know what to focus on. Y/N's hand, her voice, the pleasure he was feeling, or the fact he was still on the verge of crying.

After a few minutes of feeling like the stimulation wasn't enough to get off, he decided to just relax and enjoy it. It felt amazing. It was his and Y/N's first time. Why rush it?

"Oh, such a good boy," Y/N kissed him. "So relaxed, taking it so great. You're so pretty with your face all red. Blushing so hard."

"Oh fuck, Y/N," Shinsou huffed before leaning up and kissing her. She hummed, kissing back and quickening her hand.

"You're such a beauty."

Shinsou grabbed onto her, hips starting to fuck themselves into her hand. "It- it's so good. It feel so good Y/N."

"You're such a mess, over just my hand," Y/N pouted. "I wanted to ride you but I doubt you can take it."

"NO- No Y/N, please I can take it," He yelled out, eyes rolling back. He was going to come.

"I don't think you can, Hitoshi. Just seeing how you're reacting to my hand..." Y/N sighed, pulling her hand away and Shinsou groaned, hips still trying to chase her.

"N- no no no, please Y/N. I'm begg- I'm fucking begging! I want to come, I want inside of you! Please Y/N," He sobbed, moving to start humping her thigh. He groaned, hands gripping her hips.

"Then say you're beautiful," Y/N whispered gently into his ear, kissing his temple right after. "Tell me how gorgeous you are. How good you look. How much you accomplished. I want to hear you say how great you are."

"But Y/N-" She cut his whine off.

"If you want me to ride your pretty cock until you come, you'll look me in the eye and tell me," She suddenly roughly grabbed his face, making him look at her. "Say it."

"I'm beauti- beautiful," He gasped, still humping her thigh like a whore.

"Good boy. Keep going."

"I'm a good hero," He whined, the texture of her jeans catching on his tip.

"Mhm."

"I... I- oh god! I worked hard for everything I have," He moved his hips faster, feeling like he was going to come once again.

"You may be pretty and smart, but man, are you a fucking whore," Y/N laughed bitterly, watching Shinsou's legs clench. "Go on, Hitoshi. Come on my thigh like a dog. That's what you are right now, huh? My fucking dog."

"YES, OH- OH GOD YES Y/N," He choked, coming.

Once he came down from his high, he watched Y/N use two fingers to wipe his come off of her jeans, then lick them. She slowly smiled, looking down at him, where he was panting with a wide eyed expression. "You're lucky you taste good."

She grabbed the rest off of her, and pulled his head back. "Mouth open," He obeyed, and licked her fingers cleaned.

He sucked her fingers, cleaning them thoroughly. He desperately tried not to moan but a few slipped. "You're such a good boy, Hitoshi."

Y/N was back to being gentle, holding his face in her hands and kissing him all over the face. He smiled, feeling Y/N's happiness practically shine off of her.

"We can stop, baby," Y/N spoke up, leaning back to look at him. "We don't have to go further tonight."

"No Y/N, I want you. I especially want you to finish, one way or another," He assured her before kissing her.

Shinsou's hands were shaky as they held Y/N, she noticed. "Are you nervous?"

"A little," He admitted.

"Don't be nervous, baby," Y/N smiled softly. "It's just me. You're safe with me. I will let nothing happen to you, alright?"

Shinsou nodded, kissing her before he could get all emotional. Why was he so emotional tonight?

Slowly, he moved to take her shirt off. He took her helping him as a good sign.

They continued to move slowly, kissing each other's bodies. They were both breathing heavily, pulling remaining clothes off.

Once their naked bodies were pressed together, Shinsou leaned forward, laying Y/N back. "Wanna eat you out, Y/N. Please? Can I Y/N?"

"Yes baby," Y/N nodded, kissing him one last time before he was buried between her legs.

He ate her out like he was desperate, sucking on her clit and fingering her when his tongue wasn't buried as deep as it could be inside of her. He was rough, moaning just as much, if not more than Y/N.

Y/N gripped his hair, controlling his head. His eyes were focused on her's, getting more and more teary eyed as he continued.

"You're doing so good, baby," Y/N spoke breathlessly, trying not to tighten her legs around his head.

Shinsou sucked her clit one last time, dragging his teeth against it, making her come. She moaned out, legs closing around his head. He just moaned back, hands gripping her thighs.

After she came down from her high, she giggled, pulling her legs apart and watcjing him gasp, licking his lips. "Well aren't you a mess?"

"Mhm," He hummed, moving up to kiss her. She kissed back, smile plastered on her face.

"I taste good too," She flipped them, laying him back. "Still wanna continue?"

"Yes, yes please," He nodded, voice rough.

