#Coach clutch purses

[pasukiyo]

DRUNK ON YOU

journalist!anakin skywalker x f!ice skater!reader word count; 4,344 warnings; unprotected p in v sex, verbal and physical abuse from an ice skating coach?, anakin may or may not be following reader idk who knows!! summary; ice skating has been her life for as long as she can remember. she's not sure why her head hasn't been in it lately, and her coach certainly has something to say about it. thank god the cute and awkward journalist anakin was there though, right?

 “Have you forgotten how to land a fuckin’ axel?”

 Cold bit into her palms and pain flared up the muscles of her thigh as she pushed herself onto her knees, lips agape as she panted. She’d fallen so hard, bile was beginning to brew at the base of her throat, burning the pipe. 

 “Hey, are you even fuckin’ listening to me?”

 Her hands were starting to numb and she should really get herself up off the ice. She was creating a scene— although this was a private lesson, she knew there still remained one man in the stands, one who she could see’s gaze fleeting back and forth between her and the ground from her periphery. Normally, she’d care enough about her dignity to get herself up as if nothing had ever happened. 

 But she was just so tired, so frustrated. Her legs hurt like hell, her feet feeling like they’d pop off any moment now. And her son of a bitch of a coach’s voice was really starting to irritate her. 

 “Hey!” Speaking of her coach, she was skating her way, deep rouge lips pursed in vexation. Her eyelids fluttered themselves closed as she sighed, rolling her head back to hang towards the ground below. 

 Finally, she pushed herself off the ice, wiping her palms against her leggings and the moment she opened her eyes, her coach was in her face, fingers that weren’t her own tangled in the hair on the back of her head. She pressed her lips together to stifle any sound that may come out of her mouth, a sharp exhale still sneaking its way past her nostrils as her coach tugged on the tendrils she had between her fingers, angling her face so that she had to look up at her. 

“Where the fuck is your head, huh?” Her coach practically spat in her face, lips curling in disgust. “We’ve a competition in one week and you’re here actin’ like a goddamn fool,” she hissed. “You like embarrassing me?”

 She said nothing, her eyelids narrowing as she stared back at the stormy irises of her coach. Her coach sniffed and leaned away, recognizing the narrowing of her eyes for what it was— a challenge. 

 “You wanna embarrass me here, kid?” Her coach said after a long moment of silence. “Fine. But trust me,” she stepped closer, too close to ensure she could look down at her student. “You don’t wanna fuck around and find out what happens if you try me out there.”

 “You’re the one embarrassing yourself,” she spat in a low, hushed whisper in retaliation, glancing towards the stands where the man watched alone, a notepad clutched in one hand and a pen in the other. His head was bent down towards the notepad but even from here, she could make out the way he stared from between his top lashes, the bill of his navy hat casting a shadow over his face.

 A journalist, she guessed. 

 Her coach whipped around to face whoever it was she was referring to, dropping the fistful of hair she had in her claw-like grip just moments before. Relief washed over her as the pain at her scalp finally began to subside and she rubbed her palms over her elbows as she watched her coach skate her way to the exit of the ice where the man sat, glancing away from his notes when her coach’s voice thundered through the rink.

 “Who the fuck are you?” Her coach asked as she, too, began to skate her way towards the stands, her bag only a few seats away from where the man sat. As she approached, the man glanced her way, the dark blue waves in his irises crashing into her own. 

 For a moment, all was silent and for a moment, she couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze away from his. There was something so… alluring about him. He wore round glasses and a navy Puma hat, locks of dark blonde hair peeking out from the sides, just above his ears. His stare was dark, like a raging sea on a gray, stormy day. The longer she stared, the more she felt like she was drowning, as if she were astray at sea, helplessly fighting against the crashing waves. 

 His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and she felt herself flush, forcing her eyes away from him so that she could make her way over to her bag and get the hell out of here. 

 “Hey!” Her coach yelled again. “Did you hear me? Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here? This is a private lesson.”

 She huffed as she sat herself down onto the seat beside her bag, leaning down to unlace her skates, sighing in relief when she pulled the first one off her feet. 

 “Just taking notes,” the man replied simply and she turned until she could see them out of her periphery, watching as the man held his notepad up for her coach to see. “Notes?” Her coach questioned in a scoff as she tugged her other skate off her feet, her lips falling open in a soft gasp as she stretched out her toes and rolled her ankles. “What? You some perv or something?”

 “No ma’am. I write for the New Repub–”

 ‘I don’t give a shit who you write for, you realize you’re trespassing on a private lesson?” Her coach raised a hand to interrupt him. “That girl over there has a competition in a week and I won’t let some lowlife reporter let it spill that my client is incompetent enough to not know how to land a fuckin’ axle!”

 Her eyes rolled in their sockets at this as she slipped her socks on over her feet, tugging her boots on over them. She rummaged in her bag for her hoodie and stood as she pulled it on over her head, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

 “Relax, coach,” she cut through the argument as she approached, willing herself to not make eye contact with the man as he turned to look at her. “Besides, with the shit you just pulled, I’m surprised my axel is at the top of your priority list.”

 Her coach parted her lips, a remark surely on the tip of her tongue but when the man turned back to raise an eyebrow at her, she closed her mouth and huffed as she skated away towards the other side of the rink’s stands where her own bag was. 

 For a few prolonged moments, silence fell between her and the man still sat beside her, and it wasn’t until he rose from his seat and cleared his throat that she allowed herself to look at him again.

 “Sorry for causing such a scene,” he said at last, ducking his head so that their eyes could meet once more. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head just as she felt color begin to warm her cheeks once again. “Sorry about… her,” she replied, gesturing towards where her coach was angrily tearing her skates off her feet across the ice. 

 “Yeah, she’s…”

 “A bitch.”

 “Well…” the man rubbed the back of his neck, slapping his notepad down against his thigh with the other. “Yeah.”

 She glanced down to his notepad against his jean-clad thigh, tilting her head curiously. “You doing a story on me or something?” She asked, daring to look back up at him. Color rushed to his cheeks and he turned to stare off into space, as if it had the answers he couldn’t quite seem to form on his tongue. 

 “Um, well I…” he stammered before dropping his head in defeat. “Sort of?”

 She raised a brow at this, suddenly wary of the man before her. She was quick to let his looks fool her into thinking this man could be harmless when in reality, he could very well be far from it. He was alone, intruding in on a private skating lesson after all, taking notes on who knows what. 

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” She questioned, her wariness evident in her tone. He must’ve picked up on this and sighed in defeat, a nervous smile tugging at a corner of his lips.

 “Listen, I’m a journalist for the New Republic magazine and I was at your competition working on a story last week and I…” he trailed off, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as if contemplating his next words. “I was really intrigued by you.”

 She nodded, understanding finally washing over her. “Ah. So you’ve been following me.”

 The man’s pink lips parted and closed and repeated, and she fought the grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well no. Yes. Maybe? Ugh, I’m…” the man’s chest heaved as he drew in a breath, holding his free hand out for her to take. “I’m Anakin. And I haven’t been following you. You know, not in a creepy way.”

 Amusement finally got the best of her and she chuckled, allowing her smile to take over her mouth as she took his hand, warmth pooling into her skin. “Nice to meet you, Anakin. I’m not sure if I’m fully convinced that you haven’t been following me but I’m finding this really amusing so I’ll let it slide. For now.”

 Anakin chuckled nervously and smiled, white teeth peeking through the space between his lips. Her breath hitched in her throat at this and their eyes met once again, seemingly stealing the breath from her lungs. 

 He was… beautiful.

 She wondered if this man really had been following her over the course of the past week. Certainly she would’ve noticed him had he been stalking her before, right?

 The longer she stared at the man called Anakin before her, the more she wished to convince herself that he was harmless, that there couldn’t possibly be anything nefarious or sinister behind such a gorgeous smile. But when she found herself being sucked into the waters of that raging sea in his sockets like his voice was a siren song and his eyes were a wild, angry sea, she realized that maybe she wouldn’t care, so long as he looked at her like that.

 “What if I could convince you over some dinner on me?”

 It was safe to say that dinner went well.

 Too well.

 Ridiculously well.

 His hands were all over her as their mouths ravaged one another, hardly making it inside his apartment before she was pressed against the door, the thin straps of her dress falling loose down her shoulders. Anakin’s palms were pressed against the small of her back, the other firm and gripping onto the hair at the back of her head. Unlike when her coach had snatched her hair only the day before, Anakin tugged with enough pressure to have her mewling for more. 

 Her hands were entangled in the dark blonde curls atop of his head as his tongue demanded control over hers, his kiss making her feel weak in the knees before his lips trailed down to her jaw, to her chin, to her neck.

 She gasped when he nibbled on the space between her neck and shoulder, his name falling in a breathy whimper from her lips. His mouth kissed and sucked marks down to her chest where the tops of her breasts were spilling from over the hem of her dress. Anakin growled as he reached behind her to tug furiously at her zipper, tugging the dress down her body until it could pool in a puddle of fabric at her feet. 

 “Ana… Anakin!” She moaned as he unclasped her bra with one hand, tearing the glasses away from his face and tossing them into the wall beside them with the other. Neither were in the rind headspace to even care for the more than likely cracked frames as Anakin drew her back into his body, his mouth attaching to her nipple, her head falling backwards in ecstasy. She could feel the curve of his grin when she gasped as he nipped at the sensitive bud, guiding her back towards his bedroom with his hand against the small of her back, his mouth never once leaving her breast.

 It wasn’t long until she was nude and exposed on the plush of his mattress, blinking up at him as he stared down at her through hooded eyelids, tugging his shirt up and over his head. She eyed the defined lines of his chest and stomach as he breathed, working at the buckle of his pants and discarding it across the room, his pants falling loose down his legs. Her heart thud against her chest in anticipation as he crept his way onto the bed above her, hovering over her like a looming predator.

 She looked into the depths of his deep blue eyes now and was completely lost, blinded with libido, with the want for the man above her. “Please Anakin,” she whimpered, a hand slithering around to cup the back of his neck, desperate to bring their lips together once again. She couldn’t quite reach, unfortunately, but his breath was still warm against her face and she could still make out the outline of his smile against her mouth.

 When she opened her eyes again, his own were somehow a shade darker than they were before, the sweaty blonde curls damp against his forehead making his face darker than the shadows already made him out to be. He was beautiful, yes, but he was dark, and an enigma. Through the haze of her mind, however, she couldn’t quite bring herself to figure him out. She wasn’t even sure she cared right now. All she cared about was the feel of his skin against hers, the feel of his hard length against her thigh, the way he was staring at her now as if she were his last meal. It was impossible to think rationally when such a man wanted her the way she wanted him.

 “I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered, bowing his head so that their lips were touching nut not quite, at least, not in the way she was wanting. “Anakin,” she panted his name again, a hand against the curve of his shoulder, the other tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck. She was so wet and she could feel it, could feel the evidence of her lust as it streamed down her folds, creating a pool on the duvet below. “Please,” she whispered again, her gaze surging into his, her brows furrowing in hopes to coax him inside of her. 

 Anakin took his time. He pulled his face away just enough to take a long look down her body, his hand not supporting himself on the mattress tracing a line up and down the curve of her waist, of her hips, the crease between her thigh and torso. She gasped when the tip of his finger came so close to where she was throbbing for him but yet again, not quite. 

 He was teasing her now, as if playing with his food.

 She could practically feel tears stinging the outskirts of her sockets, every ache in her muscles screaming for him, every throb she felt in her core pleading with him to just touch her. Anakin cooed when his gaze found hers once again, shushing her and using the edge of his forefinger to wipe away the tears that had leaked from the edges of her eyes. 

 “I can’t believe you want this as much as I do,” he whispered as if in awe. “You know, the second I saw you, you had just stepped onto the ice and all I could think was wow. And then you started doing all those tricks and shit that I can’t even wrap my head around and I knew that all I wanted was you. I didn’t care how much or how long it would take, all I wanted to have was you.”

 If Anakin hadn’t been dipping his hand in between her legs and brushing the tips of his fingers against her swollen clit, she might’ve had the sense to stop and really consider the meaning behind his words. With every stroke of his fingers up and down her folds and against her aching bud, he was reducing her mind to slime, turning each and every single one of her thoughts into nothing but putty. He was possessing every inch of her as if he were a parasite, as if he were doing some sort of mind trick on her, like he had her under some kind of trance.

 And when he dipped a single finger past the barrier between her folds, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

 Her back arched off of the bed and her lips fell apart in a gasp, Anakin watching in awe as she mewled and squirmed beneath him. He ducked until his nose was against the crook of her neck, breathing her in like a vapor, letting her fill in his every sense. He was drunk on her, on the way she looked, the way she breathed, the way she smelled. She was just so beautiful, and now she was his.

 “I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have you,” he whispered as he added another finger inside of her, his other hand kneading at her breast. “Every time I went to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, leaning down until his lips were against the shell of her ear. “I couldn’t stop touching myself thinking about you.”

 She whimpered again when he added a third finger, pressing his lips against her ear before leaning away, kissing her jaw before pulling away altogether. She whined at the loss of his digits inside of her and Anakin watched as her cunt pulsed and throbbed with the yearn for him. He was aching for her as well, maybe even more than she was for hin. His cock was so hard it was beginning to feel painful, having edged himself for so long.

 But he could let go now. He had her. He had her right where he wanted her all along.

 Anakin leaned down to press his lips against hers and she eagerly drank him in like wine, mewling against his lips. He could feel the mix of her sweat and tears against his face, and he smiled against her mouth again. 

 And he let a hand trail down between their bodies until his hand was wrapped around his length, giving himself one solid pump. Then, with one snap of his hips, they were one.

 She cried out in bliss as he entered her, back arching off of the mattress, her chest heaving into his as he sheathed himself inside her. Anakin pressed his lips together and grunted, wrapping his arms around her body to hold her close to him as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, throwing his head back in pleasure as he savored how good she felt wrapped around him. 

 Perfect, everything about her was simply perfect and made for him. He couldn’t believe he hadn't found her sooner, that she was the one he was waiting for all of his life. This was what he’d always needed– this girl underneath him, wanting him, wrapped around him, burning for him. There was no way in hell he was going to let her go now that he had her. 

 “Ana–!” She cried. “Anakin!” She barely managed to choke out the rest of his name when he snapped his hips against her again. She was just so full, so overstimulated that she couldn’t even form a single coherent thought. 

 Ice skating came like second nature to her. It’d been that way for as long as she could remember. But she swore, if you asked her to do anything now, she wouldn;t even know how to begin. All she could think was Anakin, Anakin, Anakin. He’d somehow found a way to put her under his full control until she was reduced down to nothing more than a mindless zombie for him. 

 “Oh… fuck,” Anakin cursed beneath his breath, using his hands against the mattress as leverage to stare down between their bodies where they were connected. His cock glistened with a mixture of their juices and oh, his mouth watered for a taste. He reached down until his fingertips were against her clit, her toes curling at the pressure and she cried out when he dipped his fingers inside of her for the briefest of moments to gather their mixture. 

 Anakin’s mouth was practically watering, fuck, he was drooling by the time he finally brought his fingers to his lips, moaning and his eyes rolling when their mixed arousals coated his tongue. “Fuck,” he moaned again once he had finally licked his fingers clean, snapping his hips before wrapping a hand around the base of her neck. “Come here.”

 He met her halfway so that their lips could crash against one another and she hummed into his mouth when she tasted both of them, following his lips when he pulled away. 

 “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, grabbing a handful of her hips with one hand and reaching forward to grasp onto the headboard with the other. “I can’t wait to taste you once you’ve come.”

 Her eyes were rolling into the back of her head as Anakin pistoned his cock inside of her, quick to find that spot deep inside of her that had her seeing stars. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been fucked like this– no, she’d never been fucked like this. No man had ever been able to make her feel the way Anakin made her feel now, she knew that for certain. No man had ever been able to make her dumb to the point of no return, to make her so drunk on their cock that she couldn’t form a coherent though other than their name. No, only Anakin had ever made her feel like this. 

 Anakin thrusted into her again and again and again, ravaging her body like his life absolutely depended on it. There was something animalistic about the way he fucked her, something territorial as if this were the beginning of something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around at this moment. Not when she was so close that even Anakin could feel it, could feel it in the way she pulsed and throbbed around him. He gripped onto the headboard harder as leverage to give her everything he had, the bedframe making noises so loud that it was a miracle it hadn’t broken yet. 

 She was almost there. She was so close that she could already taste it, could already see it. She closed her eyes until she was submerged into a dark, seemingly endless tunnel. But there, off in the distance but approaching at rapid speed was a white, blinding light that she knew was her orgasm. She began to race towards it, meeting it halfway until they crashed together like a supernova, her back arching off the bed, her toes curling, fingernails clasping around Anakin’s wrists and burrowing deep. 

 Tears fell like rivers down the sides of her face as she thrashed, feeling so full and satisfied and overstimulated that she couldn’t take it anymore.

 “Oh shit, oh fuck,” Anakin panted, his thrusts sloppier but still as forceful as ever. “Almost there, almost there, almost the– fuck!” He growled as he bottomed out with a single forceful thrust, spilling himself into her. She could feel rope after rope of his seed bursting inside of her and her vision blurred until all she could see was watercolor. She barely even registered the moment Anakin’s cock slipped out from inside of her and he kissed a trail down her body until his mouth was ravaging her sore, fucked out cunt. 

 She cried as she gathered a fistful of the duvet below, squeezing her eyelids shut, her head rolling until her cheek was flush with the mattress. Anakin’s tongue swirled inside of her as if he were hunting for every last drop of her spend and her eyelids fluttered open, her vision murky with bliss. She blinked away the blurriness as much as she could, making out photos on the wall beside his bed that somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt like she’d seen before.

 It was hard to focus when Anakin was practically digging another orgasm out of her with his tongue but she zeroed in on one of the photographs, recognizing it as one of her from a competition she had done months ago. Her eyes darted to another, all of her, her at competitions that she’d done more than just a week ago, but some of her out and about on the street, at the grocery store, at the bar just a few blocks away from her apartment. 

 She wasn’t sure where these photos came from– she’d never seen any of these specific ones before anywhere. It meant that Anakin had to have been the one to have taken them but surely this wasn’t true– he said he’d only found her a week prior to her being fucked on his bed, didn’t he?

 “Taste so fucking good,” Anakin purred against her pussy, hooking his arms around her thighs and burying his face in even closer. Her heart was pounding against her chest at the realization that even despite her horror, she couldn’t tear herself away from Anakin. Maybe he really did have her under some sort of mind trick, some kind of trance. Maybe she really was drowning, falling into that raging sea in his eyes with no hope of ever resurfacing. 

 She knew how wrong it was, how disgusting it was, but it didn’t matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but reach down until her fingers were woven in the dark blonde curls on his head, pulling him in even closer to her throbbing heat. 

a/n; so hey! i've had this sitting around unfinished in my drafts for, like, ever and i finally just now got around to finishing it lol so sorry for not having been active! as some of you may know, i've been working on a book for the past couple of months on top of being in college and having a job so i've been pretty busy lately! i hope you all don't mind and still enjoyed this one nonetheless 🤭

TAGLIST;

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

[wlntrsldler]

now i see daylight | part ii: treacherous

song: treacherous by taylor swift

series description: set after lust conquers all, jamie returns to richmond and takes accountability for treating you like shit.

warnings: language-- it's ted laso, what did ya expect?; bff!sam, touch starved jamie and reader, A LOT OF ALCOHOL, richmond himbos

pairing: jamie tartt x f! reader

word count: 2054 words

series masterlist | main masterlist

When the whistle was blown for full time, the cheers in the arena were deafening. You couldn’t hear yourself think and everything seemed to slow. You stood behind Roy, clutching your camera, as you watched the sea of red and blue storm the field. You were only snapped out of your thoughts when Will jumped on your back, hugging you from behind. 

