#she says in the present while there is nothing less fucked than tumblr to use. i mean cohost but i dont count it bc.. i dont use it ^w^
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what sports have you played, if any?
and, to riff on a previous ask, what do you see yourself doing in another 5-10 year?
thanks u for a more ask :3 do this again and more please!
i actually played baseball when i was a kid! like 6 to maybe 10 years old? it wasn't good ol b-ball, it was actually technically "c-ball" bc we were so young our coaches operated a pitching machine to pitch balls to us. i did move onto actual pitched baseball at some point but i was growing quite weary of it and also i kept literally getting hit by pitches so i stopped. havent done a sport in a while, but my "athletics credit" was filled by marching band in school so i didnt have to do gym class in high school thank fucking god. with my "Most Changed" ass. i played the tumpet btw bwaaa lol. my mom wanted me to do curling bc she was a curler in her day too but i didnt do it even tho i obviously expressed extreme intent. intent to curl.
hmmmm 5 to 10 year. i will be.. 27-32 years old.. long time for sure. well i hope to move out of my hometown, yknow, at some point. would be neat. perhaps learn to drive.. maybe live in a bigger city. geccing. hopefully ill have some idea of what to do, about things generally. if not uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh well then thats... just ok by me :) as long as im doing cool stuff with cool people<3.... but ultimately andn also most importantly... i will probably still be here on tumbr. if its. still here that is. or not gone to shit.. i might still be here if its gone to shit if im being honest. i just think it would take a lot.. if there isnt anything less fucked than tumblr to use 5-10 years from now actually we might be in pretty dire straits.
#violet originals#she says in the present while there is nothing less fucked than tumblr to use. i mean cohost but i dont count it bc.. i dont use it ^w^#i should tho#thank u for the asks again :333#and every one also for doing that <3
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i. about 2 weeks ago, i was told there's a good chance that in 5 or so years, i'll need a wheelchair.
ii. okay. i loved harry potter as a kid. i have a hypothesis about this to be honest - why people still kind of like it. it's that she got very lucky. she managed to make a cross-generational hit. it was something shared for both parents and kids. it was right at the start of a huge cultural shift from pre to post-internet. i genuinely think many people were just seeking community; not her writing. it was a nice shorthand to create connection. which is a long way of saying - she didn't build this legacy, we built it for her. she got lucky, just once. that's all.
iii. to be real with you, i still struggle with identifying as someone with a disability, which is wild, especially given the ways my life has changed. i always come up against internalized ableism and shame - convinced even right now that i'm faking it for attention. i passed out in a grocery store recently. i hit my head on the shelves while i went down.
iv. he raises his eyebrows while he sends me a look. her most recent new book has POTS featured in it. okay, i say. i already don't like where this is going. we both take another bite of ramen. it is a trait of the villain, he says. we both roll our eyes about it.
v. so one of the things about being nonbinary but previously super into harry potter is that i super hate jk rowling. but it is also not good for my mental health to regret any form of joy i engaged with as a kid. i can't punish my young self for being so into the books - it was a passion, and it was how i made most of my friends. everyone knew about it. i felt like everyone had my same joy, my same fixation. as a "weird kid", this sense of belonging resonated with me so loudly that i would have done anything to protect it.
vi. as a present, my parents once took me out of school to go see the second movie. it is an incredibly precious memory: my mom straight-up lying about a dentist appointment. us snickering and sneaking into the weekday matinee. within seven years of this experience, the internet would be a necessity to get my homework finished. the world had permanently changed. harry potter was a relic, a way any of us could hold onto something of the analog.
vii. by sheer luck, the year that i started figuring out the whole gender fluid thing was also the first year people started to point out that she might have some internalized biases. i remember tumblr before that; how often her name was treated as godhood. how harry potter was kind of a word synonymous for "nerdy but cool." i would walk out of that year tasting he/him and they/them; she would walk out snarling and snapping about it.
viii. when i teach older kids creative writing, i usually tell them - so, she did change the face of young adult fiction, there's no denying that. she had a lot more opportunities than many of us will - there were more publishing houses, less push for "virally" popular content creators. but beyond reading another book, we need to write more books. we need to uplift the voices of those who remain unrepresented. we need to push for an exposure to the bigotry baked into the publishing system. and i promise you: you can write better than she ever did. nothing she did was what was magical - it was the way that the community responded to it.
ix. i get home from ramen. three other people have screenshotted the POTS thing and sent it to me. can you fucking believe we're still hearing this shit from her when it's almost twenty-fucking-twenty-three. the villain is notably also popular on tumblr. i just think that's funny. this woman is a billionaire and she's mad that she can't control the opinions of some people on a dying blue site that makes no money. lady, and i mean this - get a fucking life.
x. i am sorry to the kid i was. maybe the kid you were too. none of us deserved to see something like this ruined. that thing used to be precious to me. and now - all those good times; measured into dust.
/// 9.6.2022 // FUCKING AGAIN, JK? Are you fucking kidding me?
#witches and wizards#kids need to be able to play games without knowing the extended universe#playing was easy#i knew i wasn't gonna be able to explain chronicles of christomancy#but we could pick up a stick and run around#nd say we were magic that would be enough backstory#and i think the last time i felt that sense of community#was the summer of pokemon go#it's about cross-generational connectivity bro#yes there are insular communtities but EVERYONE had fucking read harry potter#which is me saying - i think maybe people don't miss HER or the ACTUAL BOOK tbh#they miss... feeling connected#think about how so many people felt so weirdly ashamed and lost after Game of Thrones ended -#they did SUCH a bad job that the entire community just... vanished.#where beforehand people would have GoT weddings#we are just animals who love stories and love feeling like we speak the same language#btw i am not on twitter so i hadn't seen some of the shit she was doing#and then when i was 19 she published the ''american school'' hogwarts stuff#and was reading it casually bc again a huge nerd#and in it shes like ''the british taught the natives their more civilized magics''#and that was like..................... oh okay. okay. so.....
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BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.
PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.
(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)
pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.
word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)
chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)
author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags
PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)
Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.
While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.
She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.
“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.
You blink at her. “Hi.”
She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”
Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.
Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”
The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“It’s nothing—”
“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.
She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”
Well, okay. “Then why—”
Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”
You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.
“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”
“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”
As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.
Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”
Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”
You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.
“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”
“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”
“Mastered it?”
You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”
Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”
“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”
For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.
And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”
A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.
It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.
You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.
Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”
“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”
She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.
“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”
You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”
Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”
You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. “You know my college coaching stats?”
Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”
A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.
Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”
Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”
That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.
(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)
A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”
“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”
Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.
An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.
Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.
“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”
“But?” Rebecca questions.
The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”
It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”
Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”
You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”
Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.
“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.
When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.
But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.
“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”
You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”
“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.
It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”
It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”
The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.
You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.
She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.
You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.
“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”
This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”
The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.
“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”
Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”
A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”
Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”
“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”
The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.
She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.
So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”
There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.
“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”
Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.
“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”
Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”
Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”
The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”
“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.
“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”
“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”
“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”
“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”
“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”
The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”
Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”
Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.
Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”
“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”
“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”
Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”
“ROY FUCKING KENT!”
The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.
But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.
Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.
Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.
Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.
“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”
Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”
But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.
“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”
All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.
“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”
Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”
“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”
Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.
(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)
He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”
That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”
That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.
Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.
Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.
So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.
“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”
Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.
“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”
Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”
He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”
“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”
Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.
He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.
“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”
(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)
Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”
His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”
Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”
“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”
And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.
This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.
And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.
With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.
And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”
Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”
As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.
Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”
Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.
However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”
“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”
You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”
Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”
You push harder on the door.
Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.
“How the fuck do you know where I live?”
“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”
While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…
The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”
“I just want to talk,” he replies.
You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”
It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.
“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”
You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.
Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.
The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.
He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.
(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)
The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.
However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”
A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.
Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.
So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.
Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”
Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”
Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”
When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.
A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”
You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”
“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”
You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”
“And how long did you coach?”
He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”
That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”
Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”
“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”
Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”
“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”
“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”
As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.
So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.
Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”
The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.
A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”
“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.
You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.
But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.
(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)
You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”
Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.
“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”
This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.
“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”
Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”
You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.
However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.
That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”
For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.
But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.
He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."
You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.
But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.
“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”
Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”
You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”
His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.
“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”
He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.
You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”
If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”
“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”
Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”
Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”
“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.
That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”
Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.
“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”
The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.
You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.
But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.
And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.
You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.
You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”
Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”
“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”
Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.
You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”
That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.
Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”
Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”
He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”
You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.
This fucking week, man.
You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.
You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.
You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.
You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.
#roy kent#ted lasso#roy kent x reader#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent fic#roy kent x you#ted lasso fanfiction#aatwe#the one who can't walk up stairs#aces
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While I wouldn’t outright call it “social media colonialism” either… I think I can see other anon’s point.
The Edelgard community is at home in their subreddit and their Discord server. Clearly, both platforms and the Edelgard subcommjnities in them, have a culture that is different from Tumblr’s, both of because how the websites work and because of the internal works of this communities itself.
Clearly, they have been attempting to establish a presence on Tumblr as well over the past years, to varying degrees of success (they mostly only interact with each other and seem to look down on other users, judging by various comments in the Discord server as well as publicly on Tumblr itself). Which would be absolutely fine, them as individuals wanting to interact with more people who like Edelgard. I mean, she does have fans on here as well. The thing is, it’s not that. It clearly seems to be a community effort (supported by the fact how they mostly interact amongst themselves) and they very clearly do not want to be here — at least, judging by the more or less frequent complaints about Tumblr, its userbase, and the blatant disregard of Tumblr culture, tagging only being one example.
Yes, Tumblr can be very different from other social media sites. I’m not saying newcomers immediately have to adapt it, or to adapt it fully at all. However, it’s been years at this point, and the Edelgang is still doing this shit, still looking down on the platform and its users (and expressing that), at most regarding them as pawns to assimilate into their own space.
While it might not outright be colonialism, the mindset of it (and by extension, religious mission) is absolutely there (which is kinda ironic due to the hate boner these folks have against a fictional religion).
Oh I 100% understand their meaning, I just want to be precise with the language. Personally I describe it more like… they “Christopher Columbus’d” Tumblr/transformative fan spaces. They showed up late to the party to a community/culture that was already well established, then act surprised when the people present don’t automatically drop to their knees and treat them like kings and saviors and immediately bow to their will. Which is… nothing new unfortunately. IMO they’re doing what straight men have historically always done to spaces (primarily) women and queer folk have built. They mock and deride the spaces (if they’re even aware of them at all) as being worthless, deviant, gross, or a waste of time, but the moment they have tangible value they move in and basically say “alright sweetheart thanks for keeping this warm for us, but now that I’m here you can stop pretending like you can make something and let me lead”.
And it’s frustrating because that ALWAYS means that the people who were already there get pushed to the margins or pushed out entirely, because no one sees the value in them. Just in what they built. I think it is VERY telling that people in their community who actively used Tumblr tried to teach them how to integrate into the culture more smoothly and they basically told them to go fuck themselves.
Believe it or not we LIKE tumblr and the way it works. If we wanted to use a space that worked like Reddit then we would just go use Reddit. So no we don’t appreciate them marching in and basically demanding we all treat this like Reddit and engage in Reddit Culture on Tumblr. And trust me I’ve used Reddit for a lot longer than I’ve used Tumblr, and I’ve used Tumblr for a long time now. I know what this looks like.
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Now....
Onto Racist....who, per usual, is also being a hypocrite about FT....who, I actively dislike, always have. She’s not only an asshole, she has no talent. Again, haaattteee defending her, but...I hate hypocrisy (and stupid fake arguments, way, way, WAY moar:
Actually, weird thing.....I dislike both actors (and find them both largely talent-free)....but, honestly? Minkle/Tolars at least tracks and makes sense....and, since they’re IRL fuckbuddies, they DO have chemistry. Waaayyyy less cringey than Pinkle and/or Gholars...
AND....it doesn’t fucking matter if they’re popular or not----they’re tier 4 (on a good day) characters/actors who have almost minimal story line impact. And I say this knowing, yeah, Ghloars and Pinkle will probably be “endgame”.....it still doesn’t matter.
Minkle are fine, why do you think the entire planet is an endless popularity contest? And if you DO??? Why is fuckin’ tumblr your proof of this?
Plus, again, I don’t ship Barfie, I do ship Jabi, plenty of us who do.....and I have no issue with Minkle.....I get telling yourselves these easily debunked little urban legends make you feel better/are perfect for gaslighting....but maybe? Stop fucking lying....
Okay, duuuddeee....yes, you absolutely are pretending this...and, while I actually do agree, she’s an asshole and a REALLY stupid one at that....have you taken a peek at your kween recently?
She pimps a cult, sticks her foot in her mouth non-stop, posts herself looking wasted, trashes/body shames other wimmin, etc....
Ummm....I’m not especially a fan of Meggers, let alone “H”, but I’m not seeing what’s so terrible about FT supporting her? I mean, yeah, FT will use shit opportunistically in attempts to further her own, very self agenda.....but she’s done this all along. And really not seeing the issue here?
Why wouldn’t you trash the time she used an innocent black woman’s death to try and further her career/guilt&shame RAS into moar screentime? That was waaayyyyy grosser....
That she thinks Markle gets bullied by the press? She isn’t event entirely wrong. And racism and sexism still exist? Can you need read?
I had nothing to do with Dutchess Meg
Ummm.....I’m sure dudes a jerk.....but how are these evvoolllll???? Am I missing something????
Errr...again, see above.....cuz have you checked out your faves???
No you would absolutely not, you lying hypocrite....which is my express and entire issue here. Your kween is endlessly wasted, gets injections/crash diets while professing body positivity, is “MH advocate” who no longer goes to therapy takes medication, but instead is in a cult (which she shills to HER young fans), where she brags about talking to ghosts thru the ether.....
KokeJ just admitted he’s a broke addict, he DUI’d, fucked children, was supremely anti mask/vaxx (including making such a film) and advocated malaria medicine as treatment. As well as being Mr. Sooooperrr Spreader.
And you said nothing....
I will admit, you’d trash Cole, because you hate him....so false equivalency.
Plus you weren’t even able to coherently present your argument.....
There’s no question FT is a stupid bitch. I’ve said as much all along. The difference is, I’ve also pointed out so are almost all the other peeps in the cast
Ummm.....again, there’s plenty to drag her over.....this isn’t amongst it.
And, once again, have you checked out your kween???? Cuz she does all of the above, as well. If anything, I’d peg PP and FT as festive pals cuz they’re a LOT alike.....
And, actually, I did....all along....and received hate for it. Ditto KokeJ, ditto Crotchi, ditto the Peepster.....
Again, if you drag one, you drag all....
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I've always wondered this, but what do you think the Cullen's political viewpoints would be, given their individual backgrounds? if vampires don't change after they turn, then surely they would all be extremely racist (especially Jasper). would this not come up at some point? they aren't like the Volturi because the Volturi are too old to care, but the Cullens are young enough that they have been brought up with opinions on stuff like sexism, racism, homophobia and the like.
Oh fuck.
You get an early answer because otherwise I'll just chicken out and delete this one, pretend I never saw it.
UMMM.
Since I'm guessing you meant American political viewpoints, we need a disclaimer. I am not American, and not too knowledgeable about your politics. Not just in the sense that I don't follow the day-to-day drama, but as I am not an American citizen there are several things I don't know, can't know because I've never lived in your country and therefore can't know what the effects of living in a country ruled by American policies is like. What I do know is based off of the news in the foreign section, social media (by which I mean tumblr posts), and Trevor Noah's Daily Show.
I am an outsider looking in.
Which is really rather appropriate, since the Cullens are too.
The Cullens go to high school and college, Carlisle works, they pay taxes, they own real estate, and submerge themselves in American culture. Esme, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella are young enough that this is in many ways their world, and apart from timeouts they've more or less spent their entire lives, human and vampire, integrated into American society.
Not fully integrated, mind you, they do what they need to to fit in and get to school or, in Carlisle’s case, to work. They go no further. No extra-curriculars for the kids, no book clubs for Esme, no game nights for Carlisle. They walk parallel to humans, not among us.
In addition to this they're obscenely rich, which puts them another thousand miles from the experiences of your average American. They won't deal with the health system, which means healthcare is a non-issue, they're not going to need welfare or other social programs, unemployment is another non-issue. Name your issue, and the Cullens don't have personal stake in it. Even the climate crisis won't be a problem for them the way it will for us.
What I'm trying to say is, American political issues are a concept to them, not a lived reality. Just like they are for me. So hey, you made a great choice of blog to ask.
I'll also add here that you say the Volturi are too old to care, and I agree- from an ancient's point of view, racism is a matter of "which ethnicity are we hating today?", and it all looks rather arbitrary after a while. Same with every other issue - after a while it all just blends together into "what are the humans fighting over today? Which Christian denomination is the correct one? Huh. Good for them, I guess."
I can't put it any better than this post did, really. The Volturi are real people, humans are nerds and tumblr having Loki discourse. Aro thinks it's delightful and knows entirely too much about Watergate (and let's be real, Loki discourse as well), but the point I wanted to get at is that politics really don't matter to vampires.
And I don't think they matter to the Cullens either.
So, moving on to the next point while regretting I didn't put headlines in this post, I'll just state that I don't think vampires' minds are frozen. Their brains are unable to develop further, and they can never forget anything, but... well, this isn't the post for that, but in order for this to be true of vampires they would barely be sentient. They would not be able to process new impressions, to learn new things, nor to have an independent thought process. Yes, we see vampires in-universe (namely, Edward, who romanticizes himself and vampires) believe they're frozen and can never change, but there is no indication that this is a widespread belief, or even true. Quite the contrary - Carlisle went from a preacher's son who wanted to burn all the demons to living in Demon Capital for decades and then becoming a doctor and making a whole family of demons. Clearly, the guy has had a change in attitude over the years. Jasper, in his years as a newborn army general, slowly grew disenchanted with his life and developed depression. James initially meant to kill Victoria and hunted her across the earth, then became fascinated and changed his mind about it.
Had these people been incapable of change, Carlisle would still be hating demons, Jasper would be in Maria's army, and James would still be hunting Victoria.
It goes to follow, then, that they are able to adapt to new things.
The question is, would they?
Here I finally answer your question.
So, we have these people who don't really have any kind of stake in politics, who keep up to date all the same (or are forcibly kept up to date because high school) and are generally opinionated people.
Where do they then fall, politically?
(And this is where you might want to stop reading, anon, because I'm about to eviscerate these people.)
Alice votes for whoever's gonna win. She also makes a fortune off of betting each election. Trump's 1 to 10 victory in 2016 was a great day to be Alice. MAGA!
The actual policies involved are completely irrelevant, she does this because it's fun. Election means she gets to throw parties. Color coded parties for the Republican and Democratic primaries, and US-themed parties for Election Night! (Foreigner moment right here: I at first wrote "Election wake" before realizing that's not what y'all murricans call it.)
Alice loves politics. Doesn't know the issues, but she sure loves politics.
Bella votes Democrat. She actually knows about the issues, and cares about them. This girl is a Democrat through and through.
Carlisle doesn't vote. I can't imagine it feels right. Outside of faked papers he's not a US citizen, this is meddling in human affairs that he knows don't concern him.
More, this guy has never lived in a democracy.
In life, Carlisle lived under an absolute monarchy that, upon civil war, became an absolute theocracy. From there he learned that vampires live under a total dictatorship.
For the first 150 years of his life, democracy was that funky thing the Athenians did in history books thousands of years ago, no more relevant to him than the Ancient Egyptian monarchy is to me. Then the Americans, and later other European countries started doing this.
Good for them.
There's this mistake often made by those who view history from a... for lack of a better term, a solipsistic standpoint. A belief that the present day is the culmination of all of history. “My society is the best society, the most reasonable society; all the others had it backwards. Thank god we’re living in this enlightened age!”
The faith in our current system of government is one such belief. We (pardon me if this doesn’t apply to everybody reading this post) have grown up in democracies, being told this is the ultimate form of rule, and perhaps that is true - but remember the kings who have told their subjects they had were divine and the best possible ruler based on that. Remember also that most modern democracies haven’t actually been democracies for very long at all, America is the longest standing at some 230 years (not long at all in the grand scope of things) and they have a fracturing two-party system to show for it.
Every society, ever, has been told they’re the greatest, and their system of government the most just. Democracy is only the latest hit.
This is relevant to Carlisle because he’s immortal and decidedly not modern. Democracy has not been installed in him the way it was the rest of the Cullens, Jasper included. To him- well, it’s just not his world. He has no stakes in our human politics, and as he is older than every current democracy and has seen quite a few of them fall, he’s not going to internalize the democratic form of rule the way a modern human has.
I think the concept of voting is foreign to him.
It requires a level of participation in human society that he’s simply not at. He does the bare minimum to appear human so he do the work he loves, but nothing more, and I find that telling.
As it is I think he'd be iffy about his family doing it. He won’t stop them, but in voting they’re... well it’s kind of cheating. They’re not really citizens, none of this will affect them, and by voting they’re drowning out the votes of real human voters. He does not approve.
Edward votes Democrat. He's... well he’s the kind of guy who will oil a girl’s bedroom window so he can more easily watch her sleep without being discovered, justifying it to himself as being okay because if she were to tell him to get lost he’d stop immediately. Same guy is so sure that he’d leave and never return again if she wanted him to, except this is the man who returned to Forks to hang around his singer, knowing there was a significant chance he might kill her. To say nothing of his Madonna/Whore complex, or of the fact that he tried to pimp out his wife twice, and was willing to forcibly abort her child.
This guy is very much in love with chivalry, with being an enlightened and feminist man who supports and respects women, while not understanding the entire point of feminism, which is female liberation.
He votes Democrat because he’s such an enlightened feminist who cares about women’s rights.
Emmett doesn’t care to vote, but if he has to he votes Republican. The guy is from the 1930′s, and has major would-be-the-uncle-who-cracks-racist-jokes-if-he-was-older vibes.
Esme doesn’t vote, that would require getting out of the house.
More, I just... can’t see it. I can’t see her being one to read up on politics and The Issues, period, but if she has to then I doubt she’d be able to decide.
Jasper doesn’t vote. Alice can have her fun, he does not care.
There’s also the whole can of worms regarding the last time he went to bat for American politics.
I imagine he stays out of this.
Renesmée doesn't vote. She has no stock in the human affairs. Who would she vote for, on what grounds? When Bella tries to pull her to the urns, she points out that she's three years old.
Rosalie, guys, I’m sorry, but that girl is definitely gonna vote Republican. Perhaps not right now as it’s become the Trump party of insanity, but the Mitt Romney type of Republicans? Oh yes.
And for the record, yes I imagine she does vote. To step back from politics would be another way she was relinquishing her humanity, and that’s not allowed to happen. So, yes, she goes to the urns, less for the sake of the politics involved and more because like this, she’s still a part of society in some way.
Now, onto why I think she’s Republican, I think it’s both fiscal and social.
This girl was the daughter of a banker who somehow profited off of the Depression, and who then became part of a family with no material needs that would soon become billionaires thanks to Alice. Poverty to Rosalie is a non-issue, as it is I imagine she views it as a much lesser issue than what she’s had to deal with. The humans can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, Rosalie’s infertility is forever.
Rosalie’s empathy is strongest when she’s able to project onto others, and she won’t be able to project onto the less fortunate at all.
Then there’s the fact that the Republican party is all about traditional family values, and pro-life.
Rosalie, a woman from the 1930′s who idolizes her human life and who‘d love nothing more than to get to live out this fantasy, is down for that. And as of Breaking Dawn she’s vocally pro-life, so there’s that.
This all being said I don’t think Rosalie cares to sit down and fully understand these politics she’s voting for, the possible impact they’ll have- that’s not important. What’s important is what voting does for her.
TL;DR: I bet anon regrets asking.
#long post#twilight#twilight vampires#twilight meta#twilight renaissance#politics#history#twilight history#carlisle cullen#alice cullen#bella swan#renesmée cullen#jasper hale#rosalie hale#emmett cullen
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A Favor: Part Twenty-One
Nessian Modern AU
Masterlist
a/n: as someone who is physically incapable of reading fics and other long tumblr posts line by line and word for word, i think it’s so fucking cool that a bunch of you regularly, excitedly read what i post. i would not blame you at all for skim reading. thank you.
***
The majority of Cassian’s life was spent battling with the fact of his own existence. First he was fatherless, then motherless, then homeless. Being taken in by Rhys’s parents, who bought him nice clothes and nicer gifts, was like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. It couldn’t change the questions that made up Cassian at his core: was he equal to everyone else in this world, or had he been born inherently inferior? Did he deserve the same happinesses that his friends so carelessly reaped, or should he step back and know his place?
The older he grew, the more he grappled with those questions—until the night he learned who his father was, and the truth behind his existence. That he was likely a product of rape. Nearly driving himself drunk off a mountainside in Monte Carlo was enough to make him realize with a startling clarity: he couldn’t keep asking himself the same questions for the rest of his life. At some point, he was going to have to buck the fuck up and make his peace with the world, whether he believed he deserved to be in it or not. And though it might have taken him a while to reach that conclusion, Cassian can proudly say he did it. Not long into his post-college years, Cassian finally grew up.
By twenty-seven, he was secure enough in himself and his place in the world to not have to deal with those doubtful voices every waking minute. His life was figured out, and his ego was unshakeable. Until Nesta Archeron entered the story.
Now at twenty-eight, Cassian is again unsecured—this time in a less tragic but more confusing way. Because everything he thinks he knows about himself, about life, she insists on proving wrong.
Including the issue of celebrating his birthday.
“I feel like I should have asked this earlier,” Cassian mutters to Nesta as they stand in the cozy resort lobby, “but why is Az here?”
Nesta looks both humiliated and resigned when she mutters back, “He wouldn’t pay for the resort unless I let him come with us.”
“At that point you should’ve just let me pay, babe.” He watches Azriel’s back as he chats up the lady at the front desk while getting their room keys.
“On your own birthday? It would have ruined the point,” Nesta says.
Cassian doesn’t retort that having his brother present at their couple’s retreat also ruins the point. He’s sure she already knows.
Nesta’s reaction when Cassian told her that he didn’t celebrate his birthday was unforgettable.
“No one in our inner circle really cares about birthdays,” he had shrugged. “Feyre’s birthday is the exception because she’s sort of the outsider, and Rhys will find any excuse to worship at her feet. But the rest of us? I don’t know, it was never a big deal.”
As someone who’s never skipped a birthday once in her life, even when she was isolated and ignoring her family’s phone calls, Nesta took this as a personal offense. “I need to get you out of this cabin,” she stated.
Which brings them here, to Colorado’s finest ski resort situated high in the Rocky Mountains. The lobby is littered with overstuffed armchairs and a crackling fireplace, and huge windows look out over the blinding white mountains.