Y/N straddled him completely, letting him get comfortable, before she slowly sat down. Shinsou groaned, hips thrusting up quickly. It felt too good.

"Hey! Stay still," Y/N smacked his chest. "You can't go shoving your dick all the way in within a few seconds. Gotta go slow baby."

"Sorry," He whined, forcing his hips down. "I want more, Y/N. You feel so good."

"Yeah, yeah," Y/N smacked his chest again. "What did I say about being greedy? You'll get what you want, just give me a minute to adjust."

Shinsou nodded, staying still as Y/N adjusted herself. It only took around 1 minute before he was whining again. "You are so fucking needy, Shinsou. Lay down," Y/N shoved his hips back down.

"C'mon Y/N," He huffed, wanting to fuck her. He raised his head, glaring at her. "I've watched porn. It doesn't take this long to adjust. You're teasing me."

"Not every man has a 9 inch cock, asshole," Y/N leaned forward, small smile. "And yes I am."

"I'm already so close," Shinsou gripped her hips, turning his head to kiss her hand, where they were planted for stability. "I wanna come inside of you, Y/N. Wanna fuck you. Please. I'm begging."

"If you're already about to come, how are you going to fuck me," Y/N raised an eyebrow, sitting down fully. Shinsou groaned, throwing his head back. "Beg harder. I'm not convinced."

"Y/N please," He yelled out, hips rutting up. "It feels- Oh god you feel so good! Wanna fuck you- wanna make you come please!"

He sobbed when Y/N yawned, making a show of smacking her lips.

"Please please please, wanna fill you with come," He felt his breathing pick up even more. "I wanna come so bad, you're so tight- PLEASE- Oh fuck- I'm gonna- I'm coming- I'm fucking coming so hard!"

Y/N felt his dick twitch, as his hips started to fuck into her. She sighed, rubbing his chest as he groaned, jaw dropping. He whimpered as he came down, hands loosening her thighs.

"I'm sorry," Shinsou gulped. "It felt too good, I couldn't-"

"It's okay, Hitoshi," Y/N ran a hand through his hair. "You did good. Such a good boy, baby."

Y/N was nice enough to give him a second to calm down. He seemed so fucked out, it seemed wrong to continue on quite yet. She didn't want to fuck him unconscious... Yet.

So she sat there, comforting him until he was able to catch his breath. She was seriously wondering if he was a virgin because he sure as hell was as sensitive as one. Coming almost as soon as she sat? Maybe she was just really hot.

"You okay to continu-"

"Lemme make you come. Want you to come on my cock, please Y/N," He lifted his head to make eye contact. "Please don't make me beg more. I just want you. I want you so bad."

Y/N paused for a second. She's never seen him so vulnerable. So genuine. He was always so closed off, never showing any emotion around her, barely talking, and just listening closely to her. This was new to her. Seeing him so genuine.

Finally, she started to ride him. He moaned, keeping hold of her thighs. "It's so good, Y/N. Don't stop- please don't."

"I thought you were done begging," She huffed with a smile. He really was big, filling her.

"Wanna beg for you," He smiled back, eyes crossing slightly whenever their hips met. "Wanna beg for your pussy. I wanna beg to be your fuck toy. Wanted to forever."

"Then why didn't you say anything," She moaned, hands moving to his chest as she rode harder. "God, you feel so good Hitoshi."

His hands traveled to her hips, to help start moving his own. "Too embarrassed. Too scared to do or say something wrong. I want so much from you, Y/N. It scares me."

"Tell me," She gritted her teeth, one hand moving to his throat ss he slammed into her. "Tell me what the fuck you want from me. I'll give it to you."

He whined loudly, thrusting as deep as he could. "Wanna try everything with you. I want you to tie me up, I want you to fuck my ass with all your strength, I want you to use me however you want for hours on end."

He felt tears start to well, fucking into her as fast as his hips could allow. "But I'm so scared. I don't want to fuck something up. I want to make you happy. I want to feel safe with you and I don't because I'm so insecure. I don't want you to hate me because I make a mistake."

Y/N threw her head back and moaned, his words processing slowly. It was hard to hear him over the sound of their hips smacking together and hard to pay attention with him railing her.

"You're just so perfect," He continued, tears falling. "So gorgeous, so nice, so smart, so funny, you are everything I've ever wanted. I can't mess up."

"FUCK- fuck," Y/N moaned, nails digging into his chest. "I don't want you to be fucking perfect Hitoshi," She dragged her nails down, listening to him hiss and just continue to mian. "I want you. I want all of you, even your mistakes. I love you. I love all of you."

He sobbed, tears falling quickly. "You don't mean that."

