#it took a damn lot of work to get this chapter post ready

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

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“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

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[stusbunker]

Spotless: Rubato

Chapter Fifteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee/Pam, Sam/Madison, Benny, Charlie, Elizabeth

Word Count: 3340

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mentions of Bela's childhood sexual abuse, lots of drunken shenanigans, Benny's not flirting, just being his own charming self, jealousy, Dean is slipping, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

The week between Christmas and New Years is always a week of stasis, celebratory and lazy, just holding its breath for changes to come. In a word, it’s possibility. You still did some work, but not many requests were coming in and social media was bombarded with gratitude and self reflection. Not many people noticed the band’s lack of posts and you were grateful for not having to make excuses for some family time, for anyone.

Your flight home had been arduous, delays and a layover that just left you a zombie for a solid 36 hours afterwards. You woke up on the morning of New Year’s Eve with a sense of dread. You checked your phone just to be safe and all seemed well, or quiet at least. Annoyed with your brain, you decided to punish your body instead, or practice self-care, depending on who you asked. Your stationary bike had gotten a little dusty while you were out of town, but after a couple miles everything else fell out of focus. The rolling hills made you feel invincible.

It had started as physical therapy after your car accident back in college, but biking had turned into one of your go to hobbies. And as boring and non-creative it sounded, it did you a lot of good when your thoughts got too loud. It was like running away from your problems, but it still benefited you both physically and mentally.

Win win.

By three, you were just waiting to get ready. The outfit you picked out with Bela hung on the back of your closet door still wrapped in the Sister Jo’s bag. You slumped in your robe and scrolled through the news as you waited to switch the wash around. 

Different broadcasts covered the various local NYE specials and reminded everyone to drive sober, take the bus or get a ride. You thought Dean said he had gotten rides covered the last you talked, but you weren’t sure who was getting you or when, really. If you needed to meet somewhere to go as a group, you needed to order your ride now or everyone would be waiting on you.

Biting your lip, you called him instead of texting, because your worry was immediate not eventual. He picked up on the third ring, slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Trouble, what’s up?” “What’s the plan for tonight? Are we leaving from your place or are you picking me up? I don’t know where Elizabeth’s Nightowl Cafe actually is, Dean.”

Naturally, he laughed. “Hey, look, it’s not a great time. I’m in wardrobe right now. But I’ll make sure you get home safe. Maybe just head over to Bela’s and we’ll pick you both up on the way?”

“The photoshoot is today?! I could have sworn you already had it.”

“Yeah, well, Christmas took longer than I thought and they wedged me in.”

“Dean—”

“Look, I figured it out. And you didn’t have to hold my hand or anything. Now, look, I gotta drop trough, so if you need to continue this conversation with my dick out, by all means. They’re putting me in white pants, so bye-bye Batman boxers.”

You almost swallowed your tongue.

“Yeah, I’m good. You— you have fun with that.”

“See you tonight.”

“Right, bye.”

You slammed your eyes shut, but the damn visuals still flooded your mind. Gorgeous fucking bastard. You exhaled and called Bela, which was far less of a rollercoaster of a conversation and you agreed to be at her place after five to get ready together.

“You still haven’t said anything about your trip home,” you reminded Bela as she handed you another flute of champagne. 

You were both dressed and ready, nibbling on an assortment of cheese and crackers on her oversized kitchen island. From what Dean said about Benny’s cousin’s cooking, dinner was on the agenda, but you had started pregaming and didn’t want to get sloppy too early.

“I’m trying to black it out, honestly. It was such pretentious bullshit. And don’t get me started on my mother’s latest project involving the southern gardens at the summer home,” Bela rolled her eyes and shoved another slice of cheese into her mouth.

“Topiaries?”

“Close, a walking maze. Because apparently Queen Victoria is alive and well,” Bela dusted her hands and raised them in surrender. “At least she didn’t try to force me to bring Dean, that would have ended poorly.”

“Dean is actually really good with moms— but I’m pretty sure he’d get arrested if he had to sit down and have a meal with your dad like he isn’t evil incarnate.”

Bela hummed, sipping her drinking.

You took another bit of cheese and made a sandwich, sensing she was holding something back. “You actually told him about it?”

Bela swallowed and chewed on her words. “Let’s just say Dean and I bonded over our less than stellar fathers, but yeah, I agree with you. In fact he said as much, something about knowing how to hide a body and having a big trunk to drag it away.”

You laughed darkly. “That would be Dean. Prepared, but with violence at the ready.”

“Anyway, setting up another fundraiser for Prevent Together for the new year. Please keep both of your calendars free because I need all my people there, alright?”

“Of course,” you promised, reaching across the butcher block countertop and squeezing her hand. Bela never ceased to amaze you with her strength. You switched gears to grant her some space, “is this the first time you’re meeting the rest of the band?”

“Well, I’ve met Sam. But I’m guessing he’s in on the plan. They’re a bit attached-at-the-hip types?”

You smirked. “Basically a package deal, but I think he’s more protective lately. His girlfriend Madison is fun and I hope they work out, he’s a good guy.”

“So who else do I need to charm?”

“Pamela.”

“Pamela?”

“The drummer, possibly psychic and honestly a little frightening at times. But she’s got a big heart to go with her bluntness. If you can’t convince her, we’re all in for it, because she’s gonna dig. So we’ll make sure you and Dean are on all night. I am definitely snagging some midnight shots, so pucker up, darling.” You teased, but honestly, kissing Dean couldn’t be anything but a treat, even just for a camera.

Maybe you were biased.

“Naturally. Alright, and how does Dean know the owner of the cafe?”

“She’s Benny’s cousin. A good friend and head of tour security, sometimes a personal bodyguard.”

Bela nodded, “I think he’s mentioned him as being on standby if one of our nights out got to be too much.”

You were grateful Bela had paid attention, if she was actually dating Dean, she would know all of this already. The less you had to explain on the spot, the less chance of a slip up.

“Big Cajun guy, total teddy bear. He’ll love you,” you added.

“Nice.”

A mechanical crank sounded somewhere behind you. “Is that—?”

“The garage, they must be here,” Bela gathered the tray and unceremoniously set it inside the fridge.

“How did they get into the garage? I didn’t see you get a text.”

“Dean has the code. Finish your drink,” Bela rushed you.

You slammed the rest of your champagne and added your glass in the sink with Bela’s. Something felt weird that Dean knew Bela’s security override code, but then again you didn’t drive, must be why you didn’t have it.

“Hey— whoa!” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your sleuthing spiral. “Lookin’ good, ladies.”

You turned and took him in, burgundy suit without a tie, a dark undershirt with the collar popped. Fucker. 

“Thank you, likewise.” Bela leaned in and pecked his cheek.

Dean turned to you. “All set?”

You looked around for your phone and grabbed it and the charger off of the ledge towards the sidedoor. “Yeap. You?” you asked Bela.

“Do I need a touch up?” she asked, tilting her head side to side for your honest inspection. 

“Nope, lipstick did its job. You’re glorious,” you affirmed.

“Right, well, shall we?” Bela gestured toward the door which Dean pushed open for you and Bela to go first. Past Bela’s MG the big door was still open, showing a pair of black SUVs waiting on the curb. As you stepped out onto the short drive, Lee screamed out a backwindow from the first vehicle, “ladies, ladies, ladies, are we ready to have a good time?!”

You laughed, dancing a little up the incline and pumping your fist to an imaginary beat. 

“Trouble’s ready! What about you? You gonna give this one a run for his money?” Lee teased and then took a swig off of his own bottle of champagne.

“You can count on it,” Bela said darkly, eyes only on Dean. Everyone cheered as Dean put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her temple.

From the second SUV Sam emerged smirking and opened the door, waving you all inside. It was time to get the show on the road.

You had met Elizabeth a handful of times and everytime you were floored by her natural hospitality. The cafe was closed for the event, where barely thirty of you were gathered in the vintage-diner- themed all night cafe. She had tables set up with appetizers and a bartender working the soda fountain so you could get dessert with your booze if you wanted.

You wondered if Dean had requested the pie, because there were three cut and displayed on a stand with plastic domes to keep them from drying out.

Oldies played from the antique jukebox and everyone mingled as others arrived. You snapped pictures of the guests and the hand painted mural on the wall showcasing blues artists and faces from classic Hollywood. Everything was gorgeous and it was a little overwhelming seeing everyone dressed to the nines, but you remembered how smashing you looked in your outfit and tucked your shoulders back and held your head high. 

Eventually, Benny found you and pulled you in for one of his signature bear hugs. 

“It’s been too long, doll. Stickin’ to your namesake or have you been behavin’ ?”

 You chuckled, pulling back to look up at his handsome face. “Oh you know, I do what I can. You?”

Benny’s bright eyes searched for something and eased you back onto your heels. “Uh, yeah, good. Itchin’ to get back on the road. Working the movie lots is a real pain, glad it’s only temporary.”

The song changed and Benny hummed along, you caught a glimpse of Sam and Madison talking with Bela while Dean and Lee waited in line for drinks.

“I can’t wait for the tour either, I think we all could stand to get back to basics.”

“Boys causing a ruckus for ya?” Benny asked knowingly.

“Nah, just a feeling. They’ve been working too hard more than anything. So a little balance will probably do the trick.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Time to play hard. Wanna dance?” You looked around and sure enough, Lee and Pamela had started swinging to Johnny B. Goode, while some of the other roadies were shuffling along with their partners in a less flamboyant way.

You flexed your knee and decided you were tipsy enough to risk it and your pride for such an earnest proposal. “Lead the way.”

Benny was surprisingly light on his feet for such a sturdy guy and he helped you get in a good groove, just for the song to switch into Patsy Cline. Benny slowed it down into a stroll to fit the song and you giggled as he told you about what his ex Andrea had done now, after getting out of prison for trying to stab him, of all things.

“You are so better off without her,” you told him, patting his chest as the song came to a close.

Dinner was phenomenal: medallion sized steaks that were still juicy inside with spiral cut fried potatoes, green bean almondine and Waldorf salad. There were four tables set for eight set up in the space that would usually hold a dozen two or four seaters. Elizabeth finally took a seat as you were half way through a plate, but you made sure to let her know how amazing everything was.

“Oh, it’s nothing, now make sure you save room for pie. Got Strawberry Rhubarb, Dutch Apple and Blackberry waitin’,” she insisted like a favorite grandmother and not somebody you could have gone to school with.

Dean groaned deeper as she mentioned each variety, making everyone around your table share a knowing look. 

“Easy there, Dean might need to claim a pie as his own, you know how he gets. And I am not one for sloppy seconds,” Benny teased.

The table erupted and Dean didn’t even look like he cared. “If she ends up sending me home with a whole pie, it’s my business what happens to it.”

Tears were burning in your eyes from laughter and the lecherous look Dean shot Benny. He was ridiculous.

You turned to Bela, “good thing Sam isn’t at our table or he’d need to excuse himself.”

“It is getting a bit indecent isn’t it?” Bela said out of the side of her mouth.

“Are you raggin’ on me now, too?!” Dean asked aghast.

“Of course not! Just don’t want your girlfriend to get jealous of a pastry,” you quipped.

A low rumble of an accepted burn answered from around the table.

“Hey now, my girl knows what tickles my taste buds, if you know what I’m saying,” Dean shot back, earning him a fist bump from Lee.

Bela rolled her eyes and shrugged, which only made the laughter louder. The humor dissipated until every noise was roaring like the ocean in your ears. This wasn’t even the worst thing you’d heard out of Dean’s mouth, after years of groupies and life on tour, you thought you’d heard and seen it all. But Bela not denying Dean’s prowess in pussy eating suddenly made you feel impossibly lost.

You literally set up the joke and now you wished for anything to take it back.

“Gentleman, please!” Elizabeth broke into the cacophony. “Or no dessert.”

Which promptly set them all off once again, but they got their act together enough to be gracious when the pie did arrive. You had blackberry and it was thick and rich enough to keep you from opening your big mouth again. Also the vodka cranberry you had switched to was a perfect chaser for the sweetness of the filling.

Two more drinks and three hours later, you were in better spirits and a sequined top hat. The noise makers were harder to come by, Madison and Benny fighting over the last one like toddlers over the last Hot Wheel. Sam had to break it up, which meant Madison won anyway, naturally. But at least Benny could still whistle. The countdown was getting close and everyone was crammed together on the makeshift dance floor under the dimmed lights, talking and swaying in circles. Dancing would have been too much with all the anticipation in the air.

You had your camera at the ready, taking small videos of the crowd and snapping selfies with anyone within reach. The lone television behind the counter hopped between coverage of celebrations in Vegas, Seattle and LA. You did a quick scan of your immediate vicinity for Bela and Dean. Finally, you found them next to Pam and Lee, who were sharing a bottle of bourbon between them, while Bela and Dean were whispering and readying their noisemakers and confetti respectively.

“Oooo, two couples one shot! I want you guys to make it count okay, this is for posterity’s sake!” you ordered, framing the shot just as the countdown began.

10…9…8…

Dean pulled Bela close by the waist. Lee tipped back another swig before almost losing his hat to the movement.

7…6…5…

Bela gazed up at Dean’s face and said something you couldn’t hear over the numbers shouting out of every corner of the party.

4…3…2…

Dean leaned in and started kissing Bela before she could get to one, tipping her back until she almost knocked into Lee, who was hauling Pam up by her haunches before starting to tongue fuck right there in front of your camera. You snapped countless shots, screaming and jumping in place as you worked your magic. Hot people doing hot things who were also clearly into it, was marketing gold. 

Eat that Crowley.

Sam swooped you up in a hug and wished you happy new year, then came Charlie, who had arrived after dinner with some girls from her LARPing group. After a few elbows to the side, Dean broke from Bela’s mouth and welcomed you and Charlie into a group hug. The speakers blasted Auld Lang Syne and everyone joined in, arms linked and swaying to the stilted beat. 

Elizabeth ensured the party was still going, so she had her people put out fresh appetizers and turned the jukebox back on. There was a run for the bathroom and then for refills and before you knew it it was after one. You had a fresh drink in your hand and a circle had formed around you of women grooving to Mustang Sally.

“Ride Sally, RIDE!” you all bellowed. 

Bela had taken off her shoes and was holding them over her head as she swayed her hips. You whipped your head and shoulders back and forth feeling loose and timeless. Charlie was snapping and getting soulful as she sang along, knowing every line of the verses even.

Sam Cooke followed Wilson Pickett on the jukebox, slowing it down and sending your little circle off towards their partners. You didn’t care, you just kept swaying and taking turns singing “yeah— yeah!” and sipping your cocktail.

The crowd was thinning and you knew either brother would be corralling the group for the after party at their place shortly. Thank the label for drivers and security all on the craziest night of the year. 

“Hey, you good?” Dean’s voice came out of nowhere and you turned towards his warmth, eyes closed and humming. 

“Yeah, is it time–?”

“Let’s get off the dancefloor, I can barely hear you,” Dean took your elbow and brought you over to the edge of the counter where the bartender was wiping glasses dry.

“How are you? Need to puke and rally before we get in the car?” Dean asked firmly, testing your sobriety by your answer and the focus of your eyes.

“I’m fine, why? Is Bela puking?” you looked around for your bestie amongst the remaining partygoers.

“No, look, I just, here,” Dean brushed his knuckles against your cheek to get you to look back at him. Once he had your full attention, he leaned in and licked his lips, watching you as you waited for him to finish his thought. And then he was kissing you, hand on the back of your head and impossible lips massaging yours into complete submission.