Az starts heading their way, key cards in hand, when Cassian suddenly turns to Nesta. “We need to find him a woman,” he whispers.
“What?”
“We can’t let him third wheel with us for the whole weekend. We’ll never get time alone.” Cassian is set on this new plan, already scanning the lobby for women around Azriel’s age.
“I agree, but—”
Azriel reaches the two of them, tossing a room card to Nesta. “You can stop talking about me now. I’ll be spending most of my time hitting the slopes.”
Cassian and Nesta mumble a halfhearted, “We weren’t talking about you.”
He narrows his eyes at them. “Uh-huh. Just remember whose credit card this is going on.” Picking up his ski gear and duffel bag, he turns for the elevator.
Nesta frowns up at Cassian once Az is gone, more adorably than she probably intends. “Do you think he’s upset?”
He scoffs. “We should be upset at him.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about his brother while he’s on vacation, and Az definitely wouldn’t want him to worry either, but it isn’t something that can be helped.
Despite his irritation, he might go skiing with Az later this afternoon. Just to keep him company.
***
Nesta will give it to Azriel—he’s a man of fine taste, and also generous with his spending. She originally wanted a normal room for her and Cassian, preferably the cheapest one, but Az went behind her back and upgraded them to a fully decked out penthouse suite.
“This is too much for just a weekend,” she tells him over the phone while Cassian is in the bathroom. “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”
“Why would you pay me back?” he says dismissively. “I’m rich.”
When Nesta tries arguing with him, he only replies, “I don’t take money from poor people,” and hangs up on her.
Which leaves Nesta to enjoy the four-spray shower and heated bathroom tiles free of charge. By the time she comes out of the shower, Cassian has already left with Azriel to hit some slopes before dinner, though not before leaving her a note promising to teach her how to ski tomorrow.
Nesta doesn’t even get to unwrap her towel from her body before realizing her phone is ringing incessantly, all the way from the other side of the suite. Jogging over to the living area, Nesta answers Emerie’s call. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” Emerie greets without introduction.
“At the ski lodge?” Nesta answers, confused. “I already told you, for Cassian’s birthday.”
“I know that,” Emerie hisses. “I mean what room are you in? This place is huge.”
“Wait—you’re here?” Nesta looks quickly around herself, as if Emerie will pop up from behind the couch.
“Not just me. So is Gwyn.” Nesta hears rustling on the other side of the line, and then Emerie saying from a distance, “Answer for your crimes, Gwyneth. Say hi.”
A new, clearer voice comes over the phone. “Hiii, Nesta.” Gwyn sounds weak, like she is not having fun at all.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Nesta demands.
“Well, it’s a long story and I need to see you first. Also, I have to pee. Where is your room?”
Five minutes later, Gwyn and Emerie are sitting obediently before the roaring fireplace in Nesta and Cassian’s suite.
Now fully dressed, Nesta stabs a finger at Emerie. “Explain.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Emerie says indignantly. “Gwyn barged into my place at eight in the morning and dragged me all the way here—”
“It was an emergency!” Gwyn tosses her hands in the air. “It still is an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”
“I’m here because Gwyn is scared of traveling alone,” Emerie interjects. “And driving on highways.”
“Guys!” Nesta snaps.
Gwyn makes a whining sound of defeat and drops her head into her hands. After a long moment, she speaks. “He asked if we could go to dinner together. Like, right to my face. And I panicked and said yes, because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but obviously I can’t do that. So this morning I cashed in my sick days and told him I was going on vacation for a whole week.” Gwyn looks up at Nesta with pleading teal eyes. “Please can we stay here the whole week?”
Nesta stares at Gwyn, feeling like her brain was just sucked dry. “First of all, who’s ‘he’?”
“Max!” She stands in her outburst. “The love of my life. The man who works on the fourth floor of the library. Do you pay attention to the groupchat at all?”
Oh yeah, that guy. “You came all the way here,” Nesta drawls out slowly, “so you wouldn’t have to have dinner with your crush?”
“It wasn’t just any dinner.” Gwyn flops back onto the couch. “It was a date. I can’t go on a date with him. First dates lead to second dates, and second dates lead to—sex.” She whispers the last word.
“Really?” Emerie frowns, not missing a beat at the mention of Gwyn’s deepest fear. “What kind of dates have you been having?”
“I haven’t been having any dates,” Gwyn says. “Why, how long do you usually see someone before doing it?”
“First date, at most,” Emerie shrugs.
“No,” Nesta steps in, sending Emerie a bewildered look. “Gwyn, you’ve known this guy for a while now. If he’s half as decent as you think he is, he won’t expect sex by the second date. And even if he does—”
“What does it matter?” Gwyn wails. “It’ll come up eventually. And when it does, he’ll think I’m a freak.”
“He won’t get a chance to think anything before I kill him,” Emerie says, eyes darkening.
Nesta says nothing, knowing this is something she can’t advise Gwyn about. Whether or not Gwyn chooses to share her past and unresolved trauma with another man, and whether or not that man reacts in an unshitty way isn’t something Nesta can determine. So she just states for the record, “You’re not a freak.”
“But it’s what he’ll think.”
“Then you shouldn’t be with him in the first place,” Nesta says firmly. Even though she knows better than anyone that it isn’t always that simple.
Proving her point, Gwyn scoffs and looks away. “You don’t get it.”
“What I really don’t get,” Nesta says, “is why you took your lie so literally. Why did you come all the way out here instead of hiding out at home for the week?”
“Merrill sees and knows everything. I can’t lie to her.” Gwyn cringes. “If I stayed at home, she would sniff me out as soon as she got me on the phone, and then I’d really be screwed.”
Nesta cocks her head at Gwyn, squinting her eyes in something akin to fascination.
“I had the same reaction,” Emerie pipes up. She shakes her head at Gwyn. “I’ve never met a more melodramatic idiot, truly.”
Gwyn curls into herself on the couch, looking ashamed.
Nesta sighs sharply, then whips out a hand. “Give me your wallets. I’ll go downstairs right now and see if I can book a room last minute.”
Emerie sits up at that. “Uh… I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”
“Neither can I,” Nesta says. “That’s why Azriel paid for all of us.”
Gwyn’s eyes go comically round. “Azriel’s here?”
“Unfortunately.” She snaps her fingers at both girls. “Credit or debit, now.”
“So… I’m assuming we can’t just share this huge suite with you guys, huh?” Gwyn says hesitantly.
There might be actual flames in Nesta’s eyes. This is Cassian’s birthday, goddammit. Cassian, who hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was eleven. “Please don’t push me.”
Gwyn and Emerie, very reluctantly, hand their cards over to Nesta. Emerie hands over two, just in case.
In the end, Nesta doesn’t use any of their money, but charges the new room to her own account. She’ll work it off by putting extra hours into Night Court, she tells herself.
When she returns to the penthouse suite, she spies tracks outlined in melted snow at the doorway. Shit. She barges inside to find Cassian and Azriel standing in the middle of the living area, with Emerie looking awkward on the couch.
“Uh, we just got back—” Cassian starts.
“I can explain,” Nesta interrupts.
A faucet turns off in the distance, and Gwyn peeks her head out of the bathroom door.
“Oh, shit,” Azriel says in delight. “Freckles is here too?”
Gwyn looks like she’s about to turn right back around to the bathroom. Nesta and Cassian both throw Az a baffled look, but Nesta says, “I can fix this. I’ve already fixed it.” She goes over to Emerie and hands her a key card. “You and Gwyn are going to stay on the first floor, and you won’t bother me or Cassian for the duration of our stay. It’ll be like you’re not even here.” She whips toward Gwyn, who still hovers near the bathroom doorway. “And at the end of this weekend, you’re going back to work like the adult you are and taking care of your shit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gwyn says quietly, lowering her head.
Cassian comes over to Nesta, whispering, “So, you didn’t invite them to keep Az company or anything, right?”
“I can hear you,” Azriel says.
“Of course not,” Nesta whispers back. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“Really? Because I thought it was kind of convenient—”
“I can still hear you,” Az repeats.
“So can I,” Emerie nods.
“Shut up,” Nesta hisses at the both of them. Grabbing Cassian’s still-gloved hand, she drags him upstairs and away to their bedroom. When the door shuts behind them, she turns to him and blurts, “I’m so sorry.”
Cassian only laughs, taking his ski jacket off and brushing away the wet snow from the back. “I’m not.” He tosses his jacket and gloves over a chair and approaches Nesta, tugging her closer by her oversized turtleneck. “And what did I tell you about wasting your apologies?”
Nesta doesn’t care. “I ruined your birthday.”
“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” he says with a straight face. “But honestly, I like this a lot more than just you, me, and Az. At least he can’t third wheel anymore, right?”
She shakes her head insistently, frustration boiling in her blood. “Everything’s going wrong.”
“But you solved our problems.” He finds Nesta’s clenched fists and unfurls them with gentle hands. “You got the girls their own room, and now Az can be distracted with those two. We can still be alone. We win.”
Nesta purses her lips, unconvinced, when Cassian adds, “But seriously, though—what the fuck are they doing here?”
She exhales deeply, letting her head drop forward onto Cassian’s chest. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Gwyn panicked about some personal stuff and thought it was a good idea to come to me. I don’t want to make her leave, though.” Gwyn is being stupid right now, without a doubt, but Nesta won’t abandon her. Neither will Emerie.
God, having friends sucks.
Cassian threads a hand through her loose hair and hums. “Gwyn was smart for coming to you.”
***
Dinner is held outside in the snow and cold, but everyone bundles up and sits down at a table that surrounds one of the multiple fire pits in the courtyard. Cassian convinced Nesta to let Gwyn and Emerie hang out with them for the weekend, because what else are those poor girls supposed to do, and now the women babble over each other as they decide what to drink.
Cassian sits back and takes it in, the sight feeling heartwarmingly familiar and strangely brand new at the same time. Nesta ends up being the one to order everybody’s drinks, and once the waiter scampers back inside, Gwyn releases a terse breath. “Sometimes I still get scared of that tone.”
“I’m always scared of it,” Az mutters, eyeing Nesta from the corner of his eye.
“What tone?” Cassian laughs. He knows Nesta is still a little wound up from her plans going off the rails, but she hasn’t done anything scary.
“I’m used to it,” Emerie says through a mouthful of fries, “but I think that waiter almost cried.”
“That’s how I sound all the time.” Nesta shrugs, sitting back.
“What tone?” Cassian repeats.
Nesta clicks her tongue impatiently. “You know how I talk. I’m straightforward.”
“And harsh,” Azriel adds. “Even aggressive.”
“Watch it.” Gwyn turns stern eyes onto him over the fire pit.
“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” Cassian says. He turns to Nesta. “You sound perfectly normal to me.”
She narrows her perfect brows at him, and Emerie laughs, “I don’t know if that’s romantic or ignorant.”
But now that they’re discussing it, Cassian does distinctly remember Nesta having a sharp edge to her words while they were getting to know each other. Did it disappear over time, or has he really stopped noticing it?
He doesn’t get to think about it before their drinks arrive, followed soon by a dinner of fancy sandwiches.
Cassian cuts his beef sandwich in half and gives the other half to Nesta, and she does the same with her turkey sandwich. They eat and drink around the crackling fire, laughing and talking about tomorrow’s plans (“It’s not your birthday, Azriel,” Nesta says. “Stop asking about gifts.”). Cassian and Emerie talk idly about video games over wine, and even though it isn’t really his thing, he can see her excitement over it and gladly indulges it.
Once everyone is finished eating and is slightly drunk, Gwyn pulls a small sleeve of crackers out of her puffy jacket, followed by a fun-sized Hershey’s bar and a handful of mini marshmallows.
“What are you doing?” Nesta says.
“Making dessert.” Gwyn builds a mini s’more and places it carefully on her fork so she can toast it over the fire pit. When it’s done, she leans forward even more to try to put it on Nesta’s plate. “For you. Thank you for letting me and Emerie stay.”
Nesta jumps, catching the s’more with her plate and batting Gwyn away from the fire pit at the same time. “You’ll set your hair on fire,” she hisses.
Gwyn’s hair remains safe, but now Cassian catches his brother watching Gwyn amusedly from the corner of his eye. “Can I have one?” Az says.
“I’m all out.” Gwyn says while building another s’more, refusing to meet his eyes.
Cassian and Nesta share a look, a hundred words thrown back and forth between them in that glance. She scoots her chair closer to him to slip her cold hands into his warm ones, but while the conversation carries on around the table, she leans in and whispers, “I’m not a busybody but…”
“I am,” he whispers back. “Az is being weird, weirder than usual.”
Nesta nods. “I’ve never seen him so—outgoing.”
Neither has Cassian, but before he can mention anything else, he looks up to find that Gwyn and Azriel’s seats at the table are empty. “How much did those two drink?” he breathes.
Nesta follows his gaze, seeing what he’s seeing: Azriel and Gwyn wandering clumsily around the snowy courtyard. Or rather, Az is trying to chase Gwyn down for a s’more, while she clutches her mini marshmallows to her chest and vehemently yells, “They’re mine!”
Meanwhile, Emerie is half asleep at the table.
Cassian watches as Gwyn nears the towering fir tree at the center of the courtyard and slips. Az shoots out a hand to catch her, but not before her ass hits the stone, hard. He pulls her back up, no longer fooling around, and Gwyn rubs her butt in pain.
Cassian suddenly feels Nesta squeezing the life out of his hands, and he looks over to find fury written across her face. For a heartbeat, he feels worried for Az.
“Go deal with him,” Nesta says lowly. “Before I do.”
Not needing any more words to understand, he stands out of his seat and heads out into the courtyard. He doesn’t know why Nesta thinks Gwyn needs protecting, but it makes him feel protective himself. Approaching the duo, he sees that Azriel finally acquired the leftover s’more ingredients from Gwyn.
“There’s only like half a cracker left,” Az mutters to himself, shaking the baggie.
“Is he bothering you?” Cassian asks Gwyn, who still looks grumpy over losing their skirmish.
Whipping her head to Cassian like he’s her savior, Gwyn nods furiously. “Please make him stop.”
Cassian turns to Azriel with rage in his eyes, a clear What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
But Az shakes his head in denial. “It’s not like that. Look, she’s smirking at me!” He points over Cassian’s shoulder.
When Cassian looks, Gwyn is already walking back to the fire pit, holding her bruised ass.
Az starts, “What a fake little—”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian interrupts. “Yesterday you’re crying over Elain and today you’re flirting with Nesta’s friend?”
Azriel goes serious, his face turning colder than the night air. “How do you know about Elain?” he says gruffly.
“Everyone knows, Azriel.” Cassian stares down his brother, wondering if he’ll finally get him to get his head screwed on straight after these past weeks of secretive bullshit.
Azriel sets his jaw, but a muscle there ticks.
“Will you finally at least tell me what’s going on in your head?” Cassian pleads. “Because I can’t keep guessing.”
Azriel glances toward the dinner table, as if checking to see that no one is paying attention to them. Looking back, he inhales a breath. “You want to know why I left Velaris?”
Like Nesta, Azriel is not one to quickly make himself vulnerable. So there’s no blatant emotion in his voice when he says, “I started seeing her at the end of summer, not long after she broke up with her ex. And it was so…nice after every other relationship I’ve been in has gone wrong. We kept it quiet, and because of that, it was peaceful.” Azriel’s eyes meet Cassian’s twin ones, and he smirks without humor. “But you already know what that’s like, don’t you?”
He does. Cassian crosses his arms, waiting for Az to continue.
“Anyway, we had a good run. For a long time, it was mostly just sex, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.” Az kicks at the snow-dusted cobblestones. “Then Christmas came around, and Rhys found out.” His face darkens as he remembers, and Cassian stiffens, knowing what’s next isn’t good. Sometimes Rhys forgets the boundary between boss and brother.
“He didn’t say anything about it to Elain, of course,” Azriel says. “But he dragged my ass aside and gave me this huge lecture about us using each other as rebounds. Said ‘Feyre’s sister’ deserves better or some shit. I told him there was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead he brought Vanserra & Co. into it, like his business matters had anything to do with me and Elain.” Azriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners in a puzzled way. “So I got to thinking, ‘why would he bring the Vanserras up?’ He made it seem like such a big deal.” The toe of his boot digs a hole into the ground.
Sympathy churns alongside anger in Cassian’s chest for Azriel’s situation, anger at Rhysand for crossing that line between brothers. He’s only momentarily grateful that Rhys never tried doing something similar to him and Nesta.
“I thought she was over that other guy, Lucien,” Az continues. “But maybe she’s not, if Rhys is so concerned about what Lucien’s stepfather thinks. Anyway, that’s why I ran. Because I knew she liked me, but I also knew she didn’t love me. I didn’t want us to cause all that trouble with Rhys just to end up backed into a corner one day, having nowhere else to go because she loves someone else and I’m just a rebound. It would be awkward for everyone involved.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s mostly my fault, for always chasing after women I can’t have.” He finally looks up at Cassian. “When you talk to Elain, does it sound like she hates me?” The question is quiet, straightforward.
“No,” Cassian answers, voice rough. Even if Azriel wants to hide his feelings, Cassian won’t. “She doesn’t seem like she hates you. I don’t even think she’s mad at you.” Concerned, anxious, upset—that’s Elain as far as he knows.
“She should hate me,” Azriel says. “She should get pissed, burn my old clothes, and swear to never talk to me again. That’s the only way she can move on.” Maybe even move back to Lucien, is what goes unsaid.
Cassian isn’t so sure about that. Even as he feels for Az, he thinks both of his brothers should get slapped upside the head for how they’ve been acting lately. He won’t be the one to do it, but he might get Nesta to relay a message to Elain. It’ll be the same thing. “I’m sorry,” he tells Az instead. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately. When we get home, I’ll start doing better.” He claps Az on the shoulder and squeezes.
Azriel surprises him by scoffing, looking away in disbelief. “Wow, being compassionate is really a full time job for you, huh?” He claps Cassian’s shoulder back, pulling him into a sudden hug. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he says into Cassian’s ear. “Go to your girlfriend and take a rest.”
Taken aback, Cassian nods and pulls away. He’s about to turn around and leave when Az says, “By the way, I wasn’t flirting with Gwyn.”
Cassian raises a brow. “You were definitely doing something.”
Az rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving her anything she can’t handle. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in other women right now.” He makes a face. “Especially not her.”
Cassian chuckles. “I believe you. It’s Nesta you need to worry about.”
“Whatever. I’m not scared of her.”
That makes Cassian laugh even harder, but he turns around, ready to go back to said girlfriend. As he nears the fire pit, though, he finds that Gwyn is already there and cuddled up to Nesta. On Nesta’s other side, Emerie now sits in Cassian’s chair, asleep on her friend’s shoulder. He stops in his tracks.
Cassian wasn’t lying when he told Nesta that he was happy about their changed vacation plans—he believes the more the merrier, and he loves these people. Yet he can’t help but wish the two of them could be alone for just one day. Only one.
God, sometimes having friends sucks.
***
a/n: this is a two parter so next chapter we’ll finally be getting more nessian alone time
tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland
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When in Brazil - Heat
pairing: Hinata x f!reader x Oikawa
genre: SMUT
wc: 12.1k (I don’t have excuses anymore. Bear with me pls)
warnings: threesome, double penetration (all holes involved byee), anal, oral (giving and receiving), degradation, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, dumbification, squirting
[a/n]
For maximum experience, you have to read the series chronologically for context.
Can you believe it? This took me more than a month to finalize because the Oikawa-Hinata dynamic is fucking hard to polish.
I'm staying away from writing smut after this (don't quote me on this).
I need to bathe with holy water after this.
Enjoy, I guess?
Here’s the AO3 link in case tumblr is being shit and crashes on you.
MASTERLIST
The day is almost over, yet it feels like the minutes are ticking by too slowly. You just want to go home. You’re in the diner but all you can think about is throwing yourself onto your mattress and sleeping off the weariness brought by the surge of customers on a Friday night. To make things worse, Shoyo is not doing deliveries today so you have to close the diner all on your own.
You release a burdened sigh before you plaster a rehearsed smile on your already exhausted face. When you are able to recollect yourself, you go back to the array of customers waiting to be attended to.
Amongst the seated crowd is an all too familiar tangerine that stood out effortlessly. He’s never been in your diner as a customer, so seeing him as such is a nice change.
He’s with someone and is so engrossed with their lively conversation that he doesn’t notice you at all. Despite that, it’s still nice to see him. You always see him working so hard that it’s comforting to watch him hanging out and having fun with others.
You’re probably staring because his eyes suddenly dart to you.
Of course, Shoyo being the sunshine that he is, he gives you a warm smile and a friendly wave that you take as your signal to come over to their table.
“Fancy seeing you as a customer, Shoyo,” you say just as affectionately as his smile is. “You brought a friend too,” you add as you turn your head to greet his company.
Once your eyes land on his friend, you feel the strain in your facial muscles as you try to maintain the smile you’re wearing.
It’s the fucking tourist!
“Ms. Local!” he yells out with familiarity and delight dancing in his surprised eyes.
“You know each other?” Shoyo asks.
You and the tourist speak at the same time.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Shoyo looks back and forth at you and the tourist with apparent confusion.
“He must be mistaken.” Despite the panic that’s starting to rise in your chest, you’re able to maintain a calm facade. “I don’t know him,” you add confidently because it’s the truth. You don’t know him aside from two facts you got from his last time: he’s a volleyball player from Argentina and he’s a hot scum of a tourist.
You give the tourist the most hospitable smile you can muster, hoping that he’s actually decent enough to get the drift.
He looks at you from head to toe before an amused grin forms on his lips. He rests his elbow on the table and lazily places his cheek on his palm. “She’s right, Shorty pie. I was mistaken. I actually don’t know her too,” the tourist says as he regards you meaningfully.
Shorty pie? Did he just address Shoyo as shorty pie? How snotty! Shoyo is not that short.
“Y/n, this is the great king, I mean, Oikawa-san, I mean uhhhh,” Shoyo turns the tourist and says something in Japanese. You try to get cues as to what they’re talking about but the language is incredibly different. You might’ve found it rude but it was Shoyo who did it. You can’t imagine him saying anything bad about you.
The tourist faces you with a wide smile. “You can call me Tooru, Ms. Local,” he introduces himself.
“Her name is Y/n, Oikawa-san,” Shoyo kindly corrects Tooru, not a drop of suspicion present in his tone.
“Right! Y/n it is.” He continues staring at you with a very smug look on his face that makes you want to kick him out of the diner. But even if you were the owner, you can’t do it without letting Shoyo know why.
You distract yourself and turn your full attention to Shoyo. “So, what’re you boys getting?” you ask cordially.
“Let me ask him, y/n. It’s his treat.” Shoyo faces his annoying company. You softly tap your feet on the floor and refuse to get back to Tooru, hoping that it’ll still be Shoyo who’s going to order for the both of them.
“Y/n, hallooo.”
It’s taking everything in you not to roll your eyes and exhibit a grouchy behavior unacceptable towards a customer. Goddamn it, you can’t even sigh to calm yourself down.
You force yourself to face him and let out a high-pitched “Yes?” paired with a feigned smile.
He chuckles uninhibitedly before he answers. “Actually, I don’t know what to order. I just wanted you to look at me,” he admits without any trace of shame.
You try to laugh your irritation away but it comes out awkward and loud that some of the customers near their table turn their eyes at you.
You clear your throat to shake off the embarrassment. “Since you’re undecided, Sir. We’ll get you our three best sellers which will take no more than 20 minutes to prepare. I’ll be back when it’s ready,” you say all at once. You don’t wait for their response as you turn around and hurry back to the kitchen.
You tell the cook their order and excuse yourself to go to the restroom.
As soon as you close the door, you cover your face with both hands and pour a regret-filled squeal onto your palms.
You certainly have been complaining about life being dull and repetitive. But this is too much of a mayhem for you to handle!
Out of all the strangers you could’ve possibly slept with, it had to be someone Shoyo knows. Fuck! What if the tourist, what’s his name again? You were too busy panicking that you didn’t even catch his name when he said it. It was something like Tori? Taurus? Tooru!
Tooru, the scumbag tourist.
His name is not really that important though. What’s more pressing is the possibility that he might tell Shoyo.
You really like your lively and good-natured friend. You don’t want him to think you’re a lady of loose morals for sleeping around.
Loud knocks on the door pull you back to the reality that you need to get back out there. You can’t stay in the restroom room wishing you can turn back time, even though you do. You wish you just stayed home the night you crossed paths with the tourist.
You take a deep breath and step out.
“What took you so long? Orders are piling up in the kitchen,” your fellow waiter reprimands you.
“Sorry,” you apologize before hurrying to the kitchen. You take the cooked meals and get them to their respective tables.
When the tourist and Shoyo’s order comes in, you collect yourself for a quick second prior to heading back to where they are. Despite dreading each step you take towards them, you manage to get there with an amicable smile.
“Here you go,” you announce as you put down their plates.
Even when you try your best to ignore the tourist by focusing all your attention on Shoyo, you can feel his avid stare boring onto your face. You’re just glad he’s not talking at all, so you don’t have a reason to face him.
“Thanks, y/n!” Shoyo says appreciatively which eases your discomfort a bit from having Tooru ogle at you.
“Anytime,” you respond just as kindly and head back to the kitchen. A huge wave of relief hits you when you’re finally away from their table.
Oikawa follows the sight of your back as you leave. What were the chances he would see you again? You gave him nada after your sexy encounter that night, not even a name. So you both parted ways still as strangers. What’s even more amusing is the fact that you’re friends with Shorty.
The world just couldn’t get any smaller - seeing Shoyo out of pure coincidence on the beach. Then finding you here when you didn’t want to be found.
He turns his attention back at his former opponent and finds Shoyo’s gaze at you as well. The glimmer of fondness is blatant on his eyes as they linger on your back.
“Shoyo,” Oikawa calls out.
The short volleyball player instantly flicks his eyes back to Oikawa, oblivious that he was just gawking at you.
“Do you like her?” Oikawa asks, straight to the point.
A faint blush pops out of his tanned cheeks as his eyes go wide, an instant giveaway that Oikawa hit the bull’s eye.
Shoyo breaks into a flustered smile while he rubs the back of his neck from embarrassment. “Yeah. She’s a good friend,” he states, his eyes shining with less than innocent admiration as he looks back at the direction you disappeared in.
Holy shit. Holy Shit. You fucked Shorty too!
Upon the realization, a chuckle escapes his mouth before he can thwart it. No wonder you came up with that spot on guess before. You got the story from someone who did the same.
A small world indeed.
Shoyo is probably the good fuck you were talking about that night. Looking at the former middle blocker, he certainly didn’t think that Shoyo would have enough experience in the bedroom to be considered a “good fuck.”
Interesting.
“Why don’t you invite her to watch us play tomorrow?” he suggests.