"I do baby," She started to breathe heavier. "I mean every word. I want you safe around me, I would do anything to keep you safe. I love you, I love your body, I love when you scrunch your nose ehen I say something weird, I love when you lay your head on my lap when we watch a movie, I love when you listen to me like I'm the only thing that matters. I fucking love you."

Shinsou gasped, coming as Y/N tightened on him. She came as well, moaning out and holding still as he slowly fucked them through it.

When they did, she laid down on him, pulling out. They were both tired, eyes heavy and the warmth of the fire comforting them against the cold of the air.

Shinsou rubbed her back, kissing her. "Did you really mean that?"

"Yes. I meant every word. I love everything about you and I want to stick by your side as long as I can. You make me hapoy and safe, I want to do the same if you would loosen up," She smacked his chest at the end of that, as if scolding him.

"I'm sorry I haven't been so open," He whispered. "I'm just so scared of losing you. Every one of my insecurities just gets worse the second I go to talk or take my shirt off."

"Well, you're naked under me right now, so...," She smiled, propping her head on his chest. "You're safe with me and we can take things slower. If you need some more time to be able to open up more, that's okay. I'll wait."

"But baby," She spoke again, sitting up now. "I truly think you are beautiful, and I love to hear every word you have to say. You can't say or do something wrong if you're just being yourself, Shinsou. Especially around me. I WANT to see you. I WANT to hear you. I want you, fucker."

Shinsou smiled softly, and Y/N wiped away tears he didn't even know were there. "Let's go get cleaned up, Hitoshi. Then we can go to bed and talk about this more tomorrow. We both need sleep."

"Yeah, okay," He nodded, following her when she stood up.

Maybe Shinsou was safest at home. He sure as hell felt like it. But if Y/N was with him, laying with him, making love with him or just talking with him? He knew he was safe with her.

Y/N was his new safe place.

#mha fanfiction #mha smut #dom y/n #dom reader #x reader #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #sub shinsou #shinso #shinsou #hitoshi #shinso mha #x shinsou hitoshi #top reader #bottom shinsou

576 notes · View notes

jessicalprice · 1 year

Text

touch the duck

(reposted from Twitter)

One of my favorite things about cats is how they set goals for themselves and then engage in sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, but because they're cats it's also sneaky and circuitous, but like, not COMPETENT.

When I was in Vacationland with my parents at the house they rent there every year, my sister brought her cat with her to his Country Estate.

And in the central room of the house is this old stone fireplace with, y'know, the stones sort of sticking out of the cement they're embedded in. And on either side of the fireplace, about 8 inches below the ceiling, was a small, shallow shelf.

I have no idea what these shelves were for, btw. They were largely inaccessible by virtue of being so high up and so shallow.

On one side of the fireplace was a built-in set of bookshelves that came up to about mid-chest and then had a nice broad surface, then shallower shelves above that, and then way up at the top, the tiny useless shelf, which was empty. On the other side of the fireplace was a door into a little hallway, off of which was a bathroom and one of the bedrooms. Above the door was the tiny, useless shelf. This one held a wooden duck.

It became the cat's mission in life to touch the duck.

My sister, of course, didn't want him getting up on that shelf because she was worried he'd get hurt jumping down from that high. My parents didn't want him getting up there because they were afraid he'd knock down the duck and break it.

I was the only person who supported Mission: Duck Touching.

I spent the evenings whispering to him, "You can do it, lil' buddy. Live your dreams. Touch the duck."

He began training for this mission by jumping up on the bookcase top on the other side, then parkouring up the fireplace, which made an excellent climbing wall, then jumping up to the tiny shelf. It was a difficult landing to stick, because it was so tiny. He missed a lot.

He also had the unfortunate habit of running into the room, skidding to a stop like Kramer on Seinfeld, and making a small, high-pitched yodeling noise to announce that he was going to make an attempt to get to the practice shelf.

This, of course, gave my parents and/or sister ample time to stop him. My furry nephew's a smart boy, though, so eventually he figured out that announcing his intentions was a tactical error. I may have had a talk with him one evening under the cover of watching Law & Order together and advised him to keep his mouth shut until he had reached the mountaintop.

After a few days of training and planning, he snuck in while we were figuring out dinner, ascended the bookcase, climbed the rock wall, and, with a triumphant yodel, made it to the practice shelf.

He was very proud of himself. I was very impressed. My sister was less appreciative. He was retrieved from the shelf and given a bit of a scolding. But now he knew he could make it from the rock wall onto the shelf.

It was time to initiate Stage Two. This was considerably more challenging: there was no bookshelf from which to launch into the rock-climbing, and the already small landing area on the shelf was mostly occupied by the duck. After knocking a bag of his treats onto the floor so the dog would get into them and draw off some of the heat, he ascended the bookcase, climbed halfway up the rockwall, and began to parkour across to the other side of the fireplace.