You shuttered around a breath and opened your mouth for his tongue. That delicious sensation was enough to reset your brain and you pulled back, gasping.

You couldn’t form words and Dean’s face went from sleepy to wary to disappointed all in the blink of an eye. 

“Look— you deserve a midnight kiss, too, you know. I just—- thought you should have one,” Dean said in the space between maybe and almost.

You cleared your throat. “Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then. Thanks?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, you were too shellshocked, too exposed.

“I’ll start getting everybody towards the exit. See you at the cars,” Dean said lowly, fingertips brushing your hip as he moved through your space.

You finished your drink and got a road beer from the blissfully unaware bartender. It was time to slow down, especially if you were going to be in Dean’s space the rest of the night. 

Damn it.

Tagging:

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@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

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@rockhoochie

Chapter Sixteen: Schleppen

[dc-marvel-life]

Perfect Fit Part 7

Pairing: Natasha x Wanda x reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Y/N is the new member joining the Avengers that came from a top-secret program in SHIELD that she was in all her life. Now that she has joined the team, she is experiencing life for the first time. She has caught the eye of the two most powerful women on the team.

A/N: Look at me posting two parts in one week. Thank you to everyone that has been reading along with the story. Hope you enjoy this chapter because things are getting good. Please like, comment, and repost!

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 Part 6

After Tony’s request to start a game night, the team enters the living room. The atmosphere in the room is fantastic, and everyone is ready to start playing. This is a tradition that the team always does after a good mission. That is why the team works so well together after all these years. 

Y/N is excited to join game night because she never got a chance to do this growing up. She was constantly training one way or another; this would be her first time playing games like this. She is already on edge after all the alcohol in her system. Natasha and Wanda just took very seductive body shots off of her, and she can’t get that image and feel out of her mind.

Y/N looks at the girls on both sides of her and wonders what they are thinking about what happened just a few moments ago. She has liked the couple since she stepped foot in the Avengers compound. Getting to know them over her time here has been impactful, even if she has been here for a little over a month. It has been the best month of her life with them and the team. 

“Alright, does everyone have a drink with them before we start the games,” Tony asked while carrying liquor bottles in his hands for shots, and right behind him was Steve with cups and shot glasses. 

“Damn, I need a drink,” Y/N has, looking down at the empty bottle that she chugs earlier.

“Don't worry, malysh; I will go and make drinks for all of us,” Natasha says, getting up and heading to the kitchen. While Natasha is in the kitchen, Yelena tries to sneak up on her.

“I know that you are trying to scare me, Lena. I heard you enter the kitchen,” Natasha says to Yelena without lifting her head and continuing to make drinks.

“I can never get one over on you, huh sis” Yelena laughs. 

“Nope, so what’s up?” Natasha asks, wondering why Yelena is trying to sneak up on her.

“I wanted to talk to you about Y/N,” Yelena says, and Natasha sighs. 

“What is there to talk about, Lena? She is amazing, I enjoy her company, and she is a great addition to the team,” the older sibling defends Y/N. 

“She is trying to steal Wanda away from you, and you are too blind to see it with her nice girl appearance,” Yelena says, and Natasha tries her best not to laugh, but a chuckle gets out.

“What are you laughing at? You are throwing away the best thing that has happened to you. You have been together with Wanda for 7 years now. What’s up?” Yelena says, trying not to raise her voice.

“My sweet little sister, Y/N, isn’t trying to steal Wanda away from me. We are all good friends with each other, and we are all trying to get to know each other right now. It is a bit complex right now, and there is a lot up in the air, but trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about. I am very happy with Wanda and Y/N,” Natasha reassured her little sister.

“I am always going to worry about you, Nat. We have been through so much together, then we got separated, and now we are together again. I don’t want to see you hurt again,” Yelena says, looking down, then gets engulfed in a hug by Natasha.

“I am lucky to have a sister like you,” Yelena hugged Natasha back.

“Now, please don’t be mean to Y/N, and let's get to game night with everyone else” Natasha smiles and picks up the drinks that she made for her girls. Yelena nods, enters the living room, and sits next to Kate. Natasha returns to give Y/N and Wanda their drink, then sits beside Y/N.

Y/N now has Wanda and Natasha by her side. Y/N is a bit confused why they do this and do not sit next to each other, but she doesn’t mind because she feels safe between them. 

“Time to start the game night off. We have a new team member, so I will explain how game night works. As you all know, we do these game nights after a great mission to celebrate how well we work together as a team and family. We kick back in our pj’s, drink, and have fun with each other. We play a bunch of fun drinking games to get to know each other, embarrass each other, and have friendly competitions. We are glad to have a new addition to our game night. Good luck tonight, Y/N. We will kick your ass and get you drunk,” Sam says, and the whole team drinks to that. 

“Thanks, Sam, and I will be the one kicking y’all’s assess tonight,” Y/N says, standing up and pointing at Sam, who is now laughing.

“We will see about that,” Sam jokes while sitting back down. The night starts with the team playing a few games like drunk Jenga and other drinking card games. Most of the team is past tipsy and on the way to getting drunk. 

“Thor, you are all mighty with your big, strong muscles,” Bucky says after losing an arm wrestling match with his metal arm. 

“I am pretty mighty” Thor flexes his muscles.

“You may be strong, but I bet I can lift that hammer of yours,” Bucky challenges Thor while the team oo’s in the background. 

“Okay, let’s make it a challenge. Whoever can lift my hammer, I will take two shots, but if you don’t, you will have to take two shots. Who is up for it?” Thor challenges the team, and everyone drunkenly steps up to the challenge. 

One by one, people step up to the hammer and fail to lift it, then take their two shots right afterward. The closest person was Steve that lifted it up by half an inch. The following person up was Wanda, who tried to use her powers but failed; she took her two shots and sat back down next to Y/N.

“Y/N, why don’t you go up there and try to lift the hammer. I bet you are strong enough to handle it,” Wanda says, whispering into Y/N’s ear while one hand goes to Y/N’s lap and the other snakes around Y/N’s arms to feel her muscles.

“I bet you are right, Wanda. I would love to see how strong Y/N is and how much she can take,” Natasha says into Y/N’s other ear. Y/N lets out a soft moan, loud enough for only Natasha and Wanda to hear. This made the couple smile at knowing how Y/N’s body reacted to them. 

“Let me try,” Y/N says, standing straight up from the couch. She would have let out more moans if she hadn't moved than she was willing to admit. Y/N knew how much power Wanda and Natasha had over her. She wants to dominate and submit to them at the same time, and it drives her mad. 

“Step right up, Y/N,” Thor says, pouring two more shots. Y/N heads over to the hammer, stumbling. The team might think she is just drunk, but in reality, her legs are weak for the two redheads. Y/N stands in front of the hammer, debating on which metal to change into to lift the hammer, but something in her head tells her no.

She went with her instinct and went to pick up the hammer without her power. She was ready to pick up an incredibly heavy hammer, but instead, it was light like a feather. Y/N looks at the hammer amazed, while Thor is stunned. 

“Look, I picked it up! It’s much lighter than I thought” Y/N waves around the hammer and points it to a wall.

“Be careful with that because if you pick up the hammer, that means you are worthy, and you have the power of-” Thor is interrupted by a massive bolt of lightning hitting the ground outside, making everyone jump a little. Y/N puts the hammer down right away.

“I am so sorry,” Y/N apologize, feeling bad. 

Thor says, “Don’t be sorry! You are worthy! I will have 4 shots because of that” Thor takes his 4 shots with everyone cheering, and Y/N returns to sit between the two redheads.

“We already knew that you were worthy. Good job,” Wanda says; then Wanda and Natasha kiss Y/N on her cheeks. Making Y/N feel very warm.

“Alright, let’s play old fashion truth or dare,” Kate says eagerly, wanting to play a new game.

“Don’t we already know a lot about each other?” Steve says.

“Yes, but Y/N is new and probably wants to learn more about us like we do to her. I also want you all to pick dare so I can shoot an apple off your head,” Kate says, shrugging her shoulders.

“Well, you aren’t going to be doing that to me again,” Clint says, sipping his drink.

“It was one time that I nicked the side of your head. I was just starting out, and you got a cool haircut from it,” Kate pouts, and Yelena puts her arms around her to make her feel better. 

“I think it will be fun,” Y/N speaks up.

“Then let's do it,” Natasha says.

“Perfect, I will start,” Bucky finishes drinking his beer and using it as a spin bottle. After a couple of rounds of truth or dare, it’s Yelena's turn to spin the bottle, and it lands on Y/N. Leaving Yelena with a massive smile on her face.

“Truth or dare, Y/N,” Yelena says, hoping she picks truth.

“Umm.. truth,” Y/N says.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?” Yelena asks, and the team o’s like high schoolers about to get the juiciest gossip they have ever heard of.

“Well, yes, I do. I actually have a crush on two girls right now,” Y/N admits drunkenly without a second thought.

“Really?” Yelena says, then Y/N realizes what she just said, sinking into the couch. Natasha and Wanda are smiling ear to ear with that news.

“Who are they? You don’t know people outside SHELID or us, so….. You have a crush on people on the team!” Kate puts the pieces together.

“Okay, yes, I do. I am polyamorous, so I can have feelings for more than one person at a time,” Y/N states proudly. She is not ashamed of being who she is. 

“Thanks, cool Y/N; I may not understand it, but we are all happy as long as you are happy. I am honored that you are willing to share that with us,” Steve says, and Y/N says thank you back.

“So, will you tell us who these people are?” Tony wiggles his eyebrows. Y/N feels embarrassed that the team knows that she has crushes on two people on the team, and it will not be hard to narrow down. Y/N sinks further back into the couch, hiding behind Natasha, with Wanda rubbing her back. They try their best not to smile to show how happy they are with the news.

“Well, that’s easy. I know one of them is Carol,” Bucky says, and Y/N shoots up on the couch, looking at Bucky.

“You are right, robocop! Carol and Y/N are always hanging out and flirting,” Sam says in agreement. Everyone looks between Y/N and Carol. Carol is red as a tomato, and Y/N hides her face in her hands. Y/N does admit to flirting with Carol for fun. It was just her way of making friends since she does that with everyone on the team. It was just supposed to be a joke. The only people she didn’t openly flirt with were Natasha and Wanda. 

“That makes so much sense; the other must be Valkyrie. They always flirt with each other when she comes over to hang out for a bit” Everyone is nodding in agreement putting the pieces together, leaving Natasha and Wanda with a sour taste in their mouth. How can no team member think that Y/N would be a great addition to their relationship?

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” Tony starts to chant, and the whole team gets involved chanting that Y/N and Carol should kiss. Y/N looks between Natasha and Wanda to see what to do, but the next thing Y/N knows, Carol turns her face and kisses her. 

It wasn’t a quick peck; Carol really started to get into it, and Natasha had enough and stood up, about to say something. When Natasha stands up, something that gets everyone's attention falls out of her pocket.

Everyone is looking down at the velvet box that fell out. Natasha looks down and curses in her head for having it in her pocket.

While getting ready for the party, Natasha looked at the ring and thought how different she wanted her life when she bought the ring for Wanda. Now she wants Y/N to join their relationship. To love and protect the two women in her life now. Then Wanda came out of the shower faster than she thought and put the box in her back pocket. 

“Well, I am guessing that this is too soon, but there seems to be a congratulation in order. Not to jink it, but we all know that Wanda is going to say yes,” Clint says and starts to clap with everyone joining them.

By this point, Y/N and Carol have stopped kissing. Y/N is looking at the box, stunned; she picks up the box and sees the ring.

“Wow, it is beautiful. You are one lucky woman, Wanda” Y/N hands the ring to Wanda, trying her best to hold back tears. Wanda and Natasha can see how sad Y/N is and feel guilty.

“I have to use the bathroom,” Y/N says, running to the bathroom while everyone cheers for the happy couple.

Taglist: @tigerlillyruiz @marvelwomen-simp @smromanoff @whitewidowsbite @cd-4848 @fxckmiup

Masterlist

[discokicks]

WHISKEY, TANGO, FOXTROT - ROY KENT.

PART FOUR OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: it's your first game of the season at chelsea and rebecca’s got some press for you to do. however, thanks to rupert, the reporters will have some questions you’re not exactly ready for. the same could be said for 2012 roy kent, who’s abusing his new avoidance power to the fullest extent. but, as the two of you continue to work and get closer, you realize that there might just be something else there.

word count & rating: 15.4k (holy fuck this is why it took 6 months), R (language per usual) chapter warnings: swearing, references to sex, minor allusions to sexual harassment, mentions of alcohol, the beginnings of sexual tension (slow and steady wins the race), rupert is a dick, roy kent has got around and everyone knows it, keeley and rebecca are wine drinking pr besties, men are trash (but we know this) author's note: long time no see and happy olympics season! it felt fitting to post this now, so I got motivated to get my ass into gear and write. there's A LOT to this one, so buckle up. and make sure you stay until the end bc baby we're cooking with gas now. this took a lot out of me, so i hope you enjoy! love u tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You’re up 1-0 when you retreat into the locker room at halftime during your third game of the Olympic Tournament against North Korea.

Despite the fact that you’re winning, it was a terrible showing from each of you, except for Mel, who’d been your lone scorer of the night. She’d had a breakaway and had managed to single-handedly beat three defenders for a pretty impressive goal. You’d practically jumped into her arms during the celebration, glad that someone was able to break the sleepy curse that had seemed to be placed on your team.

Your captain Katie O’Connor stands tall at the front of the room, ready to rip you guys a new one. She was the more… passionate of your three captains, potentially coming off as abrasive when things weren’t going your way or if she felt that things could be better. It was only because she cared so much. You all did.

“We should be beating them by four at this point,” she says, pointing out the door. A mumbling of agreements goes through your team, knowing that it’s the truth. “We’re playing like it’s fucking high school out there. It’s the fucking Olympics, act like we belong here, for fuck’s sake.”

The amount of ‘fucks’ that Katie drops instantly has you thinking of someone else. God damn it, he was probably watching, wasn’t he? You could only imagine the things he was thinking, or saying, for that matter. 

You know you shouldn’t care as much as you do, but… as much as you hate to admit it, you want to impress him. Or at least make it look like these training sessions have been worth it. There was something about him that made you want to prove yourself. It wasn’t that he demanded you to do so or that he’d value you less if you didn’t, but you wanted to. Unfortunately, you cared about his opinion. How tragic was that?

Curiosity gets the best of you. Before your coach can come into the locker room, you fish through your bag and take a peek at your phone, just to see if he, or anyone else, has said anything.

Sure enough, you see that you’ve got two texts from Roy Kent that were sent five minutes ago, right when you finished the half.

What a fucking atrocious half. I fucking dare you to hit the post one more time.

A scowl pulls at your lips, but you know it’s true. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already thought yourself. He had an extraordinary talent for knowing how to be exactly the brand of jackass that pissed you off, though. It only became more apparent as you read the next message.

You could learn a thing or two about footwork from Rivera.

You scoff, glancing over at Mel, who, while she sat next to you, was staring blankly at the wall, undoubtedly in her own little world. Before she notices you looking, you’ve turned back to your phone and to his messages. “Asshole,” you mutter, but type out your response.

maybe i’ll get her to coach me then. she isn’t as much of a dick to me.