Shoyo’s face brightens up with excitement from his suggestion. “Yeah! I think she’ll want to. I told her that I play volleyball and stuff.”
He leans back on his chair as he grins from Shoyo’s response.
“Should be fun, right?” he asks with hidden deviousness.
—
When Shoyo asked you to watch their game, your understanding by ‘their’ is him and another local he regularly plays with. Not him and the freaking tourist!
If you had known, you would have politely declined.
Now, you’re sitting there on the sands of Copacabana with nothing but foreboding as you watch them start the game with two other players.
You know close to nothing about volleyball. You only came out of curiosity because Shoyo talks about it like it’s his life. Maybe it is. He did come all the way from Japan to a foreign country all on his own.
And so did Tooru.
You’re just starting to wonder if he loves the sport just as much Shoyo does, but you don’t wonder for too long. He gives you the answer with the way he plays.
Knowing that you’ll be watching two grown men playing, you expected them to be show-offs impressing the girl they invited to watch. However, they don’t even spare you a glance after they get a point in.
You don’t take offense in it though. Instead, you find yourself growing envious of them. Their personalities are so different but the look of passion and determination is burning similarly not just on their faces, but on their whole being.
Tooru is still a tricky scum in your eyes. But when he’s playing, he looks larger than life and brimming with pride and dignity. His cocky smirk is still there, but it’s more of an affirmation to himself and Shoyo that they’re doing hell of a good teamwork.
Shoyo, on the other hand, is all smiles and easy going everytime you talk to him. He still is inside the sandy court, but he’s intensely focused and totally lost in the game that sometimes, very briefly, he almost seems scary.
It’s so strange. One second they’re totally immersed and serious, then on the next they’re suddenly grinning and laughing even if they didn’t score a point.
You’d think they were teammates before from how they seem to communicate without really saying anything. But if they were then, Shoyo would have undoubtedly told you about him.
When the game ends, the two of them share victorious smiles. Why wouldn’t they? They did snatch the game. They’re so earnest and driven that you can’t help but be in awe, despite the one of them being real shady.
They both head towards your direction, Shoyo almost running towards you while Tooru striding slowly with pride.
Your attention inevitably goes to the orange ball of energy first. “Were you watching, y/n?” he asks while trying to catch his breath. He must’ve been really absorbed in the game that he didn’t notice you arrive earlier.
“You did great, Shoyo!” you sincerely applaud him as the tourist catches up to where you are.
“You too, uhh, Tooru,” you commend him awkwardly. Until now, you’ve only called him ‘tourist,’ so saying his actual name feels weird.
“I didn’t expect you’d let me toss to you, Oikawa-san,” Shoyo says with the thrill of the game still oozing from him.
“Would be a waste if we don’t try something totally new when the opportunity is there,” Tooru responds just as high-spiritedly, but you feel off about how he calls Shoyo.
“Why do you let him call you such names?” you ask Shoyo even when the tourist is right beside him.
Shoyo just laughs it off, obviously not minding the rude nicknames. “It’s actually comforting, y/n. It reminds me of home,” he says with a nostalgic smile that makes you feel bad about his situation. He misses home so much that even rude nicknames are welcome because it brings him closer to it.
“Should I call you ‘Shorty’ too?” you sincerely ask but he only grimaces. Meanwhile, Tooru laughs to his heart’s content.
“Sorry! I thought you’d like it.”
“Not from you, y/n,” Shoyo sulks a little, but buries the misunderstanding immediately. “Anyways, should I walk you home tonight?”
You appreciate the thought. It has been a while since you had the pleasure of his company.
“Yea, please do.”
“Can I come?” the tourist butts in, reminding you that he’s also there.
“Aren’t your teammates waiting for you?” you ask, subtly shooing him away. You saw the two men he was talking to earlier. Judging from the language they spoke, which was undoubtedly Spanish, and their athletic build, you concluded they were his teammates.
“Nope. I asked them to go ahead,” he shrugs and flashes you that too-charming smile he has.
“Oh, why?” you ask amicably to hide your distrust of him.
“It’s my last night here and I thought, why not make friends with a local?”
You don’t buy it, but it would seem strange to Shoyo if you blatantly refuse Tooru. In Shoyo’s eyes, you and Tooru haven’t met before. It would be suspicious for you to be so wary of him when he’s been ‘nice’ when Shoyo’s around.
So you agree. You won’t see him anymore after tonight anyways. A walk home won’t do any harm.
When you reach your place, only then it dawns on you that if you invite Shoyo inside, you’d have to offer the same invitation to the tourist out of common courtesy. You really want to let Shoyo in, but if they come in pairs, you’d rather invite your friend another night.
Your turn around and what awaits you is Shoyo’s hopeful, hazel orbs.
Meu Deus, how can you refuse him when he’s looking at you like that?
--
You go to the kitchen to grab one glass of water for each of the two men in your living room.
You tell yourself that everything’s all good and harmless when you invited them in. If it was Tooru only, it would’ve been a different story. You wouldn’t have even allowed him to walk you home.
But since Shoyo is there, you feel somewhat safe. The tourist might be douchey but surely he won’t do anything with your tangerine friend around. They won’t stay long anyways, so it should be fine.
You close your fridge when you hear Shoyo’s familiar footsteps.
“Y/n?” He stops briefly on his tracks when you turn to him.
“Yeah?” you respond before he continues making his way to you. “What’s wrong?”
He’s only a step away when his profile reveals a somber expression he’s never shown you before. “Did you really do it with Oikawa-san?”
You feel the rapid increase of your heartbeat from his question. Did Tooru tell him about it while you were in the kitchen? To think that you were starting to believe that the tourist is not as bad as you thought since he’s been amenable the whole night. He proves you wrong before you actually believe that idea.
Now you have no choice but to admit it to Shoyo because you don’t have the heart to lie to him.
“It’s okay, y/n. He told me he tricked you into it,” he tells you with a sad yet understanding look on his face.
“Are you… disappointed at me?” you ask guiltily.
He shakes his head instantly. “No, but...” He averts his eyes downwards, dejection clear and evident on them. “We’re not going to do it anymore, aren’t we?” His tone drops woefully with his assumption.
Oh goodness, he’s so adorable. It’s like one of his favorite things was taken away from him. You would’ve dragged him in your room right now to prove him wrong if it isn’t for your other visitor in the living room.
Instead, you grab his hand and pull him closer to you as you lean back on the counter. You cup his chin to raise his gaze back to you.
“I missed you,” you tell him rather than directly answering his question. You move your hand from his chin to his cheek before you claim his lips. Like an automatic response, he envelops his hands around your waist.
He really is the sun, not only bringing rays of joy to you, but also heats you up all the way to sinful madness.
His hands drop down your behind and gropes them to draw you towards his body, letting you know how excited he’s getting just from kissing and holding you.
You still haven’t had your fill of his lips when he lets go of yours. “Did you feel good with him, y/n?” he asks, centimeters away from your mouth.
You pull back slightly from surprise. “Why are you asking that?” You try to decipher what he’s thinking but you can only see his need for you as you stare at him.
“I want to know how to make you feel better,” he says as an ounce of insecurity bares itself for you to see. You drape your hand from his neck down to his chest, caressing the broadness of it. “You already know how to make me feel good, Shoyo,” you say as you offer him a gentle smile.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he persists.
You sigh when you realize that he’s not going to let this go unless you answer him. “I don’t like him, but yeaa... it felt good,” you look away as soon as you admit it. You don’t know how he’ll react, but you know that wouldn’t be able to take it if he looks at you with disappointment or disgust.
To your surprise, he pulls you close again and rests his cheek against yours. He asks something too softly -- something you wouldn’t hear had he not been standing so close. “Can I watch him do it?”
You flinch away from his hold with eyes wide from the appalling question. “What?!”
Shoyo becomes alarmed at your reaction and completely releases you. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine!”
He waves hands mid-air, panicking at how aghast you are from what he said. “We just thought it would feel good for you. Ahhhh.” He rubs his face with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m getting way ahead of myself,” he apologizes with a regretful look.
Tooru must have told him prior to tonight. If they talked about you to that extent, the little time they had in your living room wouldn’t have been enough. Shoyo knew even while they were playing and he didn’t treat you differently.
Meanwhile, that tourist was acting all goody-goody because he’d already told your friend that you two fucked. You only become more annoyed when you realize that the idea couldn’t have possibly come from your adored friend.
You squint at Shoyo as you ask him. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Shoyo looks up, genuinely unsure how to answer you. “Uhh. He said I could learn a thing or two from him.”
You laugh dryly from the lack of words that could describe your vexation towards Tooru. The audacity of that fucking tourist! How dare he think that he’s any better than Shoyo. How dare he make Shoyo believe that he’s the lesser sex partner.
“Y/n?” Shoyo must have noticed your silent fury because he looks concerned when he returns his gaze to you.
You give him a too-sweet grin despite the exasperation boiling in your chest. “You know what? He can join, but he’ll be the one watching.”
You drag Shoyo back to the living room, ignoring him as he utters words of disbelief that you’re too mad to understand.
When you meet Tooru’s gaze, he gives you a knowing smile which you return with a resentful one.
“Shoyo, can you go to my bedroom first? We’ll be there soon,” you say while you keep your eyes trained on Tooru.
“Can’t I know what you’re going to talk about?” Shoyo sounds almost sulking, but you don’t deter. You turn to him with a pout of your own.
“I promise we’ll be there soon, mkay?” You stroke his hand which you’re still holding.
Shoyo nods and obediently heads inside your room.
You march to Tooru and yank his collar. Despite being surprised by your action, he looks pleased with your aggressiveness.
“Congratulations, Tourist. You successfully earned yourself a threesome,” you spit out, but he only smiles with satisfaction as you just consented to what he’s probably going for. “Now listen to me and listen well. You will be the one doing the watching. You will remain seated while you watch Shoyo fuck me. You don’t get to join unless I let you. Do whatever you want - jack off, drool, have a seizure, I don’t give a shit. But if you make yourself cum, you don’t get to touch me. Got that?”
He only blinks at your litany of rules, but you trust him to be smart enough to get that in one go. Quickly enough, he lets out a short whistle as he reiterates your rules in just one sentence.
“Basically, no touching and no cumming from me, right?” he states with a pleased grin that makes you want to punch his pretty face.
But you have better plans, so you let him go and join Shoyo in the bedroom. You don’t have to tell Tooru to follow. He stands up on his own and heads for the bedroom a few steps behind you.
When you get in your room, you find Shoyo sitting at the edge of your bed. He looks so worried, looking at his feet while fiddling with his hands. You feel bad that you kind left him out in the dark because you’re too pissed at the tourist’s presumptuousness.
You sit beside Shoyo and grab his hand. He eyes you fretfully, obviously addled at what’s going to happen next. Rather than explaining, you cup his cheek and moor your mouth to his. You straddle him while your other hand clutches his hair. His palms immediately get underneath your shirt, skimming the bare skin of your sides while your lips ravage one another.
Shoyo suddenly pulls back, his confusion now mixed with lust as he looks up at you. “What about Oikawa-san?” he huffs.
“Don’t mind him,” you mutter on his lips as you descend on them once again.
Shoyo doesn’t ask further, discarding his qualms earlier and heeding your instruction like the good guy he is. He rids you of the top you’re wearing, his palm immediately covering the softness of your clad breast while his mouth seeks the weak spot on your neck. When he does find it, you reward him by pressing your groin against his.
You can’t help but laugh a little at how his arousal is already poking beneath his shorts. “You’re already hard, Shoyo.”
He doesn’t respond and proceeds to unclasp your bra that’s preventing him from feeling your bare breasts.
Like he always does, he takes a moment to revel at your half nakedness like it’s the first time he’s seeing you as such. And like every time he does it, he never fails to make you feel like you a marvel to look at.
“So pretty,” he murmurs to himself.
He plants fervid kisses on your chest until his mouth captures a perk bud. The action causes you to grind on his lap, attending to the ache that’s settling in your groin.
You itch to roam your hands on his body and groans with disappointment that it isn’t his skin you’re touching. He hears it and does you a favor by quickly discarding his muscle tee.
“Shoyo,” you whisper with brewing desire as your hands travel from his neck down to his chest.
“Yes?” he asks, completely bewitched even when you’re only half naked.
“I really missed you.”
You feel his erection grow even more while his face shines with adulation from your statement. He grips both cheeks of your ass and takes it upon himself to roll your hips again on his bulge.
“I missed you too, y/n,” he says before resuming what his mouth was doing earlier: devotedly twirling his tongue around one hardened bud while his fingers fiddle with the other. With already several visits from him after work hours, he’s well familiar with how you want to be had.
He demonstrates so by gently tugging your nipples with his teeth and fingers, making you cry out from the slight pang that heightened your craving for more.
You’re reminded that someone else is in the room when your wooden chair creaks audibly for you to hear. Shoyo is doing such a great job of taking you to a scandalous place far away from your mundane room that you almost forget that Tooru is there.
You take one quick look at the pretty guy sitting on your chair. He’s doing as he’s told and is watching intently, particularly at where Shoyo’s mouth is.
As much as you want to totally lose yourself in the sensation of Shoyo’s hands and mouth, you have to show Tooru what he missed on that one night of encounter.
You clutch Shoyo’s hair to pull him away from your body, earning yourself a baffled Shoyo when you get off his lap. You just smile reassuringly at him as you get on your knees. You try to lug his shorts down but fails as he remains seated, totally beguiled at the sight of you kneeling down for him.
You look up to him doe-eyed as you ask him, “Won’t you help me a little here, Shoyo?”
He snaps out of his daze from your question. “Ah! Yes, yes. Sorry.” He does the work for you and hurriedly pulls his shorts and undergarments down.
You squirm on your knees at the sight of his swollen cock. It’s been a while since you did it with him that you find yourself more than eager to have him inside you again; whether in your mouth or somewhere further down, you can’t decide.
Once again, the tourist distracts you when he lets out a whistle. “Damn. Who knew?”
You can’t help but agree with him. When you first saw Shoyo’s size, you were shocked as well. He, however, doesn’t get what Tooru is talking about. He eyes Tooru worriedly as he asks confusedly, “What?”
Tooru doesn’t answer Shoyo and just grins at him, so he turns to you instead. “What’s he talking about, y/n?”
You respond by gripping the base of his cock and taking him slowly in your mouth. You hear him hiss as his hand grabs the back of your head.
“Ahhh. So warm.”
You look at him and find him with lips parted and eyes shut as he relishes the way you gradually swallow his size.
Once your lips reach the hilt of his shaft, you drag your lips back up and release his cock. Instead of sucking it again, you tease him by flicking your tongue on his tip, twirling the hot, moist muscle around it whenever you feel like it.
Shoyo clutches your hair, oblivious to the strength he put behind it as he unknowingly forces you to meet his pleading eyes.
“Suck it again please,” he asks nicely despite his tight grip on your hair.
You smile tenderly at him, tracing the length of his cock with your tongue before engulfing it once again with your mouth. As you descend on him, you lock eyes with Tooru, making sure that he’s watching how devoutly you’re tending to Shoyo’s desires.
Satisfaction kicks in when you notice the undeniable bulge on his shorts as he keeps his eyes on you and Shoyo. This is supposed to be a show for him, but you feel yourself getting wetter from Shoyo’s whines and how Tooru is starting to palm his erection above the fabric of his shorts.
Shoyo takes hold of your attention again when he starts thrusting against your mouth, causing you to whimper on his dick. You squeeze his thighs to signal him to slow down. He stops completely, letting you withdraw away so you can breathe.
He opens his eyes and trails his hand from the back of your head to your cheek. “Sorry, y/n. It’s starting to feel really good,” he explains apologetically.
You offer him a delicate smile right before you descend your mouth on the whole of his cock in one swift motion, the tip of his cock tickling the back of your throat.
“ Ah! ” He throws his head back from the sudden movement.
“Shit,” you hear the man seated across the foot of the bed curse. You turn your eyes on him and witness how he frees his bulge from his shorts. He fists it slowly, matching the bob of your head on Shoyo’s dick. You quicken your pace and his hand mirrors it as well.
You unzip your shorts, unable to help yourself. Without bothering to remove them, you slip your hands in and touch the moistness of your slit. You moan at Shoyo’s cock as you feel the pads of your fingers on your slick arousal.
“Stop touching yourself, y/n. I’ll do it with my mouth later. Make me feel good first.” Uncontained desire is swimming on Shoyo’s orbs as he stares at you while his mouth pants with need.
You pull out your hand and plant it on the side of his thigh as you suck faster, hoping that he’ll cum soon so his tongue can replace what your fingers were doing.
Your pussy is throbbing so hard from how he’s learning so well. He pulled the same card you did the first time you sucked him off and it’s turning you on even more that you have to clench your thighs together just so you can ease your arousal a little bit.
“Let me do it,” you hear Tooru’s breathy suggestion. You’re not surprised that he noticed. After all, watching is all he’s allowed to do.
Shoyo gently pulls your head back as he asks, “Do you want him to?”
With his dick still stuffed in your mouth, you shake your head to answer ‘no.’ You want to alleviate the delicious tension between your legs, but you want Tooru to remain where he’s seated for a while more.
“I can do it well, y/n. I’ll trace my tongue on your cunt the way my fingers did on that beach. Let me taste you. I’ll get you even wetter with my mouth.”
You grip Shoyo’s thighs as you moan on his dick from Tooru’s lewd words. You didn’t want him to touch you yet, but the visceral imagery he provided you is making your lubricious needs unbearable.
You look at Tooru as you tell him with a wavering voice, “Come here.”
“Finally,” he says as he tucks his rigid member back in his shorts and rushes to where you are.
Shoyo helps you stand up and positions your back against the headboard of your bed. Meanwhile, you feel Oikawa’s hands grasp the seams of your shorts.
You’ve already unzipped it earlier so all he needs to do is pull it down, which he easily does as you lift your hips up for him.
“Please don’t forget I’m here, y/n,” Shoyo reminds you with a sullen tone.
Oikawa spreads your legs while you weakly grab Shoyo’s dick. You pump him a few times before taking him again in your mouth. At the same time, Tooru gives your already moist slit a well drawn out lick.
Your groan vibrates on Shoyo’s cock as your thighs involuntarily press together. Strong hands placed on both thighs prevent them from doing so as Tooru swirls his tongue on your throbbing clit.
The delicious strokes of his tongue lapping up your juices are incredibly distracting, making you a drooling mess on Shoyo’s cock. You grip his shaft to regain some control as you start quickening the bob of your head, your fingers hitting your lips as you take him fast and deep.
Tooru distracts you even further when he roughly pushes two fingers in without any warning. “Oh my, would you look at that?” He laughs right between your legs. “My two fingers easily got in,” he says and starts languidly pulling them in and out of you.
You want to say something but Shoyo beats you to it. “Please don’t stop, y/n. I’m about to-uugghh .”
He starts taking shallow breaths while he keeps his hazy eyes on you. “Can I cum in your… in your mouth?” he asks as he starts staggering his hips faster than the bob of your head.
You give him a small nod, trying your very best to continue sucking him even though Tooru’s fingers are sending you to another kind of delirium.
Shoyo’s moans permeate the air as his orgasm erupts in your right in your mouth. “ Ahh, ahhhh, y/n, am cumming ,” he says before his hand goes to the back of your head and shoves his length at your throat, forcing you to swallow the entirety of his load.
“Holy shit,” you hear Tooru say as he stills his fingers inside you.
Shoyo eases his grip on your hair as he releases a satisfied huff. Your jaw feels relief as you remove your mouth off his member.
He takes his seat at the bed as he steadies himself again.
“I didn’t think you’d be one to swallow.” You turn to Tooru and see him no longer situated in front of your crotch.
He stands up and takes off all his clothes without any shame. You stare at his glorious nakedness, acknowledging that the last time’s encounter did not allow you any of the view he’s currently gracing you with.
His face isn’t the only pretty thing about him, it’s everything. And you can tell he knows it with how proud his strides are as he makes his way beside you.
Your dazed eyes follow him as he rests his back on the headboard.
“This is when you sit on my cock, y/n,” he says with that fraudulent smile of his. He’s so damn infuriating, yet, you can’t deny that you want to do exactly as he said. His tongue on your dripping pussy did nothing but fan the flickers of arousal in your stomach, so even if you still despise him, you don’t mind being fucked by him. You already know he’s not going to disappoint anyway.
You climb on top of him with an irritated expression and a soaked cunt that coats the tip of his member. “Please stop talking. Don’t make me hate myself for being horny over you,” you state almost resignedly. Levity spreads across his gorgeous face as a laugh starts to rumble from his throat.
“You’re so funny, y/n! I knew I made the right choice to fuck you that night,” he says with mirthful smile. You ignore him completely, tuning out his fatuousness as you align your entrance to his cock that’s been poking at you.
You anchor yourself with one hand on his shoulder while your other seizes his member for you to descend on.
“Oh no no no~” He grips your hips and stops you. “Why are you in a hurry? We have all night, don’t we?” He asks as he trails his fingers on the sides of your hip, effectively heightening your wanton desire to be stuffed by him.
You shake your head ferociously as you remember how intense he teased you and edged you on the beach. “None of that teasing crap anymore,” you say as an infuriated plea.
“Hmmm, “ he hums as he thinks about your belligerent request. “Kiss me first,” he says in a light tone but you hear the smidge of authority behind it. You gladly oblige as you hurriedly reach for his mouth.
Replicating what he did with his fingers, he fastens his grasp on your hips and rams you down on his cock. Your moan falls on his mouth mixed with his own. He pulls away from your lips, a string of translucent liquid connecting his to yours.
“Ahh, Ms. Local. You look so hot with that lewd expression on your face,” he says, his eyes hazy with his own dark, sinful yet alluring desires. “Since you wanted to be fucked so bad, why don’t you move for us?” he asks before he goes for that exact spot on your neck that makes you weak.
You start grinding against him, taking your time to revel at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your dewy insides. He startles your slow rhythm when you feel the sharp sting of his palm on one ass cheek.
You yelp out from the sudden pang burning on your skin. “Seriously, y/n? That’s really all you got?” he taunts while his hand on the other cheek caresses it, a soft warning that the same slap is about to hit it too.
Fuck. What even gave you the idea that you can take charge of this asshole? You kinda feel stupid now from your naivety and from how he’s making you lose yourself from the painful delight he just inflicted on you.
“Oikawa-san! Why are you hitting her?” Shoyo voices out his concern which makes Tooru’s hand still from its circular caresses over it.
Tooru weaves his head to the side to look at Shoyo while you slouch and rest your head on Tooru’s shoulders.
“You don’t?” he asks inquisitively to the other naked man on your bed.
“Why would I do that? I don’t want to hurt her,” Shoyo responds out of genuine concern that it makes your heart melt despite being impaled with the cock of another guy.
Tooru chuckles at his innocence before inviting him, “Sit beside us and watch, Shoyo.”
You feel the shift of the cushion beside you, indicating that Shoyo had followed Tooru’s suggestion.
“Ready to show your precious Shoyo how perverted you are?” Tooru whispers to you, delivering a wet stripe on your ear.
You struggle to hide your face on his shoulders as you answer him with a quivering “no.” The spank that follows is harder than the previous one, forcing you to throw your head back as you wobble from the pain.
“See, Shoyo-kun?” Tooru turns to your friend, treating you like an educational material for him to learn from. Meanwhile, the tangerine remains silent and eyes you with awe from discovering this side of you that even you weren’t aware of.
Your mouth gapes open while you try to think of something to explain yourself to Shoyo as you meet his gaze. Tooru makes use of the opportunity and sticks in his fingers inside your mouth.
You turn your attention to Tooru, a bunch of incoherent words coming from how he’s violating your wet cavern with his digits. Your plan to defend yourself to Shoyo is discarded when Tooru moves your hips against him with just one hand.
You go with the rhythm he’s setting while he thrusts his fingers inside your mouth.
“Hhhrrrmmm ,” you moan disorderly on his slender digits, making its owner chuckle with grisly amusement.
“She likes it,” Shoyo comments like he’s figured out what Tooru was talking about.
“Damn right she does.” Tooru presses his pads firmly on your tongue, coercing you to open your mouth wider. Then he trails his digits down, leaving your tongue lolling out of your mouth while his drenched fingers turn their attention to one nipple. To reinforce his point further, he pinches it, eliciting a pained groan from you as you shut your eyes.
“Wanna try for yourself, Shoyo-kun?” Tooru asks as he lays his grip back on your butt.
With your eyes closed, you don’t see how he reacts. You just feel him settle himself kneeling behind you and a different set of thicker fingers replace Tooru’s.
“Like this?” You can tell that it’s not you Shoyo’s talking to with how he’s obstructing your mouth from forming anything comprehensible. You feel the other set of digits find their way on your tits, making use of the slick that Tooru gathered from your mouth and fiddle with it.
“Do you feel good like this, y/n?”
You shudder from the feel of Shoyo’s lips on your ears. As always, he never fails to ask for validation if he’s making you feel good enough. At the same time, Tooru starts picking up the pace of how he’s rolling your hips against him, rendering you unable to respond to Shoyo’s question.
You can only interchange moans and whines from the different sources of pleasure swiftly leading you to grasp the edges of your climax.
Shoyo continues adoring you with his fingers at work and his mouth trailing zealous kisses from the back of your ear to the column of your neck. You feel his cock raging once again as it rubs on your ass while Tooru guides your pelvis to grind on him.
“Shoyoeeehhmmmm .”
He removes his fingers off your mouth and plays with your other nipple that’s been craving for attention. His tongue takes the place of his fingers as he slides it inside your mouth while he kneads your supple mounds. He starts grinding on your back as well, taking whatever pleasure he can get from the friction.
“Don’t forget I’m here too,” Tooru harshly reminds you of his presence when he puts a thumb over your clit and rubs the bud in brutal circles.
You tear your mouth away from Shoyo’s to cry out from the added stimulation that builds on to the pile of pleasure that’s about to explode.
Then, Tooru cuts all those coming from him, lets go of your hips and takes his thumb off your clit.
Even though Shoyo’s doing a great job of making feel good, it only intensifies your need for a release, not provide it.
“Why did you stop?” you mewl with the vehement need for him to make you cum.
“We’ve played this game before, can’t you tell?” he taunts aggravatingly because you remember it too well - how he made a complete mess out of you in public just to make you beg for him. You try to defy him by gyrating on your own, but the firmness of his hands lets you stay in place.
You groan with defeat. “Do you want me to beg again?”
He nods agreeably. “Beg for Shoyo to fuck you instead.”
You're taken aback by his request. You’ve never actually begged Shoyo the way you pleaded for Tooru because Shoyo always makes sure he gives you the pleasure you seek by asking nicely.
