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monzabee · 1 year

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you'll change your name or change your mind - cl16

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Summary: The one where you find your way back home, even if the journey takes longer than you think.

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!bianchi!reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: mentions of jules and his accident, ANGST, talks about college acceptances in the US but it’s not accurate because i’ve never applied for US schools, mentions of alcohol and underage drinking/clubbing (only in the US though), mentions of a fake id, mentions of cheating, fighting, charles being stupid and not realising it, talks about processing grief, GRIEF, survivor’s guilt, talks of therapy, friends to lovers y’all.

Request: “The Charles fanfic was so good!! Can you write more angsty but happy needing Charles? I think it’s be cute for a man who loves Monaco so much to got to wherever his girlfriend lives Ike London or nyc often and deal with that. Maybe she hates monaco lol” + “if your requests are still open, max or charles + “you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me.” thanks!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i decided to give into the whole angst thing and i can honestly say that i’m having a great time. i wanted to include Jules somehow in this one because i’ve been seeing some edits on tiktok and let me tell you proofreading was a bitch because i kept crying. also, my spotify kept bringing up lorde and hannah montana songs, so there you go. this was definitely a hard one to write and i know it’s messy, but all feedback is appreciated. thank you, anon, for the request, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Monaco is full of memories. It’s filled with memories of your childhood, your parents picking up you and your siblings from school in Nice, and getting the train to Monaco for your brother to compete in karting races. It’s filled with laughter, and ice cream, and friends. It’s also filled with fears, loss and uncertainty, and you suppose that’s why you didn’t ever want to go back. But you find your back there every time, even if it is only for a couple of days at a time. Although it reminds you of the bad times, it’s hard to erase the good ones completely.

Charles is just one of the people Jules brought into your life. He was right there since your birth – apparently, the Leclercs were visiting your family in Nice when your mother suddenly went into labour. You will always be thankful to Pascale and Hervé for stopping Jules from choosing your middle name to be Michael Schumacher. Neither Charles, nor you will forget the type of shenanigans you got up to as little kids, there is only a year difference between the two of you after all. There’s that one time you stole Charles’ kart and tried to go down the road, in which he caught you but instead of ratting you out to Lorenzo and Jules, who were supposed to be looking after you by the way, he helped you get it down the stairs and passed you his helmet as he explained how to go about it. Neither of your brothers were impressed by your ability to go fast or Charles’ sudden interest in maybe becoming a race engineer if the whole driver thing doesn’t work out. There was also the time when the two of you, along with Arthur, snuck out from a family friend’s wedding to only get lost in a city in the South of France; Charles got so stressed that he forgot how to speak French and proceeded to ask how to get back to the venue in Italian for the rest of the night. Needless to say, the two of you are there for each other no matter what; you stayed together through heartbreaks, wins, losses, losing Jules and Hervé, funerals, weddings and much more. The majority of your time together is spent in your family’s house in Nice. Charles doesn’t mind the half-hour journey, an hour if he decides to go back but he hardly ever does. Sometimes, he manages to convince you come to Monte Carlo for the day by bribing you with promises of sunsets and ice cream, but he will always drive you back if you insist you want to go home without any complain.

The first time you bring up the topic of moving, you’re in your last year of high school; by that time, Charles is already racing in Formula One, so your time together is limited to breaks between the races. However he tries his hardest to be there for you, from talking you through breakdowns that occur after long study sessions, to looking up pre-med programmes for you to apply all over the world. You never wanted to live your entire life between Nice and Monte Carlo in the first place, so is he is more than happy to help you explore your options. Your application results arrive when he’s on break between the races, so the two of you sit on the small table in his Monaco apartment’s kitchen, the light from your laptop lighting up both of your faces as you open up the emails one by one. You’re most anxious about your application to Columbia, which is 3.462 miles away from Nice, and 3.993 from Monte Carlo. By the time you finish opening up all the emails, both of you are sitting there with a silence between you. The acceptance letter still open on your laptop is congratulating you for your offer to join Columbia’s pre-med program the following September.

“Yes,” He looks at you expectantly, “Accept it, Y/N, you shouldn’t be even thinking about it!”

“Yes?” You let out a nervous laugh. “It’s not that simple, Charles–”

“But it is!” He argues, a big smile on his face. You can tell he is proud of you by the look in his eyes and the way his emotions carry through his voice. “It’s your top choice of school!”

“It’s also in New York, it means that there will be an entire ocean between us!”

He shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Your eyes widen in surprise, you start staking your head a little without being aware that you are doing it. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Chérie,” Charles coos, pulling your chair by its leg to bring you closer to him and wrap a supportive arm around your body. His chest rumbles from his low laughter as he presses kisses to your hair. “We’ll be fine, look at everything we’ve been through, and we’re not even that old.”

You scoff, hitting his chest in an attempt to get away; you start furiously typing on your computer. “You are old,” you point to him with a tilt of your head, “I’m not, though.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his concentration to the tab still open on your computer, “You’re going to accept the offer, though, right?”

You end up accepting the offer. Charles and his family is there alongside yours to send you off on a plane to New York City. Both your mother and Charles’ have tears in their eyes as they say their goodbyes, with your father giving you a similar look. Being the youngest of four siblings, it must’ve been hard to send their youngest all the way across an ocean, but they let you know that you have their support in every step of the way. With Charles’ schedule for the remaining races scattered all over the world, he tells you not to force yourself and to enjoy your first months as a college student.

You surprise him in Austin, though. Arranging this surprise is definitely not the easiest, but you ask Lorenzo for his help and he is more than happy to make arrangements for you. It’s the end of Friday’s last practice session when you surprise him in the Alfa Romeo garage. He almost walks past you, to get rid of his helmet when you say his name, but once he realises it is you he quickly pulls in for a hug. “What are you doing here?” He asks you while laughing with glee.

“Heard there’s an immunology seminar in town about the effects of talking a shower and then going out without drying your hair.” You answer with all the seriousness you can muster.

“Really?” He asks in confusion, taking his helmet and balaclava off and trying to fix his sweat-soaked hair.

You hit the back of his head lightly, shaking your head in disbelief. “No! I came here to see you race, you idiot!”

He shakes head in understanding. “Oh, oh!” His eyes widen once again with recognition this time.

“Yes, oh, now come on, we’re going out.” You’re quick to add, “To dinner because airplane food sucks. We’re going out clubbing after the race, though.”

True to your word, you go clubbing after his race on Sunday, which Charles is not entertained by. He’s paranoid by the fact that you are in the club with them in the first place, which should not be happening because you’re underage. He keeps silent as you show the bouncer your id, which he knows is a fake, by the way; as he sends Lorenzo an incredulous look, his older brother’s reaction consisting off a shrug of the shoulders makes him more paranoid.

“Y/N, you should not be drinking.” He voices his concern, as you’re on your second drink of the night. “This is wrong.”

“How is this different than me drinking back at home?” You argue with your eyebrows raised. “You don’t tell me I can’t drink when we’re back home.”

“Because it is legal for you to do so there!” Charles exclaims, somehow gathering the attention of some of the clubbers nearby, but he offers them an apological smile and then turns back to you with his voice lowered. “You’re not twenty one, ergo – you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Pfft,” You shrug him off, “You’re stupid, and I’m bored. You want to dance?”

You help Charles to move into his flat in Italy when he starts racing for Ferrari. Though he still lives in Monaco full-time, he rented a small place in Maranello to stay when he’s travelling. It’s an emotional event, which has both of you sitting on the floor of his new apartment going through boxes of old photographs. He finds one of his brothers and Jules with you, standing in front of a karting ring with big smiles in all of your faces. You fingers involuntarily trace over your brother, your eyes misting when you think about the day.

“He was so young,” You whisper, having to swallow a sob which threatens to escape.

Your eyes linger on the photograph for a while, and Charles quickly understands that you were not talking about the photograph as the tears you were trying to hold back find their way onto your cheeks. “He was.” He agrees; there aren’t enough words in the world to describe what losing a family member does to a person, and he understands you in a way most people cannot.

You offer him a sad smile through your tears. “He would be so proud of you.”

“He would be also so proud of you,” He whispers right back, leaning closer to you so that he could wipe away the few stray tears. “In fact, I am pretty sure he is.”

“Stop it.” You laugh softly through your tears as you push yourself to get off the floor, and dry under your eyes with your fingers as you look across the room. “Oh my god, Charles, we have so many boxes to go through.”

He gets up after you and looks around the dusty living room as he attempts to get rid of the dust on his clothes. “We do, don’t we?” He watches as you kneel in front of an unopened box and slice through the tape with a knife, and starting to go through the items in the box. He watches you go through the items silently for a while, noticing how seriously you take the task. His eyes linger on the frown on your face for a while, the way your eyebrows scrunch in question, or how you tuck a stubborn piece of hair, which escapes from the braid in your hair, to the back of your ear. He stalks closer, gently gripping one of your wrists and pulling you to your feet. “Dance with me.” He asks – which comes off less as an ask and more of a demand, which causes you to playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Charles, the boxes–” You try to argue.

His laugh is laced with mischief. “The boxes will still be there, chérie, just one dance won’t change anything.”

You try to come with arguments in your head but all your attempts are quickly thrown out the window when you realise just how green Charles’ eyes actually are. “We don’t have any music.” You try to offer as a measly argument.

Charles raises his eyebrows as he wraps his arms around your waist after making you wrap yours around his neck. “We don’t need any music, Y/N.”

So you give up in any attempts in stopping him, as he starts to slowly sway both of your bodies from side to side. You let out a chuckle when he stars, terribly, humming to an old song you used to hear on the radio. “This is stupid.” You mumble as you keep up your pace with his movements.

“You seem to keep calling me that.” Charles recalls, making both of you laugh in recognition. “I need to tell you something important.”

“So tell me,” you encourage him, motioning him to continue.

“I met someone.” He announces, a small smile playing on his lips.

You breath get stuck for a moment, in which you remind yourself that Charles is waiting for your reaction – most likely a supportive one at that. “Wow, Charles.” You breath out and give him a smile, which you successfully manage to pass off as a supportive one, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice breaks off in the end. “I’m so happy for you.”

You’re not stupid – thinking that either of you could stay single forever is an unrealistic one. But it hurts to imagine him with another person while he looks at you like that makes a part of you crumble up into a ball on your bed and cry. And that’s just what you do when you go back to the hotel that night (because the house is still unliveable when the two of you decide you’re done for the day). You try to keep your sobs as quiet as possible because you know Charles is in the hotel room next to yours. As you’re looking out the window, watching the night sky light up with stars in Maranello that night, you tell yourself you, somehow, need to move on from your best friend.

The next time you see Charles is during Christmas time. You have a tradition – Lorenzo, Charles, Jules and you, a tradition, which Arthur joined once he was old enough. It’s a peculiar one. While it’s not uncommon for most families to watch Christmas movies during this time of the year, your choice of movie has not Christmas elements in it at all. Every Christmas, the four of you watch The Sound of Music. It’s a silly tradition which was born out of boredom and lack of movies one Christmas, but it’s a tradition you managed carried out every year.

You can still remember Lorenzo complaining because “It’s three hours of songs about whiskers and bass clef.”

While Jules gives his best friend an unamused glare, both you and Charles try to mimic the Frenchman who you idolise. “It has nuns, songs, Nazis and familial love, Lorenzo, what more could you ask for?” He shrugs as he turns his attention back on screen, “Plus, Julie Andrews is hot.”

“Why would she be hot?” You remember asking, the woman on the screen not seeming uncomfortable by the weather.

“No reason,” Jules assures you, wrapping one of his arms around you.“Watch the movie, shortcake.”

And yes, while it might be stupid to watch the same movie, which has no Christmas value at all, every year on Christmas day, it’s a reminder that you have each other even if you’re not always together. So when you sit down to watch the movie that Christmas, there is a bad feeling in your stomach when you realise Charles is not there to watch it with you. If his brothers also find it weird that he’s not there they don’t make a comment, neither do you, for that matter. You try to push it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment, telling yourself that even if this is a tradition between the four of you, it’s not the end of the world if you fail to do it. So you smile, and have fun throughout the day – when you’re watching the movie, or when you decide to hold a gingerbread house competition (Arthur wins, by the way), or when you sit down to have dinner with your families, and it makes you feel a thousand times better.

It’s late when he comes home that night, Lorenzo and Arthur have already passed out on the couch with you trying to read the anatomy textbook on your lap in the low light.

“Hi.” He greets you as he gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi.” You whisper back, trying not to wake up the boy sleeping next to you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was a good day.” He answers truthfully, and then motions the book resting on your knees. “Aren’t you going to go to sleep?”

“No, I think I’m going to stay here tonight.”

He doesn’t argue as he presses a kiss on your temple. “Okay, good night, chérie.”

One thing about Charles, is that he is very secretive about his relationships – to the point where he won’t introduce someone to you or his family if he doesn’t think the relationship is going somewhere. So, when he brings over Charlotte for lunch the next day, there is a buzz around the house. The lunch goes well, you think. Charlotte is sweet, and the two of you talk about many things including your universities; she’s very impressed that you want to go into the medical field and you tell her that architecture must be a pain in the ass to study and she agrees with a loud laugh.

When Pascale asks them what they did for Christmas yesterday, Charlotte leans against Charles’ arm as she answers, “Oh, nothing. We just stayed home and watched that old movie – what was it again?”

“The Sound of Music.” Charles answers, his eyes are focused on his hands, and you know this, because your eyes don’t heave his frame until Arthur forces you to carry the dishes into the kitchen.

“We’ll do them, maman,” he announces when Pascale attempts to tidy up the dishes, “Y/N will help me, won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod, the voice coming off from you not matching the sunny disposition you present to the rest of the room.

You carry the dishes Arthur passes to you to the kitchen, holding your breath in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you succeed, too. At least until Arthur comes after you, carrying more dishes and places them next to the other ones near the kitchen sink. You start scrubbing them with intensity, your sniffles and the sound from water whooshing around in the sink filling the room. Arthur pulls you against him as you lean your forehead to his shoulder, or where you can on his arm due to your height-difference, as you start quietly sobbing. Arthur turns the tap on as he lets you cry into his shoulder.