The response comes before you can put away your phone. Not your coach, he says, then sends another message. Relax out there. You’re somehow playing nervous and stiff at the same time. You’re a fucking anomaly. But before you can frown too hard at that, he says, You know how to see the field. So take a breath and fucking see it.

You throw your phone back in your bag with a huff, mind reeling as you attempt to think back to what the field looked like before the half. The last three possessions had you following Mel as she took the ball up the field. The defense had started favoring her side due to her dominance throughout the game, leaving… 

…Katie on the left side. And while they hadn’t left her open—

“Did you call me an asshole a second ago?” Mel asks from beside you, having broken out of her own trance. You flinch at the sound of her voice, instinctively flipping your phone over and against the bench you’re sitting on. 

She courteously spares you the weird look you know she’s holding back. “No,” you reply. You motion to your phone. “Roy’s texting me.”

Mel nods in understanding. “Gotcha. What’s Coach Kent have to say?”

“He’s being an asshole,” you repeat. “He says we’re ‘atrocious.’ Making fun of how much I’m hitting the post.” You turn to her. “He’s got good things to say about your footwork, though.”

Mel grins. “I knew I liked him.”

You scowl again at that. “He’s also telling me I need to see the field better.” Mel raises her brows at the look on your face, cueing you to go on. “I think Katie’s been open-ish for the last three possessions. They’re favoring your side.”

The two of you look back to your teammate once more as you consider this. “We could keep trying to draw the defense out,” Mel offers. “We scare them a little bit, hit her when she’s coming up.”

“She can beat that fullback in a heartbeat,” you agree.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t play any shittier than we already are.”

You nod at Mel with faux enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit.”

And that’s exactly what you decide. Mel jumps to her feet and explains your plan to Katie and the team, drawing up the X’s and O’s on the locker room whiteboard. You glance around the room cautiously, forcing yourself not to read into your teammates' expressions too deeply. 

But it’s hard. Especially when you’re an overthinker.

It’s a title you’ve resigned yourself to, much to Roy’s pleasure. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, it was the truth. And while you were still working to get out of that lifelong mindset, it didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

But your over-analyzing leads you to a result you like: all of your teammates seem to be on board with your ideas. You can’t deny that that feels good.

You especially can’t deny it when your coach walks into the locker room to see Mel’s play on the baker and says, “Well, you ladies are way ahead of me.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to draw up.

That feeling has you giddily awaiting the moment you can grab your phone before you head back out to the field to send a text to your newfound trainer. 

i’ll have a shot on net in the first ten minutes, you type to him, confidence radiating through the text. and it’s not gonna hit the post this time.

Your message reaches Roy when he returns to his phone at the beginning of the second half. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he settles back into his couch, shaking his head when he glances up at the massive TV in his sitting room, the broadcast showing a close-up of you with a new sort of fire in your eyes. It’s a look that illuminates his dim and quiet flat, one that he can’t seem to part with until they cut away from you.

Within four minutes and fifty-five seconds, you draw the defense over to you and Mel, who wails the ball over to Katie’s side of the field. Katie has possession of it for five seconds before she catches her defender off-guard and sends it in between her legs to you. 

Five minutes in, you live up to your promise and send the ball into the corner of the net, the crowd roaring as Katie shakes you back and forth in excitement and Mel jumps on your back. One of the cameramen runs up to you to catch your celebration, and you stare down the lens with a satisfied smile and point in a way that tells Roy that you’re looking directly at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning even if he wanted to. With yet another shake of his head, Roy reaches out for the phone he’d thrown onto the couch cushion next to him.

I told you. Fucking anomaly you are, you stupid fucking Yank, he writes. Stay pissed off. It’s a good look on you, Fourteen.

When Roy sends that text, he keeps his phone closer to him this time, and somehow, his dim and quiet flat feels just a bit lighter, even if for a brief moment.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Before you can leave the Richmond facilities post-Saturday afternoon practice, you’re suddenly called into Rebecca Walton’s office.

It’s a day before your first game of the season and after your rather animated talk with Roy in the Boot Room yesterday, you’re feeling a bit lighter. You slept better last night (though you don’t see yourself hitting REM any time soon) and don’t feel like you’re being dragged down by the massive weight of… well, everything. It’s a feeling you’re taking in stride and one you’re welcoming with open arms. 

Practices before game days were typically a bit easier-going, and you and your fellow coaches had decided to make sure the team was up to date and understood the best plays to run against Chelsea tomorrow. They knew who to stop, what defenses to watch out for, and what trick plays to expect. While you hadn’t lent your voice to the conversation as much as you probably should have, especially after being yelled at for it yesterday, you spoke more than usual. While that still wasn’t a lot, it was enough. And that made you feel good, above all else.

That feeling goes away the second you walk into your boss’s office to see her and an incredibly familiar face staring at you from the couch area. Your lips part the second you see her, hand unsubtly slamming against the doorframe, not just to stabilize yourself, but to keep you from dramatically heel-turning out of the room, to never return.

By the way that Keeley Jones is looking at you, you can tell she’s just about on the same page. You suppose she’s got the better end of this deal, simply because your arrival doesn’t seem to be a surprise for her. At least she had a warning about the foreboding awkwardness of this situation. Your boss didn’t exactly grant you that luxury.

Then again, you figure Rebecca had no real way of knowing just how strange this might be for you. She didn’t know the extent of your history with Roy, and the only person who may was sitting right next to her, probably having shared more of that history than either of you cared to admit.

However, what you’re not expecting from Keeley, is the way she gapes at you, then turns to Rebecca to whisper, “Fucking hell, you didn’t say she was hotter in person.”

The shock and confusion flowing through your body makes you blink slowly at them to readjust, and you lean back on your back foot. You manage to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back--”

“No, no,” Rebecca says, beckoning you in after she finishes rolling her eyes at Keeley, “come on in and join us! We just opened a bottle.”

Join them? You glance at the open bottle of wine on the coffee table, then back to them. Is this why you were called here? To indulge in some post-work girl talk with your boss and Roy’s first real, and only public girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, you remembered, but still.

You’re sure the discomfort you feel is broadcasted on your face, and that becomes especially apparent when Keeley offers you a small, kind smile. However, the action is sweet and it makes your over-anxious mind ease slightly. If she’s not going to be weird about it, you certainly aren’t either.

Besides, you have no idea what she actually knows about you and Roy. He would be the type to tell her nothing. He was the type to tell her nothing.

However, something about Keeley’s demeanor tells you that’s probably not the case.

When you realize that you’ve been standing like a freak in the doorway for just a moment too long, you snap out of your haze and return the smile, nodding gratefully as you enter Rebecca’s office.

“We were just discussing the game tomorrow,” Rebecca tells you as she reaches for the spare wine glass on the table. She eyes you with a wry grin. “I’d ask if you drank, but that bar cart I saw in your apartment gave you away.”

A surprised laugh escapes you at the rather forward comment, but it helps you relax slightly as you make your way to them. “Yeah, well. It was probably looking pretty sparse when you saw it.” You reach your hand out to Keeley, continuing to smile softly as you introduce yourself.

“Keeley Jones,” she says to you, though there’s a mutual understanding that this is just a formality. You both know who the other is. “Bad week, yeah?” she asks.

You reach for the wine glass Rebecca offers you and send a look of confirmation to Keeley. “You have no idea.” Your smile stretches as you look over at Rebecca and sit down. “These last couple of days have made up for it, though.”

Rebecca returns it. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“I can imagine it’s been a little different than West Ham,” Keeley says. “We know what Rupert likes to pull. All that shit he’s been saying about you leaving?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how people aren’t seeing through him.”

The smile you wear falters slightly. “I, uh… haven’t really been keeping up with any of that,” you tell her. “Figured it wouldn’t be great to hear anything that anybody’s saying about me, y’know?”

“Totally get that,” she replies kindly. However, she hesitates. “...But you… haven’t seen anything that’s been going around?”

“Um…” you trail off, shifting in your chair. “No? Why? Is it really that bad?”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange a look. “It’s just—” Rebecca cuts herself off, looking back at you. “Remember how I said you wouldn’t have to do any press if you didn’t want to?”

Any remnants of the demeanor you had when you sat down completely drain from your expression. “Oh, my God. It is that bad, isn’t it?”

Keeley shakes her head, holding out her hands. “No, no, it’s really not. It could be so much worse,” she assures. “I mean, it is that bad with those weird little shits online who always have a problem with successful women in sports, but what else is new—”

“This is the worst of it,” Rebecca interjects, putting a hand on her friend's arm. She passes you a tablet as Keeley goes quiet and you take it cautiously. 

It’s a video of Rupert at a press conference, one you presume was taken this morning. The season kicked off tomorrow and Ted, Rebecca, and the rest of the team had been stuck doing interviews all day, something of which you weren’t sad to have missed out on.

You press the play button in the center of the screen to watch Rupert point at someone off-camera. “Yes,” he says. “Daniel, what have you got?”

Daniel, presumably, asks, “I was just curious how the team’s feeling with that coaching shake-up so close to Opening Day?” You hear a murmur go through the audience of reporters. “Losing someone like that and then watching her get picked up by Richmond must be tough on you guys, no?”

Rupert seems to take this in and sit with it, nodding slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Daniel,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t happy with the note that we ended on. She had concerns toward the end of her tenure about her role on the team and with certain aspects of AFC culture. She knows just how talented I think she is, and how excited we were to have her working with us. And we had a wonderful couple of months working with her. But, unfortunately…” He shakes his head scornfully, like all of this was genuinely upsetting him. “...there were just some differences we couldn’t get past. The team was remarkably sad to see her go, but I don’t believe it’ll affect our performance this season.” 

He lets his answer hang there for a moment, but tragically, he’s not done. “Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps their values align more with what she wanted out of her AFC career.” And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he adds, “Perhaps she just wanted to coach with her old friend Roy Kent.” Your lips part at that, brow furrowing in disbelief as the reporters chuckle. “Who knows? I wish her the best and I wish Richmond good luck. I hope they’re a better fit for her.”

The clip cuts off there and you glance up at Rebecca and Keeley who are both bracing for impact. “What the fuck?” 

If either of them find your words unprofessional, they do nothing to indicate it. However, there’s something about them that tells you they’re more than comfortable with that kind of language in the workplace. “Yeah,” Keeley says. “So, like I said. It could be so much worse.”

“He was the one who was unhappy with how it ended?” you quote. “He’s upset about the differences we couldn’t work past? How about you address my concerns with AFC culture and get upset with your—”

You cut yourself off before you can say too much, focusing your attention on the plant in the corner of Rebecca’s office to stabilize yourself. What a fucking asshole. What a self-serving, lying, fucking asshole. He’s not worth the tears. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

You understand why you were called in now, why Rebecca prefaced the video with that question. You’d neglected to personally get ahead of Rupert and make a real statement on your choice to part with West Ham and sign with Richmond. Now you were paying that price— the price of being afraid.

“What—” Your voice cracks as you attempt to speak, and you clear your throat. “What type of press do I have to do?”

Rebecca’s sigh is empathetic. “We think it’d be smart to send you out with Ted tomorrow after the game. Make a statement, answer a few questions,” she says. “That is, if you’re open to it.”

Your brow raises skeptically. “I can say no to that?”

Rebecca chuckles. “You can say no to anything,” she tells you. “Roy refuses to do any sort of press and he’s managed to be completely fine. Labeled as a bitter, old recluse, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Typical. But then, she adds, “We do think it’s your best move, though.”

You know it’s your best move. You know it’s what you should have done at the beginning of all of this. You know that there’s nothing that you want to do less. But somehow, having that small, offhanded-out Rebecca offered makes it all sit a bit easier with you.

“I think so too,” you finally agree, sighing shakily. Rebecca and Keeley grin at you encouragingly, watching as you reach out to take a hearty sip of your wine. “So, what’s the plan?” You look over at Keeley. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Keeley’s face lights up. “Exactly why I’m here,” she replies. “We’re gonna PR this shit so fucking hard nobody is going to know what hit them.”

Her enthusiasm makes the corners of your mouth rise despite everything else. “Can’t say I’m great in front of a crowd,” you warn.

“It’s rare to find people who are,” Keeley responds easily, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off your comment. “That’s why we’re going to make this as simple as possible.”

You nod. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Okay, three things you’re going to want to address,” she begins, tapping on her fingers. “The first is clarifying the ‘note that you ended on’ and those differences with the team. You don’t need to get into specifics if you don’t want to—”

“I really do not,” you tell her.

“Got it,” she says, and the look on her face tells you she really does get it. “Don’t get into specifics. Just say that you’re also upset things didn’t work out, but that it was nothing personal. Truly just leadership differences, like was first said. Even if it wasn’t.”

Your eyes narrow in question. “So, just lie?”

“Welcome to PR, babe,” she replies, and her grin gets more genuine when she sees you chuckle. “Alright, second; we’ve gotta say something about why you chose Richmond. Something that goes beyond our stale press release statement.”

“I didn’t think it was stale,” you offer.

“Aw, thank you!” The smile drops from her face. “But it was. All press releases are. They’re just words on a page, which is so fucking boring. And they get no feeling across. Which is what we need from you,” she says with a point. “You just need to actually say what we’ve already said.”

Once again, you nod. “So, you need it once more, with feeling?”

Keeley blinks back at you, then glances at Rebecca. “My god, I fucking love her.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary and smaller than the encouraging one that appears on Rebecca’s. “I told you that you would,” she says softly to her, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear. She then turns to you once more. “He brought up AFC culture and our values, but don’t even touch that.”

“'Values' is a loaded word,” Keeley says. “He used it for a reason, but if we’re looking to ignore all this, we shouldn’t be using those types of words.”

“Right,” continues Rebecca. “We’re not looking for a fight here. You don’t want to engage, we don’t want to engage. I think we can all agree we’re looking for this to be over and done with and forgotten about, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“So, just agree with his comments. Leave it neutral. Non-confrontational,” Rebecca says. “Make it easy. Even if you’re not disappointed to have left the club, say that you are. If you want to touch on ‘culture’ reference AFC culture as a whole. The culture shock of transitioning from womens to mens sports.”

Neutral, you think. Non-confrontational. Easy. You can do that.

After a moment, you nod in confirmation at Rebecca. Then, you refocus on Keeley. “What’s the third thing we need to address?”

Keeley folds her hands awkwardly. “That would be… uh, your friendship with Roy.”

Your face goes hot almost instantaneously. “Oh,” you say softly. You scratch the inside of your wrist, finding it increasingly hard to keep Keeley’s gaze, especially as she continues to sit in that tension with you. “Do I have to? Address that, I mean? We were just friends. A ton of people in the football world are friends with each other. I don’t…” The lie sours your tongue and you glance over at Rebecca, hoping for her to throw some kind of life preserver to you over here. “I didn’t think anyone knew about that. It wasn’t like we were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck or whatever. Our friendship wasn’t mainstream news.”

“Some intern at The Sun found some photos of you two after the 2012 Olympics at a club,” Rebecca explains. Your entire body flushes as you remember that night. “They resurfaced and became relevant after your move to Richmond.”

“Okay, but, if it’s the night I think they’re referring to, we were out with our teams,” you attempt to reason. “There’s no reason other than media speculation that people would think we were… what was implied.”

Keeley points at you. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to say if you’re asked about it.” Then, with a good-humored shrug, she says, “If you want to be petty, you can talk about how this speculation wouldn’t be happening if you were a man.”