“Y/n, you don’t have to,” your friend counters his old rival’s order. Tooru slams a palm on your ass again before pushing his thumb on your clit. “Beg for him or this will go on for a while,” he warns.
You lean your head back on Shoyo’s shoulder as you look at him with lustful urgency. “Shoyo, please fuck me,” you beg with frustration. “Let me get a condom,” Shoyo says, and although you appreciate the thought, you halt him before he can leave the bed.
“I need you now. I need your cock inside me. Make me cum with it. Please …”
You feel his arousal pulsate at your back from your plea. Tooru lets go of his hold on you while Shoyo pulls you away to get you on top of him instead. Shoyo’s girth is thicker than the tourist’s so when he prods your entrance, you hiss at the additional stretch he’s giving you.
“You okay?” Shoyo utters caringly as he sweeps the strands of hair stuck on your face. You give him a frail nod as your pussy tries to accommodate his girth. When he bottoms out, you don’t give yourself time to adjust and hastily chase for the gratification Tooru denied you of.
Shoyo grabs you to lie right on his chest as you bounce rigorously on his cock.
“Shooyooooo, haaaa . I’m gonna--”
A spank lands on one butt cheek - a rough, sharp hit that instigates tears to prickle on the corner of your eyes from the sting, the very same hit that topples you over the edge of ecstasy. When your body begins thrashing on top of him, he continues moving for you, letting you ride the apex of your orgasm to its maximum.
“Y/n, uughhh, you’re clenching on me. Can I keep moving?”
He asks while rocking your hips to keep them moving. You want to tell him to wait for a good while, give you a minute for a break, but you’re too breathless to speak.
Tooru answers for you though. “Yes, Shoyo-kun. Keep moving, just move a bit slower.”
Damn. Will he ever say anything that you actually agree on? You’re just thankful that at least he made Shoyo slow down. He grabs your waist and hoists you up from Shoyo’s chest. “How’s it feel to be spanked by your dear friend, y/n?”
You’re a bit spent from your orgasm, but he’s overbearing that you just had to say something. “You’re a scumbag,” you puff angrily.
“I know,” he smiles sweetly before capturing your mouth while he leads your hand to his stiff member. He covers your hand with his and basically uses it to jack himself off.
“You could’ve had this taken care of earlier,” you whisper. He could’ve just continued fucking you until he got off, but for some reason, he made you do it with Shoyo.
“I have other things in mind.”
You’re about to ask what but Shoyo suddenly hits a spot that makes you grab onto Tooru for support. “Fuuuck,” you moan while looking at Shoyo helplessly. You just came, but his slow plunges are quickly reviving your crude desires.
He lets his hands mendear all over your body, worshipping every nook, every curve he can lay his hands on given how he’s lying beneath you. Tooru lets you go to let you fall back onto Shoyo’s embrace.
Shoyo stops moving you and does the work himself, plunging his thick cock inside you faster - a familiar feeling that always gets you reeling from his intensity.
What isn’t familiar is the prodding of something on an opening that’s never been touched. You harshly snap your gaze to Tooru to check what the hell he’s doing this time. When your eyes make contact with each other, he waves at you while his other hand rests on your ass.
“This will be awesome, I swear,” he assures you with no hint of sincerity. You see him spit on your ass before inserting one finger in your rear.
It’s totally new to you, a strange sensation to be penetrated in that particular entrance. But Shoyo’s thrusts are too good of a distraction that it weirdly adds to the sensation he’s providing.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re feeling good,” Shoyo says with his stare boring on your face.
Goddamn. One who reveres you and one who toys with you, how will this night end for you? Your thoughts get all frenzied up when you feel him add another finger in.
“It feels weird, Tooru! One is enough,” you tell him even with your attention all on Shoyo and the complete adoration he has on his face.
“Okiee,” Tooru says amiably, then inserts a third digit in your tightening hole. “There, one more just like you said,” he announces proudly as he slowly drives three fingers inside your ass.
Your breathing starts to get uneven from the foreign feeling. “Shoyo, I feel weird,” you turn to him.
“Should I ask him to stop?” he asks as he cups your face with sympathy.
“Yeaah aaaaaaaaahhhhhh, ohh shit.” A different kind of pleasure assaults you when Tooru starts pumping his digits unforgivingly.
Shoyo interprets your moan as discomfort as he tells Tooru to stop. “I think she’s in pain, Oikawa-san.”
Tooru acknowledges Shoyo’s statement and stops. “Don’t move too, Shorty.” Shoyo immediately complies but asks, “Why?”
You get the answer when something bigger and thicker than his fingers penetrate your back entrance.
Oikawa winces at the first two inches he sinks in you. You’re so fucking tight that he can surmise it’s your first time to be taken in this hole. Shit, it’s already clamping on him despite not being even halfway in.
He nudges further, managing to shove in almost his whole length but that’s when you get alarmed. “Tooru, no more, please,” you plead with discomfort gleaming clearly on your features.
“Shoyo, move again.” He ignores you, but if you still don’t relax after this, he’ll pull out. Fuck. Shorty better does the trick. He’s been waiting for this. That’s why he’s been holding back and letting you and Shoyo have all the fun.
Fortunately, you do loosen up as Shoyo starts to rock himself inside you again. “I-I’m.. haaa,” you whine with pleasure more than pain.
Hell yeah. It would’ve been a waste if he doesn’t get to experience your ass. He was tempted to play with it that night on the beach, but the location did not permit him to do all the things he wanted to do to you, including this.
But no matter, he has the chance now, even better, Shorty pie is here to help him soothe you.
His hands wander on your chest, groping their softness before they travel down to the sides of your waist, then to your hips. Then, he rams his remaining length inside your tight gummy walls.
He can almost hear your throat scratch from the loud scream that came from it. “What did you do, Oikawa-san?!”
Tooru wipes a sweat from his forehead as he answers. “Relax, I just stuck my cock in her butt that’s all.”
“What?! No wonder she’s feeling weird. Why did you even do that?”
He grins at Shoyo’s lack of experience for these things, and also at you who seem to think that Shoyo knows how to make you feel good. To be fair, Shorty is very well familiar with your body and knows how you want to be held and to be fucked.
But nothing more than that. Shoyo obviously did not push for anything more than what you told and showed him.
Lucky for both of you, he’s there to expand your horizons.
“Yes, Shoyo. You can fuck someone in the ass,” he enlightens the ginger as he starts shoving his cock in and out to tend to his own needs.
“How does it feel, y/n?” he asks you. You turn your head back to him with that hateful yet intoxicated look in your eyes and he already knows that your ass will be for him to wreck tonight.
“I d-don’t like- mmmm -it,” you protest with a frail voice, but Tooru doesn’t bother to stop. Rather, he speeds up.
It’s definitely strange for you, being stuffed by two men whose thrusts are distinct from the other. You’d hear and feel the slap of skin to skin contact when Shoyo buries himself inside you, but when he pulls back it’s followed by Tooru fully sinking himself in your ass.
It’s absurd and absolutely lecherous, yet it feels fucking incredible. They’re stretching both holes while you can do nothing but grasp at Shoyo’s chest as you hear their groans and mewls taint your room.
“Do you really not like it?” Shoyo whispers for only you to hear.
The genuine care in his eyes makes you tell him the truth. “It feels,” you bite your lip when Tooru’s moans become louder as he pounds your ass faster. “G-good, Shoyo. Feels s-so good,” you somehow manage to finish speaking despite your head starting to get clouded from frenzy.
Hinata’s never felt anything like this before either. He can feel Oikawa inside you with that flimsy muscle that separates your two holes. Your little pussy feels more snug against him, swallowing his dick tighter for him to revel on.
But the look on your face tells him that this feels way more intense for you than for him. Your pupils are blown out, your cheeks are flushed, and you’re almost drooling at his chest while you claw on him. It’s so sexy -- the sexiest expression he’s ever seen from you. He can cum just from this, but he can’t help but wonder.
“Oikawa-san. I want to see,” he stops moving altogether when he tells the setter.
You widen your eyes at him. You probably don’t like his idea, but he can only apologize for his curiosity is getting the best of him.
He pulls out from you and watches Oikawa grab you to rest on his chest. Oikawa leans against your headboard and spreads your legs to indulge Hinata the view he requested.
“Here you go, Shorty-pie. I’ll slow down for you,” Oikawa says.
Hinata’s attention is all on your ass being spread out by Oikawa’s dick. It’s so obscene. He never imagined you could be fucked there. If he knew, he would have tried it himself.
“Shoyo, don’t look at me,” you plead.
His eyes shoot up to your embarrassed face, not understanding why. You look fantastic like this: sprawled out for him to see everything. our rear being defiled, your pussy dripping and gaping at nothing, your body glistening with sweat, and that erotic expression you have.
“Uhhhh, ” you shut your eyes when Oikawa starts toying with both your boobs as he continues thrusting at you.
“Don’t be so stingy, y/n. Shoyo wants to see you like this,” then he turns to Hinata. “Isn’t she so slutty, Shoyo-kun?”
“I’m not-”
A slap on your clit stops you from finishing your sentence. Your cunt starts clenching on its own from the sting. “Fuck, y/n. Even your ass is throbbing from that. You really like being hurt, don’t you?”
He says all that while his middle finger rubs circles on your hard nub. God, your mind is in ruin from this slow, venereal torture Tooru is subjecting you to.
“I d-don’t,” you pant heavily from the heavy ache in the pit of your stomach.
Another slap hits your cunt, ripping a shrill whine from you, followed by a slew of whimpers when his fingers fondle with your clit again. “What’s that again?” Oikawa hums on your neck.
“I’m a slut! I’m a slutty girl, so please. Please don’t stop again,” you admit defeatedly, overwhelmed by the intense craving to be fucked properly.
“See, Shoyo-kun? Your good friend over here is a pervert who has a talent for begging.”
You look at Shoyo, ready for the scandalized and disgusted look on his face. But what you see is mesmerized hunger with his eyes on your body.
“I want to fuck her ass too, Oikawa-san.”
Tooru takes out his dick as Shoyo requested. “Go ahead, Shorty.”
Shoyo grips your knees and pushes them back a little before he probes your entrance. Oikawa tilts your face to his and engages you with a messy kiss where he darts his tongue inside your mouth right off the bat.
Then he puts his hands back to work, one on your tit and the other on your pussy, distracting you from the pain of Shoyo’s size penetrating your other entrance.
“It’s so big,” you whimper on Tooru’s mouth, which makes him stop all his ministrations and retreat a bit. “Geez, y/n. Are you trying to insult me?”
“N-no, it’s just uughhh.” You feel the whole of Shoyo’s length inside your rear end.
“Does it feel good, y/n?” he asks even though he’s already moving in and out of you with less sympathy than he used to have as he doesn’t let you adjust to him. And when you’re finally used to his girth, he pulls out completely and hammers it inside your sopping pussy.
He thrusts a few times then gets back to your ass again. He does this several times, the pleasure barely setting in on one hole, then proceeds to fucking the other before it feels too good for you.
“Shit, Shoyo. That’s fucking hot. Our y/n here loves it. Look at her.” Just as he’s ogling at you, you watch him as well. He’s completely lost in it, his eyes trained on where your bodies are connected, not aware that he’s driving you mad with the way he’s abusing two holes interchangeably.
“Shoyo…”
“What?” His voice is gruff as his alternating thrusts are getting faster, making you squirm on Oikawa’s chest for you can’t decide what you want to tell him. You don’t know if you want Shoyo to fuck your cunt or your rear.
You’d hate to admit it, especially with Tooru holding you captive in his hold, but you want both caverns stuffed to the brim.
“Can you choose one? I want to fuck her too, Shorty,” Tooru’s voice is laced with need which wasn’t there earlier. Finally, you agree with him on something. It pops off Shoyo’s enthralled selfish state of gratifying his pleasure alone.
“My bad,” Shoyo mutters before slotting his cock deep inside your pussy, choosing it for him to ravage on, which leaves your behind for Tooru.
When you get what you’ve been craving for, it’s mind-shattering. You’ve been edged non-stop that the feeling of being pummeled by Tooru’s and Shoyo’s cock shatters any slew of dignity and shame you had. Your head is filled with nothing but their dicks battering your insides with an uncoordinated, wild rhythm.
“Yesssss ahhh. ”
Tooru’s chest vibrates from his low laughter as he asks, “Does my cock feel good in this hole of yours?”
Shoyo spreads your cheeks apart, increasing the effect of Tooru’s words as he glides in easier and faster from Shoyo’s action.
“Yes! Please, keep fucking my ass, Tooru. Oh god, fuck. Shoyo, you’re hitting so deep, I - haaaa. ” Oikawa starts sucking a sensitive spot on your shoulder while Shoyo leans down inches from your mouth.
“Can you stick your tongue out, y/n?”
You don’t ask anymore, you just do it. You poke your tongue out as Shoyo requested. He does the same to play with yours, his moist, warm muscle clashing and colliding over yours.
Shoyo is different from usual and so are you. You feel so perverted, but you’re relishing every second, every thrust by both dicks.
“‘ m genna cuuhhmmm,” you slur.
Shoyo retrieves his tongue, leaving yours hanging out of your mouth. “I can’t believe you’re this slutty, y/n.”
You lose it. Shoyo’s crude words make you convulse on top of Tooru as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. You didn’t expect such treatment from Shoyo. You also didn’t expect you’d cum because of it.
You try to arch your back but Tooru is quick to grab one wrist while his arm snakes around your waist to prevent you from doing so. You’re left with no choice but to stay a whimpering, writhing mess in between two men who continue to slide in and out of you while you reel from your second climax.
With your one free hand, you wearily reach for Shoyo’s wrist. “Let me rest.” Your body is beginning to feel overwhelmed from the consuming pleasure they’re assaulting you with.
“Ehhh? That’s boring. Wanna try something fun, Shoyo?” You don’t miss the naughty suggestive tone of Tooru, but you’re too out of it to react.
Shoyo disregards your frail request and nods eagerly at the man behind you. With Shoyo’s approval, Tooru slips his cock out of your ass and pushes it into your pussy that’s already occupied by Shoyo.
“GAAAAAAAAAHH!!” You struggle again to break free from Tooru’s embrace but combined with your fatigue and his strength, it turns out futile. The stretch is atrocious. It’s like you’re being split open to no end.
“Too tight,” Shoyo bites his lip with distress.
“Spit on her cunt,” Tooru quickly provides a solution which Shoyo does without thinking twice, gathering drool in his mouth then barbarically spitting on your pussy.
“I can’t do this. I’m going to break,” you voice out to no one, hoping that one of them takes mercy on you.
Tooru growls right on your ear. “Now won’t that be interesting?”
Then he rams his dick inside you, successfully joining Shoyo’s.
Another scream rips out of you as the two of them try to fit inside your already wrecked cunt. It hurts. You feel the burn of being outstretched together with discomfort of overstimulation. Even then, the moans that come out from you are of carnal thrill and elation.
It hurts, but in the best ways possible.
Your toes are curling from the lack of grip on reality while your hands tremble as they sought for anything to hold on to. One is shaking as it grips on Tooru’s forearm while the other is quivering at nothing in mid air.
Finally, Shoyo takes notice of you. You don’t care how you look right now, but you’re just glad that he’s looking your way again.
He hooks your calves to his shoulders, freeing both of his hands to hold yours. He intertwines them with his, allowing you to ground yourself on him that way.
Tooru’s thrusts become erratic as hands find purchase on your tits to paw. “Fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna-uughhhh -cum.”
Your response is one driven by vulgar desires. “Cum inside me, Tooru. Pleasee,” you tell him as you look him in the eyes.
“Fuck yes! ”
The slap of his skin against yours gets louder and faster while his high-pitched whines fill your ear. “Yeaaah, cumming, Ms. Local. Shiiiit.” He stills completely while you feel spurts of warm liquid fill you up.
His hot breath fans your neck as he comes down from his climax, but he doesn’t budge and remains inside you. You wiggle above him, trying to get his cock to slip out, but he only fastens his grasp on your waist.
“Trust me, y/n. I’m doing this for you. Without my cock, this cunt of yours will loosen up. You and Shoyo-kun will take even longer to cum with how stretched and wet you already are.”
Shoyo, on the other hand, pummels inside you even faster from the lubrication Tooru gave. “You feel so amazing, y/n. Hmmmmppp. So tight, so sexy, so haaaa.” His fingers are almost crushing your hand, but you only feel the pleasure of being drilled with his dick.
Tooru’s hand flies to your sex and frantically plays with your clit again. But this time, the effect is even more immense as he consistently rubs it with his calloused pads in rapid up and down strokes. His other fingers add another stimulation for you, tweaking one perk nipple - pinching and pulling at his leisure.
Your whole body is on fire. You feel so dirty with sweat, drool, and cum all mixed and squelching from your slit. You feel it - the impending orgasm that feels different from the rest. Your head’s all fuzzy while your vision is getting blurry for some reason.
When a hiccup escapes your mouth, you figure out why - you’re sobbing. Tears are welling in your eyes from the overstimulation. “Too muuuuchhh, is tooo muaaa-aaaahhh.”
“Almost there, y/n. Just a bit more,” Shoyo says with eyes closed and clenched jaw as he continues roughing up your already sore pussy.
Shoyo starts thrusting a bit upwards, hitting a spot that’s doing something inexplicable to your senses. “Something — oh god, something’s uuuhhh, noooo.”
You hear a deafening wail from you as clear liquid gushes out from your sex while you thrash uncontrollably. “Holy shit, she squirted.” Tooru’s voice seems distant with how you’re still teetering from the violent orgasm that exploded from you.
“What was th- shit! I’m cumming. I’ll cum inside you too, y/n. You’ll let me, riiight?”
His hips rut viciously onto yours, prolonging the intensity of your own release. His mewls get louder and louder paired with your cries until he delivers one sharp thrust that unloads his seed inside you.
You feel so full with two dicks still inside you with both their cum dripping down your pussy. Tooru is the first to pull out while Shoyo is puffing with his hands still tightly clutched onto yours.
A massive weight looms on your chest, extending all over your body now that the euphoric yet salacious fog in your head is slowly being stripped off. Your vision is clearing out, the light bulb on your ceiling suddenly seeming too bright for you. The tenderness of certain body parts are getting noticeable. The sweat and saliva on your skin suddenly feels too sticky, too filthy, too disgusting.
You’re not even aware you’re trembling once again.
Oikawa, being the one holding, immediately takes notice. “Y/n?”
Your response to him is a whimper. “Shit. Let go of her. Now,” he says with urgency.
Shoyo opens his eyes and is alarmed when he sees you in a rattled distress. He softly draws you away from Oikawa and cradles you himself.
Oikawa stands up and goes to your drawers. Hinata doesn’t know why but doesn’t mind and turns his attention to you instead.
“Y/n?” He caresses your shoulder down to your arms, trying to ease whatever it is that’s bothering you. You hang onto his bicep but it slides down from the dampness of his skin. His concern grows when you let out a soft sob.
He holds your hand delicately, brushing his thumb against it. He tries to get you to look at him but you persistently shun your face away. “Please look at me. I’m so sorry. Was I too rough?”
You swing your head side to side, refuting his assumption. “I feel nasty and gross,” you sniffle. “But you’re not. You were so beautiful and sexy and amazing,” he says truthfully as he remembers how ravishing you were laid out for him.
You finally look at him, the most vulnerable he’s ever seen you.
“Really?”
He nods earnestly before planting a tender kiss on your forehead.
Oikawa comes back to bed with fresh towels at hand. He wipes the clammy fluids on your body, patting the warm cloth on your arms, thighs, and torso which alleviates further your malaise. Then, he wraps a new one around you and lifts you up to a sitting position.
“You’re far from being disgusting, y/n,” Oikawa whispers on the back of your head. He carefully lays his hand on your shoulder, testing if his touch triggers any unpleasant reaction from you. He skims it towards your neck and cups it. With no resistance put up, he places a chaste kiss on your nape.
“You were incredible,” he hums on your skin. “Let’s take a shower? Get you cleaned up, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmur weakly. Oikawa looks at Hinata and signals him to carry you since you’re more comfortable with him.
You sigh once the warm trickles of liquid hit your skin. It’s calming, soothing the distraught uproar in your thoughts and nerves.
A hand rakes up the wet strands of your hair and lathers your soap on your back. On your front, a familiar set of lips kisses you while water streams down on both of you. It feels like a hazy, tranquil dream. You just hear the cascading of water, echo of footsteps in the wet tiles, and a couple of sighs.
Next thing you now, you’re snuggled up in bed with someone drying your hair. You open your heavy lids and catch sight of a topless Tooru seated next to you as he tucks you with a blanket that smells like your drawers.
The bed is no longer drenched and everything feels crisp and fresh, lulling you deeper to rest.
“Stay with her until the morning, Shoyo.” It’s Tooru’s voice.
“You’re leaving?” Shoyo questions him as he stops patting the towel on your hair..
“Nah. She doesn’t like me. She’ll probably scream or hit my face first thing in the morning.” He’s about to get up when you muster whatever energy’s left of you to grab his wrist.
He regards you with care as he takes hold of the hand you’re tugging him with. “Yes?”
“Stay.”
He smiles with affection, a novel sight he’s shown you only now. He joins you in bed, filling the empty space on your left side. You close your eyes again, relishing the soft caresses and gentle pecks on your body as you peacefully drift off to sleep.
--
You wake up with the warmth of another body radiating onto yours. A heavy arm is draped across your waist and your cheek is nestled to a chest that rises and falls in a calming tempo that makes you want to drift back to your slumber.
But curiosity gets you. You slowly open your lids and are met with rays of sunlight glazing the orange strands of hair of the man next to you.
‘Sunshine on sunshine,’ you thought.
It’s a stirring sight to behold, but you have to wonder. He’s never stayed until morning. What happened last night that made him do so?
You scuff around, getting ready to sit up when you feel a heavy ache from your abdomen all the way down to your legs.
Wha- oh.
Oh.
That happened.
After your mind refreshes itself and replays some key scenes from last night, you glance back at Shoyo with no ounce of regret from what happened. You give him a soft peck on his chest and carefully shuffle out of the bed, making sure you don’t wake him up.
Up on your feet, you walk to your dining room and find what you’re looking for - the other accomplice of last night’s feat.
He’s seated comfortably at your table with a hot cup of coffee. “Buenos dias, señora,” he greets in his own dazzling way.
“I thought you were leaving,” you state with no trace of hostility as you trudge to the kitchen from how tender your lower body is.
“I clearly heard you asked me to stay,” he ripostes.
You get your own cup of coffee and join him in the dining area. “I did, didn’t I?” you ask with a soft whimsical grin ghosting across your lips.
“Mmhmm,” he sips from his mug leisurely then asks, “Any regretS?”
You meet his mellow eyes with your own. “Weirdly, none.”
The smiles that spread on your faces mirror each other, humored and satiated. Last night was definitely an experience - a mind-blowing one, and you’re extremely thankful that the aftermath of it was extremely catered for you as well.
The remaining contents of his coffee were spent in comfortable silence. “I think this is when I say thanks for the sex and coffee, then leave.”
Your reaction should be of animosity. This is the part you detested, when you’re treated like a part of the Rio de Janeiro local tour. But for some reason, you found the current situation funny.
“I believe it is indeed that moment,” you agree congenially.
“See you when I see you, Ms. Local,” he gives you a wink and gets up. The smile you had doesn’t go away as you bring your cup to your lips.
You hear your door open and a sudden need to tell him a parting message bursts on your chest.
“Hey, Tourist,” you break the stillness of your apartment as you call him out and turn around on your seat to face him.
“Hmm?” He regards you quaintly with his hand still on the doorknob.
It is long overdue and inappropriate in various sorts of ways, but you say it anyways.
“Welcome to Brazil.”
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Text
Patient
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes
Word Count: 8,691
Tags: 18+, NSFW, Daddy Kink, Daddy Training, Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Spanking, Oral Fixation, Office Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Protected Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Rimming, Double Penetration, Subspace, Aftercare
Summary: One month after the events of ‘Perfect’, Aaron has some very big plans for Spencer and Sophie—and a few things don’t go according to plan.
Collection: Part 3 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series
Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr.
Link to A03 or read below!
Spencer and Sophie are about to head to the break room together for tea when her desk phone rings. He reaches his hand out for her cup, earns a mouthed thank you and a smile, and she answers as he walks away.
When he walks back with their tea, she has a look on her face. It’s one he recognizes easily, after a month of being her daddy, a look that tells him it was Aaron on the phone. He smiles softly, sets her mug down on the desk. “You okay?” She nods slowly.
“Hotch wants us in his office.”
“Ooh, sounds like it’s time for a spankin’, girl,” Morgan teases, and Sophie rolls her eyes lightly.
“Reid’s coming too. You think he’d spank me in front of him?”
It’s kind of a funny question, because he has, on more than one occasion. Spencer has spanked her, too. It makes her flushed, whiny, needy, gorgeous—just thinking about it makes him hot under the collar.
“Come on, we better go up,” he says, guiding her to the stairs. If anyone has noticed him being a little more assertive with her lately, they haven’t mentioned it, and that kind of surprises him.
Adding him to their relationship hasn’t exactly been kept secret—they don’t make an effort to hide the fact that they all leave together sometimes, or arrive together, go to lunch together—but nothing has been explicitly confirmed with the team. Still, he kind of expected them to notice the change in him. He feels changed, a little more confident, a little less awkward in his own skin, but so far, nothing. He’s still just the same old Reid when they’re here.
When they’re not here, though…
They enter the office, and Spencer closes the door behind him. Aaron gets out of his chair, walks over to them, plants a warm, firm kiss on his lips, then Sophie’s.
“Mmm. Are we being rewarded?” Sophie asks, eyelids heavy. He wonders what Aaron said to her on the phone to get her so softened up already. “If so, I don’t know what I did.” Aaron chuckles.
“You can think of it as a pre-reward, because I’m going to tell you to do something, and I know you’re going to do it. Do you know how I know?”
“How, daddy?”
“Because you’re our good girl, and you’ll do anything you’re told, and because you're our horny girl, and I’m going to let you come after.” Spencer looks over at him, must look as turned on as he feels, because Aaron smirks a little. “I’m going to let you come, too. You’re going to do what I tell you, aren’t you, Spencer? You like that.”
Ever since the weekend he trained Spencer to be Sophie’s daddy, Aaron has been slipping in some subtle commands for Spencer as well, and he can’t deny the way his body reacts to the sound of his voice, the stern set of his eyes. He likes it both ways, likes feeling submissive and making Sophie feel submissive. He even looked it up on the internet, and he’s definitely not alone.
“Yes,” he replies, and he feels his voice is a little weak. Sophie takes his hand; Aaron crosses his arms.
“Try again. Yes, what?” Sophie looks up at him, chews her lip, and he takes a shaky breath. This part is new.
“Yes, daddy.”