Unfortunately, the dog is an Australian Cattle Dog/German Shepherd mix and has like 9 dog PhDs and one tiny zip-bag was no impediment to her inhaling all of his bonito flakes in like 14.5 seconds. The cat was almost to the other side of the fireplace when the rest of us looked away from the bag-shredding whirlwind and noticed him. He was retrieved, confined, and sent to his room.

Thereafter he was confined to the room during the day so he couldn't hurt himself while we were out hiking and cheese tasting and sailing and all the other stuff you do in Vacationland.

The following evening was the last night my sister was spending with us before she went home. The cat was released from his daily confinement. He behaved with exaggerated, innocent affection. When we were all engrossed in a wine tasting I'd set up in the dining room (complete with lightly sauteed squares of Juusto cheese drizzled with buckwheat honey, HIGHLY RECOMMENDED BTW), he made his move.

He managed to land silently on the bookcase. I'd arranged the table so I was facing the living room and everyone else had their backs or sides toward it. The bookcase landing attracted no attention. He scaled the rock wall gracefully, and sidled across to the doorway side. He twisted so as much of him was facing the duck as possible, and prepared to make the complicated jump with the flip in the middle. But then he seemed to lose confidence. I was alarmed for him. Everyone was finishing the last of the wines, and would turn around and move to the living room while we discussed what we wanted to do that evening.

At last he braced himself a little more firmly, fixed his gaze on the duck, and...

...let out an anticipatory yodel. I'm not fluent in his dialect of Cat, but I'm pretty sure it was "YOLO!" or something.

My sister heard, sprang to her feet, rushed into the living room, and caught him in midair.

The following morning, he departed in his carrier, paws stretched through the bars toward the duck he still hadn't touched.

My mother has declared we will rent a different house next year because this one lacks sufficient seating.

Alas, his Everest remains unscaled.

BUT. There are things we can learn from him.

1) Practice builds confidence.

2) Enlist allies to help you overcome obstacles. (He made good use of the dog.)

3) When the moment comes, don't hesitate.

Believe in yourself. Touch the duck. If you're going to fail, fail gloriously in midair. Do it for the little cat with big dreams.

(I did slip him a note as he was carted out promising that I would make sure the house next year has a duck even if I have to bring one myself. He is my nephew, after all. I don't want him to give up on his dreams.)

#cats #caturday #touchtheduck #story time #touch the duck

164 notes · View notes

jilyarchive · 1 year

Text

APRIL AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: ARIANATWYCROSS

Q: Where can we find you and your stories?

A: @arianatwycross, AO3

Q: How would you describe your writing style?

A: I really couldn’t tell you! It really depends on how I’m feeling. I suppose you could say I love dialogue and you can definitely find a lot of sexual tension or flirting in my fics.

Q: How do you come up with ideas for your writing?

A: A lot of the time it's through songs e.g. Teenage Kicks, but I also read quite a lot, so I get inspiration from books. For example, sometimes when I’m reading, I find a certain line I love and then that prompts an entire storyline in my head. Sometimes it’s just a feeling or a moment. With you are the sun, I was pining for hot summer Australian days (it was depressingly winter) and I had just finished reading Conversations with Friends. There’s this one scene where he uses a beer bottle to cool her down and I couldn’t help but write that scene with Jily. The prompt then rolled into a three-part story with a lot of sweaty, humid, hot synonyms.

Q: When and why did you begin writing fanfiction?

A: I think I started in 2021 during COVID. COVID got me back to a lot of my hobbies that I dropped for a while. I started listening to music again, reading a lot more, and going for a lot of walks (in which I ended up just making up stories in my head). My friend sent me some fanfic to read (I think it was a Fred Wesley fic haha) and then I got back onto Tumblr and stumbled onto the love of our lives, Jily ❤️‍

Q: What’s one thing you’d tell someone who is considering reading one of your fics?

A: Prepare for a lot of flirty fluff and smut ;)

Q: What are some of your favorite Jily tropes?

A: Friends to lovers, secret relationships, idiots in love - anything that makes them look like idiots that love each other to be honest!

Q: What do you like most about the Jily fandom?

A: How diverse it is! You can literally have a thirst for any type of trope and find it, and the quality of writing is chef’s kiss! Most importantly, everyone I’ve talked to has also been really sweet and supportive, which is the backbone of this fandom.

Q: Pick a favourite Marauders era character.

A: Apart from James and Lily, I love Sirius Black - he’s such a complex character. I suppose as a fandom, he’s one of the only Marauders that we know enough about to establish his personality but I still feel like there’s so many complexities behind how he treated Harry and his time in azkaban. I would LOVE to really know his relationship with Lily as well.