Rebecca looks at her friend. “That’s actually not bad. Because it wouldn’t be.”

“None of this would be,” you say to the two women in front of you. The tone you’ve taken is scornful, and while they may not know all the reasons why… they get it.

Keeley reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine at in the center of the coffee table and tilts it to offer it to you. You nod almost immediately, mustering up a small smile as she pours. “So, our plan is to send you in with Ted after tomorrow’s game. They’ll probably, mainly, have questions for you because that’s the drama right now, so I’ve written up something that we can practice and workshop.”

“Ted’s won the press over and is practically on a first-name basis with all of them,” Rebecca continues. “So, he’ll be a lifeline if you need him at any time.”

Keeley nods at the glass she just poured for you. “So, drink up. Because we’re going to run through this shit and roleplay.” She pauses for a moment, catching herself. “The press conference, I mean. Not the sexy kind.”

“Probably better for HR reasons,” you reply.

As that joke slips out of your mouth, you can feel your comfort level with them rising. Something about them is just so… welcoming. You’re in a room with your boss and Roy’s ex-girlfriend. You should be guarded. You should be censoring yourself. But as you continue to sit here, you can’t see yourself doing so.

Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps you were right, you fucking prick.

Keeley snorts softly and nods in agreement and you notice the smile that grows on Rebecca’s face. “I’ve heard the HR is rather easily swayed, so we might be able to get away with it,” Keeley responds, grinning as she sees you laugh.

Rebecca claps her hands together. “So. Non-sexy press conference roleplay?”

They both turn to you, and after a hearty gulp of your wine, you sigh. “Let’s get to it.”

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You finish the game against North Korea with another win under your belt and return to utter chaos when you get back to the dorms.

While you were the only scorer of the last half, everyone stepped up their game in the ways that they had to. Things still weren’t perfect and there was plenty for all of you to work on going forward, but you were proud of the way your team had turned things around. 

When you return, it’s just past midnight, and all you want to do is go to bed. The game had drained you completely dry, and there was nothing more appealing than the idea of tucking into your horrendously uncomfortable dorm bed. Luckily, unlike last time, Mel’s on the same page as you.

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride back for about an hour and spent the other three complaining that you weren’t paying attention to her. And why weren’t you paying attention?

Because Roy fucking Kent wouldn’t stop texting you. After you’d read over the text he’d sent to you during the second half (and ignored the weird feeling in your stomach and heat on your cheeks at him calling you an anomaly, God, why did that word land with you so well?), you’d returned to gloat. Hit the post again, he’d said. You hadn’t.

Things had gotten carried away from there. What had started as a slightly antagonistic and taunting back and forth had devolved into a conversation about the sleeping accommodations in the dorms (big-time footballer in his posh london flat doesn’t even have the decency to drop off a mattress topper and some extra pillows? you’d complained to him), then to about which countries you wanted to visit (Australia. For no other reason than to meet a quokka, he’d told you), then to what the fuck a quokka is and why he knew about them (that’s the stupidest looking animal i’ve seen in my life. i want 10 of them, you’d said), to whatever you’d landed on next.

You’d put your phone in your pocket the second you’d pulled back into the Village, helping the team unload everyone’s stuff. Everyone seemed completely dead, something of which you celebrated, simply because it meant there was no team bonding preventing you from going to sleep as soon as possible. The only thing that was doing that for you was Mel’s incessant questions about Roy.

“I really think you’re lying to me about this being a weird sex thing,” she says, readjusting her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. “Because there’s no other reason that you two should be talking as much as you are.”

You make a face at her. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” you say for what feels like the seventeenth time that night. “We’re just friends. Or, you know, whatever the closest thing to a friend Roy has is.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mel replies. Her voice echoes through the quiet night air surrounding the dorm’s courtyard. “Roy doesn’t do friends. He hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. And I say that’s because he won’t let me get to know him. Because he doesn’t do friends.” She shrugs. “I mean, ask Jack or anyone who’s played with him. They’ll say the same.”

When you approach the doors of your dorm building, you make a teasingly innocent face at Mel. “Maybe I’m just different.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Or he wants to fuck you.”

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?” you whine as you open the door. “I’m actually, like, kind of having fun with him and this training thing we’re doing. He’s a good guy.” 

Mel shoots you a blank-faced stare. “You were calling him an asshole less than six hours ago.”

“Because he is. But he’s a good guy too,” you respond. “He’s like… I don’t know. Like Ron Swanson or Harrison Ford. Total curmudgeon but in a fun way.”

Mel’s lips purse. “Well, now I can’t stop picturing him with the Ron Swanson mustache.”

You grin, sidestepping fellow Olympians who hang around in the lobby of the dorm. “Have fun sleeping tonight.”

A heavy, exaggerated, long sigh leaves her as you approach the elevator. “Just be careful,” she says, putting her hands up in surrender as you look at her incredulously. “Even if you are just friends. And even if you’re not. As your actual friend, I have to tell you to be careful. All men suck, but athletes tend to suck ten times more.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply in a sing-song fashion. The elevator doors open and you and Mel step in. “I appreciate you, though.”

“You better,” Mel scoffs. “I’m getting gray hairs thinking you’re doing weird sex shit with Chelsea’s Finest on a random pitch in the middle of London.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, my God, can these things close any slow--”

“Hold the door!” shouts a voice from the lobby. On instinct, you reach out to stop the doors that were finally closing, feeling Mel’s elbow in your side. The voice gets louder as it gets closer. “Thank you. Did not feel like waiting for this thing again.”

Into the elevator walks (quite possibly) the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the quintessential surfer look to him, but in a way that works. He’s blonde (while you’re definitely more into dark hair, you can’t deny just how good he looks), at least six-three, and is built like a lean brick house. His curls fall into his eyes that squint into a smile as he looks at you and Mel.

“Oh,” he says as he walks in. “Congratulations on the win today.”

You and Mel stare at him in awe, snapping out of it as you realize that you’re gawking. “Thank you,” you manage to get out. You try to place his accent and what sport he could possibly specialize in, but your brain malfunctions. “I would say the same to you but I’m… uh--”

Luckily, he seems to catch on and saves you from your misery. “I’m Luca,” he says, holding out his hand for you and Mel to shake. “France. Swim team.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Mel says, finally recovering from her trance. “You have any events today?”

“We did,” he says, though he seems to be talking more to you than to Mel. “Placed silver, so we can’t complain.” When you two congratulate him, he nearly brushes you off. “I have heard your team is looking like you’re going to go all the way this year. It is fun to watch.”

“We’re having a good run,” you respond, and he nods at you with that same breathtaking smile. “We’ll see what happens though.”

“Yeah, you are good.” Luca pauses for a moment, then shrugs coyly. “You’re American, so you are not as good as France, but you are up there.”

You see Mel’s head tilt out of the corner of your eye. “Easy now,” she warns with a light-hearted smile. “We beat them by two in our first match.”

Luca throws his hands up, grin turning teasing. “Just telling the truth. I must support my own.”

“Well,” you say, brow furrowed. “We’ll see when we get to the finals.”

“Oui. I believe that we will,” he responds. You notice that he’s leaned in closer than you had previously anticipated and the realization makes your face heat. “We should put a wager on it.”

“You want me to bet on my own team?” you ask rather bluntly, hearing Mel cough to cover a laugh.

“I suppose, yes,” Luca answers. The elevator stops at his floor and his eyes flick to the number on the small screen. “If France wins in your little tournament, you must purchase me a drink when these games are over. But if you win…” He trails off with a shrug as the doors open. “I’ll buy you one. It is only fair, no?”

You blink at him, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is he flirting with you? Setting a friendly bet to get a drink? Just trying to be a jerk by referring to your Olympic Games as a ‘little tournament’? Then again, he was French, so many that’s just the way he spoke.

Yet another nudge from Mel finally has you answering. “I’m the one playing,” you say slowly, cautiously trying to read him. “I feel like I should have a better prize for winning.”

Luca seems to consider this but shrugs once more. “Those are my terms. Even I cannot make exceptions for beautiful women. Do you accept?”

Okay, so maybe he is flirting with you. This beautiful, French, god of a man is potentially flirting with you. You wish he’d upped the stakes by asking you to dinner or something to offer something more direct, but this is what you’re getting. As he exits the elevator, he puts a hand on the door while he awaits your answer. 

But, you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know if you’ll want him as a prize if you win, or as a consolation if you lose. But, you figure, it’s just fun. And he’s hot. So why not.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, mirroring that grin of his.

Luca nods at you, motioning to the hallway behind him. “The deal expires soon. And now you know where to find me.” The smile returns. “So find me if you’re interested.”

And with that, your movie-star-looking, strange Frenchman saunters off down the hall, leaving you with a million questions and an American soccer player who’s gaping at you.

“That was the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mel says, staring at the now-closed doors. “I’m not even into that and… And he… And you said you’d consider getting a drink with him?”

“He made a bet with me,” you argue. “He didn’t ask me out. And even if he did, I didn’t say no.”

Mel looks at you like you’re both insane and the dumbest person alive. “I think we need to get you checked for a fucking concussion, because… what?”

“He didn’t!” you insist, suddenly doubting your own instincts. “Did he?”

The elevator stops and Mel makes a break for the doors. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

You watch helplessly as Mel walks toward your dorm, muttering things about you under her breath that you can barely hear. The second you step off the elevator to follow, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

Get some sleep, Fourteen. You’ve earned it. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

You find yourself smiling down at your phone, and for a moment, all thoughts of missed signs and Mel’s words go quiet. you too, you reply. big game tomorrow. and you know i’ll be harassing you like you did to me, so you better bring your a-game.

Before you can open your door to tuck in for the night, you get a response. I’m counting on it.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Returning to Chelsea is like having one foot stuck in a dream and the other in a nightmare.

On one hand, it’s nostalgic. It’s loud and boisterous and you can’t escape the blue even if you tried. The field’s in the same pristine condition as you remember and the liveliness of it all engulfs you completely. It makes you think about everything that happened here and how easy it used to be.

But, on the other hand… it makes you think about everything. Those aforementioned easier times were a precursor to your downfall, and it all started here. It was the catalyst. Somehow, this place that had been in your life for an inordinately short period of time still had the same effect on you as it did eight years ago. And when you stare out at the field, you can't help but wonder what if.

As those memories start to creep into your head, you suddenly begin to feel very hot and incredibly overwhelmed. The tunnel you’re standing in is quickly going from something familiar to something more liminal. You swear it’s getting smaller too.

But on a day like today, you know you really can’t be panicking about the past. Your team’s on the field and your coaches are waiting for you to join them. There were more pressing things that were worthy of a panic attack.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to the light emanating from the field at the end of the tunnel. You’d never talked yourself out of a panic attack at the prospect of more important panic, but at this point, you’d take what you could get. Focus on the clamminess of your hands. Focus on how bright the field is and how much it’s hurting your eyes. Focus on running through the new plays you now know like the back of your hand. 

As you walk down the tunnel and go through your maniacal little sense check, you decide to focus on something that you hear. And what you hear snaps you out of whatever state you’re in and makes it all quiet down a little bit. Because as you realize what it is you’re hearing, a very different feeling of… something takes over. 

“—HERE! HE’S THERE! HE’S EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, ROY KENT! ROY KENT! HE’S—”

It’s nostalgia. It’s dread. It’s pride. It’s irritation. It’s… so many fucking things all at once and you can’t possibly stop yourself from smiling at it. The twinge you feel pulling in your stomach stays with you as you suppress that urge. Damn it.

Despite his final years being spent at Richmond and despite his new coaching status, they still adore him. You’d jokingly called him a “Chelsea Legend” more times than you could count, but it was true. It’s what he was. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

By the time you make it to the field, Roy’s standing up from the coaches’ bench to show his thanks to the stadium. The cheer is resounding, the song continuing amongst it and you swear under your breath as that feeling lingers. 

It doesn’t go away as he turns to sit back down and meets your gaze instead. And, in typical Roy fashion, while he refused to show any emotion when thanking the city that supported him for years, a fraction of a smile makes its way onto his face when he sees you. 

(God, you hate yourself for noticing.) 

Looking away, you take another steadying breath and make your way to him and the rest of your team. The Richmond pullover you’re sporting rubs against your neck uncomfortably, but before you can fix it, you realize something: the cheers are getting louder. Confused, you look up at the jumbotron, knowing that that type of volume couldn’t possibly be for you. 

Lo and behold, it’s so not for you. It’s for Zava in the owner’s box, who’s staring at the camera like a professional wrestler, egging the crowd on. Right. Of course. Fucking Zava. You take a seat next to Roy as you stare up at the screen. 

“You think we have a chance?” you ask him, and you see him turn to you from the corner of your eye. “I’ve heard Rupert’s been putting in work there.”

Roy huffs. “Fucking twat puts in work everywhere but the things that matter,” he mutters, looking back to Zava. Your brows shoot up in agreement. “Let’s hope Zava’s not stupid enough to fucking fall for it.”

“Rupert knows how to stroke an ego,” you reply, glancing over to Jamie, who was warming up on the field, unsubtly making a very conscious effort to not look up at the screen. “He knows how to get what he wants. Speaking from experience.”

Roy scowls, and it’s a bit deeper than you were expecting. But, before you can dwell on that, he’s moving on. “You alright?” he asks. 

You know it’s meant to be casual on his part, but there’s an undertone of concern that you try to ignore. “Yeah,” you say through a sigh, hesitantly meeting his stare as you feel it boring into your cheek. You sigh again. “I’m good.” There’s a bit more conviction behind your voice this time, and it seems to satisfy him enough. “I’m nervous, but y’know. It’s a game. I’m always nervous before games.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’ve been waiting for you to throw up.”

It’s your turn to scowl now. “I only do that for big games. This is basically summer league.”

(While your sarcasm was flat, it didn’t go unnoticed. This was, in fact, a big game. Perhaps one of the biggest of your life. You’d thrown up twice today. But he didn’t need to know that.)

Roy looks unconvinced, but you’re thankful when he doesn’t press you further. “You know what to do today,” he tells you, and the assurance in his voice is palpable. 

You do know what to do today. You’ve got to prove why you were hired. Be the coach you know you can be. Get over that crippling anxiety that’s eating you alive. But instead of getting back into that, you say, “I know.”

“Fucking shook on it, too. Means you have to do it.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and slump back into your chair. “Yeah, Roy, I know. I made that rule up. I got it.” With another sigh, you say quietly, “Just let me get there.”

His eyes remain on you. You think he’s going to say something else, but before he can, Ted whistles, calling everyone to attention. As the team rounds up, you and Roy stand.

Instead of saying whatever he was about to, he offers you a nod. 

You got this, he tells you silently. 

And despite the weird, horrendous, painful nether space your relationship currently exists in, the action does make you breathe a little easier. 

You send him one back in thanks.

What doesn’t make you breathe easier, however, is the score at the end of the half. What makes it even worse, is the unprofessional, pedantic Kent Rule that Roy has placed on the team that doesn’t allow anyone to speak in front of Trent Crimm.

Roy’s arms cross over his chest as soon as the writer enters the room, your players quieting down in suit. Your head tips back in annoyance, bracing for whatever’s about to come.

But nothing happens. The team remains quiet and wildly awkward and Trent aptly reads the room. Before he can leave, however, Ted’s calling for him to stay and is asking for Roy to chat.