It’s a good thing the blinds are closed, because Sophie kind of loses it, pulls the both of them toward her and kisses Spencer and then Aaron and paws eagerly at his clothes.
“This is so hot, can I suck you off? Please, daddy, I’ll be quick.” Her eyes are big when she looks up at him, and he sighs, like giving her what she wants is a hassle. Spencer hasn’t quite mastered the art of not eagerly letting her do whatever she asks, but he’s working on it.
“Okay, but you have to be quiet. I know you’re a loud, needy slut when you’re on your knees for daddy.” She nods quickly, and Spencer comes up behind her, covers her hands where they fumble with Aaron’s belt.
“Easy, baby. Let me help you.” He unclasps Aaron’s belt, looking up at him with undoubtedly hooded eyes, then unzips his pants, pushes them down a little. Aaron presses his lips together like he’s trying not to moan; it makes him feel like he’s being good and bad, and it’s a feeling he likes. “Can I suck, too, daddy?”
Aaron does moan at that. Spencer considers that a win.
“Yes, gorgeous boy. You’ll take turns: ten seconds each until I come.” Sophie is breathing so hard between them, and kind of trembling, and Aaron touches her face. “Calm down, love. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”
“Yes, daddy.” She swallows hard. “Can I start?” she asks them both, and they nod together. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, slides to her knees, and moans softly as soon as her mouth is on him. In ten seconds, Aaron puts his hands carefully in her hair, guides her off.
“Spencer’s turn.” Fuck, this is so hot. He drops to his knees beside her, looks up at Aaron, and sucks tight; Aaron’s hands clench white against his desk. “Time’s up,” he rasps after ten of the fastest seconds of Spencer’s life, and when he pulls back, Sophie is on him immediately, hand on his balls, taking him deeper.
That’s not really fair, because she’s had more practice. He’ll have to find a way to catch up.
She doesn’t need to be told to stop, this time, and she puts her hand in his hair as he takes his turn, making him moan around Aaron’s cock. A slightly rougher hand grips him, tilts his head back so he slides off.
“Quietly, if you want to be daddy’s good boy,” he murmurs, and Spencer nods. He wants that more than anything. “Start over.” He sucks at the head, gets him extra wet, and bobs until he thinks it’s time; he pulls off with a lick, and Sophie leans in to lick as well, and they curl their tongues around him together even though that’s not the rule. Aaron doesn't seem to mind, tips his head back and clutches at his desk for support. “Oh, fuck. Jesus.” Sophie’s tongue touches his when she licks a stripe up the side of Aaron’s cock, and it takes all of his willpower not to come in his pants.
“Okay, my turn,” she says, breathlessly, and he pulls back to let her suck him down, stroking quickly; it’s clear he’s close, his hips moving slowly, because he knows she doesn’t like that too fast, and Spencer feels greedy, wants the come in his mouth.
“My turn,” he says, and she releases him with a sigh but bends down to suck on his balls while Spencer takes him in.
That’s enough for Aaron, and he comes with a muffled groan, flooding his mouth in a way that’s almost overwhelming, but he swallows, gasping when it’s over. Sophie kisses him dirty and deep, her tongue probing inside his mouth like she’s looking for a taste, and then she gives up and licks the head of Aaron’s dick until it’s too much for him and he guides her off.
They are all left panting, and Sophie pulls Spencer against her, nuzzles his throat.
“Can I suck Spencer, daddy?” she asks in a small, needy voice, and he groans softly. Aaron fixes his clothes, scrubs a hand through his hair.
“Yes, you can, my perfect little come slut. You’re unhappy because Spencer got to swallow for daddy, aren’t you?” She bites her bottom lip, and her eyes are wet as she nods. Spencer pulls her in for a hug, rubs her lips with his thumb. “You’re going to have to learn to share, sweetheart. I know it’s hard.”
“It’s so hard, daddy.” Aaron crouches down to their level, touches them both gently.
“I know, baby girl. I’ll let you suck him, but first, bend over the desk.” She practically scrambles into Spencer’s lap at his deep, stern command, whimpers quietly.
“What did I do?”
“I was trying to give you two instructions and you pounced on me. You were greedy and impatient because you wanted to suck daddy’s cock so badly. You’re going to get four spanks from each of us.” She looks at Spencer, squirms in his lap, and he kisses her softly.
“You heard daddy. Over the desk.” She takes a deep breath and Aaron stands, helps her up, guides her to the desk so her arms are stretched across it and her ass is out for them. Spencer rises to his feet, and Aaron pulls him closer, kisses him hard.
“Take down her pants. She was very naughty, and she needs to really feel these ones.” Spencer takes a rough breath, nods, and unbuttons her jeans, slides them down her thighs; she’s wearing a thong, so that can stay. Daddy’s rules. “Good boy. Kiss me.”
His mind goes blank. Even after sucking Aaron’s cock and swallowing his come, the thing that makes Spencer the weakest is hearing him say kiss me. That’s very interesting.
His heart rate picks up, and he flushes, pulls him close, kisses him deeply. Aaron’s lips are softer than his words, almost reverent as they move against his, and Spencer feels lightheaded when it’s over. “Perfect, shy boy,” Aaron murmurs, and he takes one of Spencer’s hands. “You first. A little harder than last time.”
“Yes, daddy,” he breathes, and the hand not holding Aaron’s comes up to smack her ass, making her lurch forward and whimper softly. Aaron leans in to whisper in her ear, and she wiggles at his words.
“Again, baby,” Aaron tells him, looking back, and he spanks her again; her head comes up like she wants to moan, and she’s panting, but Aaron shushes her, pushes up her shirt and runs his hand soothingly over her back. “Good girl, just two more and then Spencer will come kiss you. You love his kisses.” He looks back at him, nods, and this time when he hits her, Sophie’s hips move afterward, like she’s looking for friction against the desk. It’s incredibly arousing. “One more, horny girl. You know you can’t get off like this, but you try anyway because you’re so fucking desperate.”
“Desperate, daddy,” she repeats, voice quivering, and after his final blow, she groans softly, sighs. He’s not sure why she sounds relieved; Aaron is only going to spank her harder. “Kisses, daddy?” she rasps, and Aaron lets go of his hand; the other hand is stinging, and he walks around the desk, presses it to Sophie’s hot cheek while he brings her close for a kiss. She sighs again.
“Four more, baby girl. You can take it, you’re my tough girl,” Aaron says, and he smacks her; Spencer watches her face carefully, marvels at how pain and pleasure are equally reflected in her eyes, her mouth. He presses his lips to hers again and she looks up at him like he’s her salvation; it’s enough to make him moan, press against his erection, and Aaron notices. He wonders if that means he’s in trouble. He didn’t ask to touch himself.
Aaron looks at him for a moment, then lifts Sophie by her hips, lays her more on the desk, so her feet are off the floor and she’s closer to Spencer. He licks his lips.
“Take out your cock,” he instructs, and Spencer does, fingers eager and clumsy as they unzip his fly. “Suck, baby girl.” Sophie shudders and scoots forward, takes him in hand, starts sucking like she’s never going to get the chance again. His eyes snap closed and he exhales deeply, palms pressing against the desk. “Stop.” She releases him, panting, and Aaron spanks her; her head sags, and Spencer leans down for a kiss.
“Good girl, you’re doing so good. Your mouth feels so good. Just two more and you’re done, perfect girl.” She nods weakly, her body shaking, and Spencer looks to Aaron.
“Time to suck, baby.”
He puts his hand around the shaft, brings his dick to her lips, and she covers his fingers with her own, sucks a little less enthusiastically—but for Sophie, that doesn’t really mean much. Her mouth is so wet, and he bets her pussy is too; he hopes she’s not so in trouble that she doesn’t get to come, because he really wants to make her come… But only if daddy lets him.
“Stop,” Aaron directs. She doesn’t, and that worries him a little. He holds a hand up for Aaron, pulls out gently, pries her fingers off, and crouches down so he can see her face. He presses his palms to her cheeks.
“Baby girl, you didn’t listen. Have you had enough?” Her eyes are a little teary, but she shakes her head no.
“I’m daddy’s tough girl. I can take it.” He sighs, kisses her mouth a couple times, presses his forehead to hers. When he pulls back, she bites her lip, squeezes her eyes shut, and Aaron spanks her twice in succession.
Her relief at being done is visible, her tense body melting against the desk, and she reaches for Spencer’s hips, but he puts his hand on her arm, stills her. “You did so good baby, so perfect, but you need to ask daddy before you finish sucking, okay? Make sure it’s okay.” She nods, and Aaron comes over to them, kneels down to kiss her, touch her, praise her.
“Spencer is right baby, you did so good for us. We’re so proud of you. You can suck Spencer until he comes in your perfect, pretty mouth, and I’m going to rub your pussy. Remember to be quiet, and I’ll get you off.”
“Yes daddy, thank you daddy,” she says, rushed, and Spencer presses himself against her lips in reward.
She groans softly when Aaron reaches back to touch her, but she’s quiet, good; he lets himself get lost in the feeling, no longer worried about following rules, or making sure she follows the rules, and he comes within seconds. His orgasm is so good, deep, all-consuming, that he just stands there and catches his breath for a minute, and Sophie continues moaning around him while Aaron strokes his fingers inside her panties.
“Amazing boy,” Aaron says, voice low, and Spencer shudders where he stands. “So good to your little girl, and so good for your daddy. So obedient and smart and pretty.” His eyes close involuntarily, and he wets his lips. These words sound so good coming out of his mouth, directed at him, that it makes him hazy. Happy. And a little horny. “Kiss her, baby, if you can—if you two aren’t such a mess you can barely think.”
He kind of is, and he knows she is, but he likes kissing her when she’s barely coherent, so he pulls out of her mouth, cups her face in his hands, and kisses her, catching her moans and whimpers with his lips. “So perfect, Sophie, so good for us. Now come for us. Come for daddy’s fingers, okay?”
“Yeah, I can come for you.” She presses up against Aaron’s arm where it lays across her ass, and Spencer thinks maybe she likes the feel of him against the stinging redness. He leans in, puts his hands on both of her sore cheeks, rubs them softly, spreads them a little, and she sighs, pleased. “Spencer. Daddy.” Aaron glances up, looks at Spencer with a soft expression, then takes one of his hands off of her ass and guides him to her pussy, has him put one fingertip against her opening. Sophie comes the first time he pushes it inside.
She is so good, and quiet, and Aaron helps her off the desk and pulls up her pants, hugs and kisses her softly, while Spencer fixes himself up—between his clothes, his hair, and the undoubtedly foggy look in his eyes, he feels like a fucked out, rumpled mess. He gets hugs and kisses too, when he’s done, and Aaron soothes them, helps them through the blankness he caused so they can function again.
Spencer and Sophie both lean against Aaron’s body where he leans against the desk; he doesn’t look fuzzy like they do, but he does look very pleased with himself, and maybe a little like his mind was blown.
“So. Do you want to hear why I called you up here, now, horny little things?” he asks, holding them both close. They nod together. “I have to work a little later than you tonight, but not much. I have rules for while I’m not there. I want you two to go home, and take a very good shower, and get into some pajamas, and watch tv until I get there. You can make out or otherwise do whatever you like, but you may not come until I get home.” He kisses them each on the mouth once more. “I’ll bring dinner. Understood?”
“Yes, daddy,” Spencer says, licking his lips.
“Yes daddy, no coming,” Sophie recites, and she takes Spencer’s hand. “Back to work, daddy?”
“Back to work, baby. Smart and beautiful girl.” She gets another kiss. “Smart and gorgeous boy,” he tells Spencer, and he gets a kiss too. “Text me when you make it home, I probably won’t see you before you leave.”
“Okay, love you, daddy,” Sophie says, and Spencer follows her to the door, but she stops, puts a hand to her mouth and looks back at Aaron. “The fucking door is unlocked.” Aaron stands up straight, no longer relaxed as he had been, and he walks toward them. Sophie looks up at Spencer and swallows hard.
“Who closed the door?” Aaron asks, and Spencer swallows too. Aaron’s eyes are very hard and his jaw is clenched, and Spencer suddenly feels very, very small.
“I did,” he answers.
“Try again. I did, what, Spencer?”
Fuuuck.
“I did, daddy.” Aaron crosses his arms—looking extremely hot, for the record, like too hot for Spencer by tenfold—and then sighs very deeply.
“Okay. You obviously know you need to be more careful. I don’t need to tell you what could have gone wrong.”
He really doesn’t, because about a million things are running through Spencer’s head, and they all lead down a very bad road of joblessness, homelessness, Aaron-and-Sophie-lessness, and general mortification. He’s glad he’s not being made to feel worse than he already does.
“I will let you choose how you would like to be disciplined, since it’s your first time; it doesn’t have to be spanking, that’s just what Sophie prefers. She can explain your options later.” He uncrosses his arms, runs a hand through his hair. “Really, it’s my fault for not going over the rule again. What’s the rule, Sophie?”
“If you close the door, lock it, every time,” Sophie says quietly, squeezing his hand.
“Right. What’s the rule, Spencer?”
“If you close the door, lock it, every time.”
“Good. I’m not angry, so please don’t be upset.” He kisses them both. “I have a meeting at 3, so I need to get ready. Take care of each other,” he instructs softy, touching both of their faces, and they head downstairs.
Sophie remembers to let go of his hand, or he would have held it all the way to her desk.
“Was that a partner performance evaluation?” Prentiss asks when they sit, unlock their desktops. “I didn’t know Hotch was doing those already, it’s only May.”
“Just squeezing them in when he can, I guess,” Sophie answers. Spencer’s glad, because he still feels kind of low, doesn’t really feel like talking. She kicks at his foot lightly under the desk, a tap he thinks means ‘I’m here.’ Take care of each other. “Yours will be next week, I think he said.”
“Good to know we don’t have to dress up or anything. You look like a college kid and Reid looks like he just rolled out of bed,” Morgan teases, and he freezes for a second. He thought he fixed the blowjob hair. Sophie scoffs.
“He does not. I think he looks really cute today.” Another tap.
“Of course he does,” Prentiss says kindly. “So, how did you do?” He looks up at Sophie, and she smiles, takes a sip of her certainly lukewarm tea, taps his foot again.
“Very satisfactory.”
The rest of the work day drags on, and Spencer looks sad about the door thing, so Sophie really wants to make him feel better. She starts by letting him drive to the apartment, and choosing the cheesiest 80s ballads to sing in the car on the way there. When she sings Keep on Loving You by REO Speedwagon as dramatically as possible, he smiles like she’s his favorite thing in the universe, and her heart feels so very full.
When they make it home, she gets them in the door, and then kisses him soft and slow, drags him playfully to the bathroom by his tie. He laughs, and puts his hands on her hips to stop her so he can kiss her properly again. “Hey,” she says gently when their kiss breaks, touching his face. “I really enjoyed myself earlier. Forgetting to lock the door, that’s okay. I did it too, once.”
“Oh, were you in the middle of a kinky threesome with your pants down?” he asks sarcastically, and she rolls her eyes.
“No, but I had Aaron’s head up my skirt and my tits out, so it still probably would have been frowned upon to have an audience.” He laughs softly, and she runs her hands down his body, pulls open his belt. “I don’t want you to feel bad, that’s all. It was an accident, it happened, it’s over. I get you all to myself for a couple hours,” she says, trying for coy, “and that’s never happened before, so I kind of wanted to enjoy it. You?”
“Yeah, I want to enjoy it,” he agrees, takes her face in his hands for a kiss. His lips always feel so good, like they’re caressing her wherever they are, and she sighs happily. “But remember, no coming,” he adds, voice low, and she gives him an appraising look.
“Is that my daddy talking? ‘Cause I want to know how bratty I can be.”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he murmurs, pulling her t-shirt over her head, and she guides him down for a deep, steamy kiss.
“In that case, I just want Spencer.” She unbuttons his pants, loosens his tie, and they finish undressing each other pretty quickly for two people who aren’t actually going to have sex. When they step under the hot waterfall of the shower, they kiss and touch a little more, and she moans against his arm when he reaches down to touch her between her legs. “What happened to no coming?” she breathes, and he grins a bit wickedly.
“From what I’ve seen, you’re pretty good at not coming. Almost as good as you are at coming. Maybe I want to tease you a little.”
“If you really want to tease me, put your dick in me and don’t let me come on it.” He licks his lips, looks calculating, and she holds up her finger. “No, stop, I’m just kidding. Do not do that. I might cry.”
“What I’m hearing is, not tonight, Spencer,” he emphasizes. “That sounds like something your daddy might do, though, sometime.” She squeezes her legs together, loves when he refers to himself as daddy, even if she likes playing with Spencer as he is as well. Her pussy is complicated.
“Yes, definitely. For now, though, there’s something I wanted to talk about.” He looks at her, so serious, and she touches his face. “When daddy says to take a very good shower, that usually means anal, of some sort, so. Since he told us both to shower… is that going to be okay with you? Because if it’s not, that’s a grenade I’m happy to fall on for you, so to speak.” She sees him process that, and he flushes pink.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s okay with me. I’ve never seen him do it to you, but you like it? It doesn’t hurt?” He cups her cheek, her wet hair, so gentle.
“Well, what’s okay for me may not be okay for everyone, but yes, I like it, and no, it doesn’t hurt. Aaron is so good; he takes his time and makes it feel so good that even his cock isn’t too much. And he goes slow. It’s not like porn, you know? That stuff is made for and by people who fuck, not people who get fucked.”
“Yeah, I get that. I want to, I—I want to.”
“It’s not a guarantee or anything, if he’s not feeling it, but I wanted to let you know just in case. And for the record, I think it would be really sexy to watch him come in you.” Just the thought makes her super horny, and she can tell it makes him lose his mind, so she guides him down for a kiss so she can get her tongue in his mouth. They kiss for a long time, and when Spencer pushes her up against the glass door of the shower and it rattles in the track, she moans. “Fuck, I’m so horny. If I didn’t get spanked already today I’d get off and say fuck the consequences.”
“I think it would be worth it, to feel you come on my cock,” he pants, grabbing her ass, and she holds his shoulders tightly, moves so that his knee is in the perfect spot for her to rub against. When she starts, he groans, squeezes her tighter. It still kind of hurts, which feels really good. “Baby girl, you’re killing me.”
“Just a little taste,” she begs, grinding her pussy on him, and he lets her for a minute before stopping her with forceful hands on her hips.
“Okay, okay. I don’t want you to get in trouble. Let's get cleaned up so when he gets home we’ve been good and we get what we want.” She knows he’s not daddy right now, but he’s being so sweet, and taking care of her, that she feels herself falling, a little bit. She swallows, nods.
“Okay. Thank you.” They kiss, but they don’t let themselves get distracted; they clean up well and dry off and get into pajamas—Spencer’s wearing boxers, and they’re each wearing one of Aaron’s t-shirts, because he’s not the only one who gets to be a fucking tease—and they’re on the couch making out when he makes a soft noise like he’s remembered something.
“You’re supposed to tell me how I can be punished.”
“Disciplined,” she corrects, gently. “Aaron doesn’t like to think of it as punishment, but discipline. If you call it punishment, he won’t do it. But anyway. You could be spanked, like me, or tied up and not allowed to touch him—that’s too much for me, I cried. Aaron does not like to see me cry.”
“I wouldn’t either, baby. You’re too sweet, you don’t deserve to cry. You only deserve good things.” She thanks him, kisses him softly, tenderly, climbs into his lap.
“You could also have him deny you an orgasm for a while by like, literally pretending you aren’t there. We tried it and I cried again, but don’t let me scare you. You might like it.”
“Soft, sappy girl,” he says with a half smile, and she wants to kiss it off of him.
“Yeah, what can I say? I'm just as emotionally needy as I am physically. Fair warning.”
“I think I’m up to the challenge,” he says, looking serious, and he brings her close for another sweet kiss that turns more heated as she presses closer, winds her arms around his neck. “Sophie,” he sighs between kisses, and she weaves fingers in his hair.
“I want you.” Her brain is clouded by lust, and while it’s not the dizzying pleasure of being dominated by her daddies, it's something more, she can feel it. “I want you just as you are, funny and sweet and shy and the smartest guy in the room no matter what room you’re in. I love all that about you.” His hips move under her, she can feel how hard he is, and she moves too, grinds down, kisses him.
“I love you,” he pants, and her hips still, because despite all the sweet and sexy and frankly filthy things he’s said to her in the last month, it’s the first time he’s said that. “It’s okay if you don’t love me back—”
“Oh, shut up. I love you.” She climbs off his lap and tugs his boxers down, and she slowly sinks onto his cock with the help of his careful hands; she wraps her arms around him, puts her mouth on his as she starts to move. He pulls back to speak, and she kisses him hard. “Spencer, I swear if you talk to me about rules I’m going to murder you.”
“But no coming,” he reminds her with a groan as she bounces hard, her chest heaving. His arms are around her waist, snaked up her back, and she can’t believe plain old sex can feel this good.
“We’ll get a pass, I promise. I promise.” She pushes a hand through his hair, kisses him more gently than before. “I love you, let me fuck you. I know you just wanna be good, but let me fuck you.”
“Fuck, Sophie.” His hips slam up hard, and she swears it’s over, but he slows back down again and she sighs, like a part of her still cares about the rules, doesn’t want them to be naughty. It’s not a minute later that Aaron walks through the door, bags in hand, and Spencer groans. “Oh, thank god.”
“What’s going on here?” he asks calmly, putting the bags on the counter and taking off his tie, and fuck, that’s just what she needed to help her finish this stupid, loving, deeply hot sex she impulsively started. She comes, her hips moving fast and her pussy clenching around him, and Spencer moans and presses his face against her shoulder, holding her body tight and coming inside her.
Aaron comes up behind her, shoves a thumb in her mouth, possessive, and she sucks it slow and then pants when it’s gone, “he said he loves me.”
He drops to the couch beside them, runs his hands over the both of them while they calm down, and then he presses his lips to theirs. He rests his forehead against Spencer’s, sweat be damned, and Spencer says, “I love you, too.”
He and Aaron kiss, and Aaron says it back, and Sophie feels kind of bad that they can’t have the same sex just yet, but she’s also not moving unless someone makes her.
“We love one man with impeccable timing,” she says when they come up for air, “because technically you said we couldn’t come until you got home, and you were very much home when your impatient little things had their happy love orgasms.”
“You can have this one on the technicality, but just because I’m happy too,” Aaron says, touching her lips. “But don’t think that means you can challenge daddy ever again, little girl, because you’ll learn quickly that it’s not in your best interest.” That sends a shiver of daddy-specific pleasure up her spine, and Spencer’s too, apparently, because he whines.
“Are you gonna fuck my ass?” Spencer asks Aaron, and Sophie laughs, because they’ve finally found the thing that makes him sound dumb, and turns out it’s just love and lots of good sex. Hilarious.
They have dinner shortly after Aaron arrives at home, since Spencer and Sophie aren’t exactly desperately turned on like he’d planned, but what happened was better than he had planned, anyway, so he’s not upset in the slightest.
After dinner—which they sit through looking so sweet and innocent, as if he didn’t walk in to see them fucking in his clothes—everyone gets naked and piles onto the bed for kisses and cuddles. Aaron is in the middle of the love fest, and his heart is so full of love for them it almost hurts.
He never would have thought he’d get to have any of it, let alone all of it.
It’s Sophie who starts it—go figure—by curling her leg around his hip while they kiss, and Aaron softly but firmly tells Spencer to get the lube, which makes them both anxious and squirmy. He squeezes her cheek, gives himself a little more room to work with, and then presses a wet finger against her ass, pushes it in slowly until she gasps. He’s only gone about an inch, but that’s all it takes for her to start moaning, because she fucking loves this.
“Oh, daddy. Please, daddy.” She clings to his shoulders and hitches her leg up higher, and Spencer watches carefully as he pulls his finger out, adds more lube, pushes it in further. “Fuck, yes, daddy.”
“Be patient, sweet girl. You know this takes a while.” He thrusts his finger in and out a handful of times, and Spencer shushes her when she starts begging for more. It’d be enough to make him hard, if he hadn’t already been as soon as he walked through the door.
When she is used to the feeling of one, of how deep he can get it, he pulls out his finger, lubes up another, and slowly inches them in. She feels like silk inside, hot and smooth and perfect, and he holds her tight so she won’t try to buck into the thrusts of his hand, just in case.
“Oh, god,” Spencer groans as he watches him open her up, as he pushes just a little deeper, as he stretches her just a little further. “Can I try, daddy?” he asks, low, and Sophie moans at the idea.
“Yes, perfect boy, but you must follow the rules. Slow and easy, very gentle. Can you promise me?”
“I promise, daddy,” he says, looking so gorgeous and serious, and Aaron removes his fingers and slicks up two of Spencer’s, kisses Sophie’s skin when he slowly sinks them inside. “Oh, fuck.”
“Mmm, daddy. Spencer. Oh, please,” Sophie mewls, bringing up a hand to tug at Aaron’s hair. “Feels so good, daddy. You’re so amazing, daddy.”
“It’s Spencer now, baby,” he says softly, pushing her hair back from her face, and she leans in to kiss him.
“I know, but everything Spencer knows, daddy taught him, and it feels so good.” Aaron closes his eyes, exhales softly. She’s so perfect, and being so patient, and he loves her so much.
“Yes, baby. I taught him because I knew he’d be so good to you, baby girl, and look at him. He’s opening up your ass so carefully because he loves you.” Spencer pulls his fingers out and slicks up a third, and he’s gentle with her, moves his fingers in and out but also side to side, spreading them apart a little. She moans, clings to him, and he reaches down a hand to press himself inside her pussy, pumping slow. A little extra pleasure never hurt anyone, especially when having three long fingers working at their ass.
“Oh, god, yes, daddy.” She doesn’t move, because she’s a good girl and she knows to be still for Spencer, but he can tell she wants to, wants to force his cock deeper inside, then Spencer’s fingers. “Daddy, I’m ready.”
“I don’t think so,” he says carefully, doesn’t want to upset her. “Almost, but not just yet. Let Spencer’s fingers do their job, so his big cock doesn’t hurt you.” They both groan at that—maybe Spencer didn’t think Aaron would let him? But if he wants fucked so badly he’d like to try to soften him up a little first—and Aaron moves carefully inside her. “I’ll let you take us both together if you can be very good and still for me.”
That turns her dial up to 11, and she starts blabbering, and every other word is daddy: “Yes daddy, please daddy, thank you daddy. I’ll be good, daddy, I want you both daddy, I can take it daddy.”
“Fuck. I think she’s ready, daddy, can you check?” Spencer asks, and Aaron smiles. He is such a good boy.