The two of you return to the dining room after the dishes are done, and continue the conversation as if nothing happened. After Charlotte announces that she should be on her way, you walk her to the door with everyone, the two of you exchanging numbers as she makes you promise to go shopping with her the next time you’re in Monaco. You agree with a chuckle and tell her only if she teaches you how to draw because your “Anatomy notes are seriously suffering.” After she gives Charles a kiss and leaves, Charles turns to you.

“It’s just a movie.” He says in a low voice.

“You’re allowed to have fun with your girlfriend, Charles.” You assure him and pat his shoulder for good measure. Then, you turn to Arthur, who is watching the exchange with a confused look on his face. “Want to play a round before I leave?”

“Sure,” he agrees and the two of you move into the living room to play a round of F1 on the PlayStation. He sets it up for you as you try to get comfortable on the couch, trying to get rid of the feeling of unease as Charles watches you from the other side of the couch. “Who do you want to pick?” Arthur asks you, the cursor hovering over his choice – who is of course his brother.

You stay quiet for a moment and answer him in a calm voice, “Give me Max.”

Charles scoffs from the other side and pushes himself off, his arms crossed over his chest. “Rich, Y/N, just rich.”

“What?” you ask him with faux innocence and a shrug of your shoulders.

His voice is accusatory when he snaps, “Stop being childish for a moment.”

“Oh, I’m being childish?” You ask him, getting off the couch as well.

“Yes, you’re being extremely childish right now.” He agrees, nodding his head. “Glad we at least agree on that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask again while narrowing your eyes.

He scoffs, “It’s just a stupid movie.”

“I didn’t say a fucking word about the movie, Charles.” You point out, mimicking his pose as you cross your arms over your chest. In reality, it’s a short attempt at trying to hide your shaking hands. “But it’s not a stupid movie, it’s tradition.”

“Traditions can be broken from time to time.” He argues.

“I didn’t say they couldn’t.” You shrug, trying to appear indifferent to the man in front of you.

“Maybe if you tried to stick around for more than three days at a time, you wouldn’t be so upset about these type of things.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Charles, maybe you should–” Arthur tries to stop his brother, but Charles waves him off.

“Sometimes I think ‘Did I do something?’, but then I realise that maybe the problem is not me–”

Though you’re shocked by his words, you find yourself assuring him, “It’s not, it has nothing to do with you.”

Both you and Arthur can see something snaps in him, causing him to raise his voice. “Then what is it? Tell me so I can fix it and you can stop running away!”

You shake your head, your arms which are wrapped around you becoming tighter as an attempt to provide yourself some sort of protection. “You can’t fix it, Charles.”

His arms become undone as his fists ball on either side of his body. “You don’t know that–”

“No you can’t!” You scream, somehow more tears flowing from your eyes. “You can’t bring Jules back because he’s dead, and you can’t fix me because I’m not a toy! You think I want to live this way? You think I want to go back every damn time I set foot in this city because I just hate it here? I can’t bear the thought of staying here because of the fact that my brother died while I was here and I didn’t get to say goodbye to him.” You point a finger towards him, your voice gradually becoming louder to match his. “He was dead by the time I got back to the hospital and they told me he couldn’t hold on any longer, how do you think that makes me feel every time I feel like I’ve overstayed in this city, huh?”

“You need to stop living in the past, Y/N.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you see you’re letting the past hold you back?”

“‘Letting the past hold me back’ do you even hear yourself right now? I am trying my best to move on!”

“By moving across the ocean?” He asks you, “By leaving the people you love you behind?”

“You– you can do this!” You scream as you walk towards him and jab your finger against his chest. “You told me to take the offer, you told me to move away because you were so sure we’d be fine.”

“Well maybe I was wrong.” He whispers, grabbing both of your wrists to stop you from poking him and curling his arms closer to his chest.

Your eyes widen with a furious look in them, which makes him realise he sees more of Jules in them than before. “Screw you, Charles.” You struggle against his hold, hitting his chest with your fists with every word as you scream, “Screw you for trying to dictate how I process my grief, and screw you for acting so indifferent.” You win your struggle in the end, taking advantage of the fact that he is both distracted and speechless to get out of his hold and quickly grab your things.

“Where are you going?” He asks you as you’re putting your coat on.

“Anywhere but here.” You snap at him, refusing to meet his eyes.

Arthur quickly comes near you with a concerned look, “You shouldn’t be driving right now, at least let me drive you.”

You give him the warmest smile you can muster up, “I’ll be fine, ThurThur,” your eyes find Charles’ as you continue, “Don’t ever change, okay?”

After the disastrous Christmas last year, you two didn’t talk for a whole year, even though the people around you tried their hardest to bring you to talk to each other. Even Charlotte tried to trick you into spending time, claiming that she had a work emergency just as you arrived at the lunch you two scheduled to find Charles sitting there – you quickly left without being seen and spent the day walking through the marina because “Fuck Charles if he thinks you can’t spend more than three days in Monte Carlo.” He spends Christmas with Charlotte again, but unlike this year, you don’t feel sad about his absence, choosing to call it growth when reality it’s actually packing it away to deal with it another time.

The two of you eventually do make up, though, when you go to one of Arthur’s races to support him and run into Charles on the track. You talk between breaks, both of you succumbing and apologising to each other for the things you’ve said – him more than you, but you still apologise for the way you’ve acted afterwards. Arthur has a strange smile on his face when he finds you, releasing a relieved breath when you told him that you’re fine and you’re going to take baby steps.

“Good,” he smiles, “maman was about to lock you onto Charles’ yacht.”

Your therapist calls is ‘survivor’s guilt’. Yes, you have one of those now because although you want it to be false, you think a part of what Charles said might be right. She explains to you that it’s a natural response where someone has suffered a loss and you didn’t. This confuses you, though, because even if the loss in question is the death of your brother, you weren’t there to experience it with the rest of your family. Dr. Gambini is there to explain that “Although it implies experience, it doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t not feel the loss of something you didn’t get to suffer.” So, you go through the therapy experience to try to understand your own feelings, which makes you think maybe it is what you should be focusing on in the first place. It’s an overwhelming feeling, understanding things about yourself which you didn’t before – the things you used to feel slowly gain meaning as you go about it. You’re proud of yourself when you talk about it to your parents, and they tell you that they are proud of you for giving it a go. Charles joins you in one of your sessions – it’s Charlotte’s idea, actually. He tries to understand why, and how he can help you – he leaves the session feeling proud of you for taking care of yourself.

A few months later, you get a phone call from him when you’re in the middle of the week when you are studying, while all of your friends are away for spring break. His voice is thick with tears as he tells you that it’s over between him and Charlotte, but refuses to give you a reason when you ask why. It leaves you confused in New York, but when he asks you if you can come home for the weekend, you don’t hesitate to book a ticket for the next flight out. He’s shocked to find you standing in front of his door, but pulls you in for a hug anyway. Neither of you care about the duffel bag that hits the floor at your feet, even when you’re stumbling over it to get to him. You don’t talk, but hold each other throughout the night. He offers to cook for you, but you decide that ordering pizza is a better solution than trying to each what Charles attempts to cook. So, you end up deciding on pizza and a movie.

You look at him confused when you realise which movie he’s selected, “It’s not Christmas, Charles.”

He sits down on the couch, and pulls you under his arm as he reaches for the pizza box sitting on the coffee table. There’s a nostalgic smile on his face which you cannot understand. “I owe you two screenings of this movie, Y/N. Now eat your pizza and watch it.”

So, the two of you watch the movie in silence – with silently laughing in relevant scenes and Charles even attempting to sing the Lonely Goatherd, which leaves you in tears because of how much you’re laughing. At the end of the night he walks you to the guest room in his apartment and pulls you for one last hug, whispering, “Thank you for coming,” into your hair.

“Of course, Charles.” You whisper, turning your head and softly pressing a kiss to his shirt-covered chest. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.

He’s in the kitchen when you wake up in the morning, focusing so intently on something on his phone to notice you. You ruffle his hair as you make your way through the kitchen to make some breakfast for the two of you. “Good morning to you too, you grump.” You tell him, when you finish getting out the ingredients for the breakfast you have in mind.

“Morning, chérie.” He answers, in a non-committal voice.

“And to think I was going to make you pancakes.” You sigh as you halt the movement of your hands and lean against the counter.

A playful smile is on your lips when Charles excitedly raises his head. “Pancakes?” He asks in a soft voice.

“I was going to add chocolate chips, too, but you didn’t say good morning to me and now I don’t think I’m in mood to be honest with you.” You shrug, starting to put away the bowls you took out.

He quickly comes behind the counter to tickle some sense in you, and you use the bowl in your hands as a shield as you start laughing. He gives up after a while, pressing a kiss to your temple and fixing some of your hair which fell out of place during the ‘fighting’. “Good morning, how can I help you?”

“Wow, you actually want to help me cook for a change?” You coo, ruffling his hair again and hitting his hip with yours to get him out of your way. “Go wait on the other side, you grumpy baby.” He complies to your directions to sit on the other side of the island, but doesn’t bother with his phone this time. You make a motion towards his phone on the island with your head as you crack the eggs into the bowl. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just some problem with the car.” He answers. “I might need to go to Maranello for a day or two. When is your flight back to New York?”

“Oh– I can change it if you know the date–” You start to say, but he quickly cuts you off.

“What? No, I don’t want you to go back.” He quickly says, shaking his head. “I just thought you might want to come with me rather than stay here.”

“Oh,” You say, looking around. “It’s not a problem, I can stay and study.”

There is a confused look on his face. “Stay? Here?” He asks over and over again. “Here? Stay? Alone?”

“Yes, Charles, I can manage to stay by myself.” You sigh. “I did it last summer for a month, you can trust me, alright?”

“You were in Monte Carlo for a month, last summer? How did I not catch you at all?”

You let out another sigh, “In case you don’t realise, I’m very good at avoiding you.” You continue when he gives you yet another confused look as you start mixing the batter. “Charlotte told me to meet her at a restaurant but it was a set up for me to meet with you, so I got in the car and drove away. It was probably the closest we got to each other.”

“Wow.” He looks at you with wide eyes. “Just, wow.”

You roll your eyes and glare at him. “Stop looking at me like that. My classes are all online this semester and Dr. Gambini thinks it’s good for me to spend more time here; it’s supposed to help me get closure, or something.”

He gives you a big smile. “I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, his smile quickly mirroring on your own lips.

“Yeah.” He breathes out. “And you can stay here all you want! And cook me breakfast, you know.”

You let out a laugh this time. “I can get my own place, Charles.”

“But then who will cook me breakfast?” He asks with a small pout.

“You are a child, Perceval.” You laugh at the way he looks at you, with his elbows bent over the counter and his upper body leaning over the stove. “I’m only cooking you breakfast; you have to promise you won’t fall in love with me after this.” You joke.

You turn around to look in the cupboard for the chocolate chips as you hear him mumble, “Too late.”

You almost hit your head at the open cupboard door when you turn right back to look at him. “What?” You walk towards the island as you mumble out, “No, no, no, no, don’t say that. You just broke up with your girlfriend, Charles.”

“We broke up almost five months ago.” He announces, no hint of joking in his voice. “Right before the Abu Dhabi race.”

“That’s not true.” You say, shaking your head. “I spoke to Charlotte; she told me everything was fine.”

He shrugs, then offers you an explanation. “We announced it a couple of months later, but we’ve been broken up for a while.”

“But then why did you call me a couple of days ago to tell me it was over?” You ask him, visibly confused.

He looks guilty as he admits. “I– I don’t have a good answer for that.” He stalks over to the other side of the island again to trap you between himself and the marble in an attempt to prevent you from evading. “All I can say is that I love you.”

“Oh, wow.” You say, suddenly you can find the right choice for words. “Say that again for me?”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“Now in French?”

“Je t'aime.”

“In Italian?”

“Ti amo.” He laughs this time, leaning down towards you to bring his face towards yours. “You done?” You nod your head with a giggle escaping past your lips. “This would be a perfect time to say something, you know.”

“Oh, right.” You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

“What?” He asks in horror.

“Yeah, thank you. You know, for the–”

“Chérie!” He exclaims with his eyes wide.

You continue your giggles as you place your hands on his cheeks and pull his face towards you, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you too, chez moi,” my home/place. The pancakes are long-forgotten when you pres your lips on his to give him a kiss, somewhere in the universe your twelve year-old is high-fiving with herself, but you are happy to be finally home.

#monzabee #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst

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chxxrybxxmb · 7 months

Text

: ̗̀➛ Met the professionals

Synopsis: after winning the U-20 match, Ego starts planning the third phase of the project and you were requested to come back a few days earlier than the players for a quick briefing and to introduce you the new people that you would be working with.

Reader is 18.

Warnings: fem!reader, English and Japanese honorifics, swearing, reader has a little brother, suggestive comment, reader wears a dress and has makeup on, flirting, hottest dilfs alive and Micheal Kaiser.

Ego in his sugar daddy era???

“How’re you, Ego-San? I hope that you’ve been eating well for the past two weeks since I wasn’t here to cook for you.” You grinned kindly at your boss, entering the high tech office. Placing your handbag on the table, Ego doesn’t look at you and continues to immerse himself in important data.

“What’re you my mother? I don’t need you to look after me.”

“If I don’t look after you, who’ll make Japan win the World Cup?” You sassed. Approaching the table the looked at the holographic data floating mid air. You still wonder to yourself how much money went into this and how high tech this all was.

“Anri-San told me over the phone that I should come back a few days earlier than the players, when I tell you that those boys-”

“Ah, ah.” He raises his hand over to your mouth, stopping you from saying anything and you huffed, sitting on the tables edge. “Alright, tell me-” A holographic screen slides to your direction, revealing the information before you.

“The third phase of this match is called the Neo Egoist League. Where players pick a team that matches their skills. This phase will introduce a variety of investments, including high salaries, various offers from different teams all over Europe to play in their leagues, and so many more,” you click on the icon, Germany and saw the familiar face of the one who beat Messi in a match from three years ago.

“Noel Noa…?”