Roy sends you a glance, then follows his head coach to the back of the room. While the players continue their talks in hushed tones, Beard inches over to where you stand. 

“Did I see a playbook in your bag earlier?” he asks quietly, making you flinch in surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were listening in to their conversation.”

You shoot Beard a look. “I was not,” you say, even though you so totally were. “And yeah? I, uh, take that with me everywhere.”

Beard nods. “Are they your plays?”

“Most of them,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably. You hadn’t talked about that book with anyone since you coached your college girls, and anyone you had shown it to over at West Ham hadn’t given it the time of day. “Why?”

“I want to see them,” he says, shrugging at your surprised expression. “If you want to show them to someone, that is.”

A small smile pulls at your parted lips, and you nod back at him. “That’d be—”

“CRIMM!”

Roy’s voice startles you again, and this time, it gets Beard too. You both turn to see Roy walking back toward the showers, Trent hesitantly following in tow. Ted offers a small smile to both you and Beard as he returns.

“That’d be great,” you whisper to Beard, finishing your sentence. “Thank you.”

The next few minutes are just as awkward as the previous ones. No one knows exactly what to do, or how the conversation behind you is going to play out. You know how hard it is for Roy to let go of things. Forgiveness was never something he excelled at, especially when it came to more personal topics. Not that you were any better at it.

You look around the locker room, watching each of your players whisper animatedly amongst each other. You were down by one and there were no signs of giving up. Each of them knew they were still in this. Even more so, you hadn’t heard any unkind or unsupportive words spoken since you got into the room. 

Your mind takes you back to the second summer scrimmage you coached at West Ham. You were also down by one at the half, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Blame was being shoved down everyone’s throat, clinging wherever it would stick. Nathan Shelley had reprimanded three players within a minute and all of this was for a scrimmage. Nothing about that game mattered or counted. This, of course, was remedied the second you started winning, and the locker room was a wildly different place when you ended up winning by three.

While West Ham seemed to like each other, there was no sense of camaraderie there. It was nice, but nothing was kind. Richmond seemed like a family. You were starting to see that now. 

It wasn’t something you were able to embrace right now, but there was a growing piece of you that was… hopeful that you’d be able to at some point.

At that realization, you feel your body relax for a moment. Only for it to tense back up again as you’re scared for a third time, by Roy and Trent coming back to the group. As soon as he gives the green light to the team that Trent’s safe, the locker room erupts into relieved chaos.

Jamie starts shouting about the passing lanes. Sam yells out something about Chelsea’s lack of defense. More and more voices begin to speak up to offer their insight, and while they’re all on the right path, nobody’s said the right thing yet.

You can feel the words rising in your throat. Your mind continues to spin. Every thought you’d held on to, every tip you wanted to say, every nerve you had about saying the wrong thing was bubbling within you and you could feel yourself about to burst. 

No more being quiet. No more being afraid. No more being passive.

I know that you know them on the field. But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.

You can feel your hands begin to shake back and forth in anticipation of whatever it is you’re about to say. However, you don’t realize that someone’s been watching you until they step beside you.

“C’mon,” they chide, making you jump, “Fucking say it.”

You don’t have to look to know that it’s Roy, but you still turn your head. His eyes fall from yours, to your hands, then back to your face. He’s familiar enough with your tells to know what’s going on. One part of you is grateful to have that. The other part wants to kill him.

The expression you wear reads hesitance, and you’ve only got about three minutes before the team needs to head back out.

As he continues to stare at you, you can hear his voice in your head. This is your job. You signed up for this. You’re a coach. So fucking coach. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath and ball up your fists to stop the shaking. Fucking say it.

So, amidst the noise and the yelling and the bickering, you do.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The silence that takes over the locker room is immediate and deafening. Every single person stares at you in shock, jaws agape and eyes wide as if they couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. 

Every person but one. And if you were to turn and shake the sudden anxiety of having all attention on you, you’d see him smiling softly to himself, something like pride gracing his typically stoic expression.

It takes a moment before you realize they’re all waiting for you to say something. You glance over at Ted, who, while still a bit taken aback, nods at you encouragingly. 

You’ve got the floor, Coach. Let’s do it.

“You’re all right,” you begin, motioning to each of them as you speak. “Yes, Jamie, they’re blocking the passing lanes. It’s a straight-up wall once you get into the midfield. And yeah, Sam they’re not marking you guys. Because they don’t have to. You’re all just…” You search for the word, throwing a hand up when you land on, “...running around aimlessly out there because you’re trying to see what’s going to work. But you know what will?” 

They all just continue to stare at you. Whether or not it’s because nobody has an answer or because they can’t believe you’re actually talking like this, you don’t care. Because you answer for them. “You make them mark you. Force them to break down that wall. Draw them out, and then pass through the cracks,” you tell them, offering a small grin as you continue. “I know you guys. And I know it hasn’t seemed like it because I’ve been… quieter. But I know the type of team you are, and each of you are so, incredibly good at what you do. You’re way better than what you’re doing out there. Like, way better.”

Your team remains quiet, but you know they’ve snapped out of their surprised trance because they’re smiling at you. And they look on board. Your grin grows as you notice. “So, let’s go out there and start this season off right, huh?”

That gets them up and out of their seats. The boys erupt in a cheer, clapping as they gather around in a circle, each of them putting their hands in the middle. Dani’s voice echoes through the locker room as he yells, “For Coach’s first game!”

Another round of cheers follows before Ted looks over at you. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he tells you, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. “Alright. I second everything she said. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of. Okay, four on three!”

Hands go up after their chant, and the team runs out of the room with a type of energy that you’re not sure you’ve seen before. You hang back for a moment to take a breath.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you turn to see Ted smiling at you. “Nice to hear your voice, Ace,” he says, squeezing it softly. “I hope we’ll hear it some more.”

You send him a thankful smile, nodding in affirmation. “You will.”

Ted squeezes your shoulder once more, heading out behind the team. Beard nods in your direction, looking vaguely impressed in the way that only he can, before following suit. 

That leaves you and Roy in the locker room, and somehow, for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, chest heaving down as you do so. You hear Roy huff when he moves to stand next to you. 

“Well,” he says. “That was one fucking way to do it.”

“I have no idea what I said,” you tell him. “I blacked out after I yelled at everyone to shut up.”

You get a huff of a laugh out of Roy for that one. “You did fine.” He doesn’t miss your dubious look. “I’m serious. You did well.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

Roy nods, expression turning a bit more earnest. “Yeah, Fourteen. You did well.”

The nickname makes a lump form in your throat, and it takes everything in you to ignore it. It’d been a while since you’d heard that one like this. It settles like cement in your stomach and you wish you could shake the feeling. He keeps his gaze on yours until you blink away, focusing on anything but him.

“Thanks,” you manage. Again, because he’s being nice, you suppose you can be too. “And, uh… thanks for pushing me. To do that, I mean.”

Roy nods, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” you say again. You hold his stare for one more second before returning his nod, the tension in the air easing within the moment. “Let’s go win a game, Coach.”

You don’t see the way Roy hides a smile as you turn to exit, the reflexive words of ‘not your coach’ on his tongue. But, he bites them back because, well… he is a coach. And so are you.

And as strange as all of this has been for the last week, it hasn't actually felt real to him until now. You’re here. You’re here and working with him and you’re not going anywhere.

The idea of it doesn’t make Roy panic as much as he thought it would.

(Though, unfortunately, that idea is what gets Roy to freak out. But he figures he’s got a bit of time to work that one out.)

LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.

“You ever date a swimmer?”

It’s a question you pose to Roy seemingly out of the blue in the middle of one of your many footwork drills of the night. It was all he’d wanted to focus on for tonight’s training session, especially with your quarter-final game against New Zealand on Friday. While the idea of practicing again tomorrow was still up in the air, Roy had insisted on this practice being solely about fixing up what he viewed as your one weakness.

Roy looks up from your feet in confusion. “What?”

“Have you ever dated a swimmer?” you repeat, enunciating your words in a mildly obnoxious manner. “Perhaps a French person? But any swimmer will do.”

He’s still staring at you like you have three heads. “The fuck are you on about?”

You throw your hands up in a shrug. “I’m just asking. I find it hard to believe that amongst the slew of hook-ups I’ve read about, you haven’t slept with a swimmer.”

Those furrowed brows raise in interest at your statement. “Oh, you’ve read about those?”

Your eyes roll. “So not the point of what I was saying. Answer my question.”

“Foxtrot,” he says, watching you look at him in surprise. “Now shut the fuck up and finish your drills.”

“You really want to use our newly-established one Foxtrot of the hour on a simple topic like this?” you question.

Apparently, he doesn’t. “No, I haven’t dated a swimmer,” he finally tells you, exasperated. He glances down at your feet. “Stay on your toes. That fucking left foot of yours is always fucking flat.” Still staring at your feet and ignoring the way you roll your eyes, he inquires, “Why the fuck are you asking? And why do they have to be French?”

“I think I got asked out by one yesterday,” you say. Roy’s gaze meets yours with a speed that nearly makes you stumble in the middle of your drill. “But I can’t tell if he was being a weird little jerk or if he’s just French.”

While his lips twitch up at the last part of your statement, he seems more stuck on the first. “You think you were asked out?”

“Okay, it was strange,” you reply, sounding a tad defensive and slightly breathless. “He was kind of like, negging me? Which, you know, I’m now used to because I started hanging out with you.” Roy shoots you a look, but you carry on anyway. “But he was all, ‘oh yeah, you’re good. But not as good as the French team.’ And then he was like, ‘how about this, if France beats you guys, you have to buy me a drink. But if you win, I’ll buy you one.’ So, I’m kind of confused.” You stop your footwork as Roy’s stopwatch goes off and you take a moment to catch your breath. “And I’m honest enough to admit that I was only entertaining it because he was hot, but I truly can’t tell if he’s flirting with me and asking me out because he thinks we’ll win, or if he’s trying to get free drinks out of me because he thinks we’ll lose.”

“He was asking you out,” Roy says bluntly, continuing to look unimpressed. “He did a fucking horrendous job of it, but yeah. He’s interested.”

You nod, absorbing this for a second before throwing your hands up. “Why do guys do that?” 

“Do what?” he asks. “Ask girls out?”

Your expression quickly matches his. “Yes, exactly. I’d love for you to explain what happens when a man loves a woman, Roy,” you deadpan, biting back a smile as you see one grow on his lips. “No, dickhead. Why do guys think that… that’s the way to ask someone out? Like, I love a little banter as much as the next girl, but you gotta be good at it. And if you’re not good at it…” You shrug. “I don’t know. If you’re bad at flirting, you’re bad at flirting. That’s okay. That just means you’ve just gotta be direct with how you’re feeling.”

There’s a brief moment where Roy seems to consider this, but shakes his head soon after. “Some don’t know how.”

“Well, they should take classes from you or something,” you reply. “Because you’re the most direct guy I know.”

Roy’s scowl deepens. “Thanks.”

“That’s a compliment,” you say, pointing at him. His expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious. I appreciate it. You’re never afraid to tell me shit. It’s admirable.” A wry grin spreads across your face. “Flirting with you must be a three-sentence interaction.”

He casts his eyes up to the night sky. “Fuck’s sake, you’re on one tonight.”

“No, I’m curious. How do you do it?” you press with raised brows. “You told me when we met that if you were trying to ‘chat me up,’ I’d know it. So, c’mon. How does the magic happen?”

Though you were sure that it was impossible, Roy somehow looks even less impressed. “Foxtrot,” he all but snaps at you, making a low noise at the way you crush your lips together to hold back a laugh. “And I’m fucking serious about it this time. Using my one for the hour, or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, honoring your established rule with a surrender. “You don’t want to waste your succinct flirting charms on me, I get it. I won’t push you.”

Roy scoffs under his breath, fidgeting with his stopwatch. “They wouldn’t be.”

The words make you pause. “What?”

The stopwatch in his hand beeps as he finishes fiddling with the buttons. “You said they’d be wasted on you.” His eyes flick up to catch yours. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t be a waste.”

He speaks so casually that you almost don’t know what to do. You can’t tell what he means. Would his efforts not be a waste because he… likes you? That he wouldn’t even try if he wasn’t interested? Or is he just so confident in his abilities that he thinks he could get you that easily? That he could turn it on within minutes and make you rethink your entire, weird little friendship that you’ve started over this week? Because, to your knowledge, Roy hasn’t shown any sort of sign that he’s interested in you.

Or has he? Was Mel right again? Have you been reading this situation wrong? Was his bickering and negging his strange way of trying to flirt with you? Getting in your ear during drills? Texting you during games? Calling you an anomaly?

You nearly shake the thought out of your head. He’s Roy Kent. He’s quite literally known for being stoic, for his confrontational personality, and for his hotheaded tendencies. You’ve seen all of those traits since you started training together and nothing’s tipped you off that it could be anything more than friendly. Or whatever his version of friendly is.

You’ve also seen the kinds of women he dates. They’re actresses, singers, models, heiresses-- rich London elite. The shitty little one-bedroom you’ve got back home cries out in shame in the back of your mind. The Team USA Nike campaign that you were barely a part of for the World Cup taunts you. Actress, singer, model, and heiress you were not.

You’re not sure if he sees the look of confusion on your face, but you turn away before you can confirm anything. “Right,” you say, drawing the word out slightly. You kick the ball you’d almost forgotten about toward him. “Anyway. I’m bored of these drills. I need to do something else or I’ll go insane.”

Roy receives your pass, placing his foot on top of the ball with a quirked brow. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he attempts to gauge your reaction, momentarily throwing you off. “When have you ever had a say about what goes on in these sessions?”

“Well, never. But I think that says more about your coaching style than it does about anything else, despot.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. He’s found that it’s something he tends to do frequently when you’re around. “I told you that footwork’s the only thing we’re working on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored,” you repeat. “Don’t you have like… I don’t know. Games we can play?”

“Games?” he parrots. He almost sounds offended. “What, are you five years old?”

You completely ignore his comment and gasp, pointing at him. “Let’s play knockout.”

“Again, I ask, are you fucking five years old?”

You look at him, pouting as you slouch over. “C’mon,” you practically whine. “It’s totally a footwork drill. But it’s fun. And it’s better than you just standing there menacingly with a stopwatch like you’re Frankie Dunn.”

Roy looks at you, then hesitates. “You’re a terrible fucking negotiator.”

That moment of hesitation lets you know that you’ve almost got him. While you may be a terrible negotiator, you’re something else: observant. The thing you’ve learned about Roy is that he physically can’t back down from a challenge. You know that there’s something ironic in that, but you figure that’s why you two have worked together so well so far.

So, your eyes narrow and you allow yourself to step forward to do just that; challenge him. “And you’ve got South Korea in a couple days. From what I saw last night, you need the practice.”

Roy’s head tilts, the beginnings of a dangerous smile twisting the corners of his lips. “Is that right?”

“I recall a lost possession toward the end of the first half that easily could have been avoided,” you say, sticking your leg out to kick the ball out from beneath his foot. The faux passive tone you’ve taken on nearly dissolves at the way his eyes darken. “For the amount that Chelsea's Finest goes on and on about footwork, you’d think he’d be better at it.”

Something between you two shifts the second those words leave your mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you (or continues to look at you, God, you don’t think he’s blinked yet) or if it’s your new proximity, but things feel completely different from when you started. The stare you’re holding is charged. It’s not just a challenge anymore— there’s something else there. It makes your mind whirl.