“We’re moving up!” Will screamed behind you, beaming from ear to ear. “Come on, Y/N, let’s celebrate!” 

You placed your camera on one of the seats under the tent and tossed a jacket over it. You followed Will into the middle of the field where all of the coaches, players, and fans were celebrating. 

“Dani Rojas you legend!” You yelled, running toward Dani. He grinned at you, picking you up by your waist to spin you around. “I am so fucking proud of you!” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he put you down, holding you by your shoulders. “You will come to the after-party, yes?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.” 

You made your rounds with all of the players. Most of them were so excited, they couldn’t say anything but, “Let’s goooooo!” Colin threw an arm around you and walked you over to Sam, who you still hadn't seen because of the chaos. When Sam saw you, he ran to you, smiling so wide you were sure his cheeks hurt. 

“Y/N! Can you believe it? We are back in the Premier League!” 

“I believe it. I knew you guys could do it.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he hugged you tightly. “Are you coming to the after-party? Please tell me you will. I can pick you up.” 

You tutted, “Samuel, I will be there but you are not driving tonight. You deserve to get absolutely trashed.” 

“Agreed, mate.” 

There was that accent again. You turned around to see Jamie, glowing under the lights. Ever since the day he cornered you in the hallway, he made do with his promise. He didn’t bother you again unless it was for work. You’ve been more courteous to him. You no longer ignored his “good mornings,” or “how are ya’s,” but you still kept your distance. However, your resolve was slowly fading. Being around him again made you remember why you were so drawn to him in the first place. With him being a different version of himself now, it increased that attraction tenfold. 

Sam looked between the two of you and smirked, walking away discreetly. He’s noticed the small smiles on your face whenever Jamie would come around. You tried to hide it, but Sam knew you too well. 

You turned your body to look at Jamie, shyly looking at him. Jamie met your eye, eyes twinkling in a way that you haven’t seen since the last night you shared with him. He had a boyish smile on his face. You pursed your lips, trying not to let a smile slip, but you were unsuccessful. Jamie’s eyes got brighter, which you didn’t realize was possible. 

“Great job, Jam.” 

Jamie let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding at the sound of his nickname leaving your lips. He bit his bottom lip, stretching his hand out for a handshake, “I appreciate it, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes and smacked his hand away. You walked toward him and pulled him into a hug. Jamie froze in your arms for a second before melting into the hug and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You didn’t realize how much you missed him until you felt his arms tighten around your torso. It was like you finally got a taste of the thing you were craving for months as if there was nothing else in the world that could’ve made this moment sweeter, better. 

Your hand made its way to the back of his neck, where you cradled the back of his head, fingers softly tugging on his hair. It was muscle memory, how you used to cuddle him on his couch all those months ago. Jamie sighed into your skin, his warm breath awakening you from the trance you were under, causing you to pull away. 

Both of your faces were flushed when you pulled apart. Jamie cleared his throat, looking down at his feet, before vaguely motioning somewhere as if there was something requiring his attention. You did the same, leaving to go in the opposite direction as him. 

You turned around and saw Keeley with a smirk on her face, arms crossed with a knowing look. “World must be ending, I suppose?” 

Blushing, you shoved her lightly, “Shut up.” 

In true Captain fashion, Isaac rented a giant party bus for all of the players and a few special guests, including you, Keeley, Roy, and Will. The bus was taking all of you to a club in London that Isaac bought out for the night to celebrate the win and promotion. Roy, who should know better now that he was a coach, denounced his coach-ship before he stepped foot on the bus, stating that tonight he was “going to have the fucking time of my life!”

When you walked into the bus with Sam, you were hit with the sound of a club beat. Players were already a few drinks in from the bottles of beer and liquor scattered around the bus. Jan Maas was holding onto the pole, laughing as he fist-pumped to the song. Richard had a bottle of red wine in his grasp, which you later saw had a sticker on it that said “Property of Richard Montlaur.” Colin and Isaac were in the corner singing into a bottle of gin when “Hotel Room Service” by Pitbull started playing. 

Sam was pulled from you by O’Brien who made him take shots. With you both being the last two the team was waiting for, the bus lightly jerked as it began its journey to London. The entire team cheered, raising bottles in the air. 

You laughed as you tried to make your way around the bus, trying to find a friendly face that wasn’t too far gone. You knew all of them would regret this in the morning. You turned to your right and found Jamie and Dani sharing a bottle of tequila, laughing at something that you’d later learn was not that funny. 

“Y/N!” Dani yelled when he saw you. He scooted over on the leather bench, leaving a space next to Jamie for you to occupy. “You are here!” 

“I am!” You replied, shaking your head at how far gone the boys already are and you’ve barely even left Nelson Road. “How you guys feelin’?”

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” Jamie replied, taking another sip from the bottle. He handed it to you, which you took. You drank some and grimaced when the strong taste hit your tongue. 

The two boys laughed as you passed the bottle to Dani. Dani stood up, holding onto the pole that Jan Maas was holding earlier, and began to make his rounds in the bus. He kept offering the bottle to anyone he saw. You couldn’t help but laugh at how they all took the bottle from Dani, despite not liking tequila. 

“‘M glad you’re here.” 

Your attention focused back on Jamie, who was staring up at you. His eyes were clouded, eyelids droopy. You playfully punched his shoulder, “How are you already drunk?” 

Jamie furrowed his eyebrows, “You and Sam were so late. We had to get started without you lot.” 

“We were thirty minutes late.” 

“A lot can happen in thirty minutes.” 

You snorted. It made Jamie smile. He bumped your knee with his. You looked at where your bodies touched. Your breath got stuck in your throat. You swallowed, “I guess I need to catch up.” 

“Damn right,” a lopsided smirk graced his lips. He dug behind him in the ice bucket and pulled out a bottle of Clase Azul. He handed it to you, “Go on then.” 

“Menace,” you replied, grabbing the bottle from him. Your fingers brushed, sending shocks throughout your entire body. “You know I can’t say no to good tequila.” 

“Yeah, that’s why I bought it,” he shrugged, opening a beer. “I bought it for you. Nearly broke Bumbercatch’s arm when he tried to open it earlier.” 

“Jamie, this is an expensive bottle of tequila.” 

“Yeah well, Coach wouldn’t let me buy the whole team PS5s as a sorry, but he didn’t say anything about buyin’ you expensive liquor.” 

You were sure that Jamie was only saying this because the alcohol was clouding his better judgment. He probably won’t remember this in the morning, or at the very least, he’d wonder whether or not this was real life or just something his mind made up. You opened the bottle and took a long swig from it. 

As good as the tequila was, you still grimaced, frantically searching to find a chaser. Jamie, who remembered your drinking habits, held out a cup of Diet Coke. You downed the entire cup, sighing in relief when the taste of tequila was masked by the sugary drink. “Thanks, Jam.” 

“Missed you callin’ me that,” he admitted, a look of longing on his face. “Missed you in general, to be honest. Been hell without you in my life.” 

“Jamie,” you started, turning your body to him. “You’re drunk so I suggest you stop talking.” 

“Am I makin’ you uncomfortable?” Jamie asked, concern on his face. He sobered for a moment, blinking back as if he was trying to figure out what he just said. 

“No, no,” you assured him, placing a hand on his thigh. He tensed under your touch, letting out a shaky breath. You were really close to each other now. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I just don’t want you to say anythin’ you’ll regret in the morning.” 

“Don’t think that’ll happen,” he said, nonchalantly. He took a sip from his beer, trying not to move too much in fear that you would remove your hand from his thigh if he did. Hesitantly, he started drawing figure eights with his pointer finger on your hand that was touching him. He let out a breath when you didn’t pull away. “Been regrettin’ not saying anything to ya. Should’ve told you how I felt that night. Or any night after that, really. I was just bein’ a prick ‘cause I was hurt that Richmond let me go.” 

You stayed silent. You didn’t know what to make of his words. Was he talking about the night you told him how you felt? Surely not. What does he mean by tell you how he felt?

Jamie continued, “And the thing was, I knew Richmond had no say in whether or not I was goin’ back to Man City, but it still hurt, I guess. Woke up to a text sayin’ I had to go back to Man City from my agent. Not even a text from Ted, or Keeley, or you. Thought I didn’t mean nothin’ to any of ya, so I just shut everyone out.” 

“And it’s real shit of me to do, ain’t it? Especially how I treated ya. I don’t blame you for not forgiving me or giving me a second chance.” He stopped drawing on your hand. He drank from his beer again. You looked at him. He had a small and nervous smile on his face. Testing his luck, he brought a hand up to touch your face. “Shame I fucked it all up really ‘cause you’re the only person I ever actually wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” 

“Jamie–” 

“Come on, party animals!” Isaac yelled from the front of the bus. Somehow the top five buttons of his shirt became undone during the drive. He slung an arm around Will, who had a tie wrapped around the circumference of his head, “Let’s get iiiiiittttttt!” 

The bus erupted in hollers as players trickled out of the bus. Sam, who was giggly under the influence, found you next to Jamie. Jamie, seeing that Sam was there to walk you out of the bus, waved goodbye to you and caught up with Bumbercatch. You held the Clase Azul bottle close to your body as you threw on a fake smile, walking off the bus with Sam.

--

part i: don't you

part iii: daylight

[wonik1ss]

౨ৎ mrs. gym buff ! — noh yunah

pairing — non idol!yunah x reader song rec : midnight fiction - illit & sunflower (P.E.L.) - choi yoojung & pretty girl - reneé rapp ( 1.3k ) ! none ᯤ ^ ㅇ ^ happy reading ! ⸝⸝・ᘏᘏ

prompt : you and your best friend eunchae were like cher and dion, you being self obsessed believing everyone and everything likes you and eunchae keep n you in check. but the one time you think someone doesn’t like you is the one day that someone new enters your gym class and eunchae can obviously tell they have some feelings for you.

“watch it ! this is prada !”. you pointed to your bag as eunchae giggled her head hitting the wire fence.

“I really don’t know why they moved us outside.. I don’t need red bites all over my skin when jake asks me out”. eunchae covered her mouth but still laughed.

“what..?”. you clutch’s stour purse and turned towards the girl.

“no offense..”. you sighed.

“but you would have more luck on some jake from royal high asking you out before jake actual does”. you pouted and turned to face the jock. he was flexing his biceps to yeji and her group; who were swooning.

“he winked at me in bio”. you tapped your foot as you turned to eunchae and smiled. the smile immediately dropped as eunchae opened her mouth.

“he winked and ning too”

“how-“

“she bragged to me right after it happened”. you slid down the fence hands over your face.

“that.. that doesn’t mean I don’t have a chance !”. eunchae slid down right next to you.

“he’s oogling chaer’s boobs.. I don’t think you want a chance..”. you giggled as eunchae nudged you.

“you still like girls right?”. you nodded.

“try one of ‘em out then.. for once !”. you hit the girls head and as p.e. ended went on about your day.

you tilted your glasses down as you walked into the gym. usually jake was flirting, chaewon was hitting on sakura, and eunchae was flexing the fact she could actually dance but everyone was in a straight line..

eunchae caught your eye and called you over.

“what-“

“new girl”. eunchae pointed to the p.e. coach and your eyes furrowed as you looked beside her. some six foot girl stood next to her.

“this is yunah.. she’s new to the school and came in this period”. your coach seemed to glare at the girl and, her head in turn went down. you swore you heard a little ‘sorry’ and you giggled.

“what was that y/n?”. eunchae froze while you smiled.

“sorry was just wondering why we’re still standing here and not playing basketball..”. you swore you saw your coach’s eyes light up. she dismissed everyone and eunchae dragged you over to the bleachers.

“her eyes were glued to you !”. you laughed.

“I would hope so I was talking”. eunchae rolled her eyes and then glanced at yunah.

“look”. you lazily turned your gaze to the tall girl and your eyes noticeable got bigger once you realized they were on you. as soon as yunah realized she walked away.

“so I’m hot..!” eunchae rolled her eyes then got bigger.

“what-“

“thanks”. you looked up. yunah was right infront of you staring anywhere but at you.

“for.. distracting coach”

“oh that’s nothing.. ni-ki does that on a daily basis. eunchae laughed and soon yunah did too.

“that’s it.. bye..”. before you could open your mouth again the girl had ran down the bleachers.

“that was weird”. eunchae said as she tilted her head.

“what’s weirder how she ran down the bleachers and didn’t bust her lip..”

next day..

“she’s staring..!”. eunchae whistled as she sat next to you on one of the benches outside.

“sooo..”

“don’t think she wants that prada bag y/n..”

next next day..

“think she has an eye problem?”. you rolled your eyes.

“no.. i mean maybe..”

next next next day..

“probably still-“

“do you wanna play basketball with me..?”. you blinked twice and then looked at eunchae; she just nodded rapidly.

“s.. sure..”. you got up and followed the girl while eunchae protected you precious prada bag.

“I’m thinking of joining the girls basketball team.. and need help.. sorry if I bother-“

“no it’s fine I never do anything in this class anyway”. as yunah finally got a free hop she looked at you curiously up and down.

“really.. your so.. fit though?”. luckily yunah went to go get a ball so she didn’t see you blushing madly at your comment.

“ok just try to stop me.. you know the basics right”. you just nodded in a trance. as you played you couldn’t look but check the girl out. her hair was in a ponytail.. her sports jacket was off.

“oh shit are you ok?”. you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt the assault against your back.

“ya.. the basketball that hit me like the flash and landed me in my back didn’t do shit”. yunah but her lip as she cupped your cheek and eyes your figure.

“you think you can get up?”. you nodded as she helped you. you held the back of your neck as you nearly fell. yunah put both hands on your waist to keep you balanced.

“you sure you don’t need a-“

“you owe me”

“what..?”

“icecream.. after school tomorrow”. yunah stood in shock as you ran over to a worried eunchae.

“ar-“

“yes.. she’s going to buy me ice cream..!”.

last next day..

“is this black mail..?”. you laughed as yunah pulled out fifteen bucks from her back pocket.

“no ! and you only need like four bucks”. you smiled.

“ya but I’m getting some for your friends too”. you looked over to eunchae fanning her face and haerin rolling here eyes as she aided the girl. you were left speechless as yunah dragged you over to the truck.

you ordered your icecreams and chatted as you waited for them. as soon as you got them you almost gagged as you licked yours.

“is it ok?”. as you walked with yunah you shock your head, as you put haerin and eunchae’s icecreams in your back pockets.

“nah it’s shit but thanks”. yunah frowned and then grabbed your icecream.

“hay !”. quickly yunah gave you here’s and urged you to try it. when you did you frowned.

“why’d you-“

“shit you got some in your..”. yunah put one hand on your waist to pull you closer; and used the other one to whip of some icecream of your lip. you froze when you did. and everytime after that when yunah got in a two feet distance if you.

as the days went on you got closer. mentally.. but mostly physically. yunah started to back hug you..

“then he threw the question right back at-“. as eunchae got ready to laugh, you felt hands around your waist..

“wha-“. as you were about to question the girl she just stared at you blankly and then smiled. then one time when you just sitting on a bench texting a sick eunchae you felt hair on your thighs.

“so eunchae’s sick?”. it took you a minute but you did node. you even felt a kiss on your cheek..

“you think is did to much..”. you asked eunchae as she knocked on jakes door.

“no you just look like your from the yxyy unit your fine”. you nudged the girl as the door opened. a drunk yeji smiled.

“omg hayyyy”. you were about to hayyyy her right back when jakes hand snaked around her waist and he kissed her.. and then they started to make out. you and eunchae brushed past them as they continued.

“you think my hats to big?”. you laughed as you found a quiet corner to talk in.

“nah it’s pertinent to the fit”

“stop using yunah’s fancy words-“

“what’s that about my dance words?”. yunah flicked eunchaes hat. when she did the shorter girl rolled her eyes and ran over to the ‘cat girl’ haerin.

“nice clueless outfits..”. you giggled.

“nice..?”

“I’m nando but sporty girl ! who cares about her looks !”. as you were about to giggle again you felt something wet on your cheek. you blinked twice as yunah’s hands went around your waist. you grabbed one of her hands of your waist and dragged her to the nearest bathroom.

yunah giggled as you sat in the rim of the sink to get to her height. she then wrapped her hands around the sink as you bit your lip.

“what’s wrong..”. yunah’s lips found there way onto your neck and you gasped.

“yunah !”. the girl jumped.

“what !”

“can I not kiss my girlfriend?”

“your what?”. yunah blinked twice.

“you never asked me to be your girlfriend yunah”. the still taller girl tried to take her hands off your waist but you didn’t let her.

“but-“

“I want to be your girlfriend but you never asked !”. you smiled as she got closer to your face.

“will you be my-“. you closed the tiny gap between you two and kissed her. cupping her cheeks this time.

“yes.. yes mrs. gym buff”. yunah giggled and quickly shut you up. what a perfect couple..

[daisies-daydreams]

HELLO HONEY !!

i’d like to request a ghost x reader fic where he’s a college athlete and the reader is the coach’s daughter. he attracts a lot of attention (i wonder why) and is used to getting who he wants and is pleasantly surprised when the readers uninterested at first :)

Try (CollegeAU!Simon Riley x F!Reader)

Pairing: Simon Riley x F!Reader Category: Fluff & Angst Warnings: Swearing, Sexual Themes, Drinking, Smoking, Attempted Drugging, Referenced Assault, Violence Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: Hello! Thank you for your request! I apologize: I tried my best to understand rugby, but it's not really popular where I'm from. It's just a sport that I thought would fit Simon the best. I hope you enjoy!

(Minor spoiler: Simon is not the one who drugs your drink).

Image Source: Pexels

-> Ch. 2

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Simon rubbed the red mark on his cheek, his eyes lingering on the woman who was pulling her clothes back over her bare body.

“I just can't believe you, Simon,” she spat. Simon remained silent as he watched her grab her purse and stomp out of his dorm without another word. The door slammed with a loud thud as he remained clutching the blanket with one hand and cradling his cheek with the other. The welt stung, sending small ripples of pain through his face.

Simon grumbled as he rubbed the sore spot a few more times before planting his feet on the floor. He pulled out his phone and earbuds. Rugby practice was starting soon, and he couldn’t waste his time ruminating about a short fling.

Music blasted through his ears as he grabbed his duffel bag and walked towards the field. It was a blazing summer day, the sun beating down against his rugged body. He passed by a group of female students. They giggled and whispered as he nodded and waved towards them.

Getting a woman wasn't easy for Simon. Actually keeping them was the difficult part. All of the players eyed Simon as he walked into the locker rooms.

“What happened to you?” a foreign exchange student, nicknamed "König", gawked as Simon strode up to his locker. Simon patted his cheek, the welt still slightly swollen.

“Just a mishap,” he replied in a flat tone as he changed into his Jersey and shorts. Johnny, his roommate and teammate, peeked from beside the lockers.