“Oh, yeah. The teams the players will choose are England, Germany, Italy, France, and Spain. Each European team is an S-class team led by the most exceptional strikers…I think you already know them.” Cue for the familiar faces of famous football players to come into the screen. Chris Prince, Lavinho, Noel Noa, Marc Snuffy, and the familiar face of Julian Loki.

“After the players pick their respective teams, they will be separated into different stratums or buildings. Anri-Chan will be sending you the rest of the details. Don’t embarrass yourself when you’re up close with them.” He says, giving you a side eye as you stare at a picture of Snuffy. You immediately snapped back to your senses and swiped away the image of the Italian footballer.

“I-I won’t! What makes you say that?!” He huffs and pushes you off the table.

“Unpack your things and help the other staff with room preparations. You will be preparing for five teams with twenty plus players. Go away.” You huffed at him and fixed your clothes. “Can’t you be more gentle?! Geez!”

“What’s this?” You looked at the white box, wrapped with a black bow that Anri handed to you, she looks very excited you took notice. She beams at you as you placed it on the dining table.

“Open it! Ego-San got it for us.”

“That Vector look-a-like got us something? Are you sure he’s alright? Should I call a doctor?” You worried turned to the older woman. Cue for Ego to smack you on the back of you of your head with a file.

“Ow!”

“Be grateful, you waste of talent. I’m pretty sure you don’t have anything decent to wear.” He hissed, pointing at your working clothes and you gasped dramatically.

“These are my working clothes, asshat! I can’t run around working in a mini skirt.”

“Oh, come on, Ego-San. (Name)-Chan just got back and you’re already picking a fight with her!” Anri scolds the two of you, pulling both her boss and colleague apart before they tear each other apart. “Just open the gift and tell me if it fits. Don’t approach me if it isn’t your style.” Ego spoke, going into the kitchen to prepare himself yet another instant ramen packet.

“If it fits?” You thought a bit confused. Did he buy you clothes? Or maybe it’s a new staff uniform, either way, you pulled on the strands of the ribbon, making it come undone. You then lifted the cover and saw some white paper covering, Anri was squealing excited next to you. Moving away some of the wrapping, you soon realized that Ego had bought you a designer dress.

You took out the dress from the box and looked at it with eyes peeled open. Ego, your harsh boss, had bought you a dress that was totally your style and in your favorite color? Is the world ending?

“Omg, Ego-San, it looks beautiful on her, definitely (name)’s style!” Anri gushed at the man who didn’t respond. As you continued to admire the dress and its intricate appearance, Ego cleared his throat.

“Do the two of you have any jewelry?”

“I only brought a few earrings with me, nothing special.”

“The ones that I’m wearing, I don’t change into anything different unless it’s a special occasion.” You and Anri answered. You wondered why Ego bought you an expensive dress and asking you about jewelry, all he ever talked about was football not fashion.

“Ego-San, what’s with the dress? I don’t think I can wear this to anywhere and this must’ve been expensive!”

“Is that really what you have to say…?” You shut up and looked at Ego and his unusual behavior. He sounded a bit disappointed as he slurped on his noodles. You grinned at the realization and brought the dress to your chest.

“Thank you, Ego-San, truly.” You could’ve sworn you saw a smile on his face. “Are you smiling, Ego-San-?”

“Being delusional has its fucking limits, kid.”

“I may be delulu but my eyes aren’t lying, c’mon admit it, boss!” You continue to tease as he continues to deny your claims. Anri smiles at this interaction. For once you weren’t spouting insults at each other or trying to kill each other.

“Shut the fuck up and take this.” Ego had enough and tossed you and Anri small bags of yet again designer, products. You then looked at Ego and then at Anri. “In all seriousness, why’re you gifting us these and where did you get the money of all of this? Last I remembered, we ran out of funds cause of the second selection.”

“After winning the match, sponsors came flooding in to support the project. Hence the brands and how we’re able to afford those teams to collaborate with us.” Anri explains. Looking at the Selim Mouzannar box in her hands with bulging eyes. You had a similar reaction as her as you look at the Azlee brand necklace on your hands.

“You didn’t really have to buy us so much…”

“I wonder how much of this costs…”

“I only bought you both heels. The dresses, jewelry and makeup were gifts from the coaches.”

“…are they looking for a sugar baby?” Anri and Ego smacked you on the back of the head.

“You look so beautiful, (name)-Chan!!”

“Have you seen yourself, Anri-San? You look like you’re going to the met gala!” The red-haired woman blushes as your compliment. She wore a red satin floor length dress with off shoulders. You looked at yourself in the mirror and saw a different person. You looked even more beautiful with the makeup on with lips were colored in lipstick. Your dress hugged every curve of your body and the jewelry made you look mature and expensive.

All in all, you look like you were going to a ball. Like a Princess.

“You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“I… I’m scared I’m gonna ruin this dress, like, what if I accidentally spill food or drinks on me?!” You continued on with your nervous rant about possibly ruining the dress, she sighs and grabs you the shoulders, pushing her face closer to yours. “(Name)-Chan, nothing is going to happen to you or the dress! They gave you this dress and it’s your choice what to do with it.”

She reasons and you nodded tentatively. She smiles and picked up her handbag, so did you.

“I’m amazed Ego-San wanted to host a welcome party of the teams.”

“I was actually the JFU who arranged this occasion.” You looked at Anri as if she grew a second head and laughed uncertainly. “Ahaha… really?”

“Really.”

“Like… really, really?” She nods and you scoffed. “Now that he lost our little bet, he’s sucking up to us? Serves him right for doubting us.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen how Ego-San reacted when the president told him about hosting a welcome party!” Hand in arm, the two women were immersed in their conversation as they walked down the dystopian-core hallways of blue lock and exited the premises where a wagoneer jeep waited in the entrance.

“I think Ego-San is indulging himself a little bit too much.”

“That car was sent by the JFU, dumbass.” Ego sighs as he walked out from the glass doors, clad in a navy blue suit with a bolo football tie. He didn’t look all that much to different from his usual getup. The suit was reminiscent of the one he wore in the U-20 match.

You immediately noticed at the bolo tie was a little loose and went in front of him, taking a hold of the tie. Ego seemed surprised at the sudden closeness and pulled away.

“What the hell?”

“Stand still, your tie looks sloppy…” You murmured, tightening it. Ego sighs and lifts his head a little to give you space, Anri smiles in amusement at this rare moment between the two of you. Like a daughter fixing her fathers tie before he goes off to work. It was adorable in her opinion.

You pulled away and looked pleased with Ego’s appearance with a smile. “Let’s go?”

“Let’s.”

You looked at awe at the building where the welcome party was taking place. You initially thought it was going to be at blue lock but apparently JFU didn’t deem your building fancy enough and held the welcome party at a five star hotel. As you wrapped your arm around Anri’s forearm, you peered through the city of Tokyo from the glass window of the elevator. It looked like a sparkling jewelry box from up there. The doors open and Anri pulls you along with her.

Anxiety emptied your stomach as your hands grew sweaty around Anri’s plushy arm. The older woman looks at you with a gentle smile that made your worries go away. You then looked Ego who had his hands on the large doors in front of you three, he looks at the two of you and you nodded confidently.

Ego pushes the doors open and you were welcomed by a flood of overlapping chatter, elegant women dressed in designer clothing and men stood tall and erect in their identical-looking suits. The hall looked massive with a balcony on the right side of the room.

Everyone stopped with what they were doing and bore their eyes into the three of you. Now you felt like you were going to throw up if they continue to stare at you any longer.

“If it isn’t the mastermind behind this amazing project!” You heard a boisterous voice boom your ears. You looked up and saw the fat rodent that is the president of the JFU waddling his way towards your direction. The feeling of nausea was replaced with disgruntled feeling as you held on Anri’s arm a little tighter.

“Chairmen, thank you for arranging this welcome party for the teams.” Ego thanked the bloated tanuki. He was uncharacteristically polite. Your brows furrowed deeper and the corners of your mouth tilts down as he glanced at you and Anri, he gulps and looks back the bull-cut-haired man.

“I-it’s the least we can do. Because with blue lock, I know we can win the World Cup with your guidance!” He spoke and the others in the room erupted in praises and applause.

“We’ll be doing our best to do so. Thank you for financially supporting our project.” Anri replied with a light bow and so did you, “I’ll be supporting the players as best as I can since I’m the manager and all of that.”

The chairmen then usher the three of you to the rest of the JFU members for some reason. You didn’t talk all that much and looked around the banquet hall, “tell me, (name)-Chan. How the players generally act?”

“Generally act?”

“What’s their behavior towards the other players? I’m quite curious.” One of the members asked. You tried to think of an answer without revealing the fact that everyone is at each other's throats, “well, they remain respectful to each other, off and on the field,” that was a bit of a lie considering Isagi calling Baro a donkey mid-game.

“They work hard and dedicate themselves, body and soul to the sport. They accept defeats to grow better not only as a player but as a person.” You replied truthfully this time, fiddling with the fabric of the dress. They took your word for it and seemed intrigued by your answers with nods and hums.

“And how do they act towards you? Since you’re one of the many female managers after all.” They smirked with suggestion. You sucked in the corner of your bottom lip to avoid snapping at him. What was even going through their sick heads? Do they want this project to end with just one sexual speculation?

“Respect… we maintain a distance that is manager and player. We don’t have a rather close and intimate relationship with each other.” That was a bit of a lie. The players acted relatively close to you but still maintained a respectable presence with you.

Aryu runs his hands in your hair while complimenting your makeup and outfit. Chigiri would ask you to play with his hair. You were terrible at it, but he didn’t mind. Otoya would constantly flirt and ask for your number. Karasu and Yukimiya would save you from him. Baro, Kunigami, and all the other boys would try to pitch in to help you. Bachira would always hug you whenever you entered the room. Nagi trails behind you like a lost puppy, along with Reo, who would talk your ear off about the stock market and ask you to go out on a date with him once he’s out of blue lock.

And so many more, the boys acted like you were friends at school which made you feel comfortable with your stay and you really appreciated the boys and their behavior towards you.

“Is that so? Nothing-?”

“Hey, shithead. Do you think it’s a good idea to ask a girl who's 18 if she’s having intimate relations with a bunch of guys who are 18 and below? That’s fucking disgusting.” Ego spat in a whisper to the man as he pulled you by the wrist and hid you behind him. Your eyes widen as well as the JFU member, and he stammers out an apology that Ego didn’t take so kindly.

You looked up at Ego as he glared in disgust at the man. With your heart beating against your chest as if it wanted to break free, sweat pooling into the palm of your heads, you pulled on Ego’s cuffs, and he turned his attention towards you.

“Ego-San, let’s not cause a scene…” you whispered lowly, gesturing to your side. Spectators were turning their heads at the three of you, who were drawn to what you were discussing. Ego looks at you, then back at the man. There was an unreadable expression on his face before he clicked his tongue and gestured for you to follow him.

“Don’t show your putrid face to me or my staff.” He hissed before walking away from the man with eyes following your every move like owls, but one look from Ego, and they returned to their conversations.

“Ego-San… thank you for doing that. I greatly appreciate it.” You spoke, pulling on the mans wrist. He stops and looks at you before flicking your forehead. “The hell?!”

“Be more careful next time when you encounter nosey pigs like him-”

“So you do have a heart in there, Jinpachi Ego.” You heard a voice state amused from behind. You couldn’t understand what he was saying. It sounded like German. You whirled around and saw the mystery man.

It was Noel Noa. Clad in a suit and bow tie. He had a stoic and serious expression with an ever-present frown on his lips, gold eyes dull into Ego’s obsidian pair of eyes before he shifted his focus to you and then back to him. When both your eyes met, you felt your heart rate go faster than ever before.

It was the Noel Noa. In the flesh! The greatest striker in the world, standing in front of you!!

You have seen this man in your television or phone but seeing him in the flesh was whole new experience.

‘Omg, omg, omg, omg, omg, omg-’

“What’s that supposed to mean, you stoic robot?” Ego hissed in German. You looked back and forth between the two. They seemed to know each other, you observed as they casually conversed with each other. “Seeing how you stood up for your female employee is out of character. I thought you weren’t Ego when I saw you.”

“Do you know each other, Ego-San?”

“In a way. Wear these. You’ll need it when communicating with the other coaches.” Ego fished out a small black box that had Blue Lock’s symbol on it. You took it from his grasp and opened the box. There were black wireless earbuds.

“Earbuds?”

“Reo Mikage’s family had decided to sponsor Blue Lock and give us one of their products. That being translator earbuds, it’s light and won’t come off no matter how much you move around, and it’s hardly noticeable.” You wore it, and it almost felt unnoticeable. You then turned to the striker and slight bow.

“What is Ego Jinpachi like at work, Ms.Manager?” You were a little shocked, hearing him speak so clearly in Japanese with a believable accent. These earbuds are something else.

“O-oh, well. He can very harsh and would constantly criticize you for the littlest thing.”

“That’s accurate enough.”

“You damn brat.”

“I’m (name) (last name), Mr.Noa. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“I’ve heard many things about you from Ego.”

“Good or bad?”

“A bit of both.” You sighed hearing his quick response.

“Although, he often notes how you go above and beyond with your work despite being so young,” Noa mentioned—taking a sip of his champagne. You worked up hearing his statement and looked at Ego, who didn’t meet your eyes.

“Ego-San sometimes shares with me his instant noodles and such.” On occasion, when you would be busy with your work, Ego would always make you some instant noodles for a snack to go with your work. It touched your heart as he did care for you after all. (Before he berates you for doing absolutely nothing)

“How… amusing.” Noel glances at his friend, whose eyes softened by a fraction. The striker was quick to take a champagne glass from a waiter's tray and hand it to you.

“Ms. (Last name), you wouldn’t mind if you left your boss and me alone for a while? So we can talk a little about this passion project of his.”

“Of course, have fun.” You whispered before walking away from the two men, placing a hand above your beating heart, and your lips formed a shaky smile—excitement and adrenaline running through your veins. You did your darn best to keep your smile under wraps in favor of showing a calm and professional side of you to the man himself.

“I need to tell Anri-San about this—!” You spun your head from left to right to find the red-haired woman, but you saw her surrounded by sponsors, with Anri conversing seriously with them.