Roy’s voice is low when he asks, “What would you have done differently?”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it offers you a reason to look away from his piercing gaze, take a breath, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “Crossed my mark up a little. Probably would have sent it up the field. Your striker was practically begging to be passed to.” You glance back up at him, with a smile that borders on teasing. “Definitely wouldn’t have hit my mark as hard as you did when you lost the ball.”

“He fucking dove,” is his response, sounding only slightly annoyed. But, when he sees you chuckle, he comes back to, “Who was open upfield?”

His question is genuine, like he’s actually interested in hearing your answer. “I don’t know. Didn’t recognize him. I think he’s a rookie,” you reply with yet another shrug. “But if you led him a little bit, he would have been open.” Roy’s brow draws as he hums something affirmative. When you realize he’s actually thinking about the play, considering what you’re saying, you can’t help but throw in, “Plays like that happen when you’re thinking ahead, Coach.”

Your tone has Roy glaring down at you, and you can feel the look sear through you. “And the goal that happened immediately after that was all instinct.”

“Maybe,” you say noncomittally. "But it could have been better if you all had thought ahead."

That tension between you shifts again, but this time, it’s in a way you’re really not expecting. When Roy looks back at you, there’s something disbelieving in his eyes. As if he can’t figure you out. But it’s also something almost… fond. “You really watched the game last night.”

It’s a question that comes out sounding like a statement. You’re not sure why he looks so surprised or why the emotional state of this conversation keeps going back and forth, but you say the only thing you can think to: the truth.

“You watch mine,” you reply as if the answer was obvious. “And believe it or not, I like watching you play.” Roy blinks at you, obviously not expecting that. For good measure, you add, “Being on the field actually gives you a reason to be a dick, so.”

That same searing stare returns, and it fixates on you long enough to make you itch. You don’t break it, but you rock back and forth on your heels, thinking for a second, maybe you said the wrong thing. Maybe it was a little too real, or a little too friendly.

But before you can sweat it too much, Roy dips his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. ��Fucking hell, fine. One round of knockout, you fucking child.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Yeah. Get the ball. Let’s go.”

You beam at him, running to go grab the ball you’d kicked away from him previously. When you turn back, you find he’s moving to get his own. “If I’d known you’re this easily swayed by flattery, I would have started being way nicer to you earlier.”

“Don’t push it,” he calls out. Despite the fact he’s not facing you, you can picture the look on his face. “And don’t be fucking nice to me. I want to see you pissed.”

“But we’re playing knockout,” you say, as he turns and kicks his football in your direction. “How can I be pissed?”

Roy smirks. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can too. But why do you want me pissed?”

“Because you play better when you’ve got something to prove,” he tells you. Then, he shrugs. “That, and… well, I wasn’t lying.” 

You scrunch your brow. “About what?”

“It’s a good fucking look on you,” he says, meeting your gaze once more. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

Oh. Right, right, right. Totally. Ignoring the way that that makes your cheeks go warm, you reply, “Well, like you said. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

That’s when Roy smiles at you. It’s accompanied by a chuckle and while it’s not a full grin, it’s something warm and mildly sweet. However, for the first time, you’re stuck by how good he looks. You’d always thought he was good-looking, but you’d never been attracted to him. But for some reason, right here, right now, some switch has flipped. 

The realization churns your stomach and makes you physically look away from him. “C’mon, let’s play,” you say, hoping your forced nonchalance hides anything you’re currently feeling. “I like watching you lose.”

Roy huffs, sounding just a bit incredulous. “Whatever you say.”

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

You walk away from the Chelsea pitch with a tie. And frankly, you’ll take it.

You’ve never seen a team more excited about a draw. They’re rowdy as they gather back into the locker room, and you feel a hint of a grin rising as you watch them from the hall. The petty part of your brain again has you comparing what this would have been like if you still worked at West Ham. Shelley would have berated your players (and likely his coaching staff) about how pathetic a draw was. West Ham was the superior team of the league, after all. Their record had to show for it.

It’s then that a sudden realization comes crashing down on you. Fuck. West Ham. PR. You have to do press with Ted.

As if he could hear his name rattling around in your mind, your head coach steps in beside you. He nudges your elbow with his. “You alright there, Ace?”

You nod quickly, like that’ll hide the panic you know is written across your face. “Yeah, Coach. I’m alright.”

When he folds his hands behind his back, you know he isn’t buying what you’re selling. “You still okay to do this with me?” he asks, motioning to the press room down the hall.

“I’ve done press before,” you reply, though your mildly defensive tone tells him that you’re not certain if you’re assuring him or yourself. At the way he dips his head, you sigh in defeat. “I’ve done this before. Just… never at this level. Or for these reasons.”

Ted nods in understanding. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“And I’ll be there beside you the whole time. I can take over whenever you need me to.” He nudges you again. “I ain’t too bad with all this press stuff. And I’m more than happy to make a fool of myself if it gets too tough. Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

That gets you to look up at him wearily. “I’m scared to know what that means.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t think we’ll get there,” he says, earning a chuckle from you in response. A beat passes before he looks at you again. “You ready?”

A long, sharp sigh exits your body. When you inhale, you turn back to him. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Let’s go quiet ‘em all down.”

You surprise yourself with an involuntary smile, but it gives you the confidence to follow him.

The press room is abuzz as you approach it and they get even more lively when you enter. You can hear your name being said from every direction and the chaos makes your hands shake. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. You used to be good at these. It’s part of being a coach. You wanted this. You know how to do this.

Ted, who’s been leading the way, steps out to allow you to go up the stairs first. You clasp your hands together as you walk up, praying that this isn’t the moment your feet choose to fail you and make you trip. Luckily, you avoid disaster and make your way to the further of the two chairs on stage.

You look out into the sea of reporters, eye each of the cameras, and continue to play with your fingers as if it’s the answer to calming your nerves. You don’t realize things have gotten started until you hear Ted’s voice.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he greets the room, and you can’t help but envy how easily the words come out. “Afternoon everyone. What have you got for us today?” All hands in the room immediately go up, each reporter’s eyes shifting from you, to Ted, then back to you. Everyone’s got the same question on their minds. Everyone, except the guy that Ted picks, apparently. “Yeah, Alec. What do you got for us?”

Alec The Reporter stands. “How are we feeling about starting the season with a draw, Coach?”

Thank you, Alec, for starting with the easy question. “Well, I mean, I think we both would have liked a win,” Ted replies, looking over at you. You try your best at a smile and nod along. “But we’re proud of our boys. They turned it around after that first half, due mostly to the insight of our new coach over here. So, I think we’re feeling good about this start.” 

Alec sits down, satisfied with the answer. Before Ted calls on the next reporter, he glances at you. You nod once. You’re ready.

Ted points at a blonde woman toward the back of the room. “Sarah, how are we doing?”

Sarah The Reporter stands now. “Very well, thank you.” Her attention is immediately on you. “Coach,” she says, addressing you. “How was your first game with Richmond?”

Easing it into it, are we? You clear your throat and keep that smile plastered on your face. You can practically hear Roy yelling from the locker room for you to loosen up. “Not echo Coach Lasso, but I’m feeling good. Definitely would have liked a win, but it’s not a loss.”

You don’t think you could have given a more generic, neutral answer if you had tried. Maybe simply answering with ‘good’ would have been worse, but you doubt it. Sarah’s not done with you. “I was more referencing the dynamics of the team in your first game. The culture, if you will.”

Then come right out and say that then, don’t be weird and coy. You fight back a scowl and in doing so, your grin cracks slightly. The phrasing isn’t lost on you. Dynamics. Culture. They’re all words Rupert used just days ago. Stick to the script. Talking points. Don’t let them bait you.

“The Richmond culture’s definitely different,” you reply, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word. To save yourself, you add, “But I think that’s to be expected when coaching Men's sports. Bit of a different world over here.” You offer a shrug, hoping your smile returns to what it was. “I’m very grateful to the Richmond team and staff for welcoming me with open arms into the warm environment they’ve created.”

You hope Rebecca and Keeley are somewhere cheering you on. That was sweet, neutral, and non-confrontational. Everything you wanted to be. Everything you should be in this line of questioning.

Ted nods at Sarah, cueing her to sit down. He points to a reporter in the front. “Marcus, yeah.”

It’s Marcus The Reporter’s turn to stand. And he comes out swinging. “No use in beating around the bush,” he says, eyes on you. “Do you have any response to Rupert Mannion’s comments about you and your tenure at West Ham?”

This is it. You feel Ted’s foot nudge yours encouragingly as you nod at Marcus and take a breath. Just as rehearsed. You got this.

“There’s not much to say that Mr. Mannion hasn’t already,” you answer slowly. “Unfortunately, some things like that just don’t work out. I too was not happy with the note that we ended on and wish it could have worked out our differences. But that’s all it was. Differences. There aren’t any hard feelings or any sort of bad blood between us. West Ham is a great team that I was honored to be a part of for the time that I was allowed. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic season and can’t wait to meet them in a couple of weeks.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when you finish, thankful that that’s fucking done. The lies don’t sit right on your tongue and feel as though they’re rotting your teeth, but you don’t care. You got it all out, didn’t slip up or trip up, and can hopefully put this to bed.

However, unfortunately for you, Marcus doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Because he’s got a follow-up question you’re not at all prepared for. “And what of Tom MacDonald’s recent comments?”

The world stops. It comes to a complete, emergency-braked fucking halt and you feel as though someone’s punched you in the stomach. You feel like you’ve been ambushed, but you know that if you could have been prepared for this, you would have been. This must have happened today. Perhaps, even moments before this. You can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of your face almost immediately.

He… made comments? He spoke about you?

You can feel your throat constricting, but manage to get a couple words out in a relatively neutral-sounding tone. “I’m not sure what comments you’re referring to.”

“In his post-game interview about a half-hour ago,” Marcus says, glancing down at his notes to read. “He said, quote, ‘My best wishes are to Miss USA and her new Richmond team. I hope she finds her place with them, as I don’t think she ever really found hers here. But, you know, I guess you can’t really know until you really try to get to know the lads in the locker room and in the Coaches' Offices, huh?’”

Your breath’s been stolen from you. You can feel your nose and eyes start to burn as you stare Marcus down, steeling the look on your face. Refusing to show any type of emotion or reaction to that, you gather yourself.

What a fucking prick. What an absolute, horrendously evil, fucking asshole he is. You can imagine the look on his face when he said that. The smarmy fucking smile that accompanied it, the casual nonchalance of which he spewed that last part out with. You want to burn him. You want to destroy his life, his career, everything. The audacity he was to even bring up the locker room and the… 

You feel physically ill. You could throw up on the spot, but there’s something in you that’s keeping you from doing so. As the silence in the room festers, you feel Ted’s foot tap against yours again.

Do you need me to make a fool of myself? His eyes ask as you meet them. 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can do this. You’ve done this before. You used to be good at these. Don’t let him get to you like this. Don’t let either of them win.

You know you won’t come forward with what happened. You can’t. But you weren’t going to sit on your hands anymore. You wouldn’t be neutral anymore. Neutral. That was the word of the day. 

Fuck the word.

You allow another moment of silence to pass before you blink and refocus on Marcus. “I…” you begin, collecting yourself. You can feel the anger rise within you and you know it shows in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that. “I do, actually.”

(Somewhere in the Chelsea facilities, Rebecca Walton and Roy Kent are glued to different TVs broadcasting your conference. Rebecca’s unsure if she should be praying that you’ll tear West Ham apart or writhing in fear at the idea of what’s about to come out of your mouth. Roy, however, clocked the look in your eye immediately and can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this big.)

“As I said previously,” you start, straightening your back with a new, harder, more confident tone, “I’m also disappointed with the way that things ended between me and my former team. I also wish things could have been different and that I could have found my place. However, Mr. Mannion was correct when he assumed that I experienced a bit of a culture shock when I joined the club. However, I can’t blame anyone or anything for that but my own expectations for what I assumed AFC Football was going to be.” You offer a smaller, slightly more pleasant grin to the reporters and cameras. “But I can confirm that Richmond has met all of those aforementioned expectations within my first week. I’m excited to continue my journey with them and can’t wait to see where we go this season.”

Hands immediately fly up in response to your answer, follow-up questions galore. You glance over at Ted for a moment (who looks like he’s unsure whether he should be proud of you or sweating this), then suddenly find that a group of people are being ushered into the press room. You eyes lock with the man in the center, and he stares right back at you with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve seen before. Zava.

“And on that note,” you say, quieting everyone down. Relief washes over you now that you have an excuse to leave the room, “I think we’ve run out of time for questions concerning me. We’ve got something much more important to cover.”

When they all see that you’re referring to Zava, the room erupts into even more chaos. You couldn’t possibly be out of your chair faster, ready to make a break for it, and run to the bathroom. Ted’s on your heels as you exit, running in front of you to stop you as you make it to the hall.

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” he says with a soft laugh. “Runnin’ out of there faster than Tom Cruise in— well, any of the Mission Impossible movies, I guess.” You don’t meet his eye, or offer him any sort of pity laugh, something he catches immediately. “You alright, Ace?”

“Yeah,” you say shortly. God, you don’t want to cry in front of your head coach. “I’m good.”

He sees right through you. God, why is everyone at Richmond so fucking in touch with other people’s emotions? “Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe something I should know about—”

“No.” It’s a conversation ender and Ted steps back from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing less than to deal with this right now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” With a deep breath, you move away from him. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your help in there, Coach. And thank you for a wonderful first week.”

You even don’t hear what Ted has to say in response to that before you’re beelining for the bathroom and locking yourself in a stall, finally allowing the tears that had been welling in your eyes to fall.

Zava announces that he'll be joining Richmond and thirty minutes, later you find yourself in a 'Coaches Group Chat' reading a message from Ted.

After you'd collected yourself, you had the full intention of pretending like everything was normal. You refused to let him win or get the better of your emotions, or fucking... whatever. So, the second you received that text, you immediately signed yourself up for whatever Ted wanted you to do. 

Coaches’ Celebration at Crown and Anchor, the text from him reads. Be there or be square.

However, apparently, you’re the only one who’s concerned with being square, because none of your fellow coaches have shown up yet. There’s a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner, yelling things at the screen every few minutes. You see a couple who are throwing darts at the end of the bar. There’s a lone man with a pint at the hightop by the door, texting away on his phone. But Ted, Beard, and Roy were nowhere to be found.

The bartop’s nearly abandoned, so you choose a seat in the middle, making sure to reserve three extras. When the woman behind the bar turns to serve you, you can tell she immediately recognizes you, and the smile she offers is warm.

“Good showing today,” she tells you. Then, she shrugs. “Would have liked a win.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You and me both.”

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door. “Um, I’m meeting people here. I—”

“Oh. Right. That’s tonight,” she says, with a knowing look in her eye. Your brow scrunches. “When he gets here, call me over. My name’s Mae.”

Before you can question that cryptic fucking sentence or correct her and let her know that you’re meeting people (plural) here, the pub door opens. Roy walks through, nodding once he sees you.

He grabs the stool to your left. “Nice press conference today,” he says in greeting, taking a seat. 

The teasing note in his voice makes you scowl. “Shut up. I was nervous.”

“I liked the part where you called Rupert a lying prick who needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s not even close to what I said.”

Roy chuckles. “You might as well have. That was a media-trained ‘fuck you’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

God, you could really use that drink now. “I wasn’t even trained for that one,” you admit sheepishly. ”I literally don’t know where that came from. I was like, possessed by some bitchy politician or something.”