“You sure it wasn’t a parting gift from that hen you’ve been seein?” he asked with a raised brow. Simon tensed at his words and harshly pulled out his boots. König and Johnny exchanged a knowing glance.

Simon sighed as he slipped his large footwear on. He tied his boots just as he heard the faint sound of a whistle blowing.

“C’mon. Practice is starting soon,” König said. Johnny followed after him, then Simon.

Despite him having incredible sex just before he came to practice, there was a tiny seed growing in his chest. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt cold and made his heart feel like it was filling with lead. Simon tilted his head side to side as if shaking his own thoughts out. He scanned the field and the sharp sting in his chest quickly faded when he saw a young woman sitting in the stands.

Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun, your clothes not too revealing but not too modest. You nibbled on the end of your pen as you stared down at your notebook, a textbook resting on your lap. You glanced up and locked eyes with him. Simon’s chest exploded with warmth, his pupils dilatating ever so slightly. He couldn’t help but swallow when he saw your lips part slightly.

The sound of a whistle screeched and broke his attention.

“Riley! Let’s focus!” Coach Price’s voice boomed. Simon huffed as he ripped his gaze from you and jogged towards the players doing warm ups. Everyone agreed that the new coach was something of a hard ass. Rumors have spread that he used to be a black op in the SAS. Simon wasn’t really one for gossip, so he shrugged it off.

Simon would peek over at you every so often, your beauty only making him sink further into desire. Johnny noticed this fairly quickly. He nudged Simon’s shoulder as they were doing a few warm-ups.

“I wouldn’t go after her if I were you,” Johnny said, his eyes full of worry. Simon laughed.

“What? She your bird or somethin'?” he asked. Before Johnny could reply, Coach Price blew the whistle again.

“Everybody line up in formation!” he bellowed. Simon bit the inside of his cheek as he stole another glance at you. You were still nose-deep in your homework. You yawned and stretched your arms above your head.

Another whistle blow.

“Riley!” Price barked. You looked up again, this time your lips forming into a small smile as he met your gaze. Simon felt even more determined when he played now, checking over his shoulder every now and then. Of course, this came with consequences, including several remarks from Price.

"In case you forgot your position: you're the fullback, Riley! Watch for your team!" the coach yelled at the top of his lungs. Simon saw you giggling before turning back to your book.

By the end of the training, he was worn out and covered in sweat, his tattooed arms flexing as he stretched himself on the bench.

“Hit your head too many times?” Johnny teased. Simon huffed as his eyes wandered back up to the stands where you still remained. Your hair was slightly frizzy from the late summer heat. You tucked a strand behind your ear before taking a drink of water. Judging from the expression you made, it was empty. You rose from your seat and started walking to the nearest water fountain. Simon took a huge swig of water before wiping his mouth.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. Johnny’s mouth opened to call for him but he was already making his way up the metal steps. Simon actually felt his heart race as he approached you. You were filling up your water bottle as he pressed his hand against the wall.

“Scuse me,” he said. You turned around and blinked. A forced smile stretched across your face as he strolled up to you, his jersey clinging to his rugged, sweaty skin. Your beauty almost made him forget just why he came up there.

“Just wanted to introduce myself. The name’s Simon,” he said as he held his hand out. Your smile fell as you shook it, your palms soft compared to his.

“I thought it was Riley,” you quipped. He laughed.

"That's my last name. Just call me Simon," he grinned. You gave him a short nod before making your way back to the stands. Simon scrambled towards you.

“I haven’t seen you around practice before,” he commented as you two walked. You nodded, your face tight.

“I’ll probably just be around for this week,” you said with a slight edge to your voice. Simon tilted his head. There seemed to be something familiar about you. Maybe you were one of his classmates?

“Yeah? Why’s that?” he asked. Your lips pursed as you squeezed your bottle.

“My car’s the shop,” you explained, your nostrils flaring. Simon grunted, his eyes looking you up and down as both of you turned the corner.

“Sorry if this is sudden, but has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your smile is?” he drawled, his voice dropping a few octaves. You blinked and sighed.

“Listen, you seem like a somewhat decent guy, but I need to get back to my homework,” you stated matter-of-factly. Simon nearly choked on his spit. This is the first time in what felt like an eternity that a girl’s turned him down. His heart began to race as he watched you slip away.

“Bye,” you quickly said with a wave as you returned to your seat. Simon’s jaw clicked as he felt a bitter taste envelope his tongue. Eventually, he stopped staring at you and made his way back down to the field. Johnny’s face looked somewhat pale as he strode up towards him.

“What?” Simon snapped. Johnny pointed towards the stands. Simon’s eyes followed him. His throat grew tight as he saw you talking to Coach Price. The man’s arms were crossed as he nodded along to your words. It felt like lightning struck through him when Price’s head snapped towards him, his eyes narrowing and face turning bright red.

“Good luck, mate,” Johnny said as he roughly patted his shoulder. Simon scoffed as his roommate stepped back while Price approached them. Everyone watched, the entire field seeming to freeze. The coach came uncomfortably close to Simon as he snarled in a strained voice:

“My office. Now”.

+++

The next several minutes were filled with Price casting death glares at Simon as he ranted at him.

“Listen here, boy. I may be new, but I already know of your reputation here on campus," he began. Simon's face remained as neutral as possible as spit flew out of the man's mouth. "I’m not about to let my daughter become another one of your brazen hussies,” he growled as he shook his index finger at him. Simon felt his chest turn to stone as he watched the coach scowl.

“You are not to touch, speak, or even look at (Y/N),” Price ordered. Simon nodded quickly, his chest tightening as the man stared him down. The coach leaned forward, his palms pressed to the cold wood of the desk as he scowled.

“Mark my words, Riley. If I find out you’ve stuck your knob inside my daughter, I’ll cut it off and feed it to my fucking dogs,” he roared. Simon swallowed a lump in his throat as he nodded.

“Same goes for the rest of you!” Price shouted as his head snapped towards his door. Whispers followed by several shuffling feet were heard outside the door. Simon’s blood ran cold as his shoulders tightened.

“Yes, sir. I understand,” he muttered. Price’s nostrils flared as he pointed out of his office.

“Good. Now, get out of my sight. And don't get distracted next time...or else,” he spat. Simon nodded before turning on his heel, quickly making his way down the hall. The locker room was silent when he stepped inside. Several eyes were locked on him as he walked towards the showers. Simon closed his eyes and sighed as the cold water rushed down his sweaty, rippling back. Thankfully, the locker room was nearly empty by the time he stepped out.

Johnny stood scrolling through his phone before looking up. He offered Simon a careful smile as they walked out of the building.

“Want to get some takeaway?” he asked. Simon remained silent, simply looking forwards as the world blurred around him.

Not only did you reject him, but the man who was your father happened to be one of the most terrifying people he’d ever met. A lump formed in his throat as he glanced down at his crotch, then back up at the sidewalk.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was the coach’s daughter?” Simon grumbled. Johnny shrugged.

“I tried to, but we had to start practice,” he explained. Simon ran a hand down his face. Frustration built inside him like boiling lava inside a volcano. He whipped out his phone, texting a girl he met a few weeks ago.

“Which one are you texting this time?” Johnny asked bluntly. Simon ignored him, instead sending her a message about a party this weekend. A friend of theirs, Kyle, was in a fraternity who was notorious for throwing massive raging keggers.

“Surprised you actually texted a girl back this time, Ghost,” Johnny quipped as he nudged his shoulder. Simon rolled his eyes.

“When the hell are you all goin' to drop that annoyin' nickname?” he grumbled. Johnny chuckled as they stepped through the doors to their dorm building. Simon happened to glance over to see you passing by in a black truck. Your eyes locked again briefly before you looked away. Price was in the driver’s seat, his eyes set on the road as he pulled away.

“Come on. I think a couple of pints is in order for the both of us,” Johnny said. Simon raised a brow.

“You no longer with Gabby?” he asked. Johnny’s bright smile seemed to falter.

“I dinnae ken. She said she ‘needs a break’,” the Scotsman said as he flexed his fingers with air quotes. Simon grunted.

“Alright-but you’re buyin’,” he stated. He didn't even try to hide his wry grin as Johnny scoffed and rambled at him.

+++

The next few practice's were brutal, to say the least. Every time he looked at you, Price demanded everyone to do one-hundred push ups. Simon was beginning to believe the rumor's about the coach's past.

“For fuck’s sake, man-just keep your eyes off of her!" one of the players gaped after a tiring practice. Simon ignored him as he changed into a fresh pair of clothes. His shorts hugged his muscular thighs nicely while his tank too stretched over his rugged upper body. Johnny came up beside him.

“You still goin’ to Kyle’s party tonight?” he asked. Simon nodded.

“Yeah, Tracy ditched me at the last second though,” he shrugged. Johnny patted his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a lovely lass who’ll gladly get into your pants…that is, if she hasn't already,” Johnny smirked. Simon punched his arm, causing the Scotsman to chuckle.

“What about you, big guy? You wanna come?” he asked as he turned towards König. Simon had absolutely no idea how this guy was human. He had to duck every time he walked through the door for crying out loud. König sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nein, it’s not really my scene,” he shrugged.

“Fair enough-just know the invitation is always open,” Johnny grinned. König nodded before slipping towards the showers. A 'thunk' sound reverberated across the room as König swore in German and rubbed his head.

Simon closed his locker door before padding out of the building. His eyes lit up when he saw you climbing into a black truck. He frowned when Coach Price’s cold, heavy gaze trailed over towards him. He glared at him before climbing into his vehicle and driving away. Simon sighed before making his way back to the dorm.

+++

Loud music thumped against the walls. Smoke hung in the air as several students bumped and grinded against each other. The lighting was dim inside the frat house as chaos erupted at every waking second. Simon sipped at his beer while Kyle rambled on and on about how obnoxious some of the new frat members were.

"And Graves-Christ, don't even get me started. He never stops talking about his precious Porsche back in the States. His old man got it for him as a present for his sixteenth birthday. Can you fuckin" believe that?!" he scoffed as he waved his hands wildly. The song changed during the one-sided conversation and that’s when Simon felt it: the cold, dark pit opening up inside his chest.

The feeling made his beer grow stale, music dull and the air thick and heavy. He brushed past Kyle as he made his way towards the back deck, ignoring his several questions. The people in the room seemed to slow down as he barraged his way through. He barely caught a glimpse of König.

"Bastard actually showed up," Simon thought. A blonde girl was sitting next to the Austrian, batting her lashes as she whispered something into his ear. His cheeks turned a bright red as he pulled his hoodie over his head.

Simon swung the door open and slammed it closed. He took a deep breath of the chilled night air. Crickets chirped as the muffled music inside swelled into a crescendo.

“Needed a break too, huh?” a familiar voice asked. Simon’s eyes flew open and landed on you. You were wearing ripped jeans and a black crop top, your body decorated with minimal amounts of jewelry. Even in the dim lighting, you looked ethereal.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. You turned your body towards him, the light from inside highlighting your features.

“Got any smokes?” you asked. Simon raised a brow and nodded.

“Yeah, but I forgot my lighter,” he said as he rummaged through his pocket. You snatched something from your jeans, pulling out a small, silver box. Simon grinned as he walked over, offering you a cig. You flicked the lighter on before taking it from his fingers. You turned as you sucked in a long drag, puffing out the smoke into the night. Your eyes lingered on his shocked face.

“What? I’m the daughter of a coach, not a pastor,” you retorted before taking another drag. The corners of Simon’s eyes crinkled as he remained near you. He slid his hands together as both of you stood silently, watching the water of the lake catching the light of the full moon.

“I’m sorry if I was being too forward the first time we met,” he sighed. You gave him an unreadable look before exhaling out a long trail of smoke.

“You’re fine,” you said. Simon turned towards you.

“No, really. I should've just-” he said as his eyes wandered around. You nudged his shoulder.

“I said it’s fine, Riley,” you huffed. His lips curled up as you both went back to staring at the lake.

“Did my dad tell you that he’d cut off your dick?” you asked bluntly. Simon nearly choked on his spit. You cocked a brow, already getting your answer just from his pale face. You shook your head and sighed. “Sorry, he can get a little intense,” a small pink blush made its way across your face. Simon nodded.

“A little?” he muttered and rolled his eyes. You snorted, a genuine, small grin etching across your face. You were soon laughing, your bubbly chuckles falling across the landscape and drowning out the music. Simon found himself chuckling along with you, his face hurting from how much he was smiling.

Despite all the women he's been with, this had to be the first where he felt something genuine stir inside his chest. It wasn’t the drunk feelings he got whenever he’d lie in the afterglow-it felt deeper, pouring and coursing through his entire body.

And he realized something as the smoke from your lips wafted towards him: he wanted to feel that genuine warmth every second of his waking life.

You put out the cigarette on the deck before wiping an amused tear from your eye.

“Thanks, Riley. I really needed that,” you smiled. Simon beamed.

“No problem. Just come to me if you need a laugh. I've gotta funny face, anyway,” he commented. You snorted and lightly punched his arm.

"Not that funny looking," you smirked. Simon pretended to be offended before both of you laughed again. His face grew hot as you looked up at him. Your face looked so serene as you parted your lips. Simon tilted his head when the words came out as a garbled mess.

“You feelin’ alright, kid?” he asked with knitted brows. Your eyelids began to droop as you nodded.

“Just…dizzy…” you slurred as you wobbled around. Simon’s eyes widened as your legs suddenly crumpled beneath you. He was quick to snatch you in his burly arms.

"(Y/N)?" he asked. You rolled your head around, your eyes glazed over as you continued to slur. His eyes flicked over to a red solo cup resting on the ledge of the deck. Heat rose inside his chest as he gritted his teeth. He laid your head down on the deck, keeping his hand beneath it.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” he asked, his heart sinking into his stomach. You gurgled weakly, eyes hazy and unfocused. “Fuck,” he hissed as he frantically looked around. A man seemed to be watching both of you from inside. He quickly ducked behind a group of women. Simon looked back down at you. His thumb stroked a tear that rolled down your cheek.

"Simon...'m scared," you sobbed quietly as your pupils became constricted.

"I know, hun. Just let me-" he remembered König sitting on the couch right next to the door. He looked back down at you.

“I’m going to get help. I’ll be at the door and I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?” he mumbled. You parted your lips, your head lolling to the side. Simon sprinted to his feet and wrenched the door open. König sputtered as Simon grabbed him from his chair, the woman shooting daggers at him. He led the giant man outside. König gasped when he saw your unconscious body.

“What happened?” he asked. Simon gripped his shoulders.

“I think (Y/N)‘s drink has been spiked,” he seethed. König’s face lost its color as you slurred out incoherently. Simon slid his car keys into König’s hand. “I need you to take her to the ER for me,” he said as he gripped his shoulders.

“What are you going to do?” König asked as he began to gently pick you up. Simon tightened his fist as he strode back into the crowd.

“I need to take care of something real quick,” he hissed. His head throbbed as he stomped and shoved his way through several people. Simon narrowed his eyes when he saw the familiar man rushing towards the side door. He gritted his teeth as he ran towards him. The man yelped as Simon landed a punch square across his cheek. Several women gasped and scattered as Simon pulled the man to his feet.

“Tell me what you put in (Y/N)‘s drink,” Simon growled as he shook the man’s collar. The dark-haired man spat in his face, blood and spit spraying across it.

“What drink, you arsehole?” he snarled back, though a small, knowing grin crept across his face.

“If you’re going to fight, then take it outside,” a frat member yelled towards him. Simon curled his fists in the man’s polo shirt.

“Gladly,” he said while tilting his head.

He dragged the man through the side door, punching him again across his other cheek. He watched in satisfaction as he fell to the ground, groaning while he cradled his face in his hands. Simon drove his large fist into the man’s chest, causing him to wheeze. He came down onto one knee, his voice sharp and acidic.

“Tell me what you put in her drink,” he said as he grabbed the man by his shaggy hair. The man winced. Simon gripped at it even harder. "I won't ask again," he warned. The man spat out another string of spit and blood.

"Fentanyl," he muttered. Simon's fists shook as he readied another blow.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Kyle gasped. Simon leaned his head towards him. Kyle stood with his mouth agape. Several people crowded and watched from behind. Simon glanced back down at the man. His face was covered in blood, his cheeks already swelling with bruises. The polo he grabbed him by was similar to the one Kyle wore.

“Ky-you gotta get this twat off of me! He's fuckin' delusional!” the man sputtered. Simon released his grip on the man. He fell back to the ground with a yelp. Kyle ran up to him.

“You alright, VP?” he asked. Simon frowned as he watched the man get picked up.

“I’ll be fine,” he glared at Simon. His eyes trailed down to see a piece of a plastic bag poking out of his back pocket.

“Wait,” Simon called as Kyle was escorting the man back into the house. Kyle scowled at him.

“I’m not waiting for anything, Riley. You nearly beat the shit out of our VP,” he spat. Simon stepped forward, causing the man to flinch.

“Check his back pocket, but don't touch anything if you find it” he ordered. Kyle twisted his lips while the Vice President released a laugh.

“Don't listen to this git, Garrick. He-“ Kyle's nostrils flared as he spun the man around and grabbed at his pocket. His eyes bulged when a bag filled with white, dusty powder slipped out. The Vice President’s face fell.

“That’s-That’s just for...personal use," he explained, his voice weak and shaky. Kyle’s brows furrowed as he threw the Vice President onto the lawn, his beaten and bruised body landing on top of the bag. The man hissed as he rose to his hands and knees.

Simon pulled out his phone and quickly texted König what you had consumed. Just as Simon put away his phone, the VP stood on his feet and swung his fist into his ribs. Simon groaned as he clutched his side, a dull ache reverberating across his skin.

“He’s getting away!” one of the women inside screamed. Simon grabbed his ribs, trying his best to run towards him. The Vice President was surprisingly quick, though. He looked back and smirked at Simon before suddenly running into a rough wall. He huffed as he fell back to the ground. Johnny stood with his hands on his hips, cocking a brow. The Vice President's bottom lips quivered.

"Please, you have to help me! These men are trying to frame me!" he begged as he clawed at Johnny's ankles. Johnny's shoulders bounced as he released a hearty laugh.

"Yeah? Then why are you running away?" he asked. The man's face grew pale as he was surrounded by the two men. Simon cracked his knuckles while Johnny leaned down. "Ever been to a rugby match?" Johnny grinned. The man whimpered.

+++

You blinked slowly, your eyes still somewhat unfocused. Price’s eyes became misty as he rose from his chair.

“Dad?” you asked with a hoarse voice.

“Pumpkin, thank God you’re alright,” the coach choked as he instantly rushed to your side. Your eyes were wide as he hugged you tightly.

“Dad, I-I’m so sorry. I tried to be careful like you taught me, but-“

“Hush, now. I’m so happy you’re safe,” he sniffed. Your eyelids fell as you silently cried, your father holding and rocking you gently. Simon watched from the doorway, his arms crossed.

After they taught the VP a lesson, they called the police. They promptly took the man into custody (though not without questioning his broken nose and several bruises). Simon had to ask to borrow Kyle’s car once they took the man away. He reluctantly agreed and yelled at Simon as he sped out of the parking lot. Relief washed over him when when the nurse said you'd be okay. König remained until he knew you were alright, trading Simon's keys for Kyle's. It was around one in the morning when Price showed up-his hair messy and face completely pale.

“Where’s my little girl?” he asked with a strained voice, his eyes weary and solemn. The men directed him to the front desk and a woman escorted all of them back.