Q: Self-promo time! List the fics that you are most proud of writing.

Teenage Kicks – It all starts with Lily being hired to be the bands tour photographer, then she actually meets the band and she quickly becomes absorbed by their fast lifestyle, their pranks and the hot lead singer. But its not exactly simple to be crushing on a famous Rockstar, is it?

Strawberry Lipstick – After spending her 6th year in a state of depression after her mothers death and her sister’s rejection, Lily finds herself changing into the person she thought she wanted to be over the summer before her last year at Hogwarts. Coming back to Hogwarts as Head girl, Lily shocks James as she walks onto the train with a sense of confidence she hadn't had in years. Her head held high, and a devilish smirk that makes James shiver. (Probably needs a desperate edit as this was my first foray into writing my own fanfiction but it’s my first so there’s a deep love for it!)

you are the sun – She feels someone brush a piece of her hair behind her ear, a flyaway from her messy ponytail. She turns to her side to find Daniel smiling sweetly at her, he leans over to grab his beer from the table before lounging back in his chair. She stares dumbly for a few seconds, before her eyes hesitantly reach the man opposite her. James is staring openly at her, one eyebrow raised in question. She tries her best to stop a smile gracing her lips but she loses miserably.

Q: Fic rec time! Could you recommend a few of your favourite Jily fics?

Everlong by @emeralddoeadeer – The intricacies of this story really suck you in and oh my, I fell in love straight away.

The Reckless Now by @mppmaraudergirl – A love square that had me on my toes!

Choose Your Own (sexy) Adventure by @ghostofbambifanfiction – The dialogue in this is unmatched and it’s all through email/texting - unparalleled humour.

Thank you @arianatwycross for letting us pick your brain and for sharing your fics with the fandom! ❤️

#arianatwycross #april author spotlight #author spotlight #next randomised choice from the most recent 20 fics will be made some time this week #so if you want to be may's author spotlight now might be the time to post your fics :)#thanks again!!#lovely to see some lily/sirius friendship love too

56 notes · View notes

ashlingiswriting · 8 months

Text

do i know you? chapter five

[ 3.5k words ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four ] [ masterlist ] "when are you gonna fucking learn?" richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

you smash your alarm and kick off the sheets muttering fuck you fuck you fuck you in one long vicious chant, heart racing. this is your new wake up routine, it seems. you fight the urge to get up and do something, anything, to save him. anything, no matter how stupid. you get so sick of your own anxiety that you finally turn on a lamp and write him a note, just three sentences, the least number of words you could possibly use to say what you need to say.

you won’t give it to him, of course. you just had to get it out of your system.

if only richie would die in your dreams, then you could wake and have them contradicted by reality. but in your dreams he is always alive and holding a gun in readiness for tomorrow. no reality can disprove tomorrow.

though of course, he’s fine. that much is evident as soon as you see him.

he saunters in complaining about the new host of a local sports station, ted, nasally little bitch, and when you say you never listen to the radio, he calls you a real mcdonald’s number two, you know that?

no, richie, i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

and you’re off. no slumping on the concrete, no vacant eyes, no philosophy.

today’s a bit of show and tell, little lectures exchanged. you start with napoleon and josephine, because any history that’s not about chicago or world war two is news to him. you’ve stocked up on anecdotes with some library books, so you’re going full blast, and richie ends up thoroughly enjoying the batshit french lovers.

still not as good as the boston molasses flood, though, he says.

that’s his favorite of all the stories you’ve told him. twenty-one casualties and he’s charmed, the macabre little bastard.

when it’s his turn, richie shows you a whole album of eva on his phone, the full range of her five years on earth. from the photos and stories, you find out that eva is blonde like her mother, stubborn like her father, and where she got her brown eyes, nobody knows. the great obsession of her life is a cartoon about a family of australian dogs, although if the ipad is denied to her, then dancing, drawing, and doll death rituals are acceptable.

on a delusional note, you’d like to think that he put the album together specifically to show you. on a slightly less delusional note, he might be showing her to you because you expressed a willingness to kill for her.

as he flips back in time, eva gets smaller and smaller. there she is sitting in a huge pot. there she is in a tiny lacy hood. there she is lying on his chest with her head tucked just under his chin.

god, i love babies, you say.

really? his eyes rest on you, half-amused, half-doubtful.

you raise your chin, tilt challenge. why, do i not exude a nurturing, motherly aura?

nah, you exude—he lingers over the word exude so you know he thinks it’s unnecessarily frilly—the smell of newports and disapproval.

you gesture as if to say, duh. that’s motherhood.