“Yes, baby, let me check and then you can put your cock inside her and feel how tight she is there.” Spencer slips his fingers out, and she whines at the loss, but Aaron slicks his fingers up carefully and pushes them inside her, grinding them and spreading them apart to make sure she is okay with the stretch. She only moans, claws at his back, and he is so turned on, so ready to come inside her it’s unreal. “Okay, sweet girl, your ass is ready. Tell us if you hurt or it’s uncomfortable, and let us know if you’ve had enough. Grab a condom, Spencer.”
“Yes, daddy, I’ll tell you, I promise. Thank you.” They kiss, and Spencer puts the condom on and gets it very slippery, and he leans in to nuzzle against her neck, and Aaron holds her while he presses inside. Sophie starts panting, vibrating in his arms like she wants to move but knows she’s been asked to keep still. “Fuck, yes, oh my god. I need this. Please.”
“Easy, baby,” Spencer says, holding her hip. “You’ve got us, we’re here. Just follow daddy’s rule and be still and we’ll make you come hard.” She nods, frantic, and they move inside her, slowly, taking turns thrusting inside her perfect, tight body.
“Perfect, needy girl. Such a needy slut for us, you want both cocks inside you, fucking you together.”
“Yes, daddy, oh my god. Yes. Needy slut, I’m getting fucked just like a needy slut,” she rambles, holding onto him, reaching back for Spencer. “Spencer, I’m being a good girl, are you proud?” she asks, breathless, and Aaron groans, puts his hands on Spencer so he’ll stop moving, and then thrusts inside her a few times, coming hot and deep. Sophie moans long, and Spencer rubs his hands over her breasts.
“Yes, Sophie, so proud, you’re doing so good. Do you feel daddy’s come? Does it feel so good?”
“So good, it feels so good. Wait until you feel it. Even with a condom, it feels so good when daddy comes.”
Aaron feels lost for a moment, overwhelmed, like they don’t even need him, but then Spencer starts thrusting again, and Sophie clutches at Aaron, puts her mouth against his shoulder and moans and whines, and he remembers how special this is, the three of them, how good. How they all need each other for it to work.
“I love you, daddy. I need you, daddy,” Sophie murmurs like she can tell what he’s feeling, and he touches her face, kisses her deeply, lovingly. He reaches for Spencer, too, caresses his cheek.
“Good boy Spencer, keep fucking. She loves feeling you there. Your turn is next, but remember, you’ll have to be patient.” Spencer closes his eyes, his breathing heavy.
“Yes, daddy. I want you inside me. I’ll be patient.” He squeezes Sophie’s breasts, thrusts a little quicker, like he’s getting close. “Feeling good?” he asks against her neck, and she nods, hums.
“Yes, please come in me. You feel so good, I wanna move, I wanna come.”
“You’re gonna come, baby. You can move a little; I’ll rub your clit,” Aaron promises, and he reaches down between them, slides his fingers over her where she’s swollen. “You’re so messy, baby, between the three of us. You’re getting pumped full of come tonight, dirty, horny girl.”
“Oh, yes daddy. I’m a mess, full of come, still desperate for more.” Spencer grunts, holds her still, and snaps his hips against her, pressing deep and spilling inside the condom, and Sophie all but screams, comes, writhing between them. “God, oh god, fuck, Aaron, Spencer, fuck.”
“Fuck, Sophie, yeah. Keep coming,” Spencer pants, pumping inside even though he’s spent, and he wrings several more groans and shivers out of her before she leans back against him, sighing, satisfied. They both pull out, and Aaron hugs her close between them, because he knows she’ll feel empty and get a little sad, and he’d like to prevent that if possible.
“Beautiful, perfect, good girl,” he coos, and he rubs Spencer’s back, keeps him pressed against her. “You did so good for us, you were so full, and now you’re empty, but we’re right here. We’re still here and we’re not going anywhere.”
“Not going anywhere,” Spencer reiterates, rubbing Aaron’s arm. “So proud of you, letting us both come inside, coming so long and hard for us. You’re our perfect baby girl.” She hums, rubs against them like a pleased cat.
“I’d do anything for you, anything.” They continue to touch her and each other, give her lots of skin contact, and when she’s fully herself again they take her to the bathroom to clean her up.
Aaron pulls the comforter off the bed, because it’s a sticky mess, and they pile back on, kissing and touching softly. Spencer is in the middle, and Aaron grabs two handfuls of his ass, squeezes, making him moan.
“Are you ready to start, sweet boy? Do you want daddy’s fingers?” Spencer presses his teeth into his bottom lip, breathes hard.
“Yes, daddy. Please, daddy.” Aaron rewards him with kisses, pulls a pillow down and guides him onto his stomach. Sophie curls around his head and brushes her fingers through his hair.
“You’re going to feel so good, daddy will make you feel only good just like you did for me, I promise,” she says, and Aaron spreads Spencer’s legs, leans between them to lick gently at his hole; Spencer curses, rubs against the bed, and Sophie laughs softly. “Oh yeah. There’s that, too.”
Aaron smiles, because Spencer is going to be a gorgeous fucking mess when all is said and done, and that’s kind of what he’s been waiting for.
“Do you like that, Spencer? Tell daddy. Do you like my tongue?”
“Oh, god, yes daddy,” Spencer groans, and he leans in and licks again; Spencer’s fingers fist in the sheets. “Feels so good, daddy, thank you daddy.”
“You’re welcome, gorgeous boy. You’ve been so good for me, I wanted to treat you to something special.” He flicks his tongue quickly a dozen times, then presses the tip of it past the barrier, and Spencer arches his back, moans loudly. Sophie is getting flushed just watching him, and she smooths back his hair, murmurs sweet words just for him. “Spencer, I want you to do something for me. I want you to lick Sophie’s pussy while I continue. Sophie, open your legs for him.” She whines, but does as she’s told, and Spencer pulls her closer, buries his face in her and eats her just the way she likes. He’s had plenty of practice, by now.
She curls fingers in his hair, and Aaron dives back in, licking and probing with his tongue until he is wet and soft and moaning against Sophie’s clit.
“Oh, you’re a slut for it, Spencer, eating pussy and having your ass eaten too. Horny, desperate boy for daddy. Are you leaking onto the sheets?”
“Yes, daddy,” he pants, pulling away from Sophie, and she rubs his shoulders soothingly. “Yes, I’m a slut, daddy, making such a mess of myself. My dick is wet and my face is, too.” Aaron closes his eyes, exhales deeply. This may be a little more than he bargained for.
“Of course, dirty boy. When you eat Sophie’s pussy, you do it right, make her wiggle and whimper. You love it, getting messy, filthy.” He presses his tongue inside again, and Spencer whines.
“Fuck, yes, daddy. Filthy.” He rests his head against Sophie’s thigh for a moment and then licks at her, holding her hips, moaning while Aaron moves his tongue inside him. “Daddy, fingers, please. It feels too good,” he shudders, and Aaron doesn’t want him to come just yet, so he pulls back, leans up on his knees and finds the lube.
“Okay, since you’re such a good boy, I’ll open you up for daddy’s cock now. Do you think you can take me?” Sophie whines, either at his words or Spencer’s tongue, he’s not quite sure.
“I can take you, daddy, yes, daddy. You can hold me down, and, and…” Aaron slides a wet finger in easily, and he thinks Spencer’s mind goes a little blank. It takes him a moment to finish his thought. “And, and fuck me, daddy.”
“Oh, I’m going to, sweet boy. I’ll hold down your arms and pump into your tight, perfect ass and make you come on my cock, gorgeous boy.” Spencer moves his hips a little, rubbing his dick against the bed, and Aaron presses a palm to his lower back. “Be still, baby. You have to be patient for me or I’m going to stop.”
“Yes daddy, please don’t stop, I’ll be patient. Don’t stop,” he begs, and Aaron lubes up a second finger and slides them inside together, and Spencer trembles, whimpers.
“Put that mouth to good use and make Sophie come, filthy boy,” he instructs, and Sophie whines, rolls her hips against nothing.
“I don’t need it, daddy, it’s okay,” she pants, but Spencer knows better, shifts up to suck hard at her clit.
“Baby girl. Who is giving the orders tonight?” She moans, grinds against Spencer’s mouth.
“You, daddy.”
“Only me?” he asks, looking into her eyes as he thrusts his fingers into Spencer, and she shivers, bites her lip.
“Only you, daddy.”
“So what’s going to happen?” Spencer moans into her pussy, rolls his hips around for friction, and Aaron adds another finger, stretching him, breathing out slowly because he’s getting a little too excited at having them both at his complete mercy.
“I’m going to come, daddy.” She groans deeply, tugs at Spencer’s hair, and Aaron smiles. He knows it looks dirty.
“That’s right, baby. Can you come for me now? So I can fuck Spencer?”
“Yes, daddy.” She presses against Spencer, pinches her nipple, and whimpers, shudders, tries to squeeze her legs together as she comes. “Oh, fuck.” She bucks her hips a few extra times for good measure, then sags back against the pillows, her chest heaving. Spencer sighs, kisses her thigh, rubs her hips where his hands were rough. Aaron pulls out his fingers, crawls up to kiss both of his perfect partners.
“I love you both. So incredible for me, so good. Spencer,” he whispers into his ear, pushing back his hair, “are you ready to be fucked by your daddy?�� He is sweaty, flushed, gorgeous, a complete mess, and he nods quickly.
“I’m ready, daddy.” Aaron kisses his soft, slack mouth.
“Good boy. Sophie, come lay down. Spencer’s going to put his cock in you so he has a place to come.” She runs her hands through her hair—she is also sweaty, flushed, wrecked, and so beautiful—and looks at him with desperation in her eyes.
“Daddy, I don’t know if I can.”
“You can, baby. Just be still and let daddy do all the work. You can come if you want, but you don’t have to. We’re just using your pussy for clean up, baby girl.”
He loves the look in her eyes when she gives in, slides down the bed, when Spencer hovers over her, shaking, and presses inside. She wraps her arms and legs around him, holds him close, kisses him, and Aaron crowds in behind them and rolls on a condom, slicks it up, and guides himself into Spencer’s ass.
Spencer moans so loudly and deeply that Aaron feels it in his bones, and his hands fist into the sheets again, and Aaron thrusts inside, slow and steady and long, the tight heat around his cock threatening to end things before he’s ready. He drapes himself over Spencer’s back, pumps shorter, shallow, kisses his shoulders.
“Good boy for me, Spencer. Daddy feels so good inside you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, daddy. So big and... and careful, daddy, thank you, daddy.” Aaron licks his lips, covers Spencer’s arms with his own, applying a little pressure, and fucks slow, rolling his hips, grinding against him. “Yes, that feels so good, oh, god.”
“I know, baby. Sweet, slutty boy. So hot and tight for daddy. This is daddy’s ass, isn’t it?”
“Yes, daddy’s ass,” Spencer murmurs, his hips stuttering a little, making Sophie grab his back. “Only daddy has been in this ass, and only daddy will be.” Aaron exhales hot against his skin, and he leans up, because he has to come, can’t wait anymore. He has to make it good while he lasts.
“That’s right, my sweet, shy boy,” he groans, hands on Spencer’s hips, and he fucks him fast, but not rough, not hard.
“Oh, yeah, fuck, daddy, yes,” he whines, rocking back into Aaron’s thrusts, forward into Sophie, and she whimpers beneath him. “Yes, daddy, come inside me, daddy. Need you to, want you to.”
“I’m going to come, baby, hold on for me. Almost.” He fucks a little harder, can see Spencer wants it, as he works his body fast in time with Aaron’s hips. “Slutty, needy boy, messy and dirty and desperate and perfect. I love you, sweet boy.”
“Yes, fuck, daddy, needy, dirty, desperate. I love you.” He lifts a hand, covers Aaron’s on his hip, and Aaron can feel Spencer’s whole body tighten from inside when he comes, grunting, spilling into Sophie. She sighs, pulls him close, and Aaron folds forward and comes too, pressing deep, running hands over Spencer’s shoulders and neck.
He pulls out so they can get into a more comfortable position, spoons him, wraps his arms around his body and holds him tight, kissing everywhere he can reach. Sophie presses against his front, softly kisses his lips, his cheeks, and he just breathes between them.
After Spencer has calmed down a little, Sophie slides down his body to nuzzle against one of Aaron’s hands, and he lifts it, strokes her face, presses his finger to her lips so she can suck on it. He rests his cheek on Spencer’s arm, wonders how in the fuck the universe decided he deserved this.
Sophie’s sucking slows, then stops, and it’s clear she’s fallen asleep. Spencer swallows hard, clears his throat, and tips his head back for a kiss.
“Hi there, baby. You did so perfect for me, felt so good. My good boy.” He hums, and Aaron kisses him again. “You okay? What can I do for you?”
“Um. Water, please? And then, I can help you with her in the shower. I’m sure she’ll feel gross when she wakes up.” Aaron squeezes him tighter, brushes his lips over his shoulder.
“I can wash you both up, you don’t need to help. When you submit, daddy takes care of you.” He rubs his hip, massages his ass gently. “Did you like it better than being a daddy?”
“I like both,” he rasps. “They make me feel so different, it’s hard to compare.”
“I’m happy to hear that, baby. I like when you do both, too. I’m going to get you that water, and then we’ll wake her up and shower, okay, perfect boy?”
“Yes, daddy.” Aaron nods, gets out of bed.
“Oh, and Spencer?” He turns his head, soft and sleepy and pliant, so cute. “I hope you enjoyed coming tonight, because you’re going to be disciplined tomorrow, and it might be a very long time before I let you get off again.”
He groans, and Aaron grins.
#aaron hotchner x original female character#hotch x original female character#latina original female character#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#hotch x female reader#hotch x reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x original female character#spencer reid x female reader#spencer reid x aaron hotchner
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♡ prompt: "don’t leave me. don’t you dare leave me.”
♡ pairing: jason todd (redhood) x fem reader
♡ lyric inspiration: "everybody loves somebody sometime. everybody falls in love somehow."
♡ note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / i wanna note that this doesn’t follow TITANS Jason Todd. you can use whatever version you want. the reason i say this is because the lack of gifs for Jason that Tumblr provides is w a c k.
“don’t bullshit me Jason, I really don’t need you coming up with any kind of excuse on the spot,” you told Jason. he could tell you were being completely serious. you weren’t feigning anything as you looked him straight in the eyes, “i’m done with the excuse and i’m personally done with waiting for someone who doesn’t make time for me.”
Jason tried grabbing your hand but you immediately took it back. not caring if you were making a scene or not.
Dick and Tim were in the unfortunate situation of being present for you argument and although they felt kind of awkward being around, they low key wanted to hear the rest of the argument. they felt awful for you but Jason had it coming.
“don’t leave me. don’t you dare leave me!” Jason screamed. you shook your head, “you did this to yourself, Todd. you don’t get to play the victim in this situation,” you stated before grabbing your bag and exiting Jason’s apartment.
Tim as well as Dick stood in awkward silence. not knowing whether to comfort Jason or leave. this was the first time in what felt like ages that they have seen Jason so vulnerable.
you were Jason’s version of normal. although you weren’t a hero or any kind of sidekick, you did help out any of the teams that needed an extra hand at their respective lairs. you had a flair for working computers and knew your way around them when Tim wasn’t available.
-
a few weeks had passed since your ‘break up’ with Jason. you had helped out the Bat’s a few times within the weeks but you made sure to keep your distance with Jason. whenever he appeared, you went to another section of the Batcave or moved completely to the second level so you wouldn’t even have to run into him.
today, however; you were hanging around Tim’s team. you were in the mood to bug Connor as you were helping Jon with some of his schoolwork and decided to stick around. you weren’t particularly close with Connor but he did have a soft side with you so you messing with him didn’t necessarily upset him.
“Tim or Connor, how much would it cost for you to bring me food from the chicken place around the corner?” you asked the two boys. “Connor could probably take you. I don’t think Tim’s moving from his computer anytime soon but I don’t mind piggybacking you there,” Wally said from the other side of the table.
you huffed, smacking Tim on the side of the head and getting up.
“well if that’s the case, come on West, you’re taking me,” you said grabbing his shoulder. Tim from the corner of his eye examined your interaction with Wally. you were getting a bit closer to the redhead and he found it a bit weird considering you weren’t close with him while you were with Jason, “hold on,” Wally smirked as he hauled you over onto his back.
you laughed, holding on tightly as he zoomed out the door. Tim knew it wasn’t any of his business to get involved in relationship drama. he wanted nothing to do with it personally but seeing you close with Wally rubbed him the wrong way for some reason. maybe it was the idea that he still had hope for you to that made him text his adoptive brother.
“your girl is going out with Wally. they’re going to be at the restaurant by my place if you’re wondering.”
Jason had been moping around when he wasn’t going on any missions so when he saw Tim texting him, he found it weird within itself. he hardly messaged any of his brothers so receiving one from Tim no less was pretty odd.
his heart dropped a bit reading the text. he had no idea you were even close with the speedster so to be going on a date with him put him on edge. Jason immediately ran out of his door and booking it on his motorcycle to the restaurant.
had any police been on the streets, Jason would’ve received copious amount of tickets by the way he was speeding but he could have cared less. he arrived to the restaurant in due time. he saw you sitting down, eating with Wally as the two of you were basically scarfing down the food in front of you.
Jason felt a pang to his chest as he watched you talk with Wally like nothing was wrong. he had never seen you so care free before. even when the two of you went out for a date or something, he felt so on edge thinking that something could happen to you.
Jason didn’t want to sound more problematic than he already was but he felt a feeling of possessiveness hit him seeing you with Wally. like he didn’t want you going out with anyone that wasn’t him. his eye twitched every time Wally made you laugh or whenever you reached over to smack or touch him.
eventually, he saw you and Wally getting up from the table. he quickly hopped on his motorcycle and drove back to his place, more upset than he thought he would be.
he shot Tim a text back, thanking him for letting him knowing.
Jason had heard a few days ago that you were planning on going out with a few of your friends with a club in Gotham and that happened to be today. he knew that following you to whatever club you were going too would be wrong but with the way he was feeling, he didn’t care. he was coming along..even if he had to hide in the crowd.
he inched his way back to your place a few hours later to see you already getting dressed. you were wearing one of Jason’s favorite outfits and that alone made him want to go over to you and remind you that you were his. (WHY DID THIS GO SO YANDERE ALL OF A SUDDEN PFT).
the funny thing in all of this was that he saw you slip in some crocs into your bag. he knew you hated wearing shoes let alone heels so to see you probably change into them through the night made him chuckle.
once you got into your car and made your way into Gotham to the club you were meeting your friends at, he walked in through the side and stood in the corner as he watched you get ID’d and walk inside. all of you were sitting at a table and ordering your first round of drinks. you downed a shot of whatever you had ordered before grabbing your friends hand taking her out into the dance floor.
Jason walked in a bit closer but making sure to stay hidden. he saw you just dancing with your friend and couldn’t help but gulp. the way you were dancing and grinding up against your friend would have had him dragging you to the nearest bathroom for getting him riled up. (insert gif above)
he remained watching you until he noticed a guy approaching you. the guy was on the taller side, greasy hair flopping to the side of his face, and his clothes looked like he hadn’t changed out of it in days.
“really, I’m fine. I don’t dance with people I don’t know,” you stated as you friend pulling you away. the guy quickly grabbed your other hand, “c’mon, one dance?” you shook him off, stating once again that you weren’t interested before walking back to the table.
Jason, although the interaction was minor, was seeing red. he waited until the guy left to catch him in the single bathroom, leaving him bloody and bruised. he looked down to the guy before chuckling, “you should really learn what no means,” he spat before leaving.
by the time he entered the floor again, you were already back on the floor dancing. you were dancing with another friend as you sipped on a drink and minded your business. it took a few internal screams to remind himself that he couldn’t just walk over to you and take you by the hand but almost after that, he heard commotion coming from the other end of the bar.
closer to where you were.
Jason walked slowly to make sure shit didn’t get out of hand. you didn’t even realize that an entire fight had broken out by you as you were too busy singing to the song that was playing. it wasn’t until you heard gunshots that made you flinch and realize that shit was going down.
you grabbed your friend, screaming at them to forget their things as you took everything the Bats had told you about situations like this and basically run for your life. you ran to the nearest exit before hearing gunshots going off again. this time, you tried ducking but it was far too late. you felt an impact against your left shoulder blade.
the gunshot immediately made you fall onto the ground as Jason practically sprinted to you. you weren’t even conscious enough to realize what was going on anymore but as you tried to get up to run once again, you felt yourself get pistol whipped on the nose as you fell again.
Jason finally made it towards you after he signaled the Outlaws and even the some of the Bats to make their way to the club. you were trying your best to keep your eyes open but they were slowly starting to fall shut.
“hey! hey! don’t fall asleep on me,” you heard Jason’s panicked voice. you laughed, leaning against him, “of course you would’ve followed me here but Jay, I’m kinda tired,” you whispered as your eyes fell completely shut. Jason shook you again as he tried to make sure you stayed awake, “don’t leave me. don’t you fucking leave me!” he screamed.
it took a few minutes but eventually, the paramedics came in and got you onto a stretcher as Tim, Roy, and for some odd reason, Damian walked inside. they saw your state of being and looked to Jason.
“a fight broke out and one of them shot off with gunshots. she got shot on the shoulder and hit with the gun to the nose,” he explained as he watched the ambulance put you inside. he knew...he hoped that you would make it out okay because he had some business to take care of before he went to visit you in the hospital, “I’ll be back,” he growled, getting up and running out the door.
Roy, Tim, and Damian looked at each other realizing what he was about to do. they quickly followed him out the door but by the time they reached him, he was already running down the darkened ally, trailing what they assumed were the people that hurt you.
Jason managed to tackle them to the floor, getting the ring leader as he stepped on the guys throat. he made sure not to make him pass out as he wanted the guy to feel his punches. Jason was big. size comparison to Superman so the punches to the face felt unearthly.
“JASON STOP!” Tim screamed as Roy grabbed his best friend along with Damian, “if you get caught up in all this, you won’t be able to visit her. stop!” he yelled as he asked Roy to keep him calm, “go to the hospital. Roy can even take you but Robin and I have this,” he continued.
he wanted to argue but for the first time in his life, Jason actually listened. he knew that he would get nothing by spending the night in a jail cell. Roy let him go when he realized that Jason was calm enough and let him to his motorcycle to follow you to the hospital.
Jason got to the hospital about a half hour later. he immediately ran to the front desk, screaming your name to the receptionist who flinched back in fear. she walked him slowly to the room where you were at and informed him that you weren’t severely injured and most of the damage was on the nose. the blood you had lost was already getting pumped back into you.
he saw you asleep on the bed as he pulled the chair up to your bed. Jason had never saw you this way before and frankly, it scared the shit outta him. he never wanted to see you this way again.
without realizing, Jason had fallen asleep on the chair with his hand holding yours. it wasn’t until you actually woke up to see Jason asleep that you slowly shook him awake. Jason jumped up in fright and when he saw that you were awake, a sigh of relief was released.
“how are you feeling? do you need anything?” he asked as you shook your head, “why did I know you would follow me to the club tonight?” you said with a tired smile. Jason shrugged, “you know how hard it is for me to quit you,” he confessed.
while you did want to keep up your anger towards him, you weren’t even in the mood to start arguing with him. “Jason, seriously?” you said, not knowing what to say. Jason checked the door to make sure it was closed before basically hovering over you, “I can’t lose you. I just can’t. you’re the only thing that makes me feel normal. I know I wasn’t prioritizing you but I just can’t see you with anyone else. seeing you with Wally earlier almost made me want to kill him. I swear, I’ll start being better. I’ll make sure to make time for you but please, don’t leave me,” he yelled but softly.
you had never heard Jason so vulnerable before, “wait, how did you know I was with Wally earlier?” you asked. Jason smiled sheepishly, knowing he was about to rat Tim out, “Tim might’ve told me,” he said. you squinted your eyes, “that asshole,” you said.
“Jay, it’s hard to believe that when this isn’t the first time its happened. I just, I can’t be put in third or fourth place anymore. I see the way Dick and his girlfriend are and he still makes time for her and I always question why can’t you do the same!” you replied. Jason nodded understandingly, “I know but please, please trust me. one more chance and if I screw this up, you have every right to leave me for good,” he said almost immediately.
you sighed, thinking for a few moments, “fine. one more chance and if you ruin it, it’s over. I won’t care what you say or do to try and get me back,” you threatened as Jason sighed in relief.
he bent down for a kiss that had went longer than usual. it was getting steamier by the second but before you could continue, you heard a knock on the door indicating that the nurse or a doctor realized you were awake, “later, I promise. you’ll have enough time for this when you nurse me back to health,” you whispered making Jason laugh, “good because the way you were dancing with your friend might’ve turned me on more than I want to admit,” he said.
you rolled your eyes as Jason sat back down on the chair as the doctor walked in.
#DC comics#DC imagines#dc imagine#dc#dc x reader#jason todd#jason todd imagine#jason todd x y/n#jason todd x reader#red hood#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood x y/n
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the little things
pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett)
word count: 3K words | rating: T (language)
summary: An exhausted and overworked Detective gets a sweet surprise. For Week 2, Day 6 of @wayhavensummer: Farmer's Market.
special note: After maybe a month or so of writing nothing (aside from 100-200 words here and there that, had they not been on a computer, I would have immediately crumpled them up and thrown them into a wastebasket), I sat down today and wrote this entire thing in a few hours. It is raw, unedited, and probably more reflective of my own personal state of mind than I'd like. That said, I am yeeting it into the tumblr void and then going out for the night - so uh, enjoy? be kind? and thank you for reading. ♥️
“Let’s go to the thing.”
Detective Grace Bennett looked up from her computer screen, her gaze blurry and unfocused, as she tried to parse together the words she’d just heard coming from the doorway to her office.
“The… thing?” she mumbled distractedly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in an attempt to violently will them to work properly. What time is it—? It must still be midnight or close to it—
Blinking rapidly, she watched as the numbers on the bottom of her computer screen came into a sort of unsettled, electric focus.
6:02 AM.
Fuck.
She had been working on her reports for seven fucking hours. All the way through the night. Once again, forgoing sleep in an attempt to pretend she had a grasp on all the things that she was responsible for - Detective of Wayhaven, Agency liaison, good friend, good daughter, good—
She looked up, remembering once more that she was no longer alone at the station.
Mason stood in the doorway, languidly leaning against its frame, arms crossed. To the casual observer, his posture was relaxed, his expression nondescript.
But Grace knew him well enough now to recognize the sharp keenness in his eyes. The way they took in every detail of her appearance, from the haphazardly tossed-up hair, to the rumpled blouse, to what she could only presume were lines of haggard exhaustion running through her features.
He could likely smell the day-old ice cold coffee by her side. The half-eaten ham sandwich crumpled beside it.
Again, his expression hardly belied a recognition of any of that. Instead, he appeared to simply be a person waiting patiently to hear the answer to a question he’d asked.