Simon’s attention was snapped back to the present when someone clears their throat behind him. He turned. A woman wearing a police uniform cocked a brow at him.

“I’m detective Jones. Is this where Y/N is staying?” She asked. Simon nodded and let the man through. “Thanks,” Jones said in passing. Price pulled back, his hands squeezing your shoulders as the detective stepped into the room.

“Good afternoon, I’m detective Natalie Jones,” she said as she held out her hand. Price’s face grew stern as he shook Jone’s hand.

“John Price,” he said. Jones nodded.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask (Y/N) a few questions,” she said as she flipped open a dark notebook. Price squeezed your hand as his face hardened even more. “I understand your concerns of leaving her alone, sir, but I promise it won’t take more than fifteen minutes,” she explained. Price looked over at you.

“It’s okay, Dad,” you assured him weakly. He squeezed your hand again and sighed.

"I'll be right out in the hall if you need me," he said. You gave him a tired smile as he rose from his seat. Price nodded at the officer before walking into the hall.

Simon noticed the bags under his eyes. Jone's shut the door behind her as Price stood mere feet away from the young player. The sounds of doctors and patients, as well as various beeps, echoed in the stark hallways. The coach cleared his throat.

“Thank you for...helping (Y/N),” he said. Simon rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sure,” he replied. The two men shuffled awkwardly.

"Listen, I'm sorry I was kind of hard on you before," Price huffed. Simon raised a brow.

"Kind of?" he thought. Price bit the inside of his cheek as he placed his hands on his hips.

"It's just...(Y/N)'s all I have left. She's still my little girl to me, and I don't know if I'm ready to accept that she's become a woman," he sighed. Simon remained silent. Price leaned on the wall, staring into the closed door. "There's just so much out there that could hurt her, and I won't always be there to protect her," the coach's voice cracked as tears welled in his eyes.

Simon craned his neck and looked down at his feet. He slowly moved forward and hesitantly placed a hand on Price's shoulder. The coach flinched at the sudden contact, his eyes slightly red as he glanced over.

"Someone will always be there to protect her. She knows the entire bloody rugby team for Christ's sake," Simon said. Price's lips cracked into a miniscule smile.

"Right," the man sighed. Simon slid his hand from Price's tense shoulder. The door creaked open, followed by detective Jone's stepping out. Despite her composure, Simon could see the mist in her eyes.

"Mr. Riley, if it's alright I'd like to ask you a few questions as well," she said. Simon nodded.

"Alright," he said. She motioned for him to follow her. As he passed by your room, both of you exchanged glances. You gave him a bright, warm smile. He grinned back. Simon is a fullback-it's his job, after all.

Someone will always be there to protect her.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Tag list:

@notthatfanfictionwriter

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Hey Liz, today marks a day after my birthday and I haven't cut a cake yet. My father forgot to buy me a cake which is okay i guess? Some people don't even get to cut it even once in their life, so what if this year is this way, but nonetheless I'm a little depressed, cried a little but I'm fine now..

Damon, Azreal and Amor have a special place in my heart so how about a tidbit where they see reader celebrating her birthday alone in the middle of a cold park? Hehe i think it'll cheer me up as my only birthday present this year ^^

Thanks, i love you and sorry if it's too much to ask, you can ignore it:)

-🌼

Yandere men and their Darling's lonely birthday

Aw 🌼anon, it's completely valid to feel like that. We all have our own problems and struggles, wants and desires. No need to degrade your own wants for others. Sure, it makes you somehow feel better, but sometimes thinking for yourself is okay.

Don't worry! I got your other ask correcting who the yanderes you wanted the scenarios with. But, as a small gift/bonus, I decided to add all of them!

Btw, happy belated birthday 🌼! May your days from here on out will be filled with mirth and joy, with little to no sad days (/^-^(^ ^*)/

ALSO FORGIVE ME, THE PLOT IS ALL ANGST AND I CAN'T TWIST IT TO A HAPPIER ONE--

YAN! ASSASSIN

Azrael, whistling due to another successful mission, had his mind set on finding his darling to celebrate. Although, there is a nagging feeling in his heart that he forgot something important.

Surely, if he forgot it, it's not that important. Right?

It was already night time when he passed by the abandoned park. He saw a figure in there, softly singing happy birthday to themself.

"Pfft. Loser." Azrael rolled his eyes before jogging towards the bakery to find the perfect cake to celebrate.

It was warm inside, a stark contrast to the snowy cityscape outside. It felt like a whiplash from the difference of the temperature, but did it feel good.

He remembered the figure celebrating their birthday in the park once more. He felt bad for them, so he bought hot chocolate for them to drink up with.

But, as he paid for the food, he realized he's feeling bad for a stranger. A stranger.

Strange.

The bell rang once he got out. His eyebrows scrunched up as he slowly walked towards the park. The snow scrunching beneath him.

It felt like cold water was splashed onto him when he realized something was amiss.

No, someone was amiss.

There was his darling, eating cake in the cold winter by themself. He felt his blood run cold as he's rooted to the floor. His eyes followed their movement. The way their hands slightly tremble as they used a plastic fork to eat cake. Their lips chapped and cracked from the cold.

"Darling..." He whispered, slowly going to him.

He forgot his darling's birthday...

He knelt in front of you, who was surprised to see him. You cleared your throat, clearly not wanting the pity.

"I am so sorry..." He whispered, his hand clutching his chest. His eyes wide as tears slowly formed. "I forgot your birthday. The day you were given to me..."

He didn't even ask you why you didn't tell him, why you're celebrating outside, or why you're alone.

"Darl, I got cake here too. Here! Hot chocolate. drink it. Please." Azrael whispered, siding with you and making sure that his body heat overwhelmed you.

He kissed your head, hugging your body.

Were you this small against his frame?

You were usually so cold and high strung. But in this case, even if you were complaining, guilt ate him up so much as he buried his lips on yours.

Forgive me for forgetting darling. Forgive me...

YAN! JOCK Damon bursts through the gym doors, irritated and angry by the fact that his coach extended practice for him. He didn't even bother hiding his real self as his fellow teammates pursed their lips, scared by the sudden change in Damon.

"Damon! Get back here!" The captain yelled, not aware of the sudden rage surging through his blood.

"You don't order me! You hear?!" Damon, filled with trepidation, roared out at the now stunned captain. "Because of you... Because of coach... FUCK!"

He didn't even grab his bag. Only the giant gift bag as he ran through the railings and hedges towards the parking lot.

Hopping on his motorcycle, he revved it up and sped out. He didn't even hear the guard yelling at him. All he knew is that you were waiting for him.

His jaw ticked with worry. Eyes now filled with agitation as his heart pumped through his chest.

You were already waiting for two hours.

TWO HOURS.

His phone was dead. With no outlets available, and with his useless teammates not having their phones with them too, he was dreading the clock as it ticks by.

He almost ran over people and had a huge risk of crashing on a truck just to get to you.

He didn't even bother parking in the right spot once he got to the park.

His legs, powerful as they may, felt so slow as he ran through the park's entrance.

He's so close. Please, please... He hopes you're still there.

Then, he saw a familiar head of hair.

Damon froze, before shaking off of his daze immediately.

Turning to his right, he pushed pass annoyed people and onto the denser parts of the park.

And there you are.

You don't even look sad, annoyed, or angry.

You're just quietly playing with the half eaten bento cake. You didn't even care that people were staring at you with pity, or worse, mockery.

And, when Damon arrived with a gift bag, they assumed the worse and whispered quietly amongst themselves.

He flushed red before walking towards you.

"Hey... I'm sorry i'm late..." He almost punched himself. That's the first thing he says?!

"It's okay." You sighed before shrugging. "Really."

Guilt ate him up alive as he felt the distance between you two widened greatly.

You felt so out of reach that it's almost dizzying to think of.

He shakily handed you the gift, which you gently took without a word or a peep.

"Thanks."

"I... I'm truly sorry. I swear it's not my fault. The coach, the captain, they held me back and I just..." He tried to reason, but you only smiled.

A formal, heartachingly distant smile.

Please don't leave me...

YAN! PLAYER (Genuinely speaking, Amor wouldn't forget your birthday. If he himself forgot, the gods would remind him. But if he did...)

Amor clutched his head.

He just woke up and the gods are bombarding him with messages. So mixed that he can't decipher the messages properly.

But all of them had the same tune.

"It's Y/N's birthday!"

Amor felt his heart squeeze in pain.

It's his darling's birthday?!

How could he forget?

How dare he sleeps through it?!

He scrambled upwards and to the end table. Almost hitting his skull on the headboard as he read the time.

The suddenly felt so cold when he realized it's already 10pm.

How much did he drink that he only got to wake up now?

He didn't waste any time. He immediately grabbed his coat and wore his pants. He didn't even pay attention to his butler as he made a mad dash towards the parking lot.

"God! Why is the mansion so big?!" He yelled throughout the house, his voice echoing his paranoia, announcing in the middle of the night.

When he reached the parking lot, he's already a mess. He got to the nearest car and slammed the door shut once he got inside.

The gods buzzed in his ear again, calling him useless as he could just use their powers.

"SHUT UP! I'M ALREADY PANICKING, ALRIGHT?!" For the first time in his years in this life, he felt so helpless as he bangs his head on the stirring wheel. "Please... Just tell me where they are?"

The gods whispered before one of them finally got the location.

"The park? Alright. Why are they... Whatever."

Stomping on the accelerator, he drove through the weavings of cars inside the parking lot before impatiently honking at the large garage vault door to open.

"OPEN THE GATES!" He yelled through the intercom when he passed by the garage intercom so he could just speed through without waiting for the gates to open.

It felt like a blur as he zoomed through the city. His head was spinning from the ache in his heart as he stopped at the parking lot.

He took his time, biting his already broken nails as he sped walk through the park. He doesn't even know why you were there. Maybe you had a party there?

He's hopeful. Even if he's getting insanely jealous from the prospect of you being with someone else, it was much better than being...

"Alone..." Amor whispered, his eyes glazing over with overwhelming love and pain at seeing you singing by yourself in a somewhat cheerful way.

Were you always this alone?

"Hi..." He cleared his throat, his heart aching as you looked up at him with a pleasant and excited surprise.

You looked so happy seeing him. His heart yearned to ease your loneliness.

"Uh hi, I was just passing by. And couldn't help but hear it's your birthday!" He tried to cheerfully say, but the edge of sadness was evident and he wished that you can't hear it. "And I figured hey, it's my favorite barista's birthday. Why not celebrate it! Come on, my treat. You can get all of the gifts you want!"

He gave a wide grin, now a small seed of hope planting inside of him as your eyes now held a genuine happiness in them.

I will spoil you greatly, darling. Never you will be lonely again.

YAN! VILLAIN Eros sighed, massaging his temples as he looked through the mountain of work in front of him, now reduced to a small stack.

He's happy that he got through the work the new Emperor gave him. After all, the ascension to the throne is never not the busy one. Everything needs to be smooth for the new ruler.

Once he finished, he called for his butler to give all the documents to the palace by tomorrow.

Eros got out of the room and summoned a shadow, ordering it to see what you're doing right now.

The nagging feeling that he forgot something was so strong though. He knew that something was wrong, and he just can't shake it off.

He found himself going to his room and his walk in closet, picking at the seems of one of his suits for a ball.

Then, his shadow returned.

He paled.

He hastily wore the suit, desperately yelling for maids to get inside to help him wear the outfit.

It's your birthday banquet today?! How could he forget?!

And if it's your birthday banquet, then the prince...

As the maids, confused yet still doing what he's ordering to, retouched his face, he couldn't help but feel his overprotectiveness surge through his body.

"Okay, that's enough! Out, now!" The maids bowed before scurrying away.

"Where is it?! Where is it?!"

He finally found the jewelry box in his drawer. Grabbing his late mother's (Ugh) necklace, he hastily found a velvet box to put it in.

The necklace, passed down to women of his family, will be given to you in your "anniversary"

But he doesn't give a damn about that anymore.

Swallowed by his shadows, he appeared in front of your chateau and marched upwards the stairs.

He ignored the people who greeted him, but their eyes were telling him that something happened.

"Announcing, Duke Eros!"

His eyes scanned around the ball and zeroed on Yuno and Elysia dancing in the middle of the ball. No remorse as this fiance of yours paraded his mistress.

He felt sick.

And where are you?!

He made a mad dash towards the middle and pushed away Elysia before grabbing Yuno by the collar, making the people gasp in fear.

"You fucker. You're dancing with your mistress in your fiancee's ball?! How low could you go?!" He yelled, making the people bow their heads in shame, including Yuno.

He threw Yuno to the ground, glared at Elysia, before going outside the mansion.

"Sweetheart! I'm here! Where are you?" He yelled, looking around the gardens.

He heard your soft weeps, and his protectiveness surged through him.

"Sweetheart! Where are y-- there you are." He gulped, seeing your teary eyes look up at him. His heart clenched. "What happened?"

"That lowly woman!" You spoke through unbridled tears. "She dares humiliate me on my own birthday? Telling the whole ball she slept with..."

You didn't even finish talking when you felt queasy to the stomach from the memory.

"And you... I thought you'll protect me?" You whispered, eyes brimming once more with tears. "I felt so helpless there. Their eyes felt so forebodding..."

As you sobbed through the pain, Eros's heart ached for you.

With shaky hands, he opened the velvet box and gently made you wear it. The cold jewel felt oddly warm on your skin as your senses were filled with his scent.

"I truly apologize for not being there to protect you." He whispered, brushing away your hair. "Now, shall we go back inside to let Yuno and Elysia see who are they messing with?"

I promise to protect you always, Darling. So cry in my arms, i'll brush those tears away.

YAN! HOSPITAL CHAIRPERSON

(It won't make sense for you to be in a park since you did get unwittingly imprisoned in his mansion. So, I adjusted a bit.)

Xavier had another tiring day in the hospital. It was annoying, as the stakeholders are continuously badgering him to expand his business to other ventures.

He already has his hands full with the hospitals and clinics. What more if he decided to go beyond the medical field?

He groans, driving through the night back home.

Once he got to the house though, he caught a whiff of something sweet.

Cake.

"Oh no..."

He rushed to the kitchen, not even sanitizing first.

There he saw you. Your head buried on your arms as you sat in front of the island counter. An unlit birthday cake in front of you.

It was cold, dark. The only light there is the moon illuminating your sad and lonely figure.

A cry was about to claw out of his throat as he slowly approach you.

"Hi... How's my birthday celebrant?" He winced, the shame and self anger evident on his voice. "S-surely I didn't make you wait too long..."

In denial.

Then he noticed the liquor bottles in the sink. Two bottles, empty.

He can smell the alcohol on your body. The island had a puddle of wetness too, clear and leading up to your cheeks.

A sob threatened to get out of his body as he hugged your figure.

"I'm sorry for coming home so late..." He whispered, kissing your head. "I really thought you won't want to celebrate with me... I guess i'm wrong."

He watches your body rise and fall, fully asleep and drunk.

"Let's celebrate tomorrow. No, the whole week." He whispers, putting the cake in the fridge before gently carrying you upstairs to your room.

I'll make it up to you, completely. So, sleep tight, love.

[discokicks]

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.

[ladylooch]

Do we have a lil blurb of Mackenzie’s birth

we sure do now! also F me this is so soft and sweet 🫠

warnings: birth

“Ooo.” I breathe out steadily, cringing in pain as I feel the contractions hitting again, faster and more intense this time. Epidurals are helpful, but getting to this point, the intense ring of fire has begun.

“Good job, babe.” Nico murmurs. He rubs his hand along my upper back as I focus in on my body. Nico is adorned in his red, “Coach Hischier” t-shirt and his silver whistle hanging on a lanyard down his chest. Every time he moves to rub my back, the metal clings together. I got him those things as a joke for this moment because he was the best labor “coach” when Lucie was born. After her birth, the nurses asked Nico if he would be willing to lead a class at the hospital for expecting dads on how to support their partners. Nico had politely declined, but they were not exaggerating how amazing he was last time. 

Now here we are, doing it again. And he is just as incredible. 

I purse my lips, feeling hormonal and overwhelmed at how long ago that was, and also in pain as the baby’s head begins to press forward with the next contraction.

“I have to push.” I announce to the room. As a second time mom, the room alerts to my announcement. Nico stands up, pushing his chair back with his foot as he grips the fingers of my left hand. He rubs at my wedding rings, bringing them to his lips to kiss in support.

“Great focus, mama.” He puts his hand on the back of my neck for the next one. His other hand reaches for my knee, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Just like with Lucie, I feel like Nico and I are becoming one int here last few moments before birth. His touch brings an abundant calm over me despite my current circumstances. “Big one.” Nico murmurs to me. “Keep breathing. Just like that. You’re doing great. Proud of you, baby.”

The nurses help me get my body into position and in two pushes, Mackenzie Hischier launches into the world. I gently lay back into the pillows, looking over at Nico who has tears in his eyes. The huge grins we have illuminate the entire birthing suite.

“I am so in love with you.” He exclaims, leaning down. He swipes at my tears with his hands, then gently kisses my lips. “You okay, beautiful?” I know I am anything but that right now, but when Nico says it to me, I believe it. “You’re okay?” He repeats again, worried about my quiet tears building.

“Yeah.” I whisper back, clutching our new daughter to my chest as they set her there. “We’re okay, daddy.” 

Finally, our family grows to four. 

[lorei-writes]

Hello sorry to bother please can I have touches with Jean Fluff 💌💌 Thank you 🙏🙏🤗🤗

Hello there!

I hope you don't mind the long wait... But maybe it is for the better? Because it's just occurred to me, this story would work best with your OC... So forgive me for not asking, but I thought it may make for a nice surprise? ^^"

»All the things we choose to share«

Jean x Julia ( @queengiuliettafirstlady's OC) Fluff ~500 words Content Warnings: none

In Chartreuse Eyes

Various cushions strewn around the bed sighed, the surface of the blankets heaving yet again as a pair of gloved hands reached for the pillow. Julia held back a whimper, her brows knitting and her heart pounding, what blood still circulated in her veins raising to her cheeks despite her desperate attempts to quell her embarrassment. A cornered creature, more mystical than real in her disarray, she sunk further into the sea of blankets and duvets.

“Miss Julia…” A voice, as sweet as wild honey and as gentle as spring mizzle, attempted to coax her out of the depths. “Please, sit up. I can’t fluff up your pillows as you’ve taught me to unless you do.”

Chartreuse green eyes opened with a flutter of long lashes, more doll-like than human. Still safely hidden behind the veil of black waves, they glanced around the room, from the dresser and the baby breaths sitting in a vase, to the velvet curtains, the drawn-back canopy over the bed… to finally settle at the figure to her right and his amethyst gaze, as soft as violet petals. Reluctantly, she gave in to Jean’s request and slowly emerged, clad but in a thin nightdress. Her skin seemed paler than the bleached linen.

It took only a moment, only a couple breaths and Julia was free to burrow herself in her solitude again. It was more comfortable, truly – yet it also pricked her, as did his clumsy fingers when he tucked her in, or those soft lips that smiled only for her. She knew Jean meant to reassure her. That it was out of care. Yet what of it? Alluring poison, little else, the most opulent promise of emerald ivy. It was still her error that led them to this place. To think she’d fall off a horse, during a riding lesson no less…

“Sir Arthur said the initial soreness should pass within a couple days at most,” he said, still standing watch by her bed. “Be strong, Mademoiselle.”