You decided to calm your excitement down and walked around the ballroom. You had to admit, this was something you would see in a movie. The piano was playing in the middle room; you were drawn to its alluring melody, and before you knew it, you were in front of the grand piano while admiring pianist playing.

“Are you into classical music, Miss?” A man purrs into your ear from behind. You recoiled away upon feeling a person's hot breath against your ear. “Haha! Didn’t mean to scare you there, lovely.”

The man had short, curly blond hair, sapphire blue eyes and a mole in the corner of his right lip. He had a well-built body, the suit fitting snuggly in his body. He was taller than you, your head level with his chest.

“I don’t think it’s good manners to suddenly whisper into someone’s without even introducing yourself.” You retorted lightly at the man, and he raised his hands in a playful gesture. “Sorry, miss. I thought I saw a diamond in the corner of my eyes.”

He confessed with a lazy grin. You sighed softly at his attempt at flirting, and you looked back at him. He seemed familiar like you’d seen him before.

“Maybe it’s because of my necklace.”

“I wouldn’t think that if I were you, lovely.” He winks at you, you left a bit uncomfortable with him. “Umm, I just turned 18, I’m not that to comfortable with someone older by a few years older than me…”

“Ahahaha!! Just wait until the fans see this, Chrissy!” A boisterous voice boomed from across the room. A man with tanned skin and wild blond hair, swung his arm over to Chrissy. He wore a black suit with a gold blouse, some of the buttons undid to reveal his chest tattoos.

“You were the one who told me to do it! Miss, I am truly sorry.”

“No, he’s not. He was, like ‘dude, check out that girl with in that dress, she super fine, ‘m gonna go talk to her and hold my drink.’ Basically.” The man matter of factly. Chrissy’s jaw dropped and looked at you who was trying to process this information.

“Lavinho, you’re this worst!”

Wait, Lavinho? As in that famous Brazilian dribbler? Whose representing the Spanish team Barcha?

“You’re… Lavinho?” You spoke and the man turns to you before grinning ear-to-ear. He took your hand and bowed.

“In the flesh, pretty lady! Man, am I lucky to have gorgeous woman like you to know my name. It’s an honor.” He boasts to himself before he grabbed his friend by the arm.

“By the way, this is Chris Prince! But call him Chrissy, though, it’s cute right? Chrissy, Chrissy~”

“Oh my gosh, can you stop? You’re embarrassing me in front of her!” Chris Prince, commonly known as worlds no.2, whispered harshly into Lavinho’s ear, who blew raspberries into his face.

“Oh my gosh, are you immature!” You couldn’t help but laugh at their shenanigans. You never expected them to be this carefree in person. It was fun!

“Let’s calm down now.” You cooed at them, trying to stop Chris from pulling on Lavinho’s collar. “What the lady said, Chrissy. Calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“Says who?”

As Chris was about to strangle Lavinho, you hurriedly took him by the arm and tried to anchor him down with your body weight.

“Let’s calm down! We wouldn’t want to attract too much attention now, do we?” You stammered nervously as the crowd’s eyes were on the three of you. How many times has it already been since the attention was suddenly focused on you.

“You heard the lady, Princey-”

“That includes you, Mr.Lavinho.” He looks at you with shock and Chris glanced at Lavinho with a victorious smirk.

“He’s such a wild person, isn’t he, lovely?”

“A little bit.”

“What?!”

“But not in a bad way.”

“I knew I could trust in you, pretty lady!” Lavinho laughed as he slamming his palms on your shoulders making you wince.

“I hope you can forgive me for that initial greeting, miss?”

“Oh, right. I never introduced myself! My name is (name) (last name) and I’m the manager of Blue lock. It’s a pleasure meeting you both, Mr.Lavinho and Mr.Prince. And it’s alright, Mr.Prince. You didn’t do anything if offense anyway. You briefly introduced yourself with a bow and a smile.

“Oh~! So you’re the woman glasses mentioned we would be working with! Nice to meet you too. Hope we can work together soon!” Lavinho grinned as did Chris.

“Are you a model by any chance? I mean, you have the potential one.” Chris asked curiously. Your posture and beauty were very much similar to models. He would know as he posed with some female models in the past.

“I actually did some modeling jobs when I was 16. Although I’m currently on a break.”

“Ha! I knew it! A beautiful girl like you would be scouted sooner or later. Hey, how about we do a shoot-?”

“She told you she was taking a break from the cameras, Chris.” Another man reminded to the English man with a sigh as he came from behind you and smiled at you apologetically. He had short blond hair and large emerald green eyes with a very well defined nose.

“I’m so sorry about him, Ms.(name). Please don’t let him bother you.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind doing a shoot with him.”

“See?! It’s almost impossible to say no to this handsome face.” Chris laughs. Pulling out a hand mirror and admires himself, smiling at the mirror and winking at himself.

“Is he… usually like that?”

“Sadly.”

“You seem to know me.”

“I happen to overhear you introducing yourself, my name is Marc Snuffy. Call me Snuffy. It’s a pleasure meeting one of Blue Lock’s beautiful managers.” Snuffy grinned kindly at you making your heart skip a beat.

“Beautiful? Now, I think that’s a stretch!”

“Not what the posts say about you.” He laughs lightly, pulling out a phone to reveal screenshots of a Tiktok comment section filled with compliments and love towards you.

“I must say, the media quite likes you after those little videos with you and Pablo Cavasoz dancing.” You glowered in embarrassment as you remembered the famous baby-face Argentina player, who was mysteriously drawn to you and dragged you to Harajuku with you to film Tiktok dance video’s in the middle of the street or inside the stores and to go shopping.

Never again were you going to be bribed with food and a promise of manicures.

“I-I’m honestly flattered that you think that way, Mr.Snuffy. Thank you. You’re Uber’s coach, right?”

"Correct and I hope my team wouldn't be too much of a trouble to deal with." He jokes lightly making you laugh.

"Have you seen my players? They would be at each other's throats if I look away for a couple of seconds! Like my Rin and Isagi for example."

"Considering the fact that your no.10 dodged a hug from 11... I'd say that their relationship is..."

"Rough? Absolutely."

"We all have those friends." You and continues to conversed at one another about your teams along with his. Snuffy is quite the gentleman you noted. Very polite and respectful.

"Yo, Snuffy. When're we gonna go back to the dorms, 'm tired." You heard someone complain. A man with messy black hair with purple tips and dark purple eyes, laid his head on the Uber's captain's shoulder with a sigh. You rubbed your eyes to wear off any drowsiness as you thought the man had gold teeth for a second.

"It's only 10 pm, Lorenzo and button up your shirt." Snuffy scolded Lorenzo who groaned but stopped midway as he saw you. "Who's this pretty lady, Snufs?"

"Her name is (name) and she's Blue Lock's manager. Be kind."

"Isn't she on the news one time? Like people thought she was Pablo's girlfriend or stuff." You sunk on the floor in embarrassment, remembering the countless news articles that you were his girlfriend. You even got a call from your father who was pissed at you for keeping your not-boyfriend a secret.

"Erm, I'm actually not his girlfriend... hehe, it was an misunderstanding."

"Huh, really?"

"Yup, the media assumed that we were dating just from a few videos of us dancing and doing some sightseeings around Harajuku."

"I see. So yer gonna be our new manager?"

"As far as I know, yea."

"Let's be friends then! Snuf, 'mma borrow her real quick." Lorenzo immediately went towards you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder and waved goodbye at Snuffy who told the two of you to have fun.

"Names Don Lorenzo but just call me whatever you want since we're gonna be friends and all."

"Alright, Mr-"

"And no Mister and all that title shit, just call me Lorenzo or whatever- oh! Snuffy does call me Donny at times."

"So is Lorenzo alright with you?"

"Totes." Lorenzo was quite the character. He's friendly and a laidback type of guy, you felt at ease just by being with him as you started to slip from your professional mode. You were enjoying yourself with Lorenzo as the two of you conversed with other topics other than football.

"By the way, are this gold grills on your teeth?" You asked curiously. The two of you were seated a couch with a plate of crackers, cheese and caramel popcorn. He stops eating the popcorn and pulled on the corner of his mouth to give you a full view of his gold teeth.

"These babies? Nah, before all of this, i was some homeless kid on the streets of Italy, begging and robbin' people of their money until Snuffy came into my life askin' me if I wanna play football with him,"

"I was like, 'what's up with this dude? He crazy as fuck,' so then I was like 'replace my rotten teeth with golden ones' and do you know what he did afterwards?"

"He immediately dragged you to the nearest dentist and had it replaced with gold teeth?"

"Exactly! You're so smart." Lorenzo praises, throwing popcorn in the air and caught some with his mouth while also missing some, which you then picked up from the couch and ate it so it won't go to waste.

"Who knew that Mr.Snuffy is such a kind man."

"Kindest in the world. He's the type of person to not give up on others just cause." The player says fondly. You grabbed your champagne glass and felt it was unusually light, you then saw that it was empty. "I'm out of champagne. I'll go grab some more."

"Nah, I'll do it. You sit your pretty self here."

"Thanks but I can handle it, Lorenzo." You pat his shoulder before taking off with your empty glass and towards the bar for a quick refill.

You arrived at the bar and leaned against the counter. "Excuse me but can I get a refill in champagne? Non-alcoholic if there is."

"In a second."

"Can I get a martini?" Someone ask beside you. You glanced at them saw the familiar fluffy hair of brown to purple beside you.

"Are you... Alexis Ness from Bastard Munchen, by any chance?" The man beside you perks up upon hearing his name and turned to you with a nod and a kind grin.

"Yes and you're?"

"(Name) (last name). One of Blue lock's managers. It's nice to see you this evening, Mr.Ness."

"Please no need to call me Mister, just call me Ness and the pleasure is all mine.”

“Ness it is then. About that match with (club name), you did a good job out there.” You praise the player. You watched his match with (club name) a few weeks ago and was amazed at Ness’s clean assist and passes to a star player in his team.

“Really? I didn’t do all that much, it was all-”

“Why would you say that? Your assists were clean and quick. Not even the other players knew you would do it.” You interrupted Ness, and you meant every word you said. He looks at you in shock before red soon blossoms on his cheeks.

“You really think so?”

“Yea, although… I do have a tiny teeny problem…” Ness frowns upon hearing your last words. He had hoped he would gain a fan after all his hard work, but it seemed his efforts-

“That you didn’t score any goals!” Now that left him confused.

“E-excuse me?”

“You’re obviously a great player with amazing dribbling and passing skills, so why don’t you use it score your own goals? I mean, seriously, I hoped you would score that last goal before you passed to number 10.” You went on a little rant, and Ness stood there in awe with your words.

You weren’t focused with Kaiser but instead your attention was on Ness and even wanted him to score goals!

His heart started to beat even faster when you were praising his work and sets of skills. Ness looked up and got a good look at you, he had to admit, you were very beautiful in that dress.

“Kaiser is Bastard Munchen’s Ace so we dedicate all of the goals towards him.”

“But isn’t that letting your own skills go to waste? You’re hindering yourself just so that your number 10 can win. How about this?” You grabbed Ness by the arm and sat him on the stools, and you sat across him. Leaning towards his shoulder, you narrowed the distance of your lips to his ears. Ness’s heartbeat grew increasingly erratic as you drew closer. He felt your hot breath against the shell of his ear and smelled the perfume in your skin, blending with the champagne you were drinking.

“Your ace knows that you would be passing to him for every game, no?”

“Yes…”

“And I’m also sure that the rest of your team along with Mr.Noa would be aware of this fact. What I’m trying to say is that,”

“When trying to pass to your beloved Ace, change course and score the goal for yourself. I’m sure the opposing team would also know about your play style. Therefore, they would surround your ace to prevent a successful pass from approaching him.” You explained with a mischievous smile after seeing Ness’s shocked expression. Gone was his ear-to-ear grin as it was replaced with an open mouth.

“B-but Kaiser-”

“So what about him? He can score his own goals if he’s your so-called ace. Ness, you’re an amazing player, but you lack the independence of one or, rather… the ego of one. Omg… I’m starting to sound like Ego-San.” You pulled away from Ness and seriously contemplated your words. Ness, however, was silent as he let your words sink deep into his consciousness. You looked at Ness’s blank face, and yours swelled in embarrassment.

He probably didn’t understand your rambling. Even when you thought you sounded cool saying it!! You stood hastily after the bartender finally refilled your drink and cleared your throat.

“I probably wasn’t making any sense. This is more on Ego-San’s department. Forget I said anything, Ness-”

“No… I was hoping you could explain more about this ego. Please… I want to learn more about it, Ms.(name).” Ness took hold of your wrist and slightly tightened his grip on you. His tone… it sounded like he was begging you.

You stared at the B.M player with a conflicting mindset as you looked between your drink and Ness.

“So this is why my drink has been taking a long time. I didn’t know you were busy flirting with a girl, Ness.” A man purrs condescendingly as he struts towards you both. Ness reluctantly lets go of your wrist and looks shamefully to the side. “So-”

“And who is this lovely lady keeping you company, hm?” The man in front of you grinned at Ness. He had blond hair styled into a long mullet with blue fades. He wore a dark blue suit and matched it with a tie. Something was peeking from his collar, but you couldn’t determine what it was, probably a tattoo or something.

“(Name) (last name), one of the managers of Blue Lock, and I take it that you’re Kaiser?” His smile grows as his name rolls out from your tongue, and he takes your hand, fluttering his lips over your knuckles before he firmly presses his lips on your knuckles.

“Micheal Kaiser, das Fräulein. Star player of Bastard Munchen.” The Ace says matter-of-factly with a grin, and you smile at him uncomfortably, looking at the area where he kissed.

“Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.” You repeated in your head as you tried to pull back your hand, but Kaiser gripped you as he incoherently conversed with Ness.

“I take it that you know Blue Lock’s Ace: Isagi Yoich? That plain looking guy.” Your lips turned into frowns hearing him describe your friend.

“Yes. Is there something you wanted to ask him?”

“Oh no, I was just making sure that you were his specific manager. After all, I would want him to look at your face once I humiliate him.”

“Excuse me?” You honestly expected Kaiser to be a prideful person. That was for sure. But for him to straight up admit his intentions in front of you? Now, that was a bold him.