But somehow - she didn’t know how, and yet - Grace knew better.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh, pushing away from her desk. “What did you say again?”
“It’s Friday,” was his reply.
She inwardly groaned. Grace was not in the mood for riddles, and the enigmatic, indifferent phrasing of his response caused a surge of exhaustion-induced annoyance to flow through her body. Dropping her head into her hands, she took a deep breath.
Perhaps he took pity on her. Perhaps he realized that his typical reticent abruptness was not going to go over well this morning.
Whatever it was, Grace suddenly felt a hand on the back of her down-turned head. A light pat, then strong fingertips moving through the locks until they hit her scalp, kneading gently on contact.
She let out a soft groan, her shoulders wilting further, elbows almost giving out, as the painful yet pleasurable push of his fingers worked her sore and tired head and nape.
“The market thing,” he said softly after a moment, a moment in which she was certain she had become a barely-sentient pile of mush on top of her keyboard. “That they do in the square. It’s Friday. You like to go. I was going to take you.”
It took a moment for his words to penetrate the pleasure haze encompassing her weary brain, but when they did, she felt her body still.
He was offering to go to the Farmer’s Market with her?
It was true, she did enjoy going. Before the infiltration of Unit Bravo into their lives, her and Tina used to go together every week in the summer to peruse the wares and fresh produce of the local farmers—most coming from just outside the small city limits of Wayhaven, but others from even further away. There was always something delicious and fresh to purchase or some trinket that would catch their eye. Grace had lost count of the number of handmade soaps she’d impulsively bought, only to shove them under her bathroom sink and never use them.
But then, after the arrival of Unit Bravo, after Grace’s promotion, when things got busier - when things got more dangerous - she would find herself able to go less and less. If she did manage to make it out, she’d usually end up taking Nate with her for protection. It was the type of thing he enjoyed, too; just the concept of it, as well as the simple pleasure of a new experience. Plus, Mason had always refused to be caught dead anywhere near such a cacophonic plethora of different people, bright colours, and various smells.
So the fact that he was offering to take her today, now, was an incredibly unexpected development.
“Are you sure?” she asked, barely even trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. She looked up at him, standing so closely to her, his hand still warm and comforting on the back of her neck. “You know it’s—the same, as it’s always been. Right?”
He snorted. “Yeah, I know. And yeah, I’m sure.”
“Alright, well—” She was about to acquiesce, self consciously taking her hair out of its messy bun and running her fingers through it in an ineffectual attempt to make it look presentable, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the computer screen and groaned. Suddenly she felt a need to backtrack on her initial agreement.
“Honestly? I look wrecked, I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, and I doubt I’d be very good company right now. Also, you hate the Farmer’s Market. Why torture us both?”
Even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was making excuses for his sake more than her own. The fact was, she’d gotten a surge of adrenaline at the idea of going now, on a quiet, cool summer morning, when things would just be opening up and most of the town was still sleeping—to get a nice hot coffee and a pastry. To pick up some strawberries and peaches. To look for a new candle or maybe another handmade tsotchke that she didn’t need to add to her already colourful and cheerfully cluttered space. And, most of all, to spend the time with Mason.
But still. She looked like shit and she knew he hated the thought of going - Why did he offer, then? her traitorous thoughts couldn’t help but wonder - so what was the point?
As though he could read her roiling thoughts - the fact that she wanted to go and the reasons why she thought they shouldn’t - he affected a frustrated sigh and leaned over her, bracing one hand on her desk and running the other from her neck down to her back.
“Get up, Detective.” With the one arm around her back, he hoisted her out of her seat. She found herself stumbling into the warm comfort of his chest, her cheek resting against the soft material of his black t-shirt.
Her hands grasped at the back of it as she steadied herself and she looked up at him, even closer now, chest to chest, their arms around each other. He leaned forward and her breath hitched slightly, but his lips only met the tip of her nose before he pulled back and held her at arm’s length.
“Change,” he commanded, pointedly looking at her wrinkled shirt and coffee-stained trousers, “and then meet me outside the station. You have three minutes.”
Still reeling from the playful kiss, she touched her nose lightly and watched him saunter out.
It took her a moment to snap back to reality and remember what she was supposed to be doing. “Right, clothes.”
In two-and-a-half minutes, she had stripped down, shoved her old clothes in her bag, and changed into the spare outfit she kept in the office: a winning combo of bicycle shorts and a light-grey oversized shirt with the words WAYHAVEN PD on it in large block letters. She’d ditched the heels, slipped on her spare runners, and did a quick rinse and spit into her old coffee cup with the mouthwash she kept in her desk “for emergencies” only, managing to meet Mason outside with thirty seconds to spare.
She caught him flick his cigarette to the ground before straightening up as she approached.
As she always did when she had the opportunity, she found herself admiring the view he provided - tall, broad-shouldered and sinewy, like a Hellenic sculpture come to life. His hair tumbled in dark waves towards his shoulders - he needed a cut, she thought to herself - his mouth naturally sullen, even when it was pulled to the side in a smirk, like it was in that moment. Hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, half-tucked into his standard black boots, which he still wore despite the heat that was already beginning to infiltrate the crisp morning air.
He looked like a goddamn supermodel, while she looked like she was taking her two-point-five children to soccer practice. She tugged self-consciously at her shorts.
“This is all I had—” she began apologetically as soon as she got close to him, but her words were cut off by his lips on hers.
All thoughts of self-consciousness vanished as she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. She felt her feet leave the ground as he held her closer to him, his mouth tasting faintly of cigarettes and entirely of Mason, a combination that always managed to make her feel lightheaded. She couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped from deep in her throat and he tightened his grip on her further, stroking her tongue with his, leaving her pulse racing in more places than one.
After a moment he set her down and pulled away, keeping one arm loosely wrapped around her shoulders.
“Better go now before we don’t go at all,” he said gruffly, leading her to her car.
By the time they got to the Farmer’s Market, the majority of the stands had opened, farmers and local merchants laying out their produce and wares.
All feelings of tiredness that had begun to seep into Grace’s consciousness on the drive over - Mason had generously offered to drive “this heap of crap”, as he’d put it, seeing how she was probably in no state to operate heavy machinery - vanished as they parked and approached the town square.
She looked up and watched as Mason appeared to brace himself, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.
“Hey.” He looked down at the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand resting gently on his chest. “Are you sure about this?”
She watched as his body appeared to physically drain of tension, his hitched-up shoulders gentling slowly downwards, his jaw unclenching, fists unfurling. His eyes closed briefly and he placed his hand over the one that still lay over his heart.
“Yeah, sweetheart.” His smirk came back to his lips slowly. “Let’s buy you some fruit.”
She laughed at the intentional absurdity of his remark, feeling something akin to joy bubble up in her chest. She knew better than to chalk it up to anything but sleep deprivation-induced delirium, but whatever it was, it was a high she was planning to ride for as long as she could before the inevitable crash.
They wandered through the colourful stalls, Mason waiting patiently as Grace felt for the good peaches, smelled the baskets of strawberries, picked through for the perfect cherries. He dutifully held the baskets and burlap bags she handed to him, shooing away her concerns about the smells or the feel of the scratchy material on his skin.
It was still early for Wayhaven and they were practically the only two there, aside from the people at their stands and Haley, as always, ready with her carafe of coffee and some fresh-baked pastries for selling.
Grace gratefully filled her cup with a smile, before noticing that Haley was gesturing her forward. Leaning in, she gave her friend a quizzical look.
“You guys are good now?” she whispered, nodding over Grace’s shoulder.
Grace turned in the direction Haley had gestured, her eyes catching on Mason. He was looking intently at a collection of wind chimes a few stalls down, his hands full of the fruits and goodies she’d acquired, a long baguette sticking out of one of the bags.
Her heart swelled at the sight of him, in that sharp, needful way it always did, a pleasure-pain that reminded her of the way he’d stroked her hair earlier. So necessary, so vital, so scary, so new: all these things that she held to be true about her feelings towards him. The knowledge that she needed him, perhaps—no, certainly more than he needed her, and the fear that it was all-too fleeting. Nothing more than just a memory, already half cooked.
“Yeah,” she said softly, feeling her mouth turn upwards into a smile she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s—we’re good.”
Haley nodded, pleased, before offering Grace a cherry danish that she refused to accept payment for. Grace took another bracing sip of hot coffee and turned back to Mason, only to find he’d disappeared.
She meandered a bit through the remaining stalls, debated the necessity of yet another vanilla sandalwood candle or birthstone necklace, and glanced up more than occasionally to see if she could spot where he’d gone or if he was going to return.
Right at the point where she was starting to worry, the weariness of her wakeful hours suddenly threatening to catch up to her in the kind of hysteria that only exhaustion could create, he appeared.
He still carried her two baskets of fruit and a large burlap reusable shopping bag with that telltale baguette and a few other things she couldn’t even remember now, but in his arms was—
In his arms, he was holding—
Okay, she was crying.
Goddamn lack of sleep, she was actually fucking crying in the middle of the Farmer’s Market.
As soon as he got close enough to see her tears, he came to a dead stop and threw his hands up in the air, weighted down as they were.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” His tone was a mix of fond exasperation and abject disbelief at the sight of Grace, coffee in hand, forgotten danish dripping cherry filling onto the ground, blubbering like a baby in the midst of all the produce and plants.
But she couldn’t help it, damn it, because he’d gotten her flowers.
Her grouchy, hundred-year-old, vampire non-boyfriend, who hated Farmer’s Markets and crowds and flowers themselves, had gone off on his own and come back with a bouquet of sunflowers, delphiniums, lilacs, and daisies and Detective Grace Bennett—
Could.
Not.
Handle.
It.
She pressed her lips together tightly, just for another sob to escape.
“Jesus Christ, Gracie.” He gently put down everything he was holding to approach her, likely exhibiting extra caution because of how incredibly unhinged she must have appeared in that moment, before bracing his hands on her shoulders. “What the hell is the matter?”
“Honestly—” Her calm, mostly unwavering tone probably leant her an even more psychotic air, as she could feel the tears continue to streak down her cheeks. “—I’m just really tired, but also I really, really love those flowers.” She hiccuped. “So much.”
His face cleared of its worry and instead he shook his head, affectionate exasperation back in his expression. “You’re nuts, you know that?” He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him, partly from weariness and partly because she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
He squeezed her tightly for a moment and then, bending over, he picked up her bags and the flowers as she scrubbed her face with her hands. He made to hand her the bouquet wrapped in plastic and newspaper, but when she reached for it, he suddenly pulled it back with a tsk-ing noise.
“No more crying, got it?” He pointed the flowers at her along with his warning.
She laughed, even as she felt the telltale tingle start in her nose once more.
“Yes, no more crying. I promise,” she added, making an X over her chest with her pointer finger. “Gimme.”
He passed her the bouquet, a soft smile on his lips as he watched her bury her face in the colourful blooms and take a big inhale.
“Magical,” she sighed happily, before looking up him. She could feel her eyes fill again and his own eyes narrowed, but she just smiled and shook her head. “Thank you.”
His expression softened and he gave her a nod. “Let’s go. Get you to bed.”
She made a teasing noise, a heckling gesture that acknowledged his innuendo, but he just snorted and shook his head.
“You, sweetheart, are sleeping for the next twelve hours. I don’t care how much you beg.”
“But you love it when I beg,” she whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder, then giggled as he looked at her in surprise.
“Are you drunk?” he asked incredulously and she couldn’t help but dissolve into giggles again.
“Just delirious, I think,” she said, wiping more tears - these ones from mirth, rather than an overwhelming feeling of adoration over a thoughtful gesture from a sort-of boyfriend - from her eyes. “But yeah. We should go.”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, transferring her Farmer’s Market treasures to his other hand and wrapping his free arm around her shoulders so he could guide her out of the town square.
She looked up at him, this big, grouchy vampire man, so reticent to talk about his feelings and yet so quick to show her how much he cared in a million little ways: his nose subtly wrinkling from the smell of the flowers that he’d gotten for her, his tight hold on her purchases, his arm protectively around her shoulders, shielding her from the growing crowd and guiding her back to her car.
The way he kept looking down at her, eyes scanning her face for further outbursts.
The fact that he’d brought her here in the first place, simply because he knew it was something she liked.
Was she going to be okay?
“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing at his groan upon seeing tears well up in her eyes again. She shook her head to try and get her emotions in check, before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He shot her a disgruntled look that just made her laugh even harder.
A summer morning. The sights and sounds of the Wayhaven Farmer’s Market. Mason’s arm around her. All the tiredness, the endless work, the stress - it all just disappeared in that moment and Grace could only think of one word to describe how she felt.
“I’m perfect.”
- ☀️🍓💐 -
#wayhavensummer#the wayhaven chronicles#mason x detective#twc mason#twc fic#farmer's market#wayhaven summer: day 6#day 6: farmer's market#a thing!!!#i have written!#let us rejoice!#mason x grace
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inazuma archon quest (rewrite ? critique ?)
OKay so i’m gonna preface this with i don’t hate the inazuma archon quests ! i quite enjoyed the storyline and everything about it, there are just things that ,,, i'm not so satisfied with. and so i'm gonna go over those here and rewrite it or like. idk offer critique lol something like that !
real quick, @like-that-one-weird-dog-thing here if u want this here's that ramble i was talking about lol (yeah i made a genshin tumblr kSDKGHDFFGD)
i feel like this is a given but;
spoilers for all acts of the inazuma archon quest under the cut
with that out of the way, onto the rewrite ! (quick side note: it kinda turns more into a creative writing piece more than a critique or full rewrite near the end which is not what i meant to do but it still gets my point across so !! it works)
so, like i said, i quite enjoyed the archon quest. the first two acts (autumn winds, scarlet leaves & the immovable god and the eternal euthymia) are perfect, i don't think i'd change anything in those two acts at all. the third act (stillness, the sublimation of shadow) is also wonderful, and i honestly think that's my favourite out of the archon quest acts so far ! it's mainly when act 3, omnipresence over mortals, hits that i think it fell a bit short
things kinda feel... a bit rushed when it comes to this quest ? compared to the slow, steady pace of the prologue and act 1, then the speeding up of act 2, it honestly seems too fast paced and yet too slow at the same time. some parts of act 3 were really fast, like the encounter with scaramouche and the duel with la signora, and then some were... really slow. like the entire bit with the reistance.
on top of that, a lot of characters really fell short for me. it felt like teppei, an unplayable npc, was way more important than gorou, sangonomiya kokomi, kujou sara, basically everyone except for yae miko and raiden shogun. which, don't get me wrong, teppei was important, but i feel like these other characters had a big introduction only to just... kinda exist with no real reason.
gorou and sangonomiya kokomi were played up as big characters due to their status in the resistance - kujou sara was played up as the raiden shogun's right hand woman, and they were advertised as the duo of inazuma - hell, it even felt like kamisato ayaka was going to play a larger role in the final act of the story. and then none of them really did.
gorou only shows up to inform us about the soldiers aging quickly (and a bit near the end, but kaedehara kazuha had more of a role there, with actually leaping towards the shogun). sangonomiya seems important, but her only real action is making us a force captain and then telling us where the delusion factory could be. kujou sara only showed up to talk to the head of the kujou clan then get fucking knocked out by la signora in front of the raiden shogun, who did nothing about a snezhnayan diplomat knocking out her LEAD GENERAL ! kamisato ayaka only appeared for a few moments.
so, now that i've explained some of why i felt the final act fell short, i'm going to offer up how i would've changed things.
first, gorou and sangonomiya should play a bigger role in the story. like, they're the leads of the resistance, and they get less screentime than unplayable npcs... that's kinda weird. kujou sara should also play a bigger role. kamisato ayaka, i think would be fine with not appearing, due to how much of a part she played in the first acts, but gorou, sangonomiya kokomi, and kujou sara should be a lot more present, just in general.
in the 2.1 trailer, there were lines of "peace talk", correct ? i feel like that should've been in the story. perhaps after the traveler meets with sangonomiya on watatsumi island, they hear word of kujou sara wishing to meet. they meet up with her, which is where the peace talk comes into play. the two sides start trying to come up with a compromise. while this is happening, gorou is keeping an eye on things back on watatsumi island... where things start getting strange.
the soldiers start showing signs of accelerated aging. it's concerning, and as far as they're aware, unstoppable. due to this, sangonomiya cuts the compromising short to return to her people and try to help them. perhaps kujou sara could make a jab at this, something like "how do you ever plan to defeat the shogun's army if you can't even keep your own soldiers alive outside of a fight?" which could lead to sangonomiya and the traveler believing that kujou knows something about what's going on (even though she doesn't).
upon getting back, the traveler recognises the delusions. honestly ? i really liked the delusion subplot. i really like the idea of the fatui trying to tear inazuma apart, kind of like they did mondstadt and liyue, so they could get their hands on baal's gnosis. perhaps they had it so that scaramouche was in charge of scattering the resistance forces, while la signora was working behind the scenes with the kanjou commission and the tenryou commission to manipulate the raiden shogun.
i love the part where teppei dies, simply due to how emotional it was. i genuinely cried at that part, lol... but i really enjoyed it. i would say, keep that in. after discovering the delusions, things stay relatively the same. the traveler goes to teppei and watches him die, and then goes to the factory to get revenge, where they meet scaramouche. yae miko still saves them, however...
instead of remaining at the shrine to talk to yae the entire time, i think the traveler would want to go back to the resistance. sure, yae could very much help them defeat the raiden shogun, but the traveler is working with the resistance, who, from what we've seen, can be quite strong... at times. however, as they're about to leave, yae leaves the traveler with these parting words: "be careful of who you trust, child. not everyone who seems like a friend is one"
why ? well, i love the idea of the resistance not entirely being in the right, either. y'know that giant serpent that baal struck down ? yeah, that was watatsumi's protector deity. simply put: watatsumi island doesn't really like the raiden shogun, and i doubt sangonomiya feels much differently. i would love if one of the subplots was about how the resistance wasn't firstly formed to fight the vision hunt decree, but just the shogun in general, and slowly morphed to fighting the vision hunt decree.
after returning to the resistance, the traveler tells sangonomiya what they found. after speaking for awhile, they figure out that the fatui is most likely not just making things miserable on the front of the resistance (via the delusions). how do they figure this out ? the traveler, of course. while wondering why the fatui are in inazuma, the traveler remembers how the harbingers are trying to collect all the gnosis. they make this known to sangonomiya, who guesses that the fatui could be trying to make inazuma a mess so they can get the shogun's gnosis. at this point, the traveler heads back to the grand narukami shrine to speak to yae miko, hoping she'll know more about this, with sangonomiya at their side.
upon arrival, yae miko is speaking to kujou sara. kujou and sangonomiya are immediately.. well, simply put, not happy to be in each other's presence. yae miko calms them down, and tells them all what she was telling kujou. sangonomiya and the traveler were right: the fatui were behind the vision hunt decree. sangonomiya tells kujou what had happened in the resistance, and the traveler tells her what happened in the other nations, with the fatui (specifically la signora) hunting the gnosis. kujou mentions seeing a harbinger, a tall woman with blonde hair, and the traveler connects the dots. it's la signora, and she's in inazuma. kujou still isn't convinced, so the traveler does need to get kamisato ayaka and sayu's help to get the documents.
while waiting for the documents to arrive, the traveler speaks more with sangonomiya, where they learn more about the past of watatsumi island and the serpent deity. perhaps, trusting the traveler, sangonomiya reveals to them why she started the resistance in the first place: to get revenge on the shogun for killing their deity. of course, as time went on, she is now fighting against the vision hunt decree and simply wants to see inazuma united again, though it shakes the travelers trust in the resistance. after all... teppei, their good friend, died for the reistiance, and here sangonomiya is telling them that she started it simply to get revenge on baal for a centuries old fight that was ended... well, centuries ago.
after getting the documents, the traveler meets with kujou sara at the grand narukami shrine. sangonomiya was planning to come, but gorou needed her help tending to more soldiers at the resistance, as some refused to hand over their delusions. things stay relatively the same from here. kujou confronts takayuki, and she goes to speak to the shogun about this. while that's going on, yae miko is speaking to the traveler, giving them a brief rundown on what is going on with the raiden shogun - the one that is actually given in the quest, where we learn more about her puppet and her name being ei and whatnot. afterwards, the traveler goes to face the raiden shogun. they find la signora and kujou sara in a standoff, with the raiden shogun taking kujou's side (they are a duo, after all). la signora moves to attack kujou, but...
before she can land a strike, our traveler runs in, stopping her blow. all three parties present are startled - a wanted criminal in inazuma just stopped inazuma's head general from being attacked. it's not something you see every day. after speaking a bit more, the traveler challenges la signora to a duel before the throne, remembering this as an option due to kaedehara kazuha telling them about his friend. the traveler wins, and as such, la signora is executed... or is she ? well, to the traveler it seems like she is, but some subtle hints clue us in to the fact that something seems off. maybe la signora isn't dead, after all.
however, before la signora is executed, kujou sara steps in. she can tell that the traveler needs to ask signora something, and as they have been helping her, she asks the raiden if they can ask their one question before she executes signora. raiden agrees. and so, the traveler asks... "why?"
"why what?" signora laughs, though it's a pained laugh. "i'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."
"you didn't just take venti's gnosis."
"not like you did zhongli's."
"you were brutal. you knew him."
"what did he ever do to you?"
and then... a cutscene. a story cutscene, to be exact. telling us about la signora's backstory as the crimson witch of flames (after all, this is fully confirmed during the fight). it shows her meeting her lover, and her lover perishing in the war, and her turning into the crimson witch. it shows her blaming venti for her lover's death, and then being found by the fatui. given her cryo delusion so she could appear as a human in a world of humans, and vowing to work side by side with the tsaritsa... as long as she can get revenge on the god that caused her lover to die.
after that, the raiden shogun executes signora. the traveler leaves, and we get that terrifying cutscene of them walking (which, let me tell you, scared the hell out of me. it was wonderfully made, please keep that in). we see the resistance coming up, having decided now was the time to take back inazuma... and then, the raiden shogun appears. not fully attacking the traveler, but she appears, walking on the steps out of a portal, like she did when facing the traveler the first time. kaedehara kazuha, in a moment of anger, lunges forward, activating his friend's vision as he clashes his blade with the shogun. she knocks him back, raising her blade to end him and take his vision when the traveler jumps in again.
and this time, she takes them back to the plane of euthymia.
the fight happens again, and once more, the traveler is not strong enough to win. however, the voice of yae miko rings in their ears: "your ambition alone is not enough to stop ei". words that were said to them right as they left to go find kujou sara.
and in that moment, the visions reach out to them. the stolen ambitions of all these people, gifting their ambition to the traveler. and, in the end of that all, we see the face of teppei. we see his hope, his determination to help the resistance. except, it's not just an illusion, it's a spirit. "help the resistance for me, okay, my friend?"
and the traveler gets the strength. they fight back against the raiden shogun, and they defeat her. they win. they are thrown out of the plane of euthymia, and the raiden shogun is kneeling over, weak. she lost the fight. she lost the fight. she looks up at the traveler, her eyes glowing a bright purple as she takes them in.
"their ambitions are stored within you."
"you really are an exception."
she stands up, and the traveler readies their blade. is she going to attack them again? instead, her blade simply... vanishes in her hands. in a brilliant, electrifying light, what was once there is no longer there. she stands before the traveler, empty handed. just looking at them. the traveler lowers their weapons.
"you are no longer wanted in inazuma. even i can't beat you."
"that's not what i want."
"oh? then what is it?"
"end the vision hunt decree. now."
and the raiden shogun laughs. "you think you get to make that choice?"
"almighty shogun." kujou sara is there, too. had she always been there? the traveler isn't sure. "the vision hunt decree.. it's harming inazuma."
"not just vision bearers," gorou adds. "but the entirety of the inazuman people."
"vision bearers and non vision bearers alike." even sangonomiya kokomi is there. "we have been fighting to end this for two years. people have died on all ends. many lives have been lost. don't you think it's time to end this?"
"after all, it was the fatui's doing." and then, there's yae. and the shogun seems shocked, then angry, then hurt, then... sad. then happy.
"yae. my old friend..."
the shogun takes in the people all around her. she takes in friends and enemies, foes and allies, vision bearers and regular people... and yet, despite their differences, they're all inazuman. they're all her people. they looked to her for guidance, and it failed.
"very well."
the decree is over. visions are returned to the few still able to receive them. the raiden shogun, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, steps out of the plane of euthymia. for the first time in years, the shogun is not who walks the streets, no; it is ei who walks the streets alongside her people. she goes to the small villages, along with her good friends yae miko and kujou sara, and she sees the damage she caused on her people. sangonomiya kokomi and gorou show her the resistance troops, who, at first, almost try to attack, before ei steps down and bows to them, asking for their forgiveness. she sees the damage her idea of eternity inflicted upon inazuma, and she makes it her goal to do better.
after all. she was aware it was the fatui's doing. she knew what the fatui were doing. she knew that two of her three commissions were working behind her back. and she did nothing about it, as it fit well with her goals at the time. she turned her back on her people in a false pursuit of eternity that would only end in loss. she recognises that. she knows what she did was wrong, and she takes the steps towards making things right. she reopens inazuma's borders, and takes down the statue of the omnipresent god.
alongside yae miko, she offers advice to the traveler on where their sibling might be. she suggests they go to sumeru next; the city of scholars might know something. when asked about what they were told by yae, the ei tells the story herself. the story of two twins; baal and beelzebul, makoto and ei. how one lost the other, and took over her identity. much like venti and the unnamed bard.
in the final cutscene, we see how inazuma starts to heal. sangonomiya prays at the watatsumi island shrine, for all the souls lost in the resistance. gorou and kujou sara start working together to mend the relationships between the reistance and the shogun's army. yoimiya, thoma, and kamisato ayaka enjoy a game of hot pot together, with sayu sleeping nearby. kaedehara kazuha leaves his friend's vision at his grave, and he takes his friend's cat with him. behind him, beidou awaits for her friend to join her, and the two walk off together. yae miko looks up at the sacred sakura, it's petals blowing in the wind. we see the traveler walk up to her to thank her for her help, and she simply smiles at them. sakura petals cover the screen... and then we see ei.
we see her walking alone. it's sunset, just about to go dark, but not just yet. it's lightly raining... and we see her kneel down at what seems to be a shrine. she leaves an offering before she stands up and moves away. we see the names engraved on the shrine - makoto. chiyo. sasayuri. kitsune saiguu. her sister, and her old friends. eternally preserved in a shrine created by the one who still cares for them.
and end scene.
#genshin impact#inazuma#inazuma archon quest#raiden shogun#yae miko#kujou sara#sangonomiya kokomi#gorou#la signora#scaramouche#genshin spoilers#genshin impact spoilers
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The past encounter
Zes just paused as she watched the thing try to crawl its way out of the portal. The thing was just a word to describe it all. Something that echoed only in rumors.