“She’d have my vote.”

“She shouldn’t. She’d start a global thermonuclear war because someone implied that she was difficult to work with.” You make a face at Roy as he chuckles. “Besides, I don’t think a Roy Kent endorsement would do her any favors.”

“Probably not,” Roy agrees. “Only person I’ve ever endorsed was you, and look where we are.”

You roll your eyes, casting them to the door. “Oh, my God. Okay, where are Ted and Beard?”

“They’re not coming,” a voice says as they round the bar. Mae stands before you once more, wiping her hands on a rag. 

You and Roy stare at her. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” you ask.

“I mean, they’re not coming,” Mae repeats matter-of-factly. Confusion takes over your expression. “They lured you two here and I’ve been given a ridiculous amount of money to keep you here until the two of you…” She glances down at her phone. “Fix your issues and…” Mae squints at the text she’s reading from. “...’Have whatever conversation you’ve been tiptoeing around.’”

By the time Mae looks up, you’re gaping at her and Roy’s already out of his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” you say faintly, praying that she’ll answer yes.

You have no such luck. “I’m not.”

“Fuck this,” Roy mutters. “I’m not getting fucking trapped at a fucking pub with you on a Sunday night because our stupid fucking team doesn’t understand fucking boundaries.”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction he’s looking to leave. “I second that. No offense, you seem lovely,” you tell Mae, “but I’m not staying here.”

“Unfortunately, you are,” Mae responds, nodding to the man who was sitting alone at the hightop, who stands up to block the door. He’s got to be the tallest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s built. You have no idea where he came from, but the sight of him alone gives you pause.

Roy’s on that same wavelength because he stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “This is fucking insane,” he says, looking back over to Mae.

“I agree,” she says, then nods to the window. “Take it up with them.”

You follow Mae’s line of sight to see Ted and Beard, sharing a pair of binoculars to stare at the two of you When they realize they’ve been spotted, Beard slowly removes the binoculars from his eyes and glares at Roy. Ted at least offers the dignity of a pity wave.

“Whatever they’re paying you,” you begin. “Roy will double it.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I will?”

“Yes. You will.”

“Why the fuck am I the one paying? We’ve got the same fucking salary now.”

You whip around in your seat to glare at him, exasperation in your voice as you say, “Oh, my God, you played in the AFC for twenty years. I was in women’s sports for thirteen. We’re not even close to the same tax bracket.”

Roy considers this for approximately two seconds, then turns back to Mae. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll fucking double it.”

Mae shrugs, clearly not budging. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Kent,” she replies. Then, she motions to the clock on the wall. “I’ve promised to keep you here for at least an hour. What you do after that is none of my business.”

As Mae walks away, you stare at the bartop, truly unable to accept that this is happening in your present reality. There’s no way you’re doing this— no way that Roy’s doing this. This is fucking ridiculous, it’s wildly unprofessional, and—

—And Roy’s sitting down. You slowly raise your head to watch him pull out the barstool, slump into the chair, and put his face in his hands as if he can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. 

He’s giving in. He’s not putting up a fight. He’s obeying the wishes of his friends, he’s resigned to the cause, he’s… he’s putting himself in a position to have the conversation you two have been dreading since you began at Richmond.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is really happening.

You glance back over to the window where Beard stands, and he lowers his binoculars when he sees you looking. He sends you a simple, affirmative nod, raising the device to his eyes once more. 

“I assume you’ll be needing those drinks now,” Mae says from the end of the bar, two pint glasses in her hands.

You don’t think you or Roy have ever said ‘yes’ faster.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington, @jamieolivia27, @seatbacksandtraytables, @luvr-bunnyy

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Eight

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: DRINKING / ALCOHOL (bigger warning because they are actively drinking in this one, not just in the bar) Swearing, Sex is mentioned (not had) A LOT of ridiculous puns and jokes, Slow Burn is REAL, Halloween Costumes, Brotherly Banter (gentle bullying) and finally, our favorite warning, YEARNING.

Word Count: 7k (longest so far!!)

Summary: IT'S HALLOWEEN BABES; Josh decides to decorate the bar for the holiday and so, they make it into a little party. Jake hesitates on what to do about Charlotte, but goes with his gut. And BOY IS THAT A LITTLE TREAT.

Author's Note: I said this week would be a sweet treat and I think that you'll find that it is! I don't want to spoil the surprise but, I think you'll be excited to see what it is 🤭 See you on the other side!

Crush - Tessa Violet "You make it difficult to not overthink, And when I'm with you, I turn all shades of pink, I wanna touch you, but don't wanna be weird."

Jake POV 

“You know, whatever you decide to hang up, we need to be able to get down, right?” 

I stand there watching Josh not so carefully hanging off the ladder’s top step. Quinn looks less than impressed while they stand on the bottom step.

“Maybe Jake is onto something, Josh Groban,” they tell him. 

Josh stops, looks back with a glare, and then returns to whatever he is trying to do. 

I look over at them, both of us shaking our heads, knowing that Josh will do whatever he damn well pleases. 

“He’s your problem to deal with now,” I tell them, gently squeezing their shoulders as I pass by. 

Deciding to make sure the bar is fully stocked for the night, I can’t help but eavesdrop on Sam and Willa as they try to get ‘cute post-worthy’ pictures for the bar’s Instagram. 

“Sam, can you just work with me?” Willa asks, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

“Birdie, you know this is also my job?” 

“Yeah, well, last time you took promo photos, you stole all my flowers, AND you hated the outcome. So, maybe just listen to me?” 

“I’m not trying to be difficult, little bird,” Sam says, “You just need to relax.”

“When has telling a girl to relax ever ended well for you?” 

I was chuckling to myself as I listened to them and took notes of what needed to be pulled from the back. I hate dragging myself away from the free entertainment, but I need to keep moving so the bar can be ready tonight. 

I wasn’t the one who came up with the idea to do a themed night; you can only imagine who suggested it, but people have been talking about it lately, so maybe it was a good choice. Even though I had to explain to Josh that we cannot require people to wear costumes, I think it’ll be fun to see everyone dressed up. 

Looking at the back stock and pulling out the things we’ll need, I hear footsteps approaching me. I simply glanced at the doorway to finally be met with Josh’s presence. 

“So.. are you going to invite her?” 

My eyebrows pull together a bit, “Who?”

“Your First Mate,” Josh says, wiggling his eyebrows at me. 

“Oh shut up,” I quip back, “I was thinking about it.” 

Regret has never hit me quicker. 

“OH ARE YOU NOW?”

“I mean… you saw her the other day, Josh. She’s obviously not having a great time and the fact she has to keep coming here, I may as well at least extend the offer.” I tell him, “Even if she’ll probably say no.” Quickly, I look back at my notes to make sure I’m not forgetting anything before walking back out to the bar. 

“Well, you have been talking to her,” he says. 

“We’ve texted .. a little bit,” I tell him, knowing that he will pry for more information, “BUT– it’s nothing crazy. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” 

He follows me, offering no assistance carrying anything but absolutely still trying to make something out of nothing. 

“That’s very you… of you to do.” 

Both of us looked vaguely unimpressed at that statement. 

“Okay, that wasn’t my best work. I’m just saying that maybe there’s a chance you two could be something of an item,” he tells me, a little too giddy for my liking. 

Setting everything on the bar abruptly, “Jesus Christ, Josh. Just because I’m nice to the girl doesn’t mean I want anything more.” I’m trying to sound convincing, even though I know he will call me on it at any moment. I wouldn’t be opposed to it, though. But for god’s sake, Josh doesn’t need to know that. 

“Okay, okay, alright, I’ll stop,” he starts, holding his hands up. But know that I will find out if anything happens between you two,” he squints at me before turning around to continue helping Quinn decorate. 

I watch as he finds himself busy again, but I can tell from a distance that he updates Quinn on his interrogation. If there is anything I know about my brother, it is that he will know everything about everyone all the time, which in turn means Quinn knows everything as well. I let out a small sigh while piling bottles of Modelo back into the fridge. Maybe I should just text her. Is that weird? She’s going to say no anyway. 

Still squatting down behind the bar, I pull my phone from my back pocket. Unlocking it to a handful of email notifications and a few texts from Sam that I ignored earlier.  I love him, but he doesn’t need to ask me every time if he can take some promo pics for the bar. 

I tap on her conversation; my thumbs hesitate for a second. Is this stupid? Am I wasting my metaphorical breath? Maybe she’ll appreciate the thought. 

Me: Hi there. How are you? Are you busy tonight by any chance?

I shove my phone back into my pocket before standing back up, grabbing the few loose cans and bottles across the bar, and tossing them. Looking around at the new decorations, they all have managed to get hung up already, and it’s definitely feeling much more festive. 

“Josh, can you–” I start, but I feel my phone vibrate, stopping me mid-question, “Uh, lost my train of thought. I’ll get back to you on that,” 

I grab my phone and see her name sitting there, making the heat rise in my face. 

Charlotte: No, I’m free. Why? 

The three dots pop up before I can reply, making me more nervous. 

Charlotte: Do you need help with something?

Me: nooo I don’t need anything from you. We’re just doing a little thing here for halloween and I thought I would see if you were interested. No pressure or anything lol.

Those god-forsaken three dots come back, then disappear, and reappear. There is no worse form of torture in the modern day than waiting for a text to pop up. 

Charlotte: Maybe

Okay… Well, it isn’t a no. I look up to find Josh directly in front of me, scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t realize he could be quiet enough to do that. 

“Can I help you?” 

“You looked very intrigued by whatever was on your phone there, brother,” Josh says, with a shitty little grin on his face. 

“Don’t you have things to be doing other than watching me use my phone?” I ask, not able to stop the slight eye roll that came along with it. 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” he says, “ Quinn and I are going to run upstairs to get ready, and then I can take over so you can go put on whatever pirate bullshit you want.” He says, staring at me with a matter-of-fact expression and his arms folded across his chest.  

“Sounds good to me, bub.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

 Sam and Willa left shortly after Josh and Quinn, leaving me with the usual regulars to tend to. They weren’t a rowdy bunch, so I got a good amount of cleaning done before the rush of people. 

Maybe. The fact she didn’t say ‘no’ was basically haunting me. It’s not a big deal if she does show up because she is just a ‘friend’. That’s even a strong way of wording it. 

At this point, the sun has been set for a while, which is attracting costumed customers. Some are more clever than others, but regardless, I’m just glad that people seem to like the idea. 

I’m talking to Linda, who’s dressed as an 80s Aerobic Instructor, when I hear the sounds of my dear brother entering the building. He always has a way of making his presence known, whether he means to or not. We both glance over to the door, where he lets Quinn through first, quickly following behind. 

Hand in hand, they joined us at the bar. I just looked at the two of them for a minute, my head tilted slightly. 

“Peter Pan and Tinkerbell?” I finally manage to ask.

“Yes!” Josh says, fluttering the tiny wings he has on. 

I let out a small sigh; I should have known, giggling to myself. 

“I think you two look adorable,” Linda compliments them, eliciting a curtsy from Josh while Quinn does a stage bow. 

“Alright, Tink, come tend bar so I can go change into something more festive.”

After I finally got upstairs, I started digging through my closet, looking for everything. I know it’s in here. I finally found my cream button-up; it was a bit looser on me than most of my shirts, so when I tucked it in; it definitely fit a pirate theme. 

I pull on my black slim-fit jeans, tucking the bottom of my shirt into them. I slide on my brown dress vest over the shirt, leaving it fairly open so that my chest is exposed. I grab the necklaces on my nightstand and walk into the bathroom to make sure they are sitting properly. I don’t need Josh telling me I layered my necklaces wrong again. 

I know Josh has some sort of scarf or belt that would make more sense for a pirate outfit, so I decide to bravely go into his room. Good lord, Josh.  Walking into his room, I always forget that he likes to have things. I mean that nicely; he just loves art, decor, and tchotchkes, so his bedroom would be overstimulating to most. Considering how long I’ve known him, I’m generally accustomed to his ways, but when he keeps his door shut more often than not, it starts to slip my mind. 

Rummaging through his closet, filled with colorful pieces, I find the clothes hanger loaded with scarves. I pulled out an olive green one; earth tones will work, right?  I tie it around my waist, moving in front of his full-length mirror; I look much more piratey than before. 

I look at the time, not realizing how long it’s taken me, I hustle back into my room. I grab the rings from the drawer in my nightstand, quickly sliding them on and spraying myself with another round of cologne to hopefully hold me over the rest of the night. I pull out a single cigarette from the drawer, shutting it a little harder than I mean to. 

Maybe? Her text is still sitting in my mind. What if she does show up? I grab my phone from the counter, slide it back into my pocket, and head out the door. 

“Excuse me, sorry,” I mumble as people pass me on the stairs. I’m moving a little quicker than I usually am because I don’t want to leave Josh bartending alone for too long. Maybe Melody is helping him out? I should have pulled everything out earlier, so this didn’t happen. 

I pull open the door, letting the couple outside into the stairwell. I pull my lighter out, placing the cigarette between my lips and covering the filter end with my hand to block the wind. I take the long way around the building so I can enjoy this while I have a second. Josh is fine, the bar is fine, if she shows up, that’s also fine. I think to myself as I’m rounding the corner. Taking one final drag before putting it out, I hold in the cloud of smoke for a moment before releasing it. I close my eyes for a second, breathing in the cool fall air. Glancing over to the most delightful sight, I’m unable to come up with words fast enough before I hear– 

“Well, hello there, Captain.” 

Charlotte POV

You’re allowed to have fun, Charlotte. That’s the mantra I’ve been repeating in my head since Jacob told me about this party, though the alternative is that this is incredibly unprofessional. 

I’ve been parked and sitting in my car for 10 minutes, building up the will to get out. You bought a costume, and you got ready, and you smiled at the text for about 15 minutes straight. Just go have fun. My hand finally reached for the handle, opening the door. 

My boots make a little click on the pavement as I get out of the car; I smooth out my pants and readjust the little corset so it’s more comfortable. I look at my reflection in my car windows, leaning in to make sure my lipstick is still in place. Okay. Just go. 

Rounding the corner, I see the entrance to the bar, making me slow my pace a little until- 

Jacob? I watch as he walks towards the bar; he looks .. good– No, Charlotte, cut it out. I slowly walk towards him, still watching him as he lets out a quick stream of smoke; why is that kinda…  He sets the rest of the cigarette in the ashtray placed on top of the garbage can. He stops for a second, clearly trying to calm down. Is he okay? His shoulders drop as he lets out a long breath. Suddenly, we’re making eye contact. Shit.

“Well, hello there, Captain,” I say to him. Smooth Charlotte, real smooth. 

He giggles at the name, “Well, blow me down. I didn’t know if I would see you tonight, Red.” 

“I decided that I deserved a little fun after this past week and all.”

“I think you made a good decision,” he says calmly, “Also, your costume choice is just lovely.” I don’t know if I ate too much or if he is actually giving me butterflies right now. 

“Oh, thank you,” I say quietly; I’ve never been good at receiving compliments. We both stand there for a brief second before he grabs the door to the bar, gesturing for me to go through. 

“Ladies first.” 

“What a gentleman– oh, I mean, gentle-pirate.”

The bar is full of costumed people, Halloween songs playing loud over the speakers that you can barely hear over the chatter from everyone.  It’s nice to see how busy the bar is finally.  I had only really been here earlier in the day and honestly, it’s refreshing to know that the bar is doing well, considering how many people are here. 