richie half-laughs, half-scoffs. guess it depends on whose mother, he says.

you look at him, venture a question with one quick glance that he chooses not to answer.

so you really like babies, huh, he says instead, and there’s something so comfortable in it that you reply, yeah, i almost became obstetrician about it.

there’s a split second of silence before he says, but then?

goddammit, you’re getting sloppy. that’s as much as admitting to med school.

decided it was too much work, you say. why suffer my way through the mcat and med school and residency when i could just not?

he sucks air through his teeth in agreement. my thought process exactly. otherwise i would’ve become a doctor too.

uh huh. and what kind of doctor were you gonna be?

oh, same as you, he says airily. pussy doctor, doctor of the pussy. turns out no training needed, i’m a natural.

so yeah, richie’s fine.

it doesn’t stop you from dreaming, but at least now you know.

another night, you wake up before the dream gets bad, so the dread doesn’t have too strong a hold on you. that’s a much-needed relief. if you’d woken up at your worst, richie’s miserable little face would be setting you off like crazy.

as it is, you come to stand next to him and say, what’s up? a touch friendlier than usual. this time of winter, the cold bites you anyplace it can: forehead, nose, the place where your glove isn’t properly tucked into your coat. you ignore it.

tonight fucking sucked, richie says, putting his chest in the last word. we got killed today, absolutely fucking shattered. syd’s digital system broke carmy’s tiny little brain, he went off like a block of fuckin c4, and now we’re down a baker and a sous.

oof. they both quit?

yup, he says bitterly.

you expect a string of blame to follow, some insults for syd and marcus, or maybe even a rant against carmy for driving them away. but instead, there’s just silence. not all silences are bad, but this one is. for all his rivers of whinging about millennials and change and syd in particular, you can’t help but get the feeling that he’ll miss them both.

marcus was a good guy, he says eventually. and syd, syd’s not really replaceable.

that one stings, but it shouldn’t. you determinedly ignore it.

you want to offer comfort, but you’ve got nothing to hand. maybe pride would work? it’s hardly encouraging his better self, but you’ve got no other ideas.

you would never quit, you say.

he exhales smoke slowly. as he does, his eyes don’t move, but they change, and you wish you hadn’t said anything.

nope, he finally says, real quiet, bitter and sad. i never fucking do.

when he’s on his last cigarette, he just chucks the empty package at the trash. it misses, bouncing off the rim and landing on the sidewalk. fuckin a.

after a second, he stoops, picks it up, and throws the trash away.

you reach into your jacket and produce a full box of sapphires. glance at him like, two can play at that game, right? he takes one and offers you back the rest.

don’t insult me, you say, but you say it real nice.

he nods, lights up, and lapses into silence.

you can feel yourself leveling out with every passing minute he stands by your side. it’s peaceful. it’s deadly cold. he and carmy might be a little fucked tomorrow, but tonight you’re with him. things aren’t good, but they’re good.

i just don’t know what we’re gonna do, he says.

you shrug. it’s not dismissive, it’s practical. if he doesn’t know what to do, and more importantly, if carmy doesn’t know, then there’s no way you’ll be able to think of any useful suggestions.

for now? you say. go to bed.

his sideways look is a question that you know how to interpret.

don’t wallow in it, you say. clarification. you’re not telling him to fuck off, you’re telling him to take it easy.

he nods. i’m gonna be late tomorrow.

how come, anything fun?

fun, yeah, fun. he scoffs. we’ve got a bachelor party, favor for cicero. bunch of fucking animals, those guys.

well, don’t be scared, just stick with carmy. he’ll protect you.

and there it is. such a small smile, but you still got one out of him. night.

night.

once you’re inside, you glance back at him through the glass of the apartment doors, and only then do you notice that he’s limping a little as he walks away. it’s probably nothing, it’s probably a funny story, he wouldn’t—

shut the fuck up, you mutter, thoroughly sick of yourself, and go upstairs.

the next night, the dreams get bad and he doesn’t show up.

the thing that kills you isn’t the cold or the fear or the feverish overanalyzing. no, as the hours pass, you realize: if anything’s happened to him, you’ll have to live with this for the rest of your life. you had so many chances, but in the end you still did nothing. you had so many chances.

when are you gonna fucking learn?

you wake up on a memory, the way richie rubbed his forehead wearily and said, it was a nice poem. heartsick and sluggish, you turn off your alarm.

your apartment looks different with sunlight streaming in through your thin curtains, like you accidentally wound up in somebody else’s place. with gold light staining the fake wood table and the weak hanging watercolor, all the default decor, this place looks like a home.

it’s fucking weird.

then you remember you set an daytime alarm for a reason.