Julia pursed her lips, their pale pink turning white under the pressure. “Jean… Please. The last thing I want to do is to be of trouble… I’ve already caused enough of it… and our lesson today…”

“I brought the book.”

“You did?”

The jacket scrutinised the room from its place at the back of the chair; likewise, the rapier seemed rather curious. It was only the boots that trained their vamps on the door, as if wary of any visitors. Gloves lay discarded. Eyepatch, however, stayed, the last garment upholding the pretence of it being still official, still guided by nothing but purely philanthropic care. Jean wrapped his arms around Julia’s waist, and she fell into his chest, a copy of Blue beard clutched in her hands. His breath nicked the nape of her neck. The cover snapped open and she leaned into Jean’s embrace, any residual pain melting under the warmth brought forth by his touch.

“Once on a time… there was a man who had fine town and — country houses, gold and silver p-plate,” Jean began reading, his voice a hesitant, hushed whisper. But it was fine.

“Embroidered furniture, and coaches gilt all over…”

Wherever he’d stumble, Julia would pick it up herself. She could not mind. She could never mind.

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @kissmetwicekissmedeadly

@tele86 @rinaririr @queengiuliettafirstlady @lucyw260 @starlitmanor-network

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

[obwjam]

GIANT TRENT CRIMM!!!!! IVE SEEN NO GIANT TRENT CONTENT WHAT ARE UR THOUGHTS ON HIM PLS

this has been sitting in my inbox for a while so let me make that up to you with a FICLET (inspired by convos with @rockification and @snack-at-midnight) in which trent discovers a borrower and is so enamored that he just HAS to tell ted

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

You were exhausted.

Your entire day was spent begging, pleading with the giant who had caught you mere days ago not to reveal your existence to anyone else. You knew who he was -- reporter-turned-author Trent Crimm, formerly of The Independent, now just independent. You spent your days traversing the vast AFC Richmond training facility, finding new places to hide and explore just about every day.

You just didn't count on someone finding you.

"It's alright, little one," Trent reassured you for the millionth time. You cringed at the nickname he used for you. It was so... dehumanizing. "Ted is a wonderful man, he won't hurt you."

You rolled your eyes. "I know he won't hurt me."

"Then might I ask what the problem is?" Despite how icky it made him feel, Trent knew he could use his size to his advantage. The two of you sat at his desk right next door to the coaches office, alone inside the facility at nearly 1 a.m. The writer leaned over you slightly, his shadow casting a long, dark shape that engulfed your form. You looked up with wide eyes and gulped.

"I... I just..." you started, unsure of how sassy you wanted to get. He could do anything to you. "I'm not very... keen on being discovered by an entire football club."

Trent felt a pang in his stomach. He really was sympathetic to your situation, but even if he didn't work in journalism anymore, he was still a journalist at heart, which meant that a secret like the existence of tiny people just couldn't stay a secret.

"You're lucky. There was a time I'd have reported your existence to the entire world," Trent remarked, subtly hoping that it would somehow make you feel better. "Besides, it's not the entire football club. It's just Ted." Trent thought for a moment. "And maybe Beard."

"Wow, lucky me," you snapped, not really thinking.

Trent pursed his lips and sighed. This snappy version of you was a far cry from the tiny he had discovered in his office around this time of night just a few days ago.

"Oh, my... what on earth...?"

You froze. You knew you lived in a place where the team was in and out at unorthodox hours, but you could read a clock. It was 2 a.m. Who was actually here at 2 a.m.?

Oh, right. The guy whose desk you were raiding supplies from.

Trent was speechless. Standing on his desk, clutching a paper clip like their life depended on it, was a human, no more than a few inches tall. As strange as it all was, as a journalist, he had heard it all. Phone calls and emails and messages from all sorts of people, ranging from good-mannered readers to straight-up nutcases... several of whom once tried to warn him of the existence of "imps" that would soon take over the world. What that had to do with him, a sports reporter, never made sense to Trent, but it's the first thing that popped into his mind.

You couldn't move. Why is he here? was the only thing going through your mind. This wasn't real. It was just another nightmare. You'd wake up any moment now...

Slowly, Trent leaned down. Nope, this was all very real. His salt-and-pepper hair spilled over his shoulders as his face grew closer to your trembling form, trying to find the words. I'm about to be the very first person to make contact with a tiny lifeform, he thought, not stopping to think that this might not be the first time.

"Hello, little one," he managed to say, quieter than he thought he was capable of. "I hope you'll excuse my surprise, I'm... well, I didn't expect to be seeing any tiny people on my desk tonight."

You just stared at him. What were you supposed to say?

"I'm Trent Crimm. What's..." he started before noticing just how scared you were. He had to adjust his plans. "You can tell me your name later, if you'd like." He cautiously took a seat, enamored at the way you gaped at his movements. "Is it alright if I ask you some questions?"

At this point, Trent knew just about everything he could ever want to know about you. He had this way of making you feel safe and drawing you in...

"I'm sorry, (y/n), I just -- if you were me, do you really think you could keep this a secret? You -- your existence -- it's quite remarkable, really."

You opened your mouth to reply, but Trent continued.

"You told me you've observed every single person who's ever walked through this clubhouse. Right?"

You nodded.

"So by now, you must have seen Ted, and how... gentle he is with others."

Another nod, though this one tentative.

"Then believe me when I say that me -- Ted -- we would keep you safe," Trent said, fumbling his words a bit. "I know you're nervous, but I promise, I'd never do anything to hurt you. At all."

You felt yourself blush. You were really starting to believe him.

"Why..." you began, checking to see how Trent would react to you speaking. He looked at you warmly, eager to hear what you had to say. "Why do you need to tell anyone at all?"

Trent sighed, leaning back in his chair, and took a moment to think. "Truthfully? I just can't contain my excitement," he said, shrugging. A small smile spread across his face. "If I can't tell the world, then... I suppose it's alright to tell just one person. Right?"

Your eyes darted to the tabletop, unsure of how to process this. On the one hand, you were a person, and it was unfair to dismiss your feelings. On the other hand, though... meeting Ted didn't seem like such a bad idea. He seemed like a good ally to have. And you had to admit, it was kind of flattering that Trent was so enamored with you. At the very least, he did ask if it was okay for him to introduce you to Ted... even if he was quite forward about it.

"Look... I understand the way you feel, I--I think. It's just... I don't think I'm ready yet -- to meet another person," you clarified. You stole a glance at Trent, who was taking it all in. You clenched your teeth under the weight of his stare. He's so big. "Maybe one day, when I... get used to being around you."

Trent's expression brightened. "Being around me, eh?"

Your face got hot. "Yeah. I don't think I could get rid of you now, even if I tried."

Trent laughed. "I suppose you're right." He cautiously put his elbow down on the desk, cupping his chin in his hand. The more he stared at you, the more he felt an intense desire to protect you and keep you safe from the madhouse of AFC Richmond. He was fascinated by your entire existence -- your life, your upbringing, your culture, everything. The dichotomy of the way you would nervously eye his hand and his movements, yet traverse the terrain that towered over you like an expert outdoorsman, was enamoring. It was an entirely new race of people to learn more about, and there was nothing Trent loved more than learning about people.

And telling stories.

"You know, I've asked you an awful lot of questions about yourself. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

You perked up. "Actually, I do. A lot of things. Starting with that device you stare at all day."

"The laptop?" Trent questioned, pointing to his closed Macbook.

You shook your head. "No. The smaller one. The rectangle."

Trent stifled a laugh. "You mean my phone?"

"Don't laugh," you chided. "How does it work?"

Now Trent was really smiling. Things as everyday and mundane as his phone were like a wonder to you, and to Trent, that was just downright adorable.

“Well, why don’t I just show you?” he said playfully, pulling his phone from his pocket with a twinkle in his eye. He stretched his arms out and held his phone upright, not even needing to touch the screen for it to flicker to life.

Trent felt a warmth fill his chest when he saw your eyes light up with the screen. He would tell Ted about you eventually, but right now, he was happy to have you all to himself.

[anewkindofme]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags: @actualalligator & @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

A look at the next “My Boy”

———

“I’m here to see Jackson Avery.”

That catches Alex’s attention. He turns to the nurse’s desk to see a tall blonde standing there, clutching a Coach purse. Marisol arches a brow.

“You mean Dr. Sloan?”

“No, no,” the young woman’s voice grows frantic. She clears her throat and shakes her head. “Dr. Avery.” She enunciates the name condescendingly. “He still works here, right? Page him. I’m his sister.”

Alex furrows a brow. Jackson is an only child. Though, he’s learned from his own mom that half-siblings can pop out of the woodwork. Maybe Jackson’s deadbeat bio dad spawned more.

A familiar voice takes over. “Sloan?”

Jackson rushes to the desk. The young woman smiles. Jackson doesn’t match it. In fact, apprehension is on his face.

“Jackson! Hi!”

“What are you…never mind. Just come with me before someone sees you.”

He grabs hold of her arm and drags her into the on call room. Alex frowns. Marisol takes note of him.

“Sloan?”

“Mark’s daughter,” he whispers.

———

No pressure tag: @cianmarstoo & @snowviolettwhite

[novankenn]

J/C - the Idols of Beacon

--==(Table of Contents) ==--

(Chapter Eight - the Team is Assembled)

“So you signed up?” Coco asked Pyrrha as they entered the conference room that had been indicated on the message they received from Professor Goodwitch. ‘What changed your mind? I thought you were just going to observe the fitness tests?”

“I was, but…”

“But?”

“I’m bored with the constant combat training, and remedial lessons… just exercising and with two individuals that aren’t fawning over me… was refreshing.”

“I can see it.”

“Why are you here?”

“Fashion and style… plus it will keep me out of detention…”

“Detention?”

“I would rather not talk about it.” Coco sighed, “It was a screw-up, but then I met those two… they need serious help, it’s like they don’t know anything about being a young woman and…”

“And?” Pyrrha asked as she took a seat.

“They’re so… CUTE!” Coco squealed, “Especially that Joan… oh… The girl next door… I would…OW!”

Coco rubbed her forward while shooting Pyrrah, a glare that only received a head shake from the red-head.

“That was inappropriate and unprofessional, Coco.”

“But you have…” the opening of the door drew the pair’s attention to the newest addition to the gathering. “You!”

“Why are you here?” Russel screeched in panic, clutching a binder to his chest as he pressed his back to the wall behind him.

“I know why I’m here, not why a little turd like you would be…”

“That is enough, Ms Adel.” the stern voice of Glynda Goodwitch sent a shiver down all three of the student’s spines. “I invited Mr Thrush to this meeting as he, like yourself and Ms Nikos, will be assisting in this special program.”

“How can…”

“Sit down, Ms Adel.” Glydna stepped aside to let another middle-aged woman, as she kept Coco directly in her sights. “I will not tell you again. Mr Thrush please take a seat.”

Coco relented and took her seat next to Pyrrha, but continued to glare as Russel found a chair as far away from the Fashionista as he could. Glynda remained standing as the dark haired woman who had entered with her also took a seat, placing a thick leather-bound portfolio on the table in front of her.

“Now, you have all be invited here because you have expressed interest in assisting Beacon with its new Public Relations Incentive.” Glynda regarded her three students, “I will make this point once. You WILL be professional, any personal issues you have will not be allowed to interfere with this project, so if you CANNOT do that… I suggest you leave now.”

Glynda waited, watching, reading body language. Mr Thrush was obviously anxious and scared, considering who was across the table from him. Ms Nikos was calm and collected, but Ms Adel. She would be the problem considering her aggressive stance.

“I feel like I have to repeat myself… which I am not want to do.” Glynda turned the full force of her stern green eyes upon Coco, causing her aggressive body language to whither instantly. “This is an important project for Beacon, it is also a pilot project, so people will be watching it closely… I will not tolerate any juvenile displays. Your personal issue will stay… outside this project. Understood?”

“Yes professor” the three students answered.

“Good.” Glynda took her own seat before continuing. “The individual to my left is Piper Hamelin. She has been contracted to be Joan and Carla’s agent, as well as their choreographer and vocal coach. She has also been given full control of this project… so from now on you will answer to her. Ms Hamelin.”

“Thank you professor.” Piper studied the three students, her pink eyes framed behind a set of black wire rimmed glasses. She pursed her light red tinted lips, before speaking. “I have been made aware that you three have… volunteered for this project and that you according to professor Goodwitch are to be considered competent help. I however, will have the final say… as such, you are all to consider yourselves under probation… until I decided otherwise.”

Piper opened her portfolio and shuffled some papers, before returning her attention to the trio.

“Ms Nikos, I know of your background and achievements, but that means nothing to me in regard to this project. You will focus on Joan and Carla’s general fitness, with a  focus on stamina.” Piper pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it over to Pyrrha. “This is an outline of the type of exercises I require to be worked into whatever routine you wish. Are you capable?”

“Yes, I am familiar with these exercises and see no issue incorporating them.” Pyrrha replied.

“Good, this” slides two more pages towards her, “Are a work plan that I need to fill out and file with me. The second is a meal guideline that I expect you to enforce, as you will also be required to monitor their caloric intake. You can decide what day of the week can be their ‘cheat’ day… other than that.”

“Okay… I can try, but I am a student, I can’t watch them every time they eat.” Pyrrha responded.

“Starting tomorrow they will be attending all meal times with you and your team, and the kitchen staff have been informed of this menu. You will just have to confirm they are eating from it, aside from their ‘cheat’ day.” Glynda informed the group.

“Okay, I guess I can do this. It’s not too different from my diet.”

“Good. Ms Adel,” Piper slid a set of papers to her, “I understand you are exceptional with fashion and style. I need their current style inventoried, along with accurate body measurements. After I have determined the style idols they will be, I will give you guidelines on what I will require for their public appearances.”

“The inventory is pretty simple. Everything they wear right now I picked out for them. The body measurements, “Coco clicked her tongue, “Are going to be a little difficult.”

“How so?” Piper asked.

“They are rather shy, and timid when it comes to their bodies.” Coco replied as she set the papers down before her. “It’s adorable really, but they have issues with anyone seeing them in anything but form hiding clothing.”

“I see. Then I will also require you to work on their self-confidence and self-image”

“That could be a tall order…” Coco sighed, “But they need a boost, they are very cut… I mean beautiful young women.”

“Cute?” Piper eyed Coco, causing the brunette to fidget.

“I have heard of some of your proclivities… I do not judge, but you will keep a professional distance. Neither of these girls, regardless of their orientation, need the distraction of a relationship at this juncture.”

“And… and if they initiate?” Coco stammered out.

“If they do… we will cross that bridge when or IF it happens.” Piper replied, “Mr Thrush, I understand you have brought some sample work?”

“Yes.” Russel gentle placed his binder on the table and pushed it over to Ms Hamelin. “This is everything I’ve ever written, lyrics and music.”

Piper opened the binder and flipped through it, nodding occasionally. There was a complete silence as for the next few minutes all Piper did was examine Russel’s portfolio. Eventually she stopped, and gently closed the binder, returning it to Russel.

“Your talent surprises me. Not many can dabble in so many varied styles.” Piper gave Russel a smile. “Once I have determined what style they shall follow, I believe you will be capable of providing what I need.”

“Are you satisfied?” Glydna asked.

“Not yet. Everyone up, let’s go.”

“Go?” Coco asked as she, like Pyrrha and Russel, rose from their seats.

“Yes, we need to meet with our Clients. They need to know who is on their support team.” Piper Hamelin informed the trio. “Professor Goodwitch if you please.”

[revolversandlace]

Blemished Silk | Chapter Twenty-Seven - Give me Closure

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 10.2k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: f!OC POV, Strong Language, References of Child Abuse, Period Typical Sexism,  Explicit Smut

Summary: Amelia finds herself in conflict with Cornwell’s men, and after discovering her Uncle Josiah has been attacked, she finds herself turning to Arthur for comfort. 

Saint Denis, June 1899 

The coach rattled across the Lemoyne countryside, the small crack of the window making little difference as the thick summer air wrapped around them like a snake. 

However, regardless of the sweat that Amelia felt trickling between her skin and corset, she simply couldn’t stop herself from smirking. 

Of course, she attempted to put out the thought of Arthur from her mind, a niggle of guilt sitting close with her. She saw a man shot to death, not a stone's throw away from her as her staff fought their lives. Yet even so, she had still found a way to enjoy herself without a second thought as everyone else in the house no doubt tossed and turned, startled by every creak.

But her night was soundless, with nothing more than Arthur’s heavy breathing as his hand covered her waist. 

‘You seem in awfully high spirits, ma’am,’ Mr Jameson said, his face as neutral as ever. 

The guilt stirred once again, but Arthur aside, she was still in a good mood. There was a fire in her stomach, a rush of excitement that filled her blood.

‘I have a good feeling about today,’ Amelia smiled. 

‘What is our agenda for today?’ Mr Jameson said.

Amelia smiled, the thought of Cornwall grimacing at her audacity. The outrage he would poorly conceal at a woman matching him with just as much business acumen as he believed he held. 

‘No doubt there will be further discussion about selling the assets or signing them over to Mr Cornwall under a thinly veiled threat. But we will stand firm.’ Amelia said. 

‘Forgive me, ma’am, but that hasn’t seemed to work.’ Mr Jameson said. 

‘I’m aware. I have a plan to make a compromise with him, but not one that will mean that I give him an inch of ground.’ Amelia smiled, turning to her advisor. ‘Between that and sending both you and Talako to West Elizabeth soon, I’m certain that things will finally start to look up again.’

‘I trust you ma’am.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Thank you, Mr Jameson, that means a lot.’ Amelia said with a small nod as the carriage rattled across the wooden bridge that led into Saint Denis, the sound of wheels changing to a heavy, rhythmic echo. 

‘We could certainly do with a good turn of fortune.’ Mr Jameson said.

As the carriage pulled to a halt outside of the limestone hotel, Amelia paid the driver as her shoes clipped across the pebbled road. Greeted by the doormen, they made their way through the grand entrance way with marbled floors, crystal chandeliers and palm ferns at every corner. 

After speaking with the clerk, who promptly led them to their table at the hotel bar, Amelia saw two gentlemen already seated. Both of which she recognised, but neither was Mr Cornwall. 

‘Why hello again, miss,’ Mr Cooper said. ‘I believe you have already met with Mr Hornbrook.’ 

Amelia studied their faces, the cold and cruel grimace already playing on Mr Cooper’s face as she could feel her own mouth pressing into a taut line. Mr Hornbrook, however, had a softer demeanour. She had never particularly disliked the man, and even felt a twinge of sympathy that he chose a line of work with a man such as Leviticus Cornwall. 

‘Gentleman. This is my advisor, Mr Jameson. Where is Mr Cornwall?’ Amelia said, clutching her hands around the band of her purse. So far, this was turning out to be a rather disappointing meeting indeed. 

‘He was unable to make it. He had an important business meeting.’ Mr Cooper said.

Stifling back a laugh, Amelia took a deep breath in an attempt to hide her annoyance, or any sign for that matter, that she was disgruntled. Mr Cooper was not a man that she wanted to give the upper hand to in any situation. Both she and Mr Jameson took to the settee opposite the men. 

We will do this the hard way then, Mr Cooper, she thought.