“I think you heard me, (name). I plan to make Isagi Yoichi, the hero of Blue Lock, an obstacle for me to overcome. Make sure he’s worthy of that title.” Kaiser requested you like it was a normal thing to ask. As your glare towards him hardened, Kaiser couldn't care less. You slowly exhaled, placed your glass gently, and pushed yourself towards him.

“As you wish, I’ll make sure Isagi Yoichi will be an impossible obstacle for you to overcome.” Now it was his turn to be annoyed as he took his vacant hand and roughly grabbed your upper arm to pull you closer. His face was nearing yours with a cocky snarl.

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise, rather.”

“To think that Blue Lock would have such a feisty manager, I wonder how Jinpachi Ego leashed you.”

“Leashed me? Do you think I’m some kind of dog?!”

“Oh, I know! You’re the character who blindly placed her fate into the clown who thought of himself as the main character, but that’s going to change once I step into the field,” he removes his grip from your upper arm and clasps his hand around your jaw to pull your face even closer to his. You instinctively tried to tear away, but his strength proved greater than yours.

“I could just imagine what dear Isagi’s face will look like once I humiliate him in front of his pretty manager.”

“As if that would happen.” You rasped, trying to pry his hand away from your face. As Ness was about to intervene finally, Lorenzo came into sight, taking hold of Kaiser’s wrist with a deadly grip, his gold teeth shining against the light, and the Italian let out a whistle in amusement.

“Damn, Kaiser… never you would act like a dick if a girl don’t wanna be with ya.”

“Where did you come from, you damn zombie?”

“Wonderin’ where (name) was at, said she was goin’ to refill her drink. Didn’t know you were holding her hostage.” The two-star players glared at each other in disdain. Kaiser started to feel the blood being cut off from his hand and he rips away his grip from your face. You stepped back and massaged your jaw.

“Are you alright, (name)? I’m sorry I couldn’t-”

“It’s alright. I expected he act like this. Fucking prick.” You huffed, drinking your champagne as Ness looks ashamed.

“Honestly… I should’ve intervened when he grabbed you by the arm. I’m so sorry-”

“Ness, Ness, baby, love.” You sweet-talked and grabbed his jaw gently. (Unlike someone) “It’s alright, I get it. We all freeze sometimes, even I do. So you don’t gotta worry about it, okay?” You smiled. Expecting him to agree with you and let all of this be over with. He tentatively nodded, and you let go of his jaw before turning to the bartender. “Actually, can I get the bottle?”

Before the bartender could hand you the bottle, Lorenzo snatched it from him, took you the waist and led you away from the bar, making a mocking face at Kaiser.

“See ya in the field, naked emperor!” The Italian player laughs as he waves and pours you a drink. You turned to Ness and gave him a smile and wave, which he returned. You met Kaiser’s glare and returned it with a glare and a middle finger.

“Is he always so arrogant?”

“24/7, babe. 24/7.” Lorenzo sighs, patting your shoulder. “Hey, your lipstick… Kaiser must’ve smudged it.” He stares at the colored streak nearing your jaw. You placed your finger on it and saw the colored stain on your finger. You hissed at the sight and covered the lower half of your face.

“Damn that rat. Lorenzo, I’ll be back. Need to fix myself.”

“Sure, I’ll be on the couch!” He removed his arm, and you speed-walked through the crowd towards the hallway where the servers were going in and out. You swiftly dodged the waiters that’s were carrying snacks and drinks, you saw a waiter who seemed to be on break, seeing that she was on her phone.

“Excuse me, miss. Where’s the bathroom?” She looks up from her phone and points at the direction where to go.

“Second to the last door on the left.”

“Thanks.” And with that you immediately took off.

During the trip toward the bathroom, you recalled your rather eventful evening. A JFU member asking disgusting questions, Ego saving you, meeting Noel Noa, Chris Prince flirting with you, Lavinho laughing at Chris, Marc Snuffy appearing, Don Lorenzo whisking you away from the night, meeting Ness and getting harassed(?) by Micheal Kaiser.

And here you thought you would be the loner who escaped from the party to the safe haven that was the balcony. So much for that, at least. As you wiped the stain away, you were quick to reapply a new batch on your skin but before you exited the bathroom, you took a few photos of yourself for good measure and sent a few to your brother to let him decide which ones should you post as you were indecisive.

[You sent 15 photos]

You: which one of these do I look the prettiest?

Little demon: none

You: what if I tell Ma and pa?

Little demon: Your alrd pretty tho but for me 1 4 9 and 13 are the best ones

You: I know I’m pretty. I’ll be positing these soon after party

Little demon: don’t post. Dress is revealing. I can see your BOOBS

You: only a little :(

Little demon: what if I tell Ma and pa?

You: I hate you

Little demon reacted: 👍

You huffed seeing your younger brothers weak response and before you could text something back, you bumped into someone’s side.

“Sorry- (name)?” The man spoke, and you looked up to find the black French player in front of you wearing a suit paired with a bow tie. You lit up seeing the player and tucked away your phone to give him a big hug.

“Loki!! Oh my gosh, how’re you?”

“I’m fine. It’s good to see you again after a couple of weeks. Mr.Pablo has been bombarding me with texts asking for your socials. That man won’t give up.” He sighs as he pulls away from you, and you laugh.

“You might have you endure that for a little while longer, Loki dear.” He sighs again and you took him by the arm and dragged him down the hall.

“I heard we’ll be working together again. Good luck to us then.” Loki says, patting your hand before giving you a kind smile, which you return. The two of you reentered the ballroom and went your separate ways. Loki said he couldn’t leave his team alone as they would likely cause a scene without him there.

“I’ll see you at work, peace maker.”

“Have a fun evening, (name).” Then you went back to where Lorenzo was sitting, spending the rest of the evening with the Italian, joking, judging other people, talking about your respective counties and your experience with football.

____________________________________________

This only took me 3 weeks to finish what a record 🙏

I hope you guys enjoyed this long ass fanfic, this was originally gonna be like 2 parts but then I decided to publish this a whole rather than separate parts.

Reblogs are much appreciated!! I love you all I hope you guys have a great day!

-@chxxrybxxmb

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onestepbackwards · 2 months

Note

(You don’t need to respond to this immediately; feel free to respond when you feel like you’re up for it.)

Mild Spoilers

So the newest Pokemon game was announced and everyone’s joking about the implications of a new “Legends” game.

Self-aware Volo’s curious and a little hopeful that he’ll get to make another appearance, but Emmet’s sweating bullets ‘cause he doesn’t want to go to Kalos. Ingo is clinging to him for the exact same reason.

Could you fucking imagine if Volo really did end up immortal or fucked off to Kalos at the end of PLA

And you see him in the next game as just some NPC you can battle? The implications 👀

Emmet already is suffering from having lost Ingo, now there is a possibility he’ll be yeeted to france? And have to also learn a whole new language?

Well, Emmet always wins, but it will definitely be his hardest challenge, one he isn’t exactly looking forward to having to handle if he really is in this new game.

#self aware au #self aware pokemon #ask #anon #zed.talks #self aware emmet #self aware ingo #self aware volo

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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

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moremaybank · 2 years

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KLAUS MIKAELSON ! ⊹₊ ✰ ⋆

fics !

waking up to you

waking up to your gorgeous boyfriend.

true love stands the test of time

you and klaus fell in love when he came to stay with your family, the demartels, in france. but he leaves you in the dust when problems arise. what happens when a millennium later, you and klaus reconnect due to a war between the sirelines? (based on the TO3 plot)

happy birthday, baby [18+]

klaus tells you he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, so you opt for a gift you know he’ll accept; you.

with or without you [18+]

date night with klaus takes a turn when he begins to tease you under the table.

to make her mine [18+]

klaus comes to mystic falls to begin siring his hybrids and he crosses paths with the woman he believes to be his mate. after weeks of pining after you, and a little help from fate, he finally manages to make you his. forever.

royal treatment [18+]

you come home to your boyfriend after having a bad day. he notices your mood and does everything to remind you of how much you mean to him

pregnant & restless

pregnancy complications cause your doctor to instruct you to take it easy until the baby is born. this leads you to become restless and therefore rebellious, but klaus refuses to let you get away with your mischief.

morning love [18+]

morning sex with klaus where he expresses his love and utter devotion to you.

bad news

a fic reminiscing on what it’s been like to have spent the past thousand years being klaus’s safe space as both his best friend and lover. (based on the song “bad news” by kehlani)

lessons [18+]

klaus introduces you to the world of overstimulation.

how i've missed you [18+]

you miss klaus a little too much while he’s gone and are forced to take matters into your own hands — even if he ordered you not to.

pour your heart out

klaus is working with a certain coven of witches in new orleans in an attempt to protect you from esther. the leader of the coven wonders if helping him is worth it. to quiet her doubts, she takes matters into her own hands, and this causes klaus to gush over his girlfriend.

tinsel & ties [18+]

after an argument, you try to make klaus jealous. in return, klaus has to let you know just how wrong that decision was.

together at last

you and the mikaelsons finally reunite with klaus after his five years of captivity.

paranoia

klaus goes too far while trying to protect you and your shared family.

work of art [18+]

one day, you enter the compound in search of rebekah, but you can’t seem to find her. what you do find, however, is a surprise waiting for you in her older brother’s bedroom.

how you get the girl

klaus pleads with you as he tries to win you back (based on the song “how you get the girl” by taylor swift)

nasty [18+]

you and klaus finally take the next step in your relationship (based on the song “nasty” by ariana grande)

blurbs !

pending…

headcanons !

courtship with klaus mikaelson [18+]

being katherine pierce’s sister and klaus having a crush on you

yandere klaus mikaelson [18+]

being klaus’s attractive and flashy girlfriend

being pregnant with yandere klaus mikaelson’s daughter

you and klaus falling for each other while you’re dating tyler lockwood

being klaus’s girlfriend while pregnant with his daughter (hope)

having sex with klaus mikaelson [18+]

elijah secretly being in love with you while you’re in a loving relationship with klaus

klaus being submissive to you, his girlfriend [18+]

klaus being whipped for you

being klaus’s girlfriend & muse while he paints you naked [18+]

klaus being obsessed with you | pt. 2

being a member of the mystic falls gang while klaus falls in love with you and tries to woo you

being klaus’s model girlfriend

being klaus’s beauty queen/contestant girlfriend

being the youngest mikaelson sibling where you’re close with the girls and you’re tired of the boys being overprotective

having sex with yandere klaus mikaelson [18+]

courtship with yandere klaus mikaelson

being a member of the mystic falls gang and having klaus wrapped around your finger

yandere klaus mikaelson meeting your family

klaus being in love with you and possessive over you before your relationship

klaus realizing you’re his mate after triggering his curse

klaus pampering you

would klaus like being called mr. mikaelson?

yandere!klaus stalking you before & after you start dating

playing on klaus’s love of control & power [18+]

fluff alphabet with klaus mikaelson

klaus trying to reconcile with you after a fight

drunk sex with klaus [18+]

vampire!mikaelson’s favourite place to feed from you

nsfw alphabet with klaus mikaelson

casual dominance with klaus

prompts !

pending…

tag !

#klaus mikaelson

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson smut #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals #the originals imagine

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lovable-liar · 7 months

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1940s New York Schlatt who owns a whore house in France and you’re his favorite…?

(This is a gift for @lvrj4mie, happy belated birthday darling! I hope you like it.)

In the era of the 1940s, the world famous Jonathan Schlatt had established himself as a renowned whore house owner, not in New York, but nestled in the heart of Paris, France’s red light district. His house, "Le Mystère," was the epitome of sophistication, drawing a crowd of wealthy, high-horse, business men looking to cheat on their wives from around the world.

In the smoky, dimly lit atmosphere of “Le Mystère” in 1940s France, the sultry tunes of jazz filled the air as patrons gathered in the foyer to be herded off to separate luxury rooms. Schlatt was known for his keen eye for talent and his love for the art of burlesque.

Among the talented performers who graced the rooms night after night, you held a special place in Schlatt's heart. Your ‘performances’ were nothing short of mesmerizing, combining grace, charm, and a hint of mischief that left the customer enraptured. It wasn't just your beauty that drew Schlatt's admiration, but also your incredible skill at adapting to someone’s preferences.

Schlatt would often find himself watching from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you as you did mundane things and also when you ‘entertained’ a customer with certain exhibitionist preferences. He appreciated the artistry and dedication you poured into each ‘performance’, and he couldn't help but be proud of having you as one of the stars of his club. Your talent was the heartbeat of the establishment, drawing in patrons from all corners of the city who couldn't resist the allure.

One evening, after a long night, you were sitting in your changing room in front of your luxurious vanity when a familiar knock rapped against the door.

“Who is it?” You called out warily.

“Ya boss, sugar tits.”

“Come in!” You chuckle.

“Like I need a fuckin’ invitation…” He scoffs as he enters, having to bow his head in order to not hit it due to his height.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? What’s fuckin’ wrong? Why does everything have to be ‘wrong’ around here?”

“Sorry. What’s up?”

“Just thought I’d come say hi before you get back to work… You know,” He pauses “I pity a lot of you girls in here. However ‘luxurious’ we promote this place to be, you’re still sellin’ your bodies for nought…”

“Pity?”

“Well… Maybe pity isn’t the right word… uh- fuckin’ uhh… whazitcalled? Uhh…”

“Empathy?”

“Yeah! Yeah… And it’s not like I don’t pay ya good, is’ just a shitty feelin’ ya know?”

“At least we get paid,” You say lightheartedly “But what did you really come in here for?”

“What makes ya think I’m here for anythin’ else, sugar?”

“You never come into my dressing room unless you want something. Last time it was for intel on a businessman, the time before that was because you wanted advice on your hair, the time before that was-”

“Alright, alright! You win, broad,” He sighs, “I wan’ed to ask ya out on a little night out on the town. I could take ya to the Ritz, and then we’d go to an art exhibit, maybe dance if we find a busker? I dunno… Just thought I’d ask since… Well I’m goin’ back home soon and, well, ‘m not gonna be back for a while and ya might quit in that time and then I’d never see ya again and I just thought I’d ask cuz-” “Sure. I’d love that.”