half an hour later, you’re picked up by a car and dropped at your destination, a tree-wrapped house that looks like it belongs in the suburbs. as you knock on the door, you replace your scowl with a look of neutral attentiveness, completing your transformation into a professional woman: white button down, navy slacks, caffeinated straight to hell. if you’re going to get fired, you can at least do it in dignity.

to your surprise, the door is opened not by a maid, but by alessandra herself. she glances out at the idle street over your shoulder before she says, come in. under any other circumstances, you’d be sweating a little. she’s got the natural grace of a gazelle and the faultless skin of a cover girl. you wouldn’t expect anything less of jack’s wife.

she leads you through the foyer into a sitting room, where linda is waiting, ensconced in a gigantic armchair. it would be a funny sight—with her short height, bouffant blonde hair, and blue eyes, linda makes you want to say, you see this tweety bird looking motherfucker—but richie’s not around to hear you and this is your boss’s wife. you keep it proper with a simple hello.

julie, thank you for coming, linda says, as though the invitation was one you could’ve turned down. can we get you something to drink?

you perch across from her on the sofa. no thank you.

are you hungry? she says, but she doesn’t wait for a reply, adding to alessandra: the pastries. and a half dozen of the mini quiches. thank you. with that, alessandra is gone.

do you know why you’re here? linda says.

so—okay. maybe you have been obsessively texting every single contact that you have within the caruso organization, every single night, trying to get any news you can about your carbon monoxide patients. maybe it’s not completely professional behavior. but they’ve all been ignoring you, and that’s hardly professional either, is it?

i assume the number of survivors has gone down from nineteen, you say. or maybe they all have crippling brain damage? you can punish me however you want, but i don’t know how i could’ve done a better job and none of this would’ve happened if jack just let me do a hospital dump. you try and fail to not look resentful. i guess he considers it a virtue to be tightfisted with merchandise.

linda eyes you like you’re somebody else’s misbehaving child. they’re not our merchandise, julie, they’re our customers. we provide services to people as well as goods. do you really want to know the details?

and there it is. you’ve never wanted to know the details. you’ve only ever wanted that one midnight hour of crisis in which the rest of the world falls away and your mind turns into a perfect beam of concentrated light.

to be fair, you’ve also wanted a place to live, and for them to not kill you and drop you in the fucking river. you’re not in a position to request much more.

no, you say. i just want to know if my patients are doing okay.

linda evades you with ease. you did very well, julie. that’s not what this is about.

she knocks twice on a little doily-covered side table. alessandra glides in through the doorway and sets the tray of food down on the coffee table in front of you. the sitting room smells richly of eggs and butter, but you’re not at all hungry. you should be fast asleep right now.

to your surprise, alessandra sits in the other armchair. no more babies, she says, serenely, in italian. you weren’t expecting her to say anything at all, so you barely catch it.

we would like you to administer an iud, says linda. and whatever fertility treatments you think might look convincing.

for fuck’s sake.

just so we’re on the same page, an iud would prevent any pregnancy, you say. a fertility treatment wouldn’t be able to overcome it. they’d be working at cross purposes, but essentially, the iud would win.

yes, says linda calmly.

you’d really rather be fired than get caught up in some intra-family intrigue that you have no business touching. you ought to be getting extra hazard pay for the psychological warfare of it all.

and this fertility treatment should be convincing to who? you say, after a second.

an eastern method would be best, says linda. maybe herbal.

okay, so that’s either old caruso or little caruso you’re trying to fool, or both. jack would never believe in an herbal treatment, he’d definitely demand pills.

uh-huh, you say, looking over at alessandra. she looks perfectly serene. it’s unnerving. permission to speak frankly? it’s annoying, how the old jargon still pops up in you at odd stressful moments.

of course, linda says.

there really is no polite way to ask the question, but if there was, it might sound like this.

activity has been lower than ever, even before little caruso went to the hospital. i don’t know why beth wasn’t available to help with the carbon monoxide thing, but that’s a bad sign, and i haven’t seen or heard from her since. the only sedatives they could scrounge up for me was some stuff meant for horses. the only good news we’ve had all year is that jack is out, and i haven’t heard shit from him, so he could be back in for all i know.

and now you’re pulling me into lies inside the family? you’re deceiving either your husband or your son, i don’t know which is worse. so when i ask you how bad it is, i would very much appreciate a truthful fucking response!

just how bad are things right now? you say. it takes a huge effort to refrain from cursing, but you layer in all your meaning in that one simple question.

linda’s blue eyes glint as she weighs her response, and then she says, things are going well, thank you for asking. there’s nothing else we need your help with. we’ll procure the iud and schedule an appropriate time for the procedure. are you able to procure the fertility treatment?

you hesitate, and her eyes bore into you like remorseless twin drills.