‘Of course he did. Very well, if he doesn’t deem this as important, then this shouldn’t take too long.’ Amelia said. 

‘Our proposal remains the same, Miss Edwards.’ Mr Hornbrook said ‘However, given the recent boom in the northern Great Lakes, Mr Cornwall has reviewed his offer.’

Amelia eyed him curiously but before she could say anything, one of the waitstaff approached them, taking their drinks order as they all waited patiently for the young man to excuse himself. 

‘He can review it all he wishes, gentleman. I am not selling.’ Amelia said, holding her shoulders back and her chin high, the way Uncle had always taught her. 

‘I know it’s difficult for a… woman, such as yourself, to keep an open mind,’ Mr Cooper said, ‘but I’d suggest you read the offer.’ He almost spat the word ‘woman,’ like that in itself was a derogatory term. Amelia supposed it was on purpose, an act to intimidate her as usual. She felt her pulse quicken as it had previously been around Mr Cooper. He was certainly not a man whose company she enjoyed by any means. 

She pushed the thought of their last encounter from her mind. Reminding herself that thoughts of her father would do her no good, at least of all now. She was her own woman, and a damn fine one at that. Her pride would not allow her to be spited. 

As Mr Hornbrook took a folded note from his leather-bound pad, he slid it across the table towards her. She eyed it ruefully, picking it up and unfolded the paper. 

‘One million dollars?’ Amelia said, unable to keep her voice from faltering. She felt weak, unsure how this was anything other than a parlour trick. 

It was a tempting sum of money, too tempting perhaps. 

‘I’m sure you’re aware of the situation with longleaf pine.’ Mr Hornbrook said, his round glasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose, ‘price has quadrupled in the past three months alone, as with the expansion across the southern western territories, it’s in extreme supply especially in demand with the more lucrative properties.’ 

He was a distant man, but not cold. Just the sort that Amelia supposed would rather be left alone with his numbers and ledgers than to spend time with his family. 

‘As generous as this offer is, I will not concede.’ She said in response, and the waitstaff returned, setting their drinks out before them. ‘What I can assure Mr Cornwall is, however, is that my northern production will not expand in any areas that he is already operating in to ensure that no competition is being driven so he can continue to exploit the markets there.’ 

She could see them exchange a look, but not one that she could read. Mr Cooper took out a fat cigar from the inside of his jacket and ran his thumb across his lips with a smirk. An expression she had seen before and one that was slowly becoming a tell. 

‘We have a counterproposal.’ Mr Hornbrook said after a moment as they all took a sip from their glasses. 

‘You certainly are in the mood for negotiating.’ Amelia said with a tight smile, her head also growing near tight, her concentration briefly faltering in the summer heat. 

‘In the event that you do not wish to sell, Mr Cornwall proposes a syndicate for both the lumber and wool.’ Mr Hornbrook said, closing the leather-bound book, resting it on his knee. 

‘Is this some sort of joke, gentleman?’ Amelia said, her eyebrows pulling together, her face utterly readable, and she could feel the tension emanating from Mr Jameson at her side.

‘Not at all.’ Mr Hornbrook said, ‘In the event that you do not wish to sell, Mr Cornwall has suggested you sign him as an official partner. He will take over the operations under Cornwall Industries and you will retain some of the profits which will allow you to focus on other endeavours.’ 

She felt as though someone was sitting on her chest. Her thoughts raced, unsure as to whether this was a good thing or not. Surely it showed that Mr Cornwall was becoming desperate with the endless rebuttals. But she sensed it was a trap, somehow. Would he simply dissolve her company and leave her destitute? She thought it lucky and if she knew anything about the countless lawyers he had on retainer, any contract she signed with him could not possibly lead to anything good. 

‘And what endeavours would those be?’ Amelia said, unsure exactly what her next move was. She needed time.

‘A woman of your age. Probably best you find a husband, if you can. Start a family as you’re intended to do.’ Mr Cooper said, his ashy blonde eyebrows arching in amusement. 

‘If I had any interest in either marriage or children, I would have done exactly that and would still continue to run my business.’ Amelia said, although her voice sounded distant to her own ears. Why couldn’t she think of her way out of this? A syndicate? But why?

‘You sure about that, miss?’ Mr Cooper said.

Amelia ignored him, taking another sip of her brandy. 

‘Even if I did wish to form a syndicate with Mr Cornwall, or anyone else for that matter, creating a bottleneck in the market through a monopoly would make no sense. Our prices are dictated by the consumer and without competition, the product would become so inflated due to greed that the business would simply collapse. Whatever profits I would “retain” would not be for long, of that I assure you. In fact, if the index is correct, that is exactly what is happening to Mr Cornwall’s oil.’ Amelia said. It was a textbook speech, and she knew it. But she didn’t have time for the nuances of east coast business. 

‘Your tenacity will not serve you well, miss.’ Mr Cooper said.

‘And why is that, Mr Cooper, because it seems that my tenacity is exactly what has made me the only successful self-made businesswoman in the south.’ Amelia said, her patience running thin as she desperately wanted a moment of silence to just think. It’s not just about the business anymore.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but her gut whispered to her. Something was behind their words, something they knew beyond the negotiations. They had made it all too easy for her. One million dollars, or team up with Cornwall? Something wasn’t right at all. 

‘Tenacity does not keep you alive, Miss,’ Mr Cooper said.

‘Sir, mind your tone,’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I have had quite enough of this nonsense both here and on my estate.’ Amelia said. ‘And I assure you, gentlemen, if you continue to partake in this manner of discussions or any other actions against my estate, you will be met with force time and time again.’ 

She met Mr Cooper’s gaze, a look which he held full malice in. A challenge and a dare for her to carry on. 

Amelia had heard of wild beasts in the British Raj, a giant cat with orange fur and black stripes. She would hear the men from her childhood speak of hunting them and turning them into rugs, as they were the greatest conquest on earth. Bigger than lions, a solitary creature that would hide in jungles and rip villages apart once the cover of darkness had fallen. At that moment, she knew who the tiger was in the opulent hotel, and it certainly wasn’t her. 

‘Mr Cornwall has an associate,’ Mr Cooper said, his eyes glistening with the promise of a kill. ‘I believe you may know of him, a Mr Fairfax. Need I remind you again of your situation as a spinster, you are legally still the property of Mr Fairfax.’  

She could feel the heat from Mr Jameson, but was thankful that his diligence kept him from looking at her. Another series of questions she would no doubt have to answer. She felt sick as her stomach turned inside of her, giving her that awful feeling that she was falling. Although she was grateful, she was able to hold her composure a lot better than the last time her father’s name was brought up. 

There was a small part of her that even expected Mr Cooper to play this card, if she was being quite honest. 

‘I am no such thing, sir. Mr Fairfax, whomever he may be, is sorely mistaken in who he believes me to be.’ Amelia said, her voice a hell of a lot calmer than what she truly felt. ‘This is America, and my guardianship, if you wish to speak in legal matters, is with that of Mr Trelawny.’ 

‘Ah, yes, Mr Trelawny. I believe he has had a meeting today with some friends of a Mr Stoudemire.’ Mr Cooper said. 

Amelia stood slowly, standing over the men with a gaze she felt was so scathing it could melt metal. Amelia had tolerance for many matters, but she would not be manipulated through her kinship with Josiah. 

‘Your threats once again remain empty and uninteresting.’ She said, a fire burning in the pit of her stomach, ‘my business will continue to operate. I am not a woman to be bought with either money or intimidation. Mr Cooper, if I see you at my residence again, I will consider it an act of trespassing. Please tell Mr Cornwall that perhaps he should look at a map more often, for there is plenty of room in America and plenty of trees. Mr Jameson, shall we?’ 

She waited for no retort and no good days. Although Mr Hornbrook scrambled to his feet as she left, Mr Cooper remained seated, and she felt his eyes on the back of her every step of the way. 

‘Ma’am, I do not like that gentleman or his tone,’ Mr Jameson said, as they walked up the pavement towards a stationed carriage waiting for their next patron. 

‘No, neither do I. I will admit that I am concerned, though. We need to get back to the estate immediately and find Uncle.’ Amelia said, a slight shake in her voice. 

If what Mr Cooper said was true, and she had no reason to believe he was lying about this - or anything else for that matter - she feared the situation she would find her uncle in. 

‘What did those men mean, ma’am. Seems I’m missing some details.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘You are, Mr Jameson.’ Amelia sighed. ‘I fear that my life before coming to America is catching up with me.’ She felt cold, far colder than she should have felt for the middle of June in Saint Denis. 

‘Ma’am?’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I will tell you, in good time. Just… one problem at a time.’ Amelia said, as he guided her into the carriage.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia scrunched her hands together in her lap, looking up at the leather ceiling. 

‘Perhaps we need to look into more guards.’ Mr Jameson said, his bushy silver eyebrows folded together in concern. It had been a trying few months for them all and she knew that Mr Jameson was the sort to take on those burdens with a particularly personal responsibility. It was admirable really, if not another thing to be added to her list of worries. 

‘I am confident in our security, Mr Jameson.’ Amelia said, trying to find some composure. Some answer in her own mind, but there was nothing. She felt that her head had been taken over by wasps, buzzing and angry, smashing into every corner of her skull in the same vein that they threw themselves at the windows in the last month of summer. 

‘What about when me and Talako leave?’ Mr Jameson said.

She knew it wasn’t his fault, but she was growing rather inpatient with Mr Jameson. She knew he cared deeply, but God, she just needed a moment to think clearly. 

‘I’m sure Mr Morgan can handle things at the estate.’ Amelia said, her voice more curt than she intended as she gazed out the window into the smoggy side streets of the city that nestled in the swamps. 

‘Seems there’s been a lot of trouble since he came around.’ He said, his face passive, but she knew all too well his dislike of Arthur. 

‘What are you trying to say to Mr Jameson?’ She replied, turning towards him with narrow eyes. She knew she was being mean spirited, but she feared the last few days had pushed her over the edge into some delirious state. 

‘Nothing by it, ma’am, just an observation.’ Mr Jameson said, clearly sensing the strain from Amelia. 

‘Good, keep it that way. Uncle trusts him and he’s proved very useful since he has been employed.’ 

‘Ma’am, maybe all this suggestion of getting married might be something worth considering. If there’s a personal vendetta here, it could buy you some time.’ Mr Jameson said. 

She couldn’t believe her ears. Almost feeling the rage boil to the surface, she took a deep breath, calming herself and the shake of her hands. After a moment, she spoke softer this time. 

‘It’s doubtful. Besides, I would rather sell before I sign everything over for free to some extortionist.’ Amelia said.

‘Of course, ma’am, I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I know, Mr Jameson.’ Amelia said.

‘I admire you, ma’am, I really do. I hope my daughters will grow to be someone like you.’ Mr Jameson said.

She smiled despite herself. Mr Jameson was a much more personable man than even she sometimes gave him credit for. 

‘That’s very touching, Mr Jameson. I hope they too learn that they can succeed in the world on their own merits.’ Amelia said.

‘Oh, I have no doubt about that.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Hopefully, with this venture to West Elizabeth, it could give us another advantage. Anything would be a win at the moment. I just hope Uncle is okay.’ Amelia said, her mind still reeling from what on earth he was doing with Mr Stoudemire or his associates in the first place. 

‘Who was that man they were speaking of? Mr Stremer?’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Stoudemire. Another ghost from my past I fear.’ Amelia said with a heavy sigh, growing wearisome from all these men trying to force their way back into her life in one capacity or another.

‘Is he dangerous?’ Mr Jameson said.

‘I’m beginning to think anyone linked to Mr Cornwall is dangerous, quite frankly. But how he’s involved with him, I’m not too sure…. You see…’ Amelia faltered, unable to formulate the right words, but Mr Jameson deserved some explanation at the very least. ‘Mr Stoudemire, he was… a friend of my father’s back in England.’ 

Before she could even decide whether to continue, Mr Jameson interrupted her, placing a tentative and unsure hand over hers. 

‘Then we should hurry.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘Quite.’ Amelia said.

His hand lingered for only a moment, and Mr Jameson was a cordial man, not one for affection, well at least not in a professional situation. She would count him as family as much as the others, but naturally, they did not share the same familiarity that she and Josiah shared. It was touching regardless, and she gave him a weak smile. Perhaps Mr Jameson was perfectly capable of reading between the lines, and had made his own connections through what he had seen and heard regarding Amelia’s past. 

Not that she really minded if he did. He was as loyal as a hound, for which she was eternally grateful. 

‘I’m still not sure if this is the best time for me and Talako to be leaving the estate, ma’am.’ Mr Jameson said.

‘No, perhaps not. But I fear we haven’t got too much of a choice at this time. The business must come first, above all else.’ Amelia said.

‘Very well, ma’am.’ Mr Jameson said.

The journey felt long, much longer than it was in reality and when they finally arrived at the estate, Amelia made little time as she slammed the door behind her before Mr Jameson could aid her as she shoved some bills into the driver’s hand. 

Her heart entered her throat, and she nearly tripped over her damn dress as she saw Mrs Fearnsby standing on the porch, her hands wringing at her apron. 

‘Mrs Fearnsby, what’s the matter?’ Amelia said, her voice rose as she rushed towards the estate. 

‘Please ma’am, there’s no cause for alarm, but there has been an incident.’ Mrs Fearnsby said, her face taut, more so than usual, and Amelia already had her suspicions. 

The front door opened, as Arthur stepped out, his imposing figure casting a long shadow on the wooden beams of the porch as his hat rested low on his brow. 

‘Arthur, what is it? What happened?’ Amelia said as her heart beated furiously, as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

‘Your Uncle, he’s been hurt, but he’s doin’ okay.’ Arthur said.

It was her worst fear as Amelia carried on right up to Arthur, searching his face for something, anything. 

‘Where is he?’ Amelia said, desperate to make sense of this. She knew he hadn’t been hurt by a simple horse riding accident. 

Was this what Cornwall and her father were going to resort to? It wasn’t enough to punish her but everyone else she was close to. Was it their plan to threaten, beat and kill them one by one until they strong-armed her into exactly what they wanted?

‘Restin’, ma’am.’ Arthur said, but she barely heard the words as she looked over her shoulder to Mr Jameson, a look of equal concern on his face. 

‘He’s been placed in his room. A little bit sore, but he is asleep at the moment.’ Mrs Fearnsby said.

She looked between the three of them. How was everyone so damn calm? 

‘That doesn’t tell me what on earth happened,’ Amelia said, her voice bordering on yelling. It wasn’t often that Amelia raised her voice, but she had no control over herself. 

‘Amelia, he’s okay. Just had a… misunderstanding at a saloon.’ Arthur said, his arm nearly reaching out to her, before placing it on his gun belt. 

‘What do you mean?’ Amelia said, barely understanding Arthur’s words. 

‘Couple of fellers were drunk, thought he was someone else.’ Arthur said with a simple shrug. 

‘Mr Morgan, we will speak of this in private.’ Amelia said, trying her best to get her head in order as she pushed past him into the house. 

Amelia reached the study so quickly she was sure at one point she was taking the stairs two at a time. She could hear Arthur behind her, but could barely look at him. The day was proving to be testing to say the least. 

Her shaking hands reached for the decanter and she left the door open, waiting for Arthur to enter. She poured two healthy and ill-advised measures into the glass, the whiskey splashing over the side and over her fingers, leaving a cool, sticky trace. 

‘Arthur, I want to make it perfectly clear, if you are lying to me…’ Amelia said as she heard him enter cautiously, shoving the whiskey at him. 

‘Whaddya mean?’ Arthur said, as he removed his hat, a look of almost amusement on his features. God, she wanted to slap him there and then. 

‘Are you lying to me?’ Amelia said more firmly, in no mood for games or jokes as she swallowed heavily at her drink. 

‘Look, Amelia, he’s okay. Just a bit beat up.’ Arthur said, almost nonchalant as she walked to the door and slammed it shut. 

‘“A bit beat up” for god’s sake Arthur, this is serious!’ Amelia said, her voice becoming shrill as she took another gulp, almost choking on the liquor’s heat. 

‘I know, I know.’ Arthur said, as he too followed suit, swallowing thickly. 

‘I know he was with some men on behalf of Mr Stoudemire.’ Amelia said. ‘And I know you’re lying.’ 

She could have spat fire, kicked and screamed at him. Why was he lying? Did he have something to do with this?

She felt herself slipping as she turned her back to him, finding her way to her seat at the desk, her hands falling into her face. Perhaps this was her undoing. Perhaps it is what would finally would turn her as mad as all the men of town supposed she was? 

‘How you know that?’ Arthur said. 

‘Unimportant. What happened?’ Amelia said into her hands, her breath becoming more ragged by the second. 

He said nothing, and as she reached again for her drink and her smoke. He just looked at her with a near blank expression. 

‘Is it something to do with the robbery’ Amelia said, as she struggled with her lighter from her hands shaking. On the third click, the flame shot out, and she hastily lit the cigarette, throwing the metal lighter down. 

‘Hell if I know. Look okay, it was some bounty hunters, but listen -’

‘Bounty hunters?! What the fuck, Arthur,’ Amelia said, growing more hysterical by the second. 

‘It was a misunderstandin’ all the same. They thought he was someone else. It’s been dealt with.’ 

How was he so damn calm about all of this?

‘What does that mean?’Amelia said, punctuating every word, as she took a swig, a puff, then another swig. 

‘I mean, it’s been dealt with.’ Arthur said, his voice firm and dark. 

‘Arthur, what aren’t you telling me? How is it that one of Cornwall’s men knew Uncle was with them?’ She was sure the staff could hear her from the other side of the door, not that she particularly cared. 

‘I don’t… I ain’t sure.’ Arthur said. 

Resting her forehead on the heel of her palm, Amelia shook her head, hoping it would clear the cobwebs that had somehow formed. If only she could think straight… 

For what felt like the thousandth time of the day, she took a deep breath, steadying herself. 

Uncle is alive. That is the most important thing. You can’t let them win.

‘There’s a man, the awful sort.’ She stuttered, ‘works for Cornwall, I was with him today and he said that Uncle had a meeting or sorts but the way he said it…’ Amelia said, chewing at her lip as Arthur stood, finding his way to her side of the desk. 

‘You think Cornwall’s behind the robbery?’ He said, kneeling down on his haunches as Amelia almost wanted to ignore him. 

‘Well, why not?’ She seethed as she turned to look down at him, his blue eyes coursing like the ocean. ‘He’s been trying to buy me out for months, then he doesn’t even attend this meeting, brings up Stoudemire and now Uncle is beaten. This can’t be a coincidence.’ Amelia said pitifully, sniffing as she took another large swig of her drink. 

‘Mmm, somethin’ don’t seem right.’ Arthur said, rubbing at his stubble with his hand.

‘Oh, you think?’ Amelia said, throwing her hand in the air with exasperation.

‘C’mon Amelia. This ain’t my fault. We found your uncle and he will be okay, just sore for a while.’ Arthur said. 

‘Who’s we?’ 

‘Me and Charles.’

Amelia wanted to chide herself. Arthur was right. This wasn’t his fault and once again he was a candle in the ever-growing darkness around her. 

‘Arthur, I think I know who’s behind this, I just…’ taking a drag that turned half her cigarette to white hot ash, Amelia sighed as the smoke filled the room. Arthur placed his hand on her knee, giving it a slight squeeze. 

‘Talk to me,’ he said, so gently she was mistaken if she had heard him correctly. It reminded her of the way that one would talk to a spooked horse, soft but firm. 