“A-Are you,” He coughs, “Are ya sure, doll? I don’t wanna put you in between a rock and a hard place cuz I’m ya boss. Ya don’t have to if ya don’t wanna.”

“You’re one of the only men that knows about my job and doesn’t look at me like a set of holes so, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Well… Shit, doll. I-I’ll grab ya after your shift? W- Is it weird if I take ya out after you’ve had sex with a buncha nobodies for the night?”

“Then take me out now.”

“C’mon then, doll, getcha coat.”

#jschlatt fluff #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #schlatt #schlatt fluff #schlatt x reader #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut

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olympeline · 1 month

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I’ve only ever been vaguely aware of Eurovision in the past in a “oh, Eurovision is on? Yeah, sure, let’s watch it 👍” kinda way. Some years I’ve let it completely pass me by. But I’ve made a friend at my board games group who looooves Eurovision. It’s absolutely his thing that he waits all year for, and he’s helped me get into it too. I get it now. It’s really fun :D

So, I just binge listened to all the entries and here’s some thoughts from a newbie:

First off, who do I think will win? Croatia. Croatia: 100% my pick for #1. Never heard of Baby Lasgna before but now I want to listen to everything he’s ever made because what a banger Rim Tim Tagi Dim is! If this song doesn’t get at least top 2, that’s a paddlin crime. Seriously, it just has everything. Great melody, great lyrics, great message, super memorable. What more do you want? Come on, Croatia bros! Get your first win! 🇭🇷

That being said, if there’s anyone I think could give Baby Lasagna a run for his money, it’s Switzerland. I don’t think The Code is quite on Rim Tim Tagi Dim’s level, but live performances can mean a lot. If Nemo has a great night and Baby Lasagna fumbles his performance? Nemo could swing it. Some of his vocals? *Chef’s kiss* Even stronger than the strongest parts of Rim Tim Tagi Dim. It’s a dust up between a song I think is consistently super high in quality all the way through (Croatia) vs. one with quality that dips higher and lower at certain points (Switzerland) if that makes sense. I think the Swiss could walk a top 3 placement with this, easy 🇨🇭

Probably the entry where I differ most from the general opinion is Italy’s song. After listening, it struck me as a UK-tier entry (see below). As in good, but nothing remarkable. Middle ground. But that’s a minority opinion because everyone else loves La Noia! Everyone is saying it won’t just rank high, but will be huge after Eurovision and become a big chart topper. And I’m just here like: “Huh? Really? This one? 😯” Don’t get me wrong, it’s fine. But I can’t muster up any bigger feelings for it beyond “fine.” Guess it’s just taste at the end of the day 🇮🇹

Ooh la la, France’s song is beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous! As a side note, I love that so many entries are singing in their native languages. It’s so much better than everyone doing English. I do hope they give us a subtitles option, though. I can’t remember if that’s something Eurovision does? Anyway, I don’t know how true this is but I’ve heard Eurovision really doesn’t like slow, soulful ballads so maybe that will hurt Mon Amour? I hope not. It’s so lovely I think it deserves a lot of points. Slimane is another artist I’ve never heard of but I need to look up now. From across the channel, vive la France! 🇫🇷

The Netherlands’s Europapa is the dark horse of this competition. Has to be. I don’t think it will win - not against entries like Rim Tim Tagi Dim - buuut if it did, I wouldn’t be super surprised…? I can see a top 5 or even a top 3. I know the jury people can be sniffy about songs that are too silly and playful so maybe they will be Joost Klein’s downfall? I think viewers will love it, though. I certainly did. I wouldn’t be mad at all if Europapa won 🇳🇱

If the Netherlands is the dark horse then Finland is the dark horse’s dark horse. I love No Rules! It’s so much fun and a real camp banger, too! Just pure, pure cracky fun. I think this will be a real love/hate, marmite “you either get it, or you think it’s really dumb” entry. I have no idea where this one will place. If it came bottom 5 I’d be like, “yeah, understandable” and if it came top 5 I’d be like “yeah, understandable.” Love it either way. Keep doing you, Finland (and yes, I agree you deserved to win last year) 🇫🇮

Before getting into this contest, I had no idea Luxembourg was such a Eurovision powerhouse! Look at this little Duchy that could, coming out every year swinging at the big boys and getting knock out after knock out. What an inspiration for the little guys of the world. It’s awesome, just like their song. I think this could be a mid to upper entry? Fighter is low in the odds right now, so I’m hoping this will be an entry that ends up surprising everyone on the day. Keep that David and Goliath energy going, Luxies! 🇱🇺

Spain was a surprise! I know from my limited Eurovision awareness that they usually score low, so I wasn’t expecting much. But I really liked Zorra a lot. Apparently people think it will either do really well or really badly? I hope it does well because I loved it. Go, Spain! I hope you crack the top ten 🇪🇸

I can’t make up my mind about Austria’s We Will Rave. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I think it’s too generic club banger? Of all the entries, this is the one I’m going back and forth on the most even after lots of repeat listens. If I had to choose a position, I’d say middle to upper middle? Hmm. IDK. We’ll see how you do, tricksy little hobbitses Austria 🇦🇹

As for closer to home in the British Isles, I didn’t care for Ireland’s song, sadly. I’ve listened to it twice now and I can barely remember it. Which is surprising since even I know Ireland is usually one of the big, swinging dicks of Eurovision. One of the few countries who can give the Swedish master race a run for the top spots. I was expecting a lot from Ireland but, IDK, it didn’t feel like Doomsday Blue could find an identity? Like, it’s stuck halfway between a serious and a wacky entry? It’s hard to put into words because I’m so musically illiterate lol, but I’ll try. It’s not dramatic enough to compete with Rim Tim Tagi Dim or The Code, but not crazy enough that it doesn’t get overshadowed by Europapa and No Rules. Speaking of, I think it’s trying to do what Europapa has but didn’t quite make it? Ehh, we’ll see 🇮🇪

The UK? Hmm. Eehh. Mmm? Hmm…I think Dizzy is a good song and I like it better than Doomsday Blue, but I’d be surprised if it was a threat to the upper echelons. It’s too safe. Competent, nothing wrong with it, but doesn’t stand out. I don’t think it will do badly exactly - unless Olly Alexander really boobs it up on the night - but I can’t see a top ten placement. If our Irish bros come low, I think we Brits will come an unremarkable middle of the pack? Or just under? Again, we’ll see 🇬🇧

Speaking of countries who are usually members of the Eurovision Cripples Team as my friend calls us (wooo! Yeah! Go go useless nations! 🇪🇸 🇩🇪 🇬🇧 😂) apparently poor Germany is predicted to come last again. And yeeeaaahhh, considering this is another entry I can’t remember at all despite multiple listens, I’d believe it. I still love you, Germany. Don’t give up! Satellite was one of the Eurovision finals I actually saw, so I believe they can be good again 🇩🇪

Aaaaaand those are all my thoughts so far. It’s still a few months away, but I’m already getting excited! I can’t wait to go to my first watch party. Then afterwards it will be fun to look back on this post and see how my predictions held up. Maybe I’ll have some beginner’s luck? Either way, best wishes to all countries performing! 😄

#eurovision 2024 #esc 2024 #my posts #not hetalia

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katelynnwrites · 2 years

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pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader

warnings: none

word count: 582

summary: requested, ona and scotland wnt girlfriend after they play against each other

a/n: since it’s international break again, i thought i’d give you a fic i wrote during the last break especially because ona played so well today and our spanish honeys completely smashed the australians 🥰

I’ll Make You Proud

Ona doesn’t say anything at first, pulling you into a tight hug as soon as she sees you. Her hand comes up to cradle your head against her chest and she holds you close.

You wrap your arms around her waist, pressing yourself closer to your girlfriend. Sniffling a bit, you hide your face in her jersey.

‘I’m sorry.’ She whispers, making you suck in a shaky breath.

‘What? Why are you sorry?’ You ask, tilting your head up so you can look at her.

Ona swallows nervously, ‘Aren’t you angry?’

You blink in confusion, shaking your head.

‘Disappointed but definitely not angry.’

The Spanish girl exhales in relief and is unable to stop herself from kissing you quickly.

‘I don’t understand. Because of me, you might not be able to qualify for the World Cup…’

‘I know but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try my hardest to. And if I don’t then I’ll be more than happy to make up the WAG section at your games.’

Ona giggles, nudging her nose against yours.

‘If you do, I’ll make you the proudest girlfriend there. But I know that you’ll qualify, you deserve to mi amor.’

She lifts a hand to cup your cheek, kissing your tears away carefully.

‘I love you.’ She whispers, pressing a long kiss onto your forehead. Her lips on your skin gives you a warm feeling inside, easing the disappointment of the lost game.

‘I love you too. You really deserved the win today leannan.’

‘Me? I only played twenty minutes, you played the entire game.’

You lean into her, swatting her arm lightly.

‘Hush and let me be the proud girlfriend of someone who is going to play in the World Cup okay?’

Ona laughs, pulling you into another tighter hug which you are more than happy to accept. The Spanish girl never failed to make you feel safe, loved and cherished.

You couldn’t think of anyone else you’d like more to qualify for one of the biggest tournaments in the world. It was what every football player dreamed of. It was what your girlfriend had dreamed of since she was little. And if you had to lose so that she could achieve that dream…well you didn’t really mind.

She holds you a while longer, the both of you standing in the middle of the field as other players shake hands and make small talk.

It’s not long before Jenni appears by your side, the energetic Spanish woman talking your ear off immediately.

‘Talk to your novia later. Talk to me now! I haven’t seen or heard from you in ages.’

You laugh loudly, Jenni could clown you out of any bad mood. You’d met her when you had both played at PSG and the friendship had continued long after you both left France.

‘Jennifer I just saw you yesterday.’ You insist, hoping your words would get through to her and hopefully make her calm down a little. You should have known better…

‘Well it’s been twenty four hours. That’s a whole day without my best friend!’

She tugs you out of Ona’s grip and you turn, unwilling to leave without kissing her goodbye.

‘We’ll talk more once we’re home okay?’ Ona asks as she lets you go rather reluctantly.

A quick nod is all you’re able to give before Jenni is pulling you through the crowd, eagerly introducing you to all her other national teammates as if they didn’t already know who you are.

Spanish Translations:

mi amor - my love

novia - girlfriend

Scottish Translation:

leannan - sweetheart/beloved

#kind of a surprise fic for you guys #for being such lovely readers #ona batlle #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #muwfc imagine #muwfc x reader #espwnt imagine #espwnt x reader #spain wnt imagine #spain wnt x reader #katelynnwrites #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader

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wandawiccan60 · 11 months

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Why Me?

An Alfie Solomon’s X Sylvia Voltaire(OC) One-Shot

A/N: Hello guys and welcome back to another Alfie Solomons One-Shot. I know it’s crazy to see myself this active again believe me it feels good. But I wanted to come in say this has been the most fun writing I’ve ever had in a while and I really hope I get to every single character of Tom Hardy. I still need to catch up on the other films of his including Lawless which by looking at the small clips of Forrest Bondurant… oh boy is he such a cute man. But as always guys thank you for coming by and reading my fics. Thank you for sharing and liking and I’ll see you all later.

ALFIE SOLOMONS MASTERLIST

Camden Town: 1920’s

Out of all the places in the entire country of London, Sylvia and her family had no choice but to stay in a place called Camden Town. They weren’t welcome that was for sure. As none residents, gypsies were considered to be nothing but untrustworthy, scum, and the lowest of the low. Knowing that they have to live and remind themselves that was how they were born and raised.

They had a wonderful life back in their hometown in France. There was a piece of land right off the coast, where it was peaceful, safe, calm, and overall where they were far away from the city. Her father Andre, had a job there as a carpenter but he did get little pay for what it was. The amount of money he would win almost went entire to have food on the table. Until one day the owner decided to let him go swing that his business wasn’t making as much as before. And leaving their lovely home behind they ended up in the city across the ocean.

Even for a family of 6 including Sylvia, it was hard to cope seeing that her mother Kezia, has to take care mostly the baby of the family Kaven. Her two baby sisters Zana and Risa are at the age of heading to their womanhood. Knowing that both of her parents with a heavy heart need to send of their daughters to find good suitors that will take care of them. Sylvia as being the oldest, isn’t fully prepare to have to go with someone she doesn’t even love or know about much. Even for a place like London where everyone wouldn’t even want glimpse her way for one bit.

Once they arrived to their new home a year ago, It was hard to get use to the amount of new surroundings. The tall grass fields were something to enjoy and being around. Thought the amount of strangers passing by with their automobiles was something that bothered the Voltaire family the most. Even through the year they at one point already got use to seeing many travelers and car machines so many times. Seeing that his father was trying his best to find a job around town, it seemed that he wasn’t going anywhere knowing that he was an outcast.

“Papa, maman, why can’t we just leave this place already?” Said Risa in their French tongue while they had late night dinner around the campfire.

“Because your papá my dear has some news to tell you all, and darling please try to speak your English a bit more,” Kezia said while attending the now 6 month old Kaven in one arm poking around the wood for the fire to still be on.

“My dear Kezia please, let them speak the tongue we have been born to learn,” said Andre to her which she just nodded her head quietly until he gave the big news. “My dear girls, I finally found a new job that will finally help us not go without any food on the anymore. And I will start by tomorrow.”

Risa, Zana, and Sylvia all looked at each other as if his father is telling a lie.

“Wait papa, are you certain of this? How did you manage to convince the owner of this new job?” Asked Sylvia not believing what her ears are hearing.

“It is true, and the wonderful thing is a bakery which you all know that I use to make some great bread back home. And I wanted to share with you all that I will start tomorrow,” said Andre feeling a lot of hope for such a new opportunity that he has been waiting for so long.

“Papa what wonderful news, but does the owner know that you are well a gypsy?” Sylvia said feeling worried that if the owner of the shop finds out that they are outsiders.

“I only mentioned that we are a family of 6 and that we have been poor for a very long time. He didn’t ask for my background and instead he understood about our situation. He saw me as a human being and not a stranger, and he gave me the job right away,” Andre said though in reality the owner was more then just a simple baker and something that he had to keep to himself.