yes, you say, defeated. it’s gonna be looseleaf tea, the cheapest you can find.

do you have any more questions or concerns?

the fucking temerity of this woman. yes, actually. yes, at this point, you have become one gigantic, stress-filled ball of questions and concerns.

no, you say.

thank you for coming. the car is waiting outside.

in the car, you watch chicago passing by you, more brightly colorful and bustling than you’re used to, a different city.

the dread is slowing to a numb simmer, as dread tends to do over time. of course linda would claim that everything is fine, what did you expect her to say? oh, you’re right, julie. the business has been going downhill for months. and now you, my people, my family, and my would-be grandchild—we’re all well and truly fucked.

michael’s heartbeat is finally wearing itself out, depleting the last of its weapons grade chemical thunder. he’s pretending to be asleep, but there’s no lying to you like this. the body always tells. you’ve got one ear plastered to his sweat-damp chest, an unconventional but effective way to measure pulse.

you’re pretending to be asleep too, curled up and using him as a pillow, eternally seeking his warmth. he’s got his hands behind his head and his head half a mile down the street.

at last, his heartbeat has leveled out. that’s your job done. at times like these, you don’t feel like a woman. maybe you’re a weighted blanket, maybe you’re a pill.

he lifts your head gently in one hand, then crawls out from under you.

the bathroom door hinges creak. you hear a thin stream, a flush, and running water. his apartment is bigger than yours and only a couple floors up, but you’re not surprised that he chooses to use your bathroom over his. you get the sense that he avoids his own apartment as much as humanly possible, except to sleep.

it’s stupid hot in your apartment, because your landlord considerately roasts all her tenants alive rather than let them freeze to death. still, you move over so you can soak up the warmth he left behind in the mattress, and you place your head where his left an indent on the pillow.

you can hear his footsteps as he pads back towards the bed. probably left his phone behind, you think, and then the mattress dips under his weight, gravity trying to bring you together.

he’s warm against you, but no longer sweat-sticky. he must’ve toweled off in there. you’d like to turn over and worm your way into his arms, but that seems greedy, tacky, wrong. you can’t track if you’re still supposed to be asleep.

c’mere, he says.

you’re barely touching him, but it still seems like you can feel his voice, throaty and a little rough, like it’s coming from inside your own chest.

you turn over on your side, facing him, and lay your head down again just below his collarbone. this time, his hand descends on your hair and strokes in a slow rhythm, like how you would pet a beloved dog while thinking about the events of the day. this time, you don’t bother to close your eyes.

the watery light coming in through your curtains turns everything blue. his stomach, the sheets, the far wall. there’s a small, uneven tattoo of a black rose above his hip. he’s never explained it to you before, but to be fair, you can’t remember if you’ve ever asked about it either.

you’d like to ask him what’s wrong. people aren’t kind without reason. but you’re greedy still, and you take what you’re given without question.

it’s not so much the hand on your hair as it is the tenderness, it’s not so much the tenderness as it is the fact that he stayed.

you’ve always believed he loves the woman he’s with when he’s inside her. that’s easy. endearments fall from his mouth like rain and you soak them up as silently desperate as the desert and just as willing to blossom, presumably just like all the rest. he says them like he means it. baby like he’ll care for you, honey like he’ll lick every drop off his lips and consider himself lucky.

but he’s saying nothing now, he’s not fucking you now, he’s reached the end of his high, and still his hand moves tenderly over your hair. nobody caresses a pill or a blanket. you have proof.

proof of what, you won’t think too hard about. his fingers brush the skin at your temple with every stroke.

you falls asleep before he does.

it’s evening. you’re sitting in bed, still thrumming with caffeine and stress from linda, picking away at your last good memory with michael like it’s a scab, when you happen to look out the window and there he is. out of place in the light of dusk, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. the last thing you expected and the first thing you wanted to see.

you’re out the door in a second. then, when you’re jabbing repeatedly at the elevator button, you realize you don’t have any shoes on. the deterrent isn’t the cold, it’s the knowledge that richie will roast you mercilessly, so you turn around and dart back inside your apartment and shove on your shoes.

the deja vu is so overwhelming, it prevents you from feeling any relief. this sudden righting of the world, this crash of of course everything’s fine, it was all in your head, you’ve played this tune before, and the thing is: it never lasts. you can't keep going up and down forever, it’s making you sick of yourself.

you grab your coat, your keys, and the note.

[ chapter six ] [ masterlist ]

note: this was meant to be combined with chapter six, but i had to split them because the final richie and reader scene got so long it turned into its own chapter. so i released both chapters on the same day <3

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109 — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you?#the bear imagine #diky

34 notes · View notes