She felt so uneasy, so sick with the situation that seemed to become her never ending reality. Her trust was thin, but she couldn’t do this alone anymore. And if Josiah had ended up worse… God forbid, she needed a contingency plan. The secrets that both her and uncle were theirs alone, and he had always cautioned her against telling anyone. So far she had kept that unspoken promise, an abandoned life that, in her childish mind, she thought would simply disappear as long as she never spoke of it. 

Perhaps it was the stress of the day that made her feel so paranoid, but as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette, she stood as Arthur did the same. 

‘Not here,’ she said, finishing her drink, ‘are you familiar with Ringneck Creek?’ 

Arthur gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving her face. She didn’t dare think about what his face made her think about, not with everything that was going on. But it would have been easy to fall into those stormy eyes of his and never think about anything else again. 

‘Meet me there in an hour,’ she said, looking away from him.

‘Okay, one hour,’ he nodded solemnly, giving her arm a small squeeze as he left, leaving her to her thoughts. 

She knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, at a time she arguably needed it the most. She had always had this problem. Once a thought burrowed into her, there was nothing else but that single railroad in her mind. 

Amelia was unsure whether she was subconsciously blind to it all, choosing to ignore the dots, or whether perhaps she was nowhere near as intellectual as she thought she was. But that niggle she had since the first robbery, since her first meeting with Mr Cooper and certainly after today only made her confront what she had known deep down for sometime. 

She made her way to Josiah’s room, rasping her knuckles lightly across the wooden door. She heard no response but let herself in any way. A candle burned gently on the drawers with the curtains closed. The smell of iodine and salt filled the room and she gently walked over to the bed where he lay. 

There was already a chair propped close to it, presumably from where one of the servants had spent their time cleaning him with the washbasin and a freshly filled jug of water that stood on the end table. 

She could hear his laboured breathing, his black hair falling across his brown as his face was a molten of purple and yellow. Although it was not as bad as she supposed, there was something about seeing her uncle in such a way that made her realise the mortality of it all. How fragile they all truly were. 

Her uncle was not a strong man in the traditional sense. He wasn’t one to raise a gun or boom his voice at defiance. But he was strong nevertheless. As slick as a newt, she had always thought of him as. Mystical and illusive to the world, but never to her. Not really. He was her confident, her guide and protector, her best friend and mentor. No doubt that without him, sooner or later she would have been shipped off to one of the specialised women's infirmaries or even dead. But not with Josiah. 

Yes, he was odd, but none of that really mattered. Not then and not now. But as she sat on the chair, folding her skirt underneath her knees, she leant her elbows on the bed, looking up at his newly beaten face, watching his chest rise and fall as though all the wind had been knocked from him. 

A single tear rolled down her cheek, thick and heavy, as she wiped at it furiously. She was about to break their promise, but he at least deserved to know from her lips.

‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ she mused under her breath, placing her hand on his chest as she had seen mothers do to their sick children, ‘I don’t know if you can hear me, but keeping our secret cannot do us any good any longer. You brought Arthur here because you trust him… You trust him to keep us safe. And…’

What were the words? There were no words she could think of and words she had only seen in those books filled with dross and unfettered romance, but she was sure in her convictions. 

‘We need him,’ she said, I need him. But she kept that part to herself. There was only so much Josiah needed to know. 

‘The business is everything to me. I need to do what I can to protect it.’ 

He made a sound, a choking sound in his throat as he began to splutter, coughing with a wince as his eyes screwed shut even more so. 

‘C…Caneton?’ He said, barely audible. 

‘Uncle?’ she replied, finding his hand in haste and bringing it to her lips. 

‘There’s… there’s,’ his voice strangled as he weakly grabbed at her hand, ‘too many secrets.’

He said nothing else as his breath returned to its even and slow draw as he fell back into a sudden slumber. 

Smiling to herself in pain, she rose and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. 

‘Sleep well, Uncle,’ 

Before she had left, she had given stern instructions that Josiah was to be checked on every half an hour and to be kept as clean as possible. She knew the staff were as good as any, and she had seen it enough times, but at least giving the instructions made her feel in control of the situation. She told Cook to save her portion of supper, for she feared she would not be back in time for serving and that Mr Jameson and Talako should make plans on their trips to West Elizabeth and be prepared to give her a report upon her return. 

If nothing else, she was thankful for some alone time, just her and Tallulah as she made her way north to Ringneck Creek. 

It turned out to be a beautiful late afternoon as the heat had finally dropped, giving way to a light breeze with wispy clouds breaking into the sky, offering some release from the stifling warmth and humidity. Of course, as it always did, it brought the annoyance of midges and mosquitoes, but as she left the swamps behind, they became fewer and further between. 

Passing Mattock Pond, she knew there was little of the ride left, and almost fearing the conversation she was about to have with Arthur, she clacked at the bridle bringing Tallulah into a sauntered as she heard the low growl of an alligator not too far away. 

The woods and thickets around her sieved out the sun, splitting it into golden beams in the way she always loved. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but breathe in the air, a soft smile appearing on her face in that moment of peace. Of course, she knew it was not enough to solve her problems as much as she would entertain the thought of selling it all and growing old in the woods with nothing but an axe and a shack that fell apart at the seams. 

But Amelia, however, was not that sort of woman. She was a woman of purpose, one who was lucky enough to find it and one who would not let it wash down the kitchen sink. 

As Tallulah threw her head between the tree trunks, the birds sang their afternoon song as the racoons rustled and nattered amongst the ground.

Making her way up the creek, Amelia searched around for Arthur and Montague, her heart building with both excitement and trepidation. She was never one to be so cavalier with her emotions, with her past especially, but she reminded herself this wasn’t about her or about them. It was about the business, about those she had made a secret pact with God to protect. Once again, her uncle was right. There were too many damn secrets. 

As she reached the end of the creek where the brooked turned into a splay of shallow water, she saw him. Perched on a boulder, he had his foot propped on the rock, the other leg dangling as he puffed on his smoke that danced in sunbeams. She heard a plop in the water as he threw his arm back, skipping stones across the surface. 

She couldn’t help but smile. She was not unfamiliar with the flights of fancy that most women had, the idle daydreams of the man she wound no doubt end up marrying and spawning a child or four. But never in her wildest dreams was it to be a man like Arthur Morgan that her heart would be claimed by. In all her endeavours, not one made her feel so enamoured, or to be so much like those fainting maids on a couch. Not that she was, of course, but she was damn close. 

‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,’ she said, sliding off of the side of her horse as he looked up at her from the brim of his hat. 

‘Not at all,’ he said, returning her smile as he pushed himself from the rock, pacing over towards her. 

She appreciated the chivalry as always, even though it seemed so unlike a man like him. Yet he was as gracious as those who had been taught such things, and then she wondered where a man like Arthur had learnt it from. He was as wild as the bobcats of the mountain, quick with a gun and so dirty that sometimes she thought he would use mud instead of cologne. All of it, however, was part of his charm. The charm of America and the wild. 

As she readjusted her habit as Arthur tied up her horse on a nearby trunk near Montague, the horses nicked at each other. Well, Tallulah did anyway, the temperamental beast that she was. Montague took it in his stride, neighing softly in a greeting as though it was almost expected. 

He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, pulling the sleeves down his arm. In an instant, her heart began to thrum in her chest. What is he…? And just like that, he gave it a swift shake, placing it on the boulder and gesturing for her to sit. 

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, attempting to hide her blushing cheeks beneath her curls as she took to the rock, crossing her ankles. 

Arthur, however, returned to his horse, unbuckled the saddle and retrieved a bottle of a ruby brown liquid she did not recognise. Making his way back to her, he popped the cork, taking a swig before handing it to her. 

‘What is it?’ She said curiously, holding it up to the light. It truly was a beautiful colour, almost a light coloured port. 

‘Guarma Rum, hard to come by, hell of a lot better than that Kentucky Bourbon,’ he said with a smirk, pulling a fresh smoke from his packet. Placing two in his mouth, he lit them both from the match that he struck across the bottom of his shoe. 

Giving it a sniff, Amelia was not as repelled as she would have thought. It was strong as the fumes burned her eyes, but it had a sweetness to it, like hibiscus and sugar cane, but she had no doubt that it packed a punch. 

Taking a tentative swig. She wasn’t wrong. It kicked at her throat, but by no means it was unpleasant and Arthur didn’t take his eyes from her as he held out the cigarette. 

‘That’s certainly the best thing that’s happened today, I must admit,’ she said with a slight laugh, wiping at the corners of her mouth. 

‘Thought you’d need it,’ he said, taking the bottle from her and propping his foot on a rogue log, folding his elbows across his knees. ‘You gonna tell me then?’ 

She met his gaze, almost unsure of herself. She couldn’t help but slump her shoulders in, almost recoiling from the question. Once again, she had found herself emotionally vulnerable, alone, and sharing a bottle with Arthur. Life could be ironically cruel sometimes. 

With a breath to steady herself, Amelia looked on at the thicket before her. It truly was beautiful. A place she wished she had more time to visit. Perhaps after all this nonsense, she’d make more time to visit it with a book in hand. But today was not that day. 

‘I know who’s behind the attacks,’ she said as Arthur straightened, eyeing her up and down with some sort of scrutiny. ‘ I don’t have proof but… It’s complicated.’

She nervously looked at him, trying to gauge him. She wasn’t scared per se, but she didn’t want to think that she was stupid or hysterical or whatever other words men tended to lend towards themselves when it came to women. Not that Arthur was like that, of course. 

‘Cornwall?’ he said, narrowing his eyes. A look flashed across him, one she had seen before and equally brief. 

‘In a roundabout sort of way. Now, like I said, I don’t have any proof but -’

‘Tell me,’ he said with a low grumble. 

That was exactly what she didn’t want. She knew he was not angry with her, but after today; she didn’t need any outbursts, any snap judgements. She just wanted to tell him, as difficult as it would be. 

‘It’s…’ Amelia stopped herself, as Arthur passed her the rum, for which she was thankful. As her fingers brushed his ever so slightly, he sat next to her, pulling another drag on the cigarette. 

‘There’s a man, Mr Cooper. I mentioned him earlier. He’s a man that is not to be taken lightly. A thug I presume of Cornwall’s,’ she said, almost stumbling over her words as they shot out. ‘He has this awful way about him… Anyway, some time ago he came to the estate on behalf of Cornwall, made some threats, tactics of intimidation, nothing utterly out of the ordinary but…’

Where to even begin, the story was so long, so convoluted at this point and at times Amelia doubted her memory on what had or hadn’t happened and how much her mind had inflated or hidden away in those secret boxes at the back of her mind. 

She took another swig of the bottle, a slow feeling of comfort wrapping over her. There truly was something about being amongst the trees and fresh air once the alcohol took hold. She felt like a child again, the word bright and curious. 

Arthur, however, said nothing, as she struggled to find all the pieces. In her mind, she was so sure, but as soon as she began speaking, it all seemed so daft. 

‘Well, anyway, he mentioned my father. Said that he sends his regards,’ she sighed, drinking another two gulps before passing the bottle back to Athur. ‘It’s him Arthur, I know it is.’ 

Arthur flicked the butt of his cigarette, holding his silence. She had a feeling it was a tactic of his. No questions, no judgements. Oddly, it seemed to be working and Amelia suddenly felt compelled to tell him all. 

‘I was seventeen when I found out I was to be wed to Mr Stoudemire,’ she said, the words falling from her lips, God, I am drunk already, ‘I knew him very briefly, he worked with my father in Parliament.’ 

Arthur raised a brow as she looked up at him from underneath her lashes. 

‘It’s the English government. They’re all bankers, aristocrats and well anyway…’ That rum was strong, ‘He was so old, at least in his forties. I cried for a week when my mother told me not that she cared. She just said that I should be lucky that anyone agreed to it. She was so awful for her words, would tell me I was never good enough, that I brought shame to the family in one capacity or another, but Father… He was…’ 

She swallowed. Scrambling for another cigarette. 

‘After I found out about this arrangement, I ran to this place, not unlike this really. A friend of mine, Edmund, we would play there often. Write poems that sort of thing. He lived on the estate next to ours… Well.’ 

Giving another sharp intake of breath, Amelia looked around the forest, finding those small alcoves of beauty anywhere she could. 

‘I was found with him. It was quite unsavoury at our age to be alone with one another, you see. My father dragged me back to the house by my hair and beat me so hard I bled for days and couldn’t sit. He was the sort of man that even when I was a small girl he would find his way to my bedroom when he had enough wine and whack me so hard… He was a terrible man. But after that incident, after Edmund, my arm was broken, I had welts on the back of my legs - I couldn’t leave my room, and even after five weeks when Josiah came to visit…’ 

Silence hung in the air, as Arthur continued to look at her, not a word of pity or anything, but she could see something so dark in his eyes she nearly recoiled. 

‘I was his property. My father’s I mean,’ Amelia stammered. Years of the secrets and the relief it brought her seemed to merge together into a terrible shake as she broke into a sob. Wiping at her nose, Arthur placed his arm around her, pulling her in close as he rested his chin on the top of her head. The smell of his sweat and rum and smoke, the usual comfort he brought her, filled her as she sank into his chest. 

‘He’s a monster Arthur, I don’t know how they’re connected, but it’s him, I know it.’ 

‘Hey,’ he said, putting his finger under her chin and lifting her face to look at him. The same way he did last night. ‘We will fix this.’

That was all she needed to hear. She smiled at him as he brought his thumb to her cheeks, wiping away her tears. 

‘It’s not about money, Arthur. They want to destroy me. My father was a proud and powerful man. I don’t know how he’s found me after all the precautions we took, but he has.’

Arthur nodded, passing her the rum again. 

‘Well, then…’ He began, still with his arm wrapped around her as Amelia snuggled deeper into him, bringing her knees to her chest. ‘’Spose, we just have to destroy them first.’ 

She wanted to laugh, but she could sense the devilry in his words. Was this what she wanted? To meet fire with fire? Is that something she was prepared for? Something rumbled within her, and at that moment, with the alcohol with the promises that Arthur whispered to her, she thought that she could sanction such things. But whatever those things were, she kept to herself at that moment. 

The silence found itself between them yet again. A silence she had grown used to, as a small fox kit ran out to the edge of the creek, followed by its siblings as they lapped at the edge of the water like a cat with a fresh bowl of cream. Their mother wasn’t far behind as neither of them moved, watching the young find their solace in the soon to be evening light. Their mother gazed at them, hungry and fearful, as Arthur reached into his pocket, pulling out an oatcake. 

Breaking it into several pieces, he slowly released his embrace for which any other time, Amelia would have been disappointed by. Yet as he bent his knees and slowly crept towards the edge of the creek, he scattered the crumbs, and made his way back to the rock as silently as he left it. 

The three kits raised their tiny noses to their air, their marbled brown and auburn fur moving with the wind. Arthur sat back down next to Amelia, pulling something else from his pocket. As she looked over at him curiously with another swig of the rum, she saw it was a pencil and he leant gently and quietly to his satchel on the floor. She watched him with a juvenile curiosity, smiling to herself with a new weightlessness, as Arthur pulled a small leather-bound book from the bag. 

He flicked it open with his thumb, licking at the pencil, as the rough edges of the pages sprawled to a blank canvas page. 

He drew effortlessly, a line here, a line there, and with the smudge of his thumb and a crosshatch, the image jumped to life. The creek, the trees, the foxes and all the surrounding light. He seemed to do it with nothing other than instinct. Looking up here and there before, one of the kits barked, chasing the others back into the grove. 

She smiled again, admiring his talent as he closed the book as easily as he had opened it before, storing it away and prying the bottle from her hands. 

How things had changed since their encounter in the stable. Even since last night, there was a change between them. As easy as he had drawn the lines on the paper. Natural, easy and oh so wonderful. 

‘You know,’ he began, lighting another smoke, ‘my daddy used to belt seven hells into me. Damn mean bastard. Used to beat my mother too, what I remember of her.’ 

Amelia swallowed the saliva from her throat. Whatever the hell that rum was, it certainly wasn’t weak. 

‘Lot of mean bastards out there. Hell, I’m one of them,’ he chuckled, passing the bottle back to her. 

She looked at him curiously. Arthur was a lot of things, but she could never imagine him beating a child. Those who did were certainly the cruellest of the cruel. There were men who stole, cheated and lied. Some because they could, because they were greedy or didn’t even have much of a choice. But even most drew that moral line. A line that children were innocent, a compass that was not to be reckoned with. But she knew the truth of this world, even if what she saw was just a fraction of it. 

The unjust held her in a chokehold. Her empathy was the thing that drove her, drove her to stop the world from being what it was. She was to protect, to serve, to help. And through it all, no matter how different she and Arthur were on the surface, that was most likely the thing that drew her to him. His sense of duty, his sense of good. 

‘Arthur,’ she whispered, the rum making her sway slightly. Her mind was true, or so she thought at that moment. Her body may have betrayed her intoxication, but her mind told her that she was right. Hell, it didn’t even matter if she was right, she wanted to tell him.

‘Yeah?’ he said, his foot slipping from the boulder as he passed the rum back towards her. 

‘My name… it’s funny, it’s not even my real name,’ she slurred, her composure slipping by the second, not that she gave a damn. ‘I was born Lady Beatrice Fairfax. For all that it was worth. I never liked the name, anyway.’ 

Arthur turned to her as she readjusted herself on the rock, her heels digging into the dried soil of the mud. Arthur chuckled throatily as he took the bottle from her once more. 

‘Funny that,’ he said, his muddy cheeks blushing ever so slightly. ‘My ma’ was a Beatrice.’ 

She snapped her head around, looking at him in such a cockeyed manner. She was sure she was going to fall over. 

‘That’s not funny!’ she nearly screeched, snatching the cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag before passing it back to him. 

‘Promise,’ he said, a boyish smirk plastered across his face. 

There was something so endearing about him. About all of him. He could go from a mean old cowboy to a cheeky boy at church in the back of the pews. She hated him and loved him in equal measures, and she playfully pushed him on his arm. 

Did I just… think what I thought? 

She was abashed with herself. A man she barely knew had only laid with once, and in that moment she was ready to take his hand and run off into the forest with him and never look back. 

Crossing her arms in some hope of steadying herself, she leant her head on his shoulder. An easy gesture and all the troubles of the day slipped away. As she always did with Arthur, she felt ever so selfish, allowing her problems to dissolve into nothingness as she felt his warmth and strength. 

‘What the hell is the stuff made from?’ she said, eyeing the bottle, tittering away. 

Arthur lifted the bottle. There wasn’t even a third gone and yet, they were both beyond squiffy. 

‘Damned if I know,’ he said. A chortle broke from his chest. She felt the rumble of it, as the air took a sudden sink, the chill of the early evening finally settling in. ‘You wanna head back?’ He said, his voice low and so wonderfully drunkenly seductive? 

Lifting her head, Amelia looked up at him. Maybe it was just because she had already made herself so emotionally vulnerable, the baby foxes, or the fact she was so damn infatuated with Arthur, but she shook her head with the pout of her lips and wide eyes. 

‘Not yet,’ she muttered, as they both broke into a laugh and Arthur crashed his mouth into hers. 

Giggling into his mouth, she absorbed everything he had to offer her. It was wet, sloppy, drunk and so foolish. Not that it really mattered. 