“We can finally go back home, to our small and beautiful beach again,” said Risa having an excited smile on her face knowing that she had enough of this place.

“We will go back home my children, I promise you all that with as much money as I can collect we will go back. But that is all tonight we should all get some rest now, goodnight my girls,” said Andre getting up on his feet while Risa and Zana did the same.

As every made their way to their individual tents Sylvia heard her name called out by her father.

“Yes father, is there something wrong?” She anxiously said hoping that it was nothing bad.

“Nothings wrong my dear, me and your mother wanted to talk with you alone without the girls being here,” her father said which Sylvia was confused with why she needed to be there alone.

Though Sylvia didn’t want to question it to much she instead took a seat on top of a wooden log.

“What is it that you and mother want to speak about with me me?”

Both her mother and father looked at each other without any words. Knowing that what her father will say next will make their oldest daughter upset.

“My lovely dear, promise me that you will not be in what I will say to you next. Just always removed that I and your mother love you with all of our hearts and soul,” Andre said as he placed a gentle hand on top of Sylvia’s left knee which she just stood quiet, “The owner of the bakery requested that if you would like to work for him as his own personal book keeper. And that he would like to meet you tomorrow, I know this sounds much but I also think and pray that maybe this man could be a potential suitor for you. It’ll be a way for you to have a good life for you knowing that we want what’s best you my love.”

“Father aren’t you hearing yourself? You think this man that you just met think he could bring me happiness not knowing if he might have any bad intentions? No, I will not work for him even if the money seems fair but I won’t accept it,” Sylvia said not believing in what she is hearing.

How could her mother agree to this not knowing what type of men could be dangerous out there especially if they are not gypsy by blood.

“Sylvia please, listen to your father. What if he is right, what if this man could give you everything you could ask for? And not live the way we do? I want also the best for you and for your sisters and Kaven. I don’t want to see any of you continue living like we are doing at this moment. Just go with your father and see the owner for yourself. But don’t forget to always keep your guard up my dear like we have always taught you,” Kezia begged knowing that she didn’t like where this was going but she also hoped for something good to come from this man.

The oldest daughter only sighed in defeat and agreed to go with his father to the bakery. Knowing that whatever this man is offering for her and her father is for good fortune.

****

The Next Morning

Sylvia and her father walked in a busy and noisy street as they made their way to where the bakery was located. From being on the fields for a year long this was more than what she expected. Some horses pulling wagons, men of all ages covered in dust and black powder from head to toe and the smell of coal and steel was in the air. It was a busy morning as they picked up the pace, trying to get to their meeting with the owner of the bakery in time. Sylvia wore something that would look presentable and clean though she ended up wearing one her mothers old black long sleeve dress. Which she was grateful to wear but also it made her look like if she was going to meet her doom. As some time went by they finally made it to the place where Andre knocked on two wooden doors a couple of times. The door was then opened which they were greeted by a young man who was in his mid to late 20’s.

“Mr. Voltaire, I presume yes?” The man asked which Andre took his brown cap off from his head.

“Yes I am he, and I also brought with me my daughter Sylvia. Does your owner want to see us already?” Andre asked while he wiped a bit of sweat that formed in front of his forehead.

“Mr. Solomon’s does want to see you both already. Come in,” said the young man directing them more deeper inside the brown lit shop.

There were mountains of barrels stacked from side of side, the smell of fresh dough being made and oddly enough there was a hint of of rum witching the same smell. Making their way to another pair of wooden doors, there was another long hallway with many men working from one station to another. Until one particular man was making their way towards Sylvia and Andre the one that everyone feared the most throughout the town of Camden.

“Mr. Solomon’s, this is Andre the one who was asking for a job yesterday. He wants to speak with you,” Ollie said which his boss didn’t say a thing until he was standing in front of them.

“Righ’ well Mr. Voltaire, a very good mornin’ to you sir. And yes i would to still go over some discussions with you about the job. And where I me manners, but who is this lovely woman here with you?” Said Alfie looking at his direction towards Sylvia which she just stood quiet but felt warm inside.

“My daughter Mr. Solomon’s, Sylvia Voltaire she is the oldest of the three. I brought her along to see if you wanted to still find someone with who to keep your booking. And I thought my Sylvia would be a good use in your business sir. She might not have the experience but we would be grateful if you can teach her,” Andre said hoping that it would convince Alfie to bring her in.

Alfie was quiet for a moment until he looked at Sylvia’s way looking at her up and down. She didn’t know what else to say or do she only could stay still while the bearded man thought for a moment or two if she looked like a good fit for a place like this. Though something did caught her eye about him, which it was odd to say the least. He seemed grumpy, broad, intelligent, and overall very attractive. Like from the looks of his body structure he seems to know what he does for a living and that this place itself has been booming for quite a while. She also caught a glimpse of his right hand with a small tattoo crown not knowing if it means something or just for display. Feeling like time has gone by so slowly, Alfie then finally spoke up.

“She will do, don’ you worry Mr. Voltaire, Ollie here will teach your daughter what she needs to do with me book keeping’s. Don’t you worry, I know she will be a good helping around here,” said Alfie giving a small smirk at Sylvia which she just bow her head in acknowledgment.

“Thank you Mr.Solomon’s for the opportunity, I promise to be of great use to you and for your work environment. But I also would like to thank you more for giving my father this job, we are grateful to find someone like you sir,” Sylvia said hoping that she didn’t sound very overly thankful.

“It’s nothin’ love and for next time don’t call sir or Mr. Solomon’s. Form now on yea, you will address as alfie and nothin’ more alrigh’?” He said while he liked her already for how polite she is.

As the morning went by, it suddenly became 2 o’ clock in the afternoon. Both Sylvia and her father have seen and learned so much in just almost a whole day. Andre knew what to expect since Mr. Solomon’s told him that he had an underground business that not even the coppers don’t know about. Though it did worry for the safety of Sylvia, and the rest of his family. Wondering if this was the right thing to bring her daughter to such a place and to be part of gangster organization. It was a lot to think for Andre to take in and he didn’t know if he should continue this path or not.

“Well now you and your daughter can go home for today, but starting tomorrow right’ is when it will get serious. And Mr. Voltaire is it possible if I could have a word alone with Sylvia,” Alfie said to which Andre felt nervous to be asked such a question but he did agree.

Sylvia and Ollie didn’t mind what time of day it was, as they were mostly bust sorting papers and writing down on the big note books. She did manage to learn quickly right away seeing that it was just writing many sorts of name items and to calculate how many sales were being sold. Knowing that she didn’t speak much English and her reading wasn’t the best, Sylvia was determined to not give up on this opportunity. Knowing that this will help not only for herself but for her family as well even if it means that she needs to stay some long nights. While she tried to know what papers have to properly be placed on the door to the small office was opened seeing her father in the entrance.

“Sylvia, umm… Mr. Solomons would like to have a moment with you,” Andre said to her in their native tongue which she looked confused but she didn’t ask another word.

Once they made it to Alfie’s office, which the oldest daughter was a bit confused as to why Alfie needs tor see her. Though once inside, he saw him sitting on the side of his big long desk filled with many piles of papers, the smell of whiskey, and dust above the atmosphere. He didn’t notice their presence right away, as Andre ands Sylvia walked up in front of the desk.

“Ah, righ’ Sylvia. I would like to speak to you about your position here in me bakery. It’s nothing bad if that’s what you are thinking love, but please have a seat,” Alfie said standing up on his feat and guiding the gypsy girl to sit.

She looked back at her father for a moment, which he just gave her a look of reassurance and that everything is fine. Though Andre and Alfie did have a talk earlier about having to bring Sylvia to this business. But it is something that Alfie himself that should tell her and it gave Andre some hope.

“I’ll leave you both alone, I’ll wait for you outside my dear,” said Andre lastly making his way out of the room hearing the door closed shut.

“You’re wondering why I need here alone with me love, and I’ll explain everything in a moment. But firstly righ’, what do you think of this job overall?” Alfie then asked taking his seat once more letting out a low sigh grunt.

“Well it is quite easy actually, however even if my English isn’t very well and my reading is a bit low I don’t see why I should not stop coming here and learn more. I honestly am doing this for my father and my family, we have been poor for a year. We had to leave home from France because well, my fathers old job wasn’t doing no good, and that is why we are here in London. Faith has always been on our side and I believe fate has come to us so quickly because of you Alfie. And I want to say again that we are very grateful that you accepted us as hard workers and not something else,” Sylvia said while Alfie listen to everything that almost what Andre said to him and he knew that this family was in need to help.

“I am sorry to hear that love, I can’ imagine that you all had to move across the ocean to land here. But I also want to say this. Your father and I have come to an agreement about you being here in me bakery, but promised him that I’ll be keeping an eye on you including my partner Ollie. As you can see yea, there are many men in this place as you have noticed. However, yea, if they ever try to lay a finger on you even give you the eye to your way, they are fuckin’ dead and will never see the light of day ever again. I know it sounds harsh for you but it is a promise that I am keeping for yous and your dear old father. How does that sound to you lass?” Alfie said seeing Sylvia’s facial expression change to confusion.

“Wait, my, my father told you all about us, but why would you try to help us?” Sylvia said trying to understand why her father would mention about everyone in the family.

“Your father asked for a favor he feels that if you are around with me you will be safe. And I could be very protective when it comes to having women around in me shop. But you don’t have to worry about that love, and well you all seem to be good people and I have been at my lowest before and I know how that life is like. However righ’, you and your family are under me eyes now starting tomorrow and showing you my humbleness towards you all and you deserve it,” alfie said in the end giving a small smile at Sylvia which she did return the smirk.

“Thank you Alfie, but how can we repay you back? This is just so much to take in.”

“No need to my dear, besides a pretty woman like you is worth saving and having around,” he added to which Sylvia could only blush at his comment.

“Again thank you Mr. Solomons. I mean, Alfie, but I will see you in the morning along with my father. But may I ask you a question and don’t take this in a wrong way. Why me and not another woman?” She asked knowing that there is more girls out there that would interest Alfie more than her.

“Is that really a question to ask treacle? You want to know the truth of why I see something in you than any other woman in this town?” He said standing up on his feet once again resting his hands on top of his hips while Sylvia felt a lump forming in her throat seeing while she sat still. “Because you’re different, and I like to know who you really are truly Sylvia Voltaire. And well, maybe if you would like to go out sometime to dinner with me if that’s what you wish for that is.”

Sylvia had nothing much to say but she stood quiet for a moment. Her fathers boss is asking her for dinner and wants to get to know her better is something out of this word. No man has ever said such a thing to her before until now. Especially Alfie that was not of gypsy origin but is willing to have some interest in her and wanting to get to know her better.

“Oh… well Alfie I don’t know what to say about all of this. I mean you are the first man to ask me out which that has never happened to me before. Though may I have to think about this, its just its soon to say but I need a moment to give you my word,” she then said hoping that it didn’t bother Alfie for one bit.

But to her surprise, Sylvia didn’t expect to what Alfie had to say next.

“No love please, by all means have all the time that you need. And your righ’, I’m sorry for askin’ out of nowhere. Please forgive me for sounding like an eager prick,” Alfie said knowing that this was a bad idea to ask in the first place.

“No Alfie, you should not apologize its just… you asked me so politely and I think that’s very attractive coming from you,” she said without thinking wishing she could take back what she just said right now.

“Did I now? Well I am flattered to be your first then love. But you should head home now, yea. I’ll see you both here again tomorrow morning. Is it alright if I could escort yous out? If that is fine with you of course?” Alfie said while Sylvia was caught with surprise again.

Is this man gone out of his head???…

“I. Well… yes that would be lovely thank you Alfie,” Sylvia said without stopping herself to which Alfie nodded his head.

As they both made their way outside of the entrance, both Alfie and Sylvia exchanged their last goodbyes. While doing so, she extended her hand out to Alfie both of their hands were clasp together.

“Thank you again Alfie, and see you soon again,” she lastly said feeling her hand against his larger hand feeling butterflies fluttering inside her stomach.

Once they shook hands, she made her way to where her father was waiting, as Alfie looked on seeing Sylvia leave. She then looked back for a moment, giving a small smile towards his way to which he did the same without noticing it himself.

This will be something exciting to look forward to… and I hope it is for the best….

****

Margate: Two Years Later

Waking up to the sound of the ocean waves was what Sylvia have missed for so long. She never thought she would be close to the sea ever again, but it has finally come true once again. And that was all on Alfie that gave her everything that she could ever wish for. After being at his so call bakery everyday, they both became closer together. And she did ended up going out with Alfie whenever no one was looking or listening especially her father. They did their best to pretend to be just partners from work, but in reality both Sylvia and Alfie started to build a bond together. Having a hard time not wanting to be separated from each other. Whenever he had meetings to attend too or some “errands” to go too, he would tell her to stay for her safety. Though Sylvia did at some point found out that he was this infamous gangster of Camden Town, but it didn’t make her look at him differently. What she cared about the most was the way he cared for her, keeping her safe from harm, and overall being treated like what a girl should be treated. Until now everything was perfect and grateful for everything that this life has given to her and her family. They were given another opportunity to be able to live like actual people, and as for Alfie generosity and humbleness, he did make a propose to Sylvia and her family.

“Sylvia, wake up, wake up, let’s go down to the seashore again. There are so many sea shells here then we have sene back home. Come on wake up,” Risa exclaimed gently tugging on her sisters right hand which she just grunted in reply.

“Hmmm, Risa please, its to early in the morning, can’t you wait later in the afternoon,” Sylvia said in a lazy voice, recasting turning her head the other way.

“Awww your no fun, please sister just this one time. I promise I wont ask you again next time,” she begged again to which Sylvia became quiet for a moment.

“Fine just give me a moment yes?” She mumbled to which she just heard her little sister said “yay” hearing her footsteps fade away.

She suddenly felt a shift on her left side along with a strong arm wrapping around her stomach.

“Good mornin’ my pet,” said a huskily Alfie also trying his best to wake up from his semi sleep.

“Hmm, good morning to you as well my love,” Sylvia said back as they both exchange a long kiss.

She then wrapped her arms around his strong, broad chest as they press their lips closer together.

“Sylvia. Come down please,” Zana called out this time, to which Sylvia groaned in annoyance.