The product of a reality where Zim was killed by Dib. Though a part of her wonders what made anyone want to put a Pak on their head like that. It didn't matter in the long run. More work that nobody would want.
Looks impressive for two minds just jammed together. Less escaping anything and more like he ripped a hole to brute force everything. Still way too much trouble.
The roach just laughed. Still didn’t notice her watching him.
“Finally, fuck that void.”
She grinned as slowly she walked from her spot. At this point the disguise was pointless. He seemed confused to see an Irken. “Still wouldn’t count on anything yet pal.”
"What are you supposed to be? Female Zim?" He asked. The hybrid was just laughing looking at her. It wasn't that surprising. The florpus confirmed that a while ago.
There aren't many versions of her out there.
Not complaining much. Though the idiot here does give me an idea. Portals sound like a fun project.
Zes shrugged. "No, and beyond that, I don't feel like telling you more. Now, either you're going to move on or you're going to give more work than I want tonight."
Zib laughed as extra arms emerged from him. “Like I'd listen to what a random Irken. Just have to get rid of you and everything will be quiet again."
Sounds exhausting just being this guy. Sorry pal, but find another reality to run off to.
As Zib tried to lundge she doged uder him. Took only a moment to place a few small presents on the extra arms. All it took was an extra kick to catch him off guard.
His grin grew more manic. "Good, I would be disappointed if this was like Zim."
She bounced off as he wanted to attack with that stolen Pak of his. Only really had time to grab one of two of the legs. Took only a moment to pin her on the ground. Her hands were a little preoccupied trying to keep the Pak legs from skewering her.
“Still a big smeetling under all of that. It never changes.” She grinned. That only caused Zib to grow angrier.
“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A SMEETLING! I AM THE ONE WHO'S WINNING!" Even though he put more force into his assault, it was still very funny to Zes.
All she did was say the same thing she said to Zim when they were smeets, and sure enough, the hybrid took the bait. Under all that, there is still a part of the brain that is Zim.
Zes grinned as her own Pak legs reached to pull her detonator out. He didn't even notice in his pride-filled rage.
“You make this way too easy.”
His eyes widened for only a moment as the detonator was pressed. The extra arms exploded to sever off almost right at the joints. Zib recoiled and screamed in pain. He was almost afraid once she was towering over him.
"I really couldn't care less what you want to do. Just don't involve things here. Yet you're the one who wanted to push it."
So much trouble just from an insane little roach monkey. Great, now I'm thinking humans like monkeys. I need to wrap this up.
“Don’t send me back!” he yelled.
Her eyes narrowed as she grabbed him by the collar. Right back to that hole, he ripped open. "Maybe don't be an idiot and rip apart things you don't understand."
She dropped kicked him back into the portal. The resulting collision forced it to close. Whether that Zib survived wasn't certain and she didn't care.
So annoying to even deal with all of this.
Her eyes focused as she spotted the little device he used. "Cool, though really rough. Bet I can make something with portals…"
“Zes...Is there going to be a problem?”
She turned as Miyuki was standing there watching. There was a bit of a mess that this Zib left behind. Including those arms, she blew off.
She shrugged. “Nah, It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
No this was not any Zib that's here on Tumblr. This guy was more see Irken and attack. I wasn't having that. Annoying prick. -Zes
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So here's why i've been inactive for the past couple months on tumblr:
As many of you know, I've been a fairly avid content creator for the warrior nun fandom creating a ton of content for free. I joined a Warrior Nun discord server named Future Warrior Nuns (which is a ridiculous name considering in the show Ava says there will be no more warrior nuns but that's besides the point) and the treatment I received there was amazing. At the beginning. I spoke up about racism and injustices within the community because you cannot escape it anywhere unfortunately and I believed I'd found a community that would protect me and be there for me if i was ever faced with racism or hate.
For clarity, anyone in blue is a moderator. As you go on to read this their usernames and profile images might change so I’ll clarify who is who. I’ll only be using the names I’ve been presented with and only the ones that are most relevant to the situation.
Fiesta (white American cis woman) aka Doesn't Kelly, Witch Rhyme
Taz (white Australian cis woman)
Milan (a very sheltered American transmasculine poc whos uncomfortable talking about racism because they've never had to deal with it) aka Who The Fuck Is Kelly
Rory (white Australian cis woman) aka Stronger Kelly
But after a while, things slowly started to change. It was subtle and if you hadn't been there from the beginning, you wouldn't have noticed. It started with the moderators spending less time in the server because they had made many of their own servers and spent far more time over there. Which is understandable when you’re a group of friends that all have a common purpose. But the lack of leadership was palpable. I had to sometimes direct fellow server members to proper channels or do a few other things that were supposed to be things that the moderators were supposed to take care of and their lack of care for the server was becoming more relevant. If you were in their little group of friends or kissed their ass then they wouldn't target you unnecessarily.
Exactly three weeks later, (and only one week after my birthday in which everyone was super sweet and nice to me) the love and friendship they claimed to have for me vanished completely. For context, people in positions of power, especially in a server, should be people you can come to if you ever have an issue with anything or anyone. They should also be people that can come to terms with admitting their behavior was incorrect when being told so. So here is what happened:
I have always been open about being a transmasculine person of color on all my platforms, and if you know me on any platform you know that. The behavior shown here between me and the moderators was absolutely appalling to me. They pushed my voice aside and only acknowledged Narcissa, a cis white woman, who was agreeing and saying the same things i had because i had asked her in private to help me out because i felt it was unfair that two server moderators were coming at me so aggressively.
As you can see from the screenshots, they claimed that I attacked Fiesta when i was simply pointing out that her behavior was hypocritical and unfair especially because she is in a position of power and that's something people of power should be aware of.
I was the only one brave enough to say what everyone was thinking. And that's something I have always taken pride in. Speaking up for others when they are too scared to do so themselves. And that was shown through multiple people coming into my dms to tell me they either felt the same way I did or they felt the way I was treated in the conversation above was unfair. This next screenshot is from a private message from a former manager.
Narcissa (white cis woman) received a few apologies from the server managers privately, yet my dms stayed vacant. At this point, they made a “public apology” towards everyone in the server which I forgot to screenshot, and not a single server manager reached out to me in private. But they did share these in the server for everyone to see:
They then opened an anonymous feedback form for us to share if we had any issues privately, which of course, I did, and so I filled it out saying “wheres my fucking apology ~king” so they would know exactly who the response was coming from. I was angry and hurt that they treated me the way they did. I regretted wording it like that almost instantly after sending it. But the deed was done and it was unchangeable. And not too long after, this was posted publicly in the server feedback channel so that everyone in the server could see:
Whether I shared that it was from me or not, she violated the server moderators unanimous statement saying that everything posted in the feedback form would stay anonymous and made my response public using the excuse that me sharing my name made it okay for her to show it to everyone. I was also being informed by other people I’m friends with that the forms that were being submitted were not staying anonymous and that they were being shared from other moderators privately in other peoples' dms.
I stuck around in the server because the people that I had formed friendships with were there and they were special to me and I wanted to be able to talk to them still in spite of everything that had happened to me up until this point. I was much more subdued at this point, I was posting less art and as you noticed I practically disappeared from twitter as well.
My love for Warrior Nun was decreasing rapidly because the environment had become so toxic and unwelcoming that I felt scared to say much in the server in fear of being banned after seeing one of my trans poc friends banned for saying hi to another member. They had been looking for a reason to ban him for being on my side instead of theirs and apparently found the “perfect” excuse. They deleted his messages and claimed in their private admin channel that he had harassed someone in the server without screenshotting the false evidence first. How do I know this? Because I had a person on the team that valued me as a person instead of as a content creator and what I could give to the server.
I proceeded to curate the server for what fit me best, considering the ridiculous number of channels they created that had nothing to do with the show at this point. And there was an option for members to do that so I used the tools they had provided with and opted out of channels I no longer wanted to see. I consolidated it down to 35 out of 66 channels because some of them had no opt out option. And still, it was way more channels than I'd prefer to be in. I narrowed it down to only ships I actually cared about instead of having a bunch of channels I was never gonna read or say things in. And that's when the manager that cared about us provided me with these telling screenshots.
Why put me in “jail” over removing some roles? It may not have been explicit, but the internalized racism of putting a person of color in “jail” for curating what they wanted from a server is frankly off putting to say the least. "Implicit racism includes unconscious biases, expectations, or tendencies that exist within an individual, regardless of ill-will or any self-aware prejudices."
And what does carl bot do exactly? It logs EVERYTHING. But only if that feature is enabled. And clearly, in Future Warrior Nuns, it is.
They didn’t care about me and didn’t care that I was a consistent content creator. For lack of better words, I was one of the biggest reasons the actual part of the server that was dedicated to the show was constantly active and once I became quiet, along with a few other content creators I talked with, the activity decreased immensely. I said things here and there but that was about it. Until I was looking through their emotes. I noticed that they had trans, gay, demi, bi, aro, and ace heart emotes but the lesbian one wasnt there. Which was honestly surprising considering how much of the fandom identifies as lesbian. So I asked for it to be added and after it was, so many people were super happy because of it.
One day later i asked for more Mary emotes because they hadn’t completely brushed me off after requesting for the lesbian pride one. I noticed that Ava, the white character, had 72 animated and still emotes at the time while Mary, the black character, only had 18. And only 4 out of those were positive emotes. Here's that conversation:
I offered up my services to create Mary emotes for them considering I was an artist and content creator and it would be no issue for me at all to contribute but they declined, saying they were working on some themselves and that they would eventually add them to the server. The ones that they had created all looked terrible. They didn't know how to color correct her skin so that it wouldn't look ashy because of the filters used in the show and instead of asking for help from me, an artist of color, they simply did their own thing. And from 18 emotes, it went up to a dazzling 24.
Needless to say, the racism they claimed not to have was pretty evident at this point. It was shockingly clear that they didn’t care as much about the characters of color than they did for the white and white passing ones. After this entire debacle I didn't even bother trying to ask for more emotes for Lilith considering how warmly I was welcomed with asking for more Mary emotes.
A little less than two months after the initial incident, I still hadn’t been contacted by anyone on the admin team about absolutely anything in private. It wasn’t until people asked Fiesta if she had reached out to me or even bothered with an apology before she sent me this:
The “apology” was worthless. Too much time had passed since I was publicly humiliated and portrayed as the evil transmasculine person of color to them, and only a select few people interacted with me. I felt completely shut out because of how the admin team handled a difference of opinion. Instead of correcting themselves and admitting they were wrong, they doubled down on the intimidation and bullying by changing their rules so that they could find excuses to ban or punish anyone they felt was not on their side.
At this point, my grades were heavily declining. I was already struggling with keeping up with everything on my own due to covid and my mental disabilities. Being a victim of this racist behavior made everything worse. I couldn’t get out of bed, I was barely eating a meal a day because I had no motivation to work so I had little to no money to buy myself food. I was starving most days. And I didn’t ask my mom for help because I felt everything was my fault and that I really was in the wrong and shouldn't have said anything even though looking back at it I wasn't wrong for what I said. I had also been informed that my dad died because of covid and because of all of this stress and depression I had officially failed my classes.
This is really difficult for me to say because I’m a very private person and I hate asking for help or sharing anything about my private life, but for you to understand everything that was happening to me at the time, this is stuff you unfortunately need to know.
There’s many more things that I could say about this server but this thread is already long enough as it is and it was hard enough to write this all down. But behind closed doors, the admin team had some of the nastiest attitudes and behaviors you could’ve seen. Had they realized we had someone on their team that actually valued us and others as people, they probably would have kept their blatant ignorance and dislike towards server members hidden better. But white people like oppressing others when they know they can get away with it and this is just another sad unfortunate example that cost me and my fellow friends of color some heavy emotional and psychological damage.
They did wrong and refused to acknowledge it and instead tried to find a way to ban us for not having the hivemind that they so desperately want to control everyone with. If you want to see for yourself, feel free to find a link to a discord server named Future Warrior Nuns. If you look back through their channels, you’ll find most of these conversations either gone or have many messages missing. I hope my story will help understand why I’ve been gone from tumblr for so long and i hope something like this never happens to you.
#warrior nun#warrior nun netflix#warrior nun discord#future warrior nuns#future warrior nun#FWN#ava silva#shotgun mary#sister lilith#sister beatrice#sister camila#avatrice#lilshotgun#discord#wnedit#warrior nun edit#warrior nun art#Toya Turner#Lorena Andrea#alba baptista#olivia delcán#kristina tonteri young
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Self indulgent Haikyuu x debate!reader hcs because debate season is over and i suddenly have nothing to do
A/n: Idk the type of debate that they do in Japan so I'm gonna use the PF debate structure. (I heard about parlament style debate in Korea, I watched a video and it scared the fuck out of me) Also I don't know how to do the whole read more thing on mobile tumblr so ✨yikes✨
Characters: Hinata, Sugawara,
Warnings: Swearing, caps, mentions of death
Hinata
He has no idea what debate is, his thoughts only consists of volleyball and meat so when you bring up being on the debate team to him he's just kinda "👁👄👁 what's debate like?"
Since debate is hard to explain you decide to bring him along to one of your debate practices to watch.
A quick explanation of public forum (pf) debate: two teams of two take a pro and con stance on a resolution. (Example: Resolved: Sugawara is not the mom friend) Debaters work in pairs to make a pro and con case that they will present at their debate, for PF they usually have a month to prep their case. The case will usually be written in the style of an essay and will be read out as a speech to begin the debate. Debaters work in pairs so there's a speaker one and speaker two. Speaker one is in charge of laying out the topic and what grounds the team wins the debate on, and speaker two dishes out most of the arguments against the other sides. (Kind of like speaker one is defense while speaker two is offense) Basically pro gives their opening speech, con gives their opening speech, and the they ask each other questions and try to degrade the other side's case. Then the speaker twos give speeches on why their speaker one did better, then they butt heads. After that comes the speaker ones saying why they won, and finally comes the ultimate showdown, the final crossfire. The final crossfire is essentially just a big cat fight where we yell each other about morals. (Sorry Amanda but murder is worse than kidnapping 🙄) Then the speaker twos give a speech about why they're better. Your fate relies on the judge who has no idea what they're doing.
Did you get all of that? You probably didn't. TLDR: Four children scream about why their moral compass is better for about one hour.
You try to explain it to Hinata in volleyball terms and it's ✨hard✨
"Okay so the speaker one is kinda like the setter, they set up the attack on the other side by controlling the grounds that they win on-"
"But controlling the grounds is what Noya does-"
"Hinata it's a metaphor"
"What's a metaphor?"
😃 why
So you decide to bring him to your practice debates, during a normal debate you move around from classroom to classroom debating other kids from other schools carrying your case in a big ass box in stuffy casual formal wear at like 8 in the morning.
Practice debates are a lot chiller and there's a lot less yelling.
You were judging debates that day while the gym was having an inspection so he tagged along with you to watch the debates. He kinda gets lost after the con speech and you're like "yeah it can be like that sometimes".
He admires you for being able to do the whole debate thing (and win)
Since the winners of any debate comp are decided by judges (who usually have no experience) most teams value process over result. Even if you debate better they can still pick the other team because of a dumb reason like them liking the other team's shirt.
After every debate he takes you out to get snacks at Ukai's store, and he lets you rant about whatever unfair judge caused you to loose.
"oKAY BUT LIKE I TOTALLY WON, THE OTHER TEAM DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THEIR CASE TOGETHER" he just kinda smiles and nods, he doesn't get your debate terms but he still hypes you up
He makes sure to text you before he sleeps reminding you to not stay up too late researching your case.
Smth like 'i'm going to bed now :) pls don't stay up too late' smh hypocrite, he probably stays up till like 3 thinking abt becoming the tiny giant
One time your debate clothes (black dress pants, white dress shirt, blazer) got dirty and so did your school uniform so he gave you his clothes. He's kinda small so it's a tight fit but it works.
HE BRAGS ABOUT YOU TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE
"hEy look at my super smart s/o who does dEBATE!"
"we know y/n does debate"
Best ray of sunshine 🥺
Suga
ohohoho,,, im a certified suga simp
Now we all know that Suga is pretty smart, he's not a super genius or anything but he's got good grades and he can probably manage his time.
Which means that he's good at helping your research and revise your case. Whenever you can't come up with any contentions he's always there to help you come up with some.
"Kōshi what're the benefits of the urbanization of West Africa?" (I can't find anything on the debate topics in Japan so I'm using stuff from my previous debates)
"Lessening of poverty, standards of health can be raised, and it benefits the world."
HES PERFECT OK
He's probably even joined you for a debate once when your partner couldn't make it to the competition, he makes a pretty good speaker one but he's definitely a speaker two.
His framework for every case is just 🤌🤌🤌
Research dates with him are just 🥺
You guys are sprawled out on his bed just scrolling through resources trying to put together a case.
You go to all of his games and he goes to support you during your debates. Before every speech you give he sends you a small thumbs up to boost your spirits.
He's super observant and can tell when the judge is full of shit.
Tbh if the other team wins because the judge was stupid even though you
He's too good for us smh
Yachi
PLS
YACHI I LOVE HER
okokok
here's the thing with yachi, she's great at writing cases and she'd honestly be a good asset to the team however,,,
she can't do public speaking for shit
so she cheers you on from the sidelines and helps you out with your case
she can't really do public speaking herself because of her nerves but she knows how to convince an audience so she lets you practice her speeches
she once volunteered to help the team for a mock debate by subbing in for someone who couldn't make practice that day due to getting sick, she got scared during her speech and panicked.
weekly study dates are a must, whether it be for debate or just school in general weekly study dates at a local café or at a library
she brought hinata and yams to watch you debate once and now they're both scared of you (look final crossfire is scary as hell)
i think she'd be a (slightly less than) decent cook bUT she's good at baking, so she always offers to stop by before practice to drop off snacks
the team loves her and half of them join the yachi protection squad (started by noya and tanaka probably)
im just v 🥺🥺🥺 rn lmao
a/n,,, lmao i havent written in a while, if u need a better explanation of how debate works then feel free to ask !
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#hq#hinata#hinata x reader#hinata shoyo#sugawara#sugawara x reader#sugawara koshi#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x gender neutral reader#haikyuu x reader#yachi#yachi haikyuu#yachi hitoka#haikyuu fluff
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I'm a bit confused. You said in one post that you thoroughly dislike Hermione and that you had no respect for her at all. Yet ... you like Romione? idk, it seems contradictory tbh. I like when Romione shippers acknowledge her flaws and messed up moments but when someone that dislike and even hate her character that much ships Romione and I see them posting about them and calling them "cute" just seems weird
I’ll share with you my whole thought process so you can understand where I’m coming from:
Itty-bitty Vivi who read Harry Potter for the first time (at 13/14, so not so itty-bitty I guess, oops): Woaaah Hermione and Ron yaay!!! They're awesome I love them! They're my OTP always and forever!! Best thing to happen in Harry Potter!! JKR is a genius!
Slightly less itty-bitty Vivi discovering the Harry Potter fandom online (thankfully years after the ship wars, else I probably wouldn't have survived): Why is there so much hate towards Ron? And why are people so opposed to Romione?? It was meant to be since the first book! Or, okay, the second book is when I realized it was gonna happen, but still! Oh well, here is a fic where Hermione berates Ron for everything and he is the only one actually working for their relationship. Cool, more Romione!
Even less itty-bitty Vivi starting her own Tumblr and going around, adding her grain of salt to debates and talking about stuff: Yeah! Ron is great! He's done bad things of course but Hermione has done her fair share of bad things too! Actually, now that I'm rereading the books, I'm reminded of this person I used to call a friend, who was quite smart and cultured but would often be very harsh to me because they claimed it was “for your own good" and “because I'm more mature than you"… I still wanted to be around them, because they were just so smart and passionate, but we often rowed and eventually they really just went too far and tried to make ME out to be the bad guy and most people believed them because they had a reputation as someone cool and logical while I was known for being emotional… wait, what the fuck, that's… that's exactly what happens in the fandom with Ron and Hermione! What the fuck, was I Ron? Admired their intelligence, praised and supported them, fell in love even but was met with scorn and open disdain?!… no, no, come on. Hermione wasn't that bad.
Vivi rereading Half-Blood Prince (and no, this wasn't about the canaries, but about what Hermione was doing after): Oh my god she was that bad.
Vivi as she ponders alternately: Wait, what about JK Rowling? What does she think about all that? What was her intention, what did she want to accomplish with the characters? I know books belong to their readers but if I want as objective an analysis as possible I must try to understand her thought process while she wrote.
Vivi learning about a staple of British literature called “literary alchemy”: The quarreling couple!! Sulfur and Mercury, the Red King and the White Queen, who must marry for the story to end happily!! And their union is represented by… a rose!! Oh my god, that is brilliant, that is so cool! Romione was ALWAYS going to happen, I knew it! Ha!
Vivi discovering the “[Ron] needed to make himself worthy of Hermione” quote: Wha… but… what? Worthy? As if Hermione was some sort of precious trophy or whatever? What the hell? Wait, Ron had to make himself worthy of her but Hermione didn't have to make herself worthy of him? Is it because Ron is the boy or some shit like that??
Vivi going through JK Rowling's interviews and finding sexism and double-standards galore: Yep, it's because he's the boy. And that bit about Hermione being based off herself when she was younger… ouch. And to top it off the scriptwriter pretty much worshipped Hermione…
Vivi rereading the books again: Is it just me, or does Ron hardly ever get any praise or acknowledgement from the adult characters? Meanwhile Harry and Hermione get stuff like “as good as Charlie Weasley" or “brightest witch of her age"! And, damn, I used to side with Hermione because I love cats, but she was completely awful in POA! She apologized but then the plot made her out to be right even then?? And I always thought her Yule Ball entrance was kinda over-the-top, but damn if that's not compensating for something! Also what the hell, I get that Harry is suffering and all but will someone PLEASE pay attention to the fact that Ron is being bullied BY A FOURTH OF THE STUDENT BODY AND NOBODY SEEMS EVEN REMOTELY CONCERNED????? Also what the hell is wrong with the sixth book, I never liked it much but it's like it's trying to make every character look bad, wtf?? And, and, holy shit I never noticed but Ron was asking legit questions during the Horcrux Hunt debate but Harry kept deflecting or mocking him but it's still Ron who had to apologize in the end??? And I've read a whole post about how Hermione punching Ron is the appropriate reaction for a very small child and not a supposedly “mature" character, and that Harry had to SHIELD RON FROM HER, oh my god?? It's… oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with JK Rowling?
Vivi, in denial: Well, Harry Potter is decidedly not a romance. It's about love, but romantic love is quite far down the priority list when it comes to it. JKR has herself confessed that she wasn't too good at writing romance, and I don't blame her because writing romance is hard. But I did enjoy Romione! When I was little I saw it coming from a mile away, granted I was already savvy in literature but that must have been because she was doing something right! And then the sixth book happened… the sixth book which… which was released after the Harry Potter movies were being filmed, wasn't it?
Vivi looking up the timelines: Oh my god. Oh my god it's even worse, the movies were being discussed before Goblet of Fire came out. Come to think of it, I always found that the Trio felt… different, after Prisoner of Azkaban. Harry and Ron especially felt like they had gotten dumber? And Hermione was suddenly explaining everything when exposition used to be split between her and Ron…
Vivi, in mourning: So that's what happened. Ron ended up being shortchanged to make Hermione look better, because Rowling was fonder of Hermione than she was of Ron, and the scriptwriter too come to think of it. Curse you, Steve Kloves!!!
Vivi, who is nothing if not what Pokémon fans call a nostalgiafag: But… but… yeah, it sucks that Ron was shortchanged, and actually yeah it's a freaking travesty and I WILL freaking spread the world about this, mark my words, but, but I still… I can't help it, when Hermione “looked up at Ron and her frostiness seemed to melt" I melt too. When Ron compliments Hermione or tries to take care of her as much as he can I… it still does something to me, I still find myself rooting for them even if I know there's the awful sixth book and the stupid post-Locket beatdown. Their kiss, for God's sake, I've just realized that Ron may have swept Hermione off her feet physically, but it's Hermione who jumped him, you could say Hermione metaphorically swept Ron off his feet!! God damn it, that's good, that's so good!
Vivi, at war with herself: No, I can't let myself be blinded by nostalgia!! The facts are that Hermione shows borderline abusive - even actually abusive - behaviour, this can't be denied! I don't want to root for an abusive relationship! I don't want to root for a relationship that relies on my favourite character being dumbed down to work!!!
Vivi, about to uncover the secrets of the universe: … wait a second. I don't have to.
Vivi, having an epiphany: Reading Solstice Muse's Romione fanfics gives me such happiness because she just gets the characters! She doesn't portray Hermione as perfect and never fucking up, and she always treats what happens to Ron with respect… Well, especially since she can't play them off as a joke since she often makes Ron the POV character. But, yeah! I can still like Romione… if it's well-written. Which, well, isn't the case in the original books… at least, isn't the case anymore after Rowling's bias got the best of her. Even though they do have their great moments.
Vivi, finding purpose in her life: I am going to spread awareness. I am going to tell the world. Fuck, just rereading the books, I've noticed how blatant the favouritism is and how unbalanced it can be. No wonder the fandom seems to collectively scoff at Ron - the books themselves do whenever it's convenient for them! The fandom plays favourites, because the author herself played favourites, and the worst part is that she didn't even realize it! Imagine you spend your life getting into traumatic situations out of love for your friends who always receive compassion and validation for their feelings about said traumas, but YOUR trauma is hardly touched upon and in the rare case it is, it's only to be mocked or used against you… Fuck! You're a piece of work, JKR! And the fandom just swallows it whole like a bunch of lobotomized snakes! Screw it! Screw it, I'm going to say it like it is, and I'm going to say it LOUDLY! People are going to hear about what Ron goes through and we'll see if Harry and Hermione look like the only ones worthy of therapy then!!
Present day Vivi, as she scrolls through the (heavily filtered) Romione tag on AO3: Ugh, another Drarry… and another… and another… oh, a Hinny-centric fic for a change, cool but I'm looking for more Romione than that, sorry. Gah, why is it that Romione appears as a secondary ship everywhere but they can't get their own stories? I've just seen a Snupin come up for God's sake! Oh, finally, a full Romione!! *clicks* … … … awww that was so sweet. Kudos! Okay back to the search… oh, another one!! *clicks* … … … it's Ron-bashing. It's Ron-bashing and it's not tagged Ron-bashing and that's why it showed up in my search AND I'M GOING TO FREAKING RIOT-
#vivi answers#ask#romione#ron weasley#hermione granger#ron weasley defense squad#ron weasley defence squad#ron x hermione#harry potter series#anti jk rowling
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