Falling into a tumble on the ground, the leaves crunch beneath Amelia as she let out a gasp underneath Arthur’s weight. 

She felt like a clumsy adolescent, her hands making her way into his hair, knocking off his hat as his fingers dug into thighs, fumbling with her silk stockings. She continued to kiss him feverishly and urgently, the taste of liquor heavy on both of their lips. 

The sun dipped behind the trees, casting a warm glow over them both as Arthur wrestled with this gun belt, he cast it aside, bringing his lips down to her neck as Amelia moaned into Arthur’s ear. 

Pushing his hips into her, Amelia gasped, as her body responded in kind, as she lifted her skirts, whilst his rough hands explored every inch of her body. She felt dizzy, both from the alcohol and him, the pleasure coursing through her in a desperate heat as she felt the heat of his body on hers. 

Her mind was no longer her own as Arthur continued to kiss at her neck, her jaw, everywhere and anywhere he could find as he moved himself lower, leaving a trail of wet kisses on the lace of her dress. 

He pulled at her undergarments, wrestling them from her legs as they tangled around her ankles. She laughed at their eagerness as Arthur chewed his lip, looking down at her. Her heart fluttered at the sight of his as finally he freed her of her drawers, slipping his hand underneath her skirts. 

Her breaths were already coming through in ragged gasps as his fingers found her wet and ready. She cried out as he slid two of his thick fingers into her, as she let out a long mewl into the summer air.

He was gentle at first, letting her get used to the feel of him inside her. She had never felt anything like it before. It was almost indescribable. The alcohol mixed with a sheer audacity of what they were doing, out in the open. He worked the inside of her like an instrument, curving his fingers to find that perfect spot. As if by magic, she was lost to his touch. Her body was his and his alone to command. And when he began to thrust his fingers deep into her core, her body gave in to his demands, writhing and moaning at his mastery of her body.

Just when she thought she was about to be undone right there and then, Arthur brought his mouth down to her, his tongue rolling over her most sensitive parts as she gave a cry of pleasure, her back arching. 

Her hands found their way into his hair as Arthur grabbed at her hips roughly with his free hand, pulling her further into his mouth whilst his fingers moved faster in and out of her.

Amelia felt as though she would go insane from the feeling of release. She wanted more, wanted him to fill her, to give her more of whatever he was doing to her. His fingers were still moving, sending waves of pleasure through her. She felt a tingle between her legs as his tongue pressed harder against her swollen clit, making it throb and ache. 

She was so close to exploding, so close she thought it was going to be impossible to stop herself from crying out loud and yet, as if by instinct, she closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip as he lifted himself from her, leaving her aching and empty.

‘I want you so much,’ he growled into her ear, and all Amelia could do was moan in response. 

She had never heard a man sound so sensual or so passionate. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could describe it. It was as if a beast was taking her over, a beast that she knew she had no control over and there was no part of her that wanted anything else.

Arthur fiddles with the buttons on his jeans as he bent down to kiss her again, his mouth sweet from her own juices as she mewled into his mouth, seemingly only to encourage him all the more. Before she could even think, he thrusted himself deep inside of her, leaving her breathless as all air seemed to leave her body.

They moved with each other, almost animalistically, their sounds filling the forest whilst their hands grabbing for anything they could. He pounded at her, deep and hard, as Amelia felt the pleasure building as Arthur’s warm breath grunted on her skin. Whatever the rum had done to her felt like a tainted potion, sending the both of them in a debauched frenzy of lust and passion. She was moaning, panting, screaming and shrieking with abandon. All the while, he continued to pound away at her.

Her back arched, and he fell upon her, his lips kissing at her neck, her cheek as he drove himself deeper into her.

In a flash, her orgasm ripped through her like a bolt of lightning from the heavens as a group of birds shot from the trees, retreating from the sound. 

‘Fuck,’ Arthur grunted as he pulled himself in haste from her, his spend landing in thick drops on the ground between her legs. 

Amelia panted, wiping the sweat from her brow as Arthur sat back on his haunches, putting himself away. 

‘You sure you didn’t put something in that rum?’ Amelia said with a breathless laugh. Her eyes were spotted with black dots that danced across her vision as her chest heaved. 

Arthur said nothing as he ran his hand through his hair as he leant over to retrieve her bloomers. 

‘Told ya it was better than Kentucky,’ he said with a smirk as he grabbed at her ankles, putting them through the leg holes of her undergarments, before he stood on uneven legs. 

As Amelia dressed herself, her legs still shaking from their encounter; she hauled herself up, attempting to pick the debris of nature that had found its way into her dress and hair. Twigs, leaves and even a weevil had managed to bury themselves into the lace as her breath slowly abated, leaving a warm tingle of bliss throughout her entire body. 

‘Am I muddy?’ She said to Arthur, attempting to look over her shoulder to see the state of the back of her, but thankfully after a brisk brush of Arthur’s hand, she managed to escape too much incrimination of what they had been up to. 

‘I’ll ride with you back to the estate, but I’ve got some stuff I need to deal with,’ he said hoarsely as he picked up his hat, dusting off the dirt. 

‘Thank you, Arthur. And please… What I said to you -’

‘I ain’t tellin’ no one,’ he said with a warm smile, walking over to her and planting a kiss on her head. ‘But you best get back before the search party comes hollerin’.’ 

She nodded, unsure how she was even going to be able to ride back in her state. 

However, as Arthur knelt, lacing his fingers together as he boosted her onto Tallulah, going back to the estate was the last thing she wanted. Maybe selling the business wouldn’t be the worst idea. Before she could continue her train of thought, Arthur gave her a pat on the side of the thigh. 

‘When you get back,’ he said, sliding the rum into the satchel on her horse, ‘make sure you check your dresser. I left ya a little surprise,’ he said with a wink. 

[imaushiji]

@nyaaaaanma

“What’s got you grinning like that?” 

The voice is unexpected and makes you jump. Your phone slips between your fingers as you wildly grapple for it, panic shooting up your spine when you scramble to keep it from its potential doom. Once it’s safely gripped between your palms, you throw the football player a scathing look. He merely grins at you innocently, wide violet eyes shooting down to the device clutched against your chest. 

“I told you to stop sneaking up on me,” you complain as Reo huffs in laughter. 

“Not my fault you’re so spacey.” 

You purse your lips at him before turning back to the exit you were walking towards before Reo decided to spook you. “What’re you even doing here? The practice field is on the other side of the campus.” 

The purple-haired man shrugs. “Coach told me to stop by the marketing department because of some endorsement deal.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his nylon joggers as he walks with you, matching you stride for stride. “Thought you’d be done for the day.” 

“Normally, yes, but the upcoming campaign has been a real pain in my ass,” you groan as Reo chuckles. “I’ll be much happier once it’s over.” 

The football player opens his mouth to speak when the call of your name makes him snap his jaw shut and a scowl crosses his features. 

“Speaking of pain in the ass…” 

You raise a brow and turn around to search for the source of the caller and a grin easily splits across your features. “Hey, Bachira.”

His cheeks are slightly pink and he’s lightly panting as though he’d run over to catch you. You can tell he’s fresh from the showers as small droplets of water dripping from the ends of his tousled hair. “Did you come here for the marketing department too?” 

The football player shakes his head, scattering droplets of water everywhere. Reo makes a noise of disgust. 

“I figured you might still be here since the new campaign was coming up,” he supplies. The three of you bow to the security man near the exit before Reo wraps his large hand around the handle and holds it open for you. You thank him and walk through the threshold, completely missing the part where Reo tries to swing the door close on Bachira. The latter slips through before it can collide with his forehead and sticks his tongue out at his annoyed teammate. 

“Yeah, we have a couple more weeks before it launches so I’ll probably have a few more late nights this week,” you sigh. 

Your phone vibrates against your hand and you flip it over to check who messaged you when Bachira says, “Well since you’re off work, how about I treat you to dinner?” 

“No!” Reo exclaims, stepping between you and Bachira while putting both of his arms up in a giant ‘X.’ 

“She’s coming to have dinner with me!”

You raise a brow at that. “Since when?” 

The purple-haired football player falters before his signature half-grin takes over his features. You throw him an unimpressed look. “Since now, obviously.” 

Bachira scowls at him. “Not fair, I asked first!” 

“And who said she would want to go with you?” 

The two men began to bicker as you watch with an exasperated look. You’re half-amused and half-concerned when Bachira manages to get Reo into a headlock, when your phone vibrates again, this time with a phone call. 

“Hello?” 

Reo sinks his teeth into Bachira’s arm, causing the dual-haired man to yelp and tighten his hold. 

“You can’t just steal my date–” 

“Date? As if she’d go on a date with you–” 

“The hell you just said?! You little–” 

“Um, guys?” 

 Reo and Bachira don’t seem to hear you over their bickering and you’re unsure how exactly to break up the argument when something brushes against your lower back. 

“Hey, love,” Kenma murmurs against your temple as you melt against his touch. “Ready to go home?” 

You eagerly nod, a bright smile overtaking your features. “I am! But um, what about them?” You gesture to the football players who have seemingly forgotten about you. 

Kenma tilts his head. “Who are they?” 

“Technically my colleagues,” you tell him. “They’re football players.” 

“Ah,” your boyfriend nods his head. “Just leave ‘em. They’re in a pretty heated… discussion.” 

You glance back at them before shrugging your shoulders and leaning back against Kenma. 

“I’ll text them later.” 

[sanjaydamedhar]

Stylish Bags for Every Occasion: From Clutches to Totes

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A clutch bag is a timeless accessory that adds elegance to any evening ensemble. Whether you choose a luxurious gold clutch bag or a sleek silver clutch, these small but stylish bags are perfect for formal events like weddings, cocktail parties, or date nights. A black clutch bag or designer clutch bags like Prada purses and Louis Vuitton purses will never go out of style. Keep a clutch bag ready for bags for every occasion, from dinner parties to black-tie galas.

2. Tote Bags: Spacious and Stylish

For daily use, nothing beats a spacious tote bag. Tote bags for women come in various sizes, materials, and designs, from leather tote bags for women to more casual canvas tote bags. Black tote bags, such as a black leather tote bag, are essential for work or travel, while Prada tote bags or Louis Vuitton tote bags can add a touch of luxury to your look. Whether you’re heading to work or on a weekend getaway, these versatile bags for every occasion are a must-have. A tote bag works beautifully for bags for every occasion, whether it’s for the office or an afternoon out.

3. Crossbody Bags: Hands-Free and Trendy

If you’re looking for stylish bags that’re both functional and chic, crossbody bags are the way to go. These bags offer both comfort and convenience, allowing you to carry your essentials hands-free. Popular options include the Gucci crossbody bag, Michael Kors crossbody, and Tory Burch crossbody. These stylish bags come in a variety of designs, from small crossbody bags to designer crossbody bags that are perfect for both casual and formal occasions. A crossbody purse or Gucci crossbody can compliment any outfit, making them a perfect choice for bags for every occasion.

4. Shoulder Bags: Effortlessly Chic

Shoulder bags are a versatile option that suits many different occasions. Whether you’re going for a casual look with a black shoulder bag or dressing up with a Gucci shoulder bag, this style never goes out of fashion. stylish bags like the Coach crossbody or Gucci handbags also make excellent choices for those looking for a designer touch in their wardrobe. A shoulder bag for women is a key element in any fashionista’s collection of bags for every occasion, and these bags are especially helpful for both work and play.

5. Designer Handbags: Elevate Any Look

If you want to make a statement, nothing beats a designer handbag. Whether it’s a Gucci bag for women, Michael Kors handbags, or a classic Louis Vuitton crossbody, designer bags are the ultimate way to add luxury to your collection. Designer handbags come in various styles, from sleek leather handbags to more casual backpack purses that are perfect for travel or running errands. These stylish bags are an investment in both quality and style, making them essential for bags for every occasion.

6. Work Bags for Women: Stylish and Practical

Every professional woman needs a stylish bags that combines functionality and elegance. Work bags for women like the leather tote, laptop tote bags, and work tote bags from top brands like Tory Burch handbags or Coach handbags are ideal for carrying all your essentials, including your laptop, notebooks, and more. A work tote is not only practical but also adds a polished look to your office attire, ensuring you’re always prepared for bags for every occasion.

7. Backpacks and Casual Purses: On-the-Go Style

For those who prefer a more casual and hands-free option, backpack purses are a great stylish bagsss choice. A leather backpack purse offers stylish bags option that adds both function and flair, while brands like Michael Kors backpack purses and Fendi purses elevate the backpack style. Whether it’s for a day trip or everyday use, these backpack purses for women are both trendy and practical, making them perfect bags for every occasion.

Why Choose stylish bags for Every Occasion?

The right stylish bags can completely transform your outfit. Here are some reasons why you should invest in stylish bags for every occasion:

Versatility: Bags for every occasion are designed to work with a variety of outfits. Whether you’re dressing up for a formal event or dressing down for a casual outing, there are always stylish bags to match your look.

Functionality: While style is important, the practicality of a bag is equally essential. A shoulder bag for women or a tote bag provides ample space for all your essentials, while crossbody purses keep your hands free for more important things. These bags for every occasion strike the perfect balance between fashion and function.

Timeless Appeal: From Gucci handbags to Michael Kors purses, designer bags have a timeless appeal that never fades. Investing in designer bags is not only an investment in your wardrobe but also in the longevity of your personal style. These stylish bags remain relevant, no matter the season.

Statement Pieces: stylish bags are perfect for making a statement. Whether it’s a Gucci crossbody bag or a Prada purse, a luxury bag adds sophistication and exclusivity to your ensemble. These designer bags for every occasion are an investment in your fashion future.

Shop stylish bags for Every Occasion at Craftzone.in

At Craftzone, you’ll find a wide selection of stylish bags for every occasion, including designer handbags, tote bags for women, crossbody bags, leather purses, and more. Whether you’re looking for a black purse, a red purse, or a beach bag tote, you can shop with confidence knowing you’ll find the perfect bag for every occasion.

Final Thoughts

Investing in a variety of stylish bags is essential for creating a versatile and functional wardrobe. From casual tote bags for women to luxurious designer purses, there’s a perfect bag for every occasion. No matter your style or needs, Craftzone.in offers a wide selection of high-quality stylish bags that will ensure you’re always prepared with the perfect accessory.

Shop now and discover the best bags for every occasion at Craftzone!

[e-dress]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Coach Wristlet Purse Dark Grey Metalic Chrome Mini Bag.

[ladylooch]

My love, I come with a request 🧎‍♀️I humbly ask for some more protective dad!Timo, similar to that blurb of him at Lio’s chippy game…maybe this time Lio is a little younger but obviously everyone can tell he’s going to be a star…and that he’s the son of THE Timo Meier. The opposing team that is having a hard time keeping up and the only way they can think of having a chance is sending out their enforcer after him… Timo is there and parents are yelling, kids are fighting… 🤝 🍻

I am loving our Timo day RN. Yes! Of Course! So this happens when he is in the NHL, but yes, let's explore this when Lio is much younger.

Timo, Liv and I are all watching Lio’s tournament game. The twins are with Lexi and Nico because they’re too wild to sit through a hockey game right now. Lio is playing up in this tournament with U12 kids because of his skill level. However, this tournament has international competition in it, including some big kids on the other team from Canada. I am admittedly nervous and spend the first ten minutes of the game clutching my necklace.

A frown tugs the corners of my mouth down before I glance at Timo who sits with his arms crossed over his chest. There is an opposing player, number 14, that keeps getting very close to checking Lio. He keeps rubbing him out into the boards, keeping it borderline enough to not warrant a call. This latest one is well before Lio got to the puck though.

“How is that not interference?” I mutter to my husband. Timo shakes his head in annoyance.

“I don’t know. Cause this ref is fucking blind.”

“Bad word.” Liv says from where she is coloring between Timo’s feet on the bench below us. Timo looks at the top of her head, then at me. I purse my lips against a laugh, returning my attention to the ice.

Three more interactions happen with this player and Lio before the period ends. 

“Good job, Ben!” A man hollers down. “Show that kid who is boss.” His clapping is thunderous and I have a suspension he’s talking about the same player I’m getting frustrated with. I grab the tournament program, scanning the roster. Sure enough, number 14 is named Ben. I nudge Timo who looks down at the paper.

“Lio’s used to stuff like this. He is fine.” Timo insists, but he tightens his arms against his chest until his muscles balloon larger. His jaw is clenched and I can tell he is grinding his teeth.

“Mommy, can you braid my hair?” Liv asks.

“Sure.” I uncross my legs for her to sit between them. I comb her hair down her back, then split the hair into three sections. I’m just about finished when I hear a thud into the boards, then a gasp from my husband.

“What the fuck was that!” Timo screams next to me, jumping to his feet. I snap my head up, looking to where Lio is crumpled on the ice. Lio’s teammates begin to shove at number 14, his best friend, Nate, taking serious exception. Nate begins to shove at the player until he’s on the ice, then jumps on top of him to continue with his punches.

“Sweet!” Liv cheers, eyes wild with excitement. 

“Livia.” Timo scolds. She cowers down into a squat, still beaming at the ice. I grab Timo’s hand as we watch Lio struggle to a sitting position. The trainer and his coach are talking to him. He nods his head and the two adults help him to his feet. Lio skates off and sits on the bench, seemingly fine, but a little stunned. 

Timo and I are shocked when number14 doesn’t even get a penalty. Only Nate gets a penalty for roughing.

“No way.” I shake my head in disgust, feeling fear lodge into my chest. No consequences for this kid either? There is still half a game left to play and he’s been targeting Lio all game. 

“Awww he’s fine. What a pussy just like his dad. Should call him Nemo with the way he flopped.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Timo bolts up, taking the bleachers two at a time to go after the man. “You’re real tough calling a nine year old a pussy, you old fuck.”

“Oh that is so many bad words.” Liv says seriously, eyes wide at Timo’s reaction. She suddenly looks very small and unsure, reaching for my arm.

“Ohmygod.” I mutter, clasping a hand on my forehead. Timo gets to the man and immediately knocks two hands in his chest to shove the guy backwards. The guy steps forward again to square up when he regains his balance.

“Timo!” I yelp, leaving my daughter behind to climb the bleachers after him. “No, absolutely not.” I grab at his jacket, trying to pull him away. Both their faces are so close together their noses are touching.

“Tell your kid to keep his head up.”

“Keep his head up?” I scoff, suddenly, snarling in disgust.

“Em. Go back and sit down. I’ve got this.”” Timo’s voice is dangerous.

“No, you need to come back with me and calm down.” I lean closer, switching to Swiss German so the man doesn’t understand. “You have everything to lose here. And our daughter is scared and Lio needs one of us to go down there and make sure he is okay.” 

“Hit me. Pussy.” The guy gloats over me speaking.

“T. No. Protect our family the right way.” I’m not sure if I have gotten through his red haze. HIs shoulders shake with heavy breaths while his nostrils flare. His blue gaze is molten and fierce for several more difficult seconds.

“I hope your son turns out to be a better man than you.” Timo finally says. My shoulders relax. The guy is stunned to silence. Timo grabs my hand and works us back down the bleachers to Liv. He picks her up into his lap. She buries her face into his chest. “You’re okay baby. I’m sorry. That was bad. Daddy lost his temper. I’m sorry.” He smooths her back over her jacket. “You okay?” He asks me. I nod my head. “Go check on Lio. I’ll stay here.”