“Well this kiss didn’t last so long as it did last night,” Sylvia joked making Alfie chuckle.

“Well don’t be so disappointed my dove, there is more of that later tonight. I promise you,” he said giving her a cheeky wink

It was has been almost a year of being together since Alfie asked Sylvia to be hers. It shocked her at first but she knew right away that she found her one true love. Even thought they came from different origins their love for each other was nothing to ignore. Alfie embraced Sylvia’s culture he was even willingly to learn French from her which he had approved very well. As for the rest of her family, they ended up having a home build in Margate next to Alfie’s. Which Andre and Kezia felt nothing but grateful towards Alfie’s knowing that this man was sent from the heavens. They have long for some peace and quiet and they their dreams did came true.

“Come on then love, let’s see what today awaits us ahead yea?” Alfie then asked making Sylvia come back to her senses.

“You lead the way my king.”

****

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mexicontpaymybills · 1 year

Text

Dear Diary,

This has been the weirdest World Cup I’ve ever seen. There are only four games left and:

We have Croatia, Morocco, Argentina and defending champions France left.

Croatia doesn’t know how to play regular matches and they will only go into extra time+ penalties because drama?? Luka loves the pain?? Good luck little elf.

Morocco hasn’t let ANY team score on them (just to prove a point they scored an own goal)and beat Cristiano and Co. They are the first African team to ever reach semifinals.

NO S H A K I R A SONG— but she tweeted!

If France wins this, they’ll be the first time team to win back to back since 1962.

Qatar spent $300 billion to organize this WC.

Christian Ronald’s played his last World Cup game ever and Georgina was his biggest fan.

I will now follow every Japan and South Korea game. #IWillGladlyBeA6ToThat9 oops?

It’s not coming home A G A I N

Neymar cried :( and Suarez cried :)

Our skin cleared up when Messi said “Que miras BOBO?!”

I hope Canada, Mexico and the U S of A bring it in 4 years( well 3 and 1/2 now )

12|10|2022

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vacantgodling · 6 months

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every time a european talks about how “oh talking to americans is like talking to some stupid baby that doesn’t know how to fix their problems haha xD” i want to strangle them. just full stop.

who do you think is the source of these problems in our country? you fucks. your ancestors. y’all pieces of shit who decided that people should be property and if it didn’t look like y’all made it, it needs to be destroyed.

punching “up” on america is not some kind of win that you think it is when your country is rife with similar problems, your privilege just keeps you from seeing them. i did not forget how greece refused refugees from senegal. i did not forget how france tried to ban hijabs. england still has a fucking monarchy and is holding the rest of the uk hostage. i don’t want to hear SHIT from y’all.

ask any person of color in your fucking countries, ask any fucking queer people in your countries, ask any fucking religious minority in your countries y’all are not as well off as you think

the people you are punching at are lateral. i am no different than you. fucking poor, at the mercy of my government, and going to be a BLIP in history when i die

get off your high horse i hope y’all trip down flights of stairs.

#i don’t even like america i’m just so tired at y’all patting yourselves on the back #as if 99% of the world’s problems aren’t y’all’s fault #and your government YOUR people #like to tote around how y’all don’t have the same issues as the us or ‘third world’ countries #when y’all are the reason this is happening #y’all. are. the. cause.#i fucking hate all of you #delete later i’m just too pissed off #ren hot cakes

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cloudlessly-light · 11 months

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In all that you do (one shot)

A/N: I am not actually sure what this is, this fic having no real purpose except that I couldn’t for the life of me get it out of my head. Sooo, with that said, I hope you like it, but a fair warning, it’s a little darker than anything I’ve ever written. Ship: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss and Lauren Reynolds x Ian Doyle Summary: You don’t chose who you fall in love with. But if you did, she would chose him every time. Word Count: 2,5k Rating: Mature Warnings: Angst, canon typical violence, mentions of knifes, mention of guns, non-graphic violence

You don’t chose who you fall in love with.

But if you did, she would chose him every time. Emily moves to DC and doesn’t give it much thought as she unpacks boxes from storage, suitcases from the last few years, fills shelves with little trinkets and old photos. Like she had done countless times before, like the last years of her life hadn’t happened. She was back in the US and just like her file was packed with a neat little made-up story, she unpacked her life and pretended that the neat little box in her safety box didn’t exist.

She was ready for something new, she was ready to start over, to put Lauren Reynolds to rest.

And then she meets Aaron Hotchner.

She doesn’t want to love him, she wanted easy and clean and falling in love with your boss was anything but that.

She doesn’t want to love him because she was barely over what had happened in France, what had happened during her time with Ian Doyle. She never admitted to loving Ian, but Lauren did. Lauren loved him in a way that scared her, and she had often wondered if that also meant that Emily also loved him.

She doesn’t want to fall in love with Aaron Hotchner, in fact she tries for years not to love him. She can’t love him; she would remind herself time and time again even though she felt her heart beat harder in her chest at the mere sight of him.

So she doesn’t want to love Aaron, but she does.

She had fought it with everything in her, the love she felt for him, had willed herself time and time again to not love him. Aaron was everything she had ever wanted, everything she needed but she didn’t want to love him.

That doesn’t matter, her heart easily winning the battle against her brain when she finds his apartment empty, the only evidence that he had ever been there at all the bloodstain on the carpet and his phone still ringing, taunting her. And in that moment she doesn’t care that she isn’t supposed to love him, she doesn’t care that the fight she has been fighting and losing for years comes to a stop because in that moment she thinks that he’s dead.

And she can’t breathe.

It’s a turning point for them, in the midst of everything that’s wrong in their lives, in the midst of all the chaos and heartbreak and grief, they somehow find each other.

“I love you.” She tells him one night, it’s late and quiet. It had been a long day, tiring to the point of exhaustion but he had still found it in him to make her dinner. It’s something small, something that in the grand scheme of things shouldn’t be a big deal. But it is to her because she knows that he’s just as tired as she is, can see the way he’s fighting his body’s urge to simply give in and rest, but he had seen it on her as well and for her he would turn the world on it’s axis if he could.

She had never had that, had never had someone putting her before themselves.

“I love you too.” He tells her like it’s not the first time, a small almost undetectable smile on his face. “Of course I love you.” His hand is warm on her cheek when he strokes it, his fingers dry and safe and she leans into it.

She kisses him then, lets him take her to his bed to prove how much he loves her, over and over again.

You don’t choose who you fall in love with.

But if you did, she would choose him every time.

Lauren laughs, something cruel in her grin as she watches the way Ian throws a man against a wall, his threats hissed against the younger mans face. She watches his strong body as he delivers another punch, this one hard enough for bones to break and she feels her thighs clench.

She never thought violence would turn her on. Until Ian.

Once he’s done and they watch the body being carried out he turns to her, walks towards her with determined steps and grabs her jaw to kiss her.

“Did you enjoy that, my love?” He asks between rough kisses and she nods into them, her fingers already on the button of his jeans. “Oh you really liked it I see.” He grins and she almost whines when he pulls away from her. “Tell me.”

“I liked it.” She whispered and the flush on her cheeks was instant.

“You loved it.” He corrects her and then pulls out his knife. He caresses her skin with the blade but is careful not to break the skin. She shivers at the danger, of the violence that she’s afraid will consume her.

She wakes up after another nightmare, still feeling the clear blue eyes on her even though she’s awake. She pushes her hair from her face, feels the cold sweat on her forehead.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Aaron asks and Emily flinches, momentarily forgetting that he was there. He notices, of course he does and he sits up to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. She calms as she looks into the warm brown eyes, so filled with concern that she wants to shy away from it.

“I had a nightmare, I’m sorry.” She reaches for him, reaches for the safety of him and he goes to her willingly.

“About him?” He asks, lips close to her temple and when she nods she can feel his hand tightening automatically. She had told him about Ian, told him about everything that she could without breaking the confidentiality laws or giving him classified information. Instead she had told him about Ian, the man she thought she loved, the man that brought out sides of herself that she hated, the man that made her afraid of herself. But she never told him the details, left out how much she would enjoy the dangers of Ian.

“Yeah.” She nods again and he kisses her temple, his lips lingering against her skin. She doesn’t give him details of the nightmare, doesn’t think he needs to know that she pictured strong hands pinning her down, snarling hurtful words in her ear. He doesn’t need to know that some part of her still enjoyed what Ian did to her, that she hated and loved him at the same time.

Instead she lays back down and pulls Aaron with her, her arms tight around him as she breathes in the familiar scent of him.

She didn’t want to love Ian, but she knew that Lauren did and the memories of them still haunted her, still frightened her even in the safety of Aaron’s warm embrace, of his love for her.

“You said you’re not the marrying kind.” Aaron’s words are the same as Ian’s and he doesn’t even know it. But it’s so different, his words laced with affection and maybe even a little teasing. It’s so different because Emily had told him yes, yes to a life with him, to a stupid diamond ring on her finger and not a gold necklace that for all intended purposes was only given to her with the aim to claim. Aaron didn’t want to claim her, she was willingly his and he was hers, equals in every way.

You don’t chose who you fall in love with.

But if you did, she would chose him every time.

Lauren feels his strong arms wrap around her from behind, his rough stubble against her neck as he breathes her in.

“Hello, love.” He sighs and she relaxes into his embrace, the smell of him as comforting as it is thrilling. He smells like gun powder, blood and danger and she feels the familiar hum of arousal as he places heated kisses along her neck and shoulder.

“Hi.” She turns her head enough for him to catch her lips in a kiss, feels him push her into the nearest wall as he presses his whole body against hers. “You said you wouldn’t kill him.”

“Things change.” He smiles when she shivers against him, ruts his hips against her backside. “How was your day?” He asks as he pushes her pants down and she doesn’t stop him as rough touches bruises her skin.

“Do you really care?” She breathes and arches into his touch, welcomes it even if his hands grab at her in a way that’s more painful than pleasurable.

“No.” He leers and she shivers as she lets him take her.

She sits in front of Ian, cold and scared as he threatens her. It’s her nightmare coming to life, it’s the fact that he manages to bring out Lauren too easily. It’s Emily momentarily forgetting who she was as she turned into the woman Ian had craved. She knew that he never loved her, that he only thought he did but the only thing he ever felt for her was possessiveness and want. And she’s once again reminded that part of her wanted that, that he brought out the worst sides of her.

“You think you love this man?” He asks and there’s almost a curiosity in his voice as he looks between her face and the diamond ring on her finger and Emily feels her finger hovering over the trigger of her gun under the table. One second, that was all it would take. Lauren would have pulled the trigger, but Emily couldn’t.

“Don’t talk about him.” She warned instead, her tone icy and detached and she saw the gleam in his strikingly blue eyes.

It’s over before she knows it, he’s walking away with a promise of vengeance and she knows that Ian always makes good on his promises. She rushes to Aaron, needs him to know, needs him safe.

“Ian is back.” She was panting, had run from her car to his apartment not caring that it was in the middle of the night. “He will come for you.”

He’s confused at first, but as he watches the woman he loves crumble before him he vows to never see her like this, frightened and crying as she clutches to him, makes sure that he’s really there.

“It’ll be okay.” He tries to promise her but she doesn’t believe him, only shakes her head.

“I need to get him. Alone.”

He refuses, of course he does. But that doesn’t stop her. She goes back to what she used to be, sneaks away and gets to Boston and as Ian outsmarts her, all she can think about is Aaron.

She wakes up in a warehouse and Ian is sitting in front of her, studying her as he twirls a knife in his hand.

“Welcome back, love.” He smiles at the way her face turns into hatred.

“Don’t call me that.” She pulls on the bindings keeping her to the chair, eyes flitting around the room before landing on Ian again.

“You used to love my pet names for you.” He mused and stood up. He watched as she flinched when the tip of his knife pressed into her thigh. “You used to love the danger, what happened to you?”

“Lauren did, I’m not her.” She kept her eyes on the knife as he cut the fabric of her pants but never breaking the skin of her thigh, his finesse with a blade something she’d been a part of many times.

“Is that right?” He walked behind her, removed her hair from her neck and wrapped his hand around it, feeling her pulse beat against the palm of his hand.

“I would never love you.” She closes her eyes when he laughs at her, his fingers tightening just slightly around her neck.

“You might be a good liar, but don’t pretend that you didn’t enjoy our time together, love. I can still remember you begging for me, always wanting more.”

She denies it but a part of her knows it’s true. She twists her head to look up at him, knows that she needs to buy time because Aaron was coming, she knew he was.

She didn’t want to love Ian all lose years ago. But you don’t chose who you fall in love with.

If you could, she never would have chosen him.

Aaron finds her, bruised and broken and he stays by her side. He never wavers and as she heals she knows that the love she felt for him was unlike anything else she’d ever experience. She knew that she was blessed to have him, knew that she never wanted to lose him.

“There’s parts of me that I’m afraid off.” She whispers late one night as he sits beside her hospital bed, his hands clasping hers. It’s the first time she said the words out loud.

“I know that feeling.” He says and it surprises her. “What I did to Foyet, I never thought I was capable of that, if I had been the one catching Doyle I would have done it all over again, the feeling the same.”

She squeezes his hand in hers, had never imagined that he had the same darkness inside of him even when she had witnessed it herself. It was because she thought it was different, his violence brought on by anguish and grief, hers because or urges she wasn’t aware off until she became Lauren Reynolds.

“When I was with him, we did things, or he did things and I… I can’t lie and say that a part of that didn’t excited me.” She looks down at her lap, avoids his dark eyes until he moves from the chair to sit at the edge of her bed.

“Did you love him?” He asks and again he surprises her. She looks at him with wide eyes and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth to keep her chin from trembling.

“No, what we were, it was horrible, dangerous.” She shakes her head. “It was two people using each other to take out their hatred on the world.”

“Do you love me?”

“More than anything.” She reaches for him, takes his face in her hands because she needs him to be as sure as she is about that. “I love you more than anything.” She says again and he smiles.

“Then maybe, that’s enough for now?”

She lets him wipe a stray tear from her cheek, a sob catching in her chest when he kisses her. She didn’t chose to fall in love with Aaron, but did anyways. And even if you could, she would chose him every time.

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