I followed Jacob to the bar, sitting down, only to notice that his brother was dressed as Tinkerbell. It seemed like an odd choice until I looked down to the other end of the bar to see Peter Pan sitting there. Oh… OH. 

“Charlotte! You came!” Josh says excitedly, “Y’know, I told Ol’ Captain Sparrow that if he just asked you that, you-” 

 “Oooookay, Tink, that’s enough,” Jacob cuts him off, making me laugh. 

He slid a glass over to me on a napkin. I looked down to see that he made me a Boulevardier. He remembered? My heart feels weird. 

“Let me know if it’s terrible, I’ll remake it for you,”

I take a small sip; it’s incredible?

“No, it’s perfect, thank you,” I tell him. 

He smiles at me, even his eyes light up. I watch him walk down the length of the bar, checking in on other customers and replacing their drinks with fresh ones. He’s so soft-spoken that I’m shocked he feels so comfortable bartending. The way he looks at every single customer, giving them his full attention, even for the twenty seconds it takes for them to place their order. He’s so-

“So Charlotte,” Josh starts, pulling me out of my thoughts, which may be a good thing at this rate. 

“How are you doing, dear?” he asks while wiping a wine glass dry. 

“I’m okay,” I tell him, “I am sorry about the other day, I hope you weren’t trying to get out of here.” 

“I was actually coming back from lunch, and you weren’t a bother at all,” he tells me, relieving me that I didn’t mess up his entire day. 

He continues, “Also, never apologize to me for having feelings. I don’t know what happened, but I’m glad that you were able to let them out. Jake is good at handling situations like yours, so you picked the perfect time, honestly.”

“Oh,” I say before taking a bigger sip. 

“Are you here alone?” he asks. I nod quickly, “Let me introduce you to someone. Hold on!” 

I watch as he waves over the person in the Peter Pan costume. They make their way over to us, and with how Josh’s face looks, I’m assuming this is a special person to him.

“Charlotte, this is Quinn,” Josh said, gesturing between the two of us. 

“Hi, nice to meet you, Quinn,” I can’t help how professional it comes out. 

“You as well,” they start, “If you haven’t pieced it together, yes, I’m Josh’s partner.” They let out a small laugh, gesturing at the Peter Pan costume. Okay, thank God, I didn’t want to say that I assumed.  

Looking at the two of them, they really are precious. 

“I love your costumes,” I tell them. 

“Oh, thank you!” they both say simultaneously. 

“So Charlotte, what exactly is your job?” Quinn asks. 

“Well-” I’m cut off by the group of people approaching us loudly. 

I watch quietly from my seat while they all greet each other. 

“WILLIAM,” Quinn hollers.

 “QUILL” 

“QUILLIAM,” the two of them yell at the same time, falling into a fit of giggles. 

I can’t help but wonder what I’m currently witnessing. 

“Oh my god, you look so fucking good.”

“Stop it- no, YOU guys look so good.”

Quinn looks back over to me, grabs the two girls’ hands they have been chatting with, and hustles back to the bar.

“Guys, this is Charlotte!” Quinn starts introducing us. “This is Willa,” they gesture to the petite girl with a cute bob haircut that frames her face so nicely. She’s dressed in light pink. Loofah? Which is quickly clarified when Sam comes into view dressed as a bar of soap, whom I met briefly the first day I came in. 

“I still can’t believe I’m soap, Bird.”

“It was this or Twilight, be glad!”

“And this is Melody, obviously. You’ve met already, though?” gesturing to her, who’s also absolutely beautiful. She’s dressed as Arwen, which means that Danny is dressed as the Aragorn man.

“Hi,” I manage to get out, “Yes, we have, and you both look so great,” 

“Thank you so much!” Melody quickly responds. 

“Oh, thanks!” Willa quips back. 

“Drinks for everybody,” Jake’s voice came from behind me as he slid a bunch of glasses towards us. A chorus of ‘thank you’ surrounds me. Before I can turn to acknowledge him, he’s grabbing my glass. 

“Another one?” He asks, fairly quietly this time. 

“Please,” my nerves are getting the best of me, and the best way to fight them off is not to be sober. 

“Oh, sick! We’re all in couples costumes,” 

“Sam,” Willa hitting Sam’s arm, “Shut up?”

I could feel the heat rising into my face; I had been ignoring that Jacob and I wore the same kind of costume and wishfully thought that nobody would mention it. I guess that ship has sailed.

“We have Peter Pan and Twinkerbell, Lord of the Rings, and Calico Jack and Anne Bonny at the bar– I thought it was safe to assume!” Sam says, his loud laugh following it.  

“Oh guys,” Jake sounds defeated, “Don’t embarrass her. You just met her.” 

He looks back at me, handing me a new drink, “I’m sorry about that. I swear sometimes my brother hates me.” 

“It’s okay. I was kind of waiting for it to happen,” I laughed, “I mean, we are matching so..” 

He laughs at my observation for a moment. 

“Between you and me,” he leans a little closer, whispering, “I think we’re the best dressed here,” flashing me a small smile; oh, how I wish he wouldn’t do that. 

“Charlotte, come with us!” Quinn says, grabbing my hand and pulling me off the barstool. They pull me over to a table where the other girls are sitting. Oh god.  

“Josh told me you were here alone, and well.. that’s not fun,” they tell me. 

“I don’t actually live around here, so I don’t really know anybody,” I start, “Well, aside from you guys, now.”

A slew of ‘oooohhhh’s come out from all of them. 

“So, I’m under the impression you’re all partners with the boys?” I ask. 

“Yes!” “Yep,” “Mhmmm,” quickly followed. 

I take another few sips of my drink, feeling the anxiety starting to melt away. 

“I’m secretly a sucker for romance, so who wants to let me in on the situations here?” I tell them, rapidly pointing around at all of them and the boys. I’m going to be around for a little bit. I may as well get to know them. Plus.. it probably wouldn’t hurt for me to try and make some friends… right? 

“How much time do you have?” Quinn asks bluntly. The other two erupted with laughter. 

I look down at my drink, swirling it around, and then drink the last few sips quickly before looking at them and delivering a monotone, “I got time.” 

“Well, in that case,” Willa starts, “Let me tell you about my sweet, dumb, but hot boyfriend Samuel.” She says while cracking her knuckles. 

“So– I met him at the farmers market, where he proceeded to be an absolute dick to me. And THEN, he was here when I came here on an unsuccessful date, we had to WORK TOGETHER, went on a trip where we got with ONE BED-” Willa pauses for dramatic effect before taking a breath to practically yell, “LIKE THE BOOK TROPE, CHARLOTTE.”

“You sure you wanna hear this?” Quinn interjects. 

“Oh, I’m invested now,” I quickly spit out. I catch a small glimpse of Jacob as he’s grabbing some empty bottles from a table across the room. He smiles and nods at whatever they say; oh, there’s that feeling again. 

Willa continues her tale, but I barely hear her. My eyes fixated on him, watching how he makes eye contact with anyone who talks to him. Making sure that he hears them, nodding along and giggling often. Every so often, letting someone have a genuine smile–

Willa’s voice hit me again, “–and now I guess I like him back.” 

“Oh, my god?” I respond, “That is uh.. A lot?” Oh, I’m the worst person ever. 

“It is a lot, but I guess he was worth it or whatever,” Willa rolls her eyes at the statement. 

Quinn smacked her arm, “You loved that silly string bean for so long. Don’t even act like you didn’t.” 

Everybody was giggling at the call out. I saw Melody look around the table at all the empty glasses before standing up and grabbing them all.

“Let me get us another round, but Quinn, feel free to start whenever,” She grabs their arm, “I obviously know how this goes already.” 

We all watch her for a minute as she walks up to the bar, getting the boys’ attention. 

“Melody is so pretty?” I say out loud, “Oh god, is that weird?”

“No!” 

“Not at all.” 

“We all think she’s hot, don’t worry.”

Before I can look back over to them, Jacob is in my line of sight again. This time, he’s behind the bar, talking to one of the older ladies he seems so fond of. The way they make him laugh is sweet. He’s stood there for a second before he leans over the bar to grab something from them, but the way he leans makes his shirt fall open more; I can see his stomach flex for a split second. Holy shit. Where is Melody with those drinks, dear god- 

“Alright, Quill, let’s go.” 

Melody sat back down at the table, dispersing the drinks to everyone. 

“Welllllll,” Quinn says, “I met him at Hobby Lobby- don’t ask me why HE worked THERE.”

I have got to stop getting distracted by this man. He walks past our table, gently squeezing Quinn’s shoulders as he passes them. They just glance over at him as they’re talking. It’s precious how much he seems to like them. Maybe he’s just a loving person? Oh, god I don’t like that. 

 “But, now we’re just in love, and he’s perfect, so!” 

“...in the cooler?” Willa mumbled, covering her mouth, “Please tell me you’re joking.” 

What did they do in the cooler? Shit, I need to be paying closer attention. 

“Yeah… I probably could have left that part out, huh?” Their eyes widened, looking over at me, with the realization of who they were telling that to. “We cleaned up after! Promise!”

“Wait a second- so, you and Josh.. here?” Willa says, pointing at Quinn, before turning to Melody, “And you and Danny …ALSO here..?” 

Never mind, I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me, don’t tell me, don’t tell me. 

The two nod in sync, holding back their laughs. 

“Well, that’s not fair!”

“This is truly taking years off my life,” I tell them while rubbing my temples, making them all giggle at my pain. 

“I’m not about to make it any better,” Melody says with a laugh, followed by the other two losing even more.

I hold up one finger while inhaling the rest of my drink, “Okay, I think I’m ready.” 

“So Daniel and I actually started dating in High School,” Melody says, pulling a quiet ‘awww’ from all of us, “We were together for a while before I decided to go to college out of state,” she tells us. 

I see him in the background, just scanning the room while Josh is making drinks, well, until he sees me looking back at him. Shit, shit, shit, shifting my eyes back to Melody.

“Anyway– I ran into Josh, who got me the job here, and I’m so thankful for it. The boys are so great, and I’m obviously not going to complain about getting to see Daniel again.” 

“I bet you’re not complaining,” Willa says suggestively with an exaggerated wink. 

“HE sure complained at first, though,” Quinn pipes up with a laugh.

“Oh hush,” Melody tries to brush it off, “I do love him for more than our sex life.”

Willa is quick to reply, “Whatever you say, girly.” 

“So.. what’s the part that will ruin my day?” I nervously ask. 

“Conveniently, the day you came in actually, Jake had sort of… walked in on us.” 

“Walked in on WHAT?” 

“The thing is.. The roads were terrible, so I asked Jake if he minded grabbing Iris-” Quinn quickly cuts off Melody. “YEAH, WE HAD A SLEEPOVER WITH THE CHILD,” Quinn can’t tell us fast enough. 

“Hey,” Willa, chuckling, gently grabs Quinn’s arm, “Charlotte was the only one not involved. You don’t need to yell.” 

“Sorry, I just love Iris a lot, okay?” 

“And she loves you back,” Melody reassures them, “Anyway, yes, so everybody else had a fun sleepover with my daughter, and I closed the bar with Daniel while having a weird argument–” 

Jake comes up between Quinn and Melody, placing one hand on Melody’s back, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I come bearing not watered-down drinks.”  

He starts placing the drinks on the table, having to slide mine and Willa’s across the table. 

I watch as he makes a little small talk with everyone and how much they all seem to like him. He seems too nice to be real. Everyone laughing with him, I look up at him before he slides my drink over to me. His hands. Oh my. He has rings on… oh my GOD. Trying not to be obvious, I quickly flit my eyes back up to meet his. 

“Thank you,” I mouth to him while the other three are talking. He mouths back, ‘Of course’, flashing me a smile. The boy is beautiful when he smiles. 

He turns to go back to the bar, and I just focus on him walking there; unknowingly, I am being watched.

“Charlotte!” 

“Yes?” I quip back; I can feel the heat in my face, but is it embarrassment or the alcohol? The world will never know.

“Are you… into Jake..?” Willa asks quietly. 

The other two leaned in on our little secret session, which I was not prepared for. 

“Nooo, no, no, no,” I can’t spit it out quickly enough.

Quinn lets out a laugh before choking out, “You were practically drooling over him,” 

“Ha ha.. Nooo.. I wasn’t,” I try to defend myself, scratching the back of my head, “Was it really that obvious?” 

A chorus of yelps elicited when I loosely admit to thinking he’s attractive. 

“Oh stoooop,” I cover my face. 

“Don’t be embarrassed– those Kiszka boys are incredibly charming,” Quinn states, “It’s hard not to fall for it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about ‘charming’ per se, but they do have some good genes in that family.” Willa taking a light jab at Sam. 

“Really though,” Melody chimes in, “Jake is honestly very charming,” 

“Oh, he is absolutely,” 

“He’s too nice,”

Quinn and Willa tend to talk at the same time, and being a few drinks in does not help my deciphering of who said what, but at least when they’re on the same page, it helps. 

“He has been very easy to work with, so I would believe that,” I try to regain my composure,  even though the fact everybody thinks he’s sweet is not helpful to where my brain has been going all night. 

“I’m sure his brain just shuts down when you’re around,” Willa says into her glass before taking a sip. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Quinn questions, “You’re so hot?”

‘Mhm’ 

‘Yeah, you are.’ 

I know that my face is absolutely pink at this rate; I just shake my head ‘no.’

“I’m sure he sees plenty of pretty girls being a bartender,” I roll my eyes at the idea that he wouldn’t hit on other girls while he’s working. 

“Pretty sure the only one he entertains is Eleanor,” Melody giggles. 

“I’m almost positive he told Josh that he’d just marry her if he stayed single for too much longer,” Quinn says, looking over at Josh, who just blows a kiss to them. Wow, they’re so cute together. 

I watch as Melody taps on her phone, seeing the time, “Well, guys, I need to go relieve Josh for a bit.”

Quinn quickly stood up with their drink and nodded to the bar. Willa and I followed suit, migrating up to the bar. Claiming a bar stool and watching as Josh comes to find Quinn, quickly kissing their nose and then their forehead before Quinn snuggles themself into him for a brief moment. 

“Pretty cute, aren’t they?” Jacob whispers, scaring the living daylights out of me. 

“They really are,” I say, “And you need a bell or something because Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he laughs, placing his hand on my back for a second, “I just need to get out of there for a minute,” he tells me.

 “So I’m going to run around to clean and just saw you fixated on them.” 

“Well, since you’re here, Jake,” Willa says loudly, leaning over to me and whispering, “Wanna see the boys squirm?” I simply nod with a grin plastered across my face. 

“Don’t you guys think Melody is insanely hot?” She questions everybody.

Daniel violently shakes his head, ‘Yes,’ while Melody laughs behind the bar. 

“I.. uhh,” Jake mumbles, holding the back of his neck, “I have tables to clean,” and quickly walks off to grab glasses. 

Sam’s eyes are wide, and his face is filled with panic. “Birdie, I can’t answer,” he begins to say before his brother abruptly cuts him off. 

“SMASH FOR SURE,” Josh confidently shouts, being met with a high five from Quinn. 

“You’re right, that was worth it,” I whisper, leaning into Willa. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I sat with everybody while they talked, well, yelled. This is a much louder group of friends than I’m used to. Granted, I have like..no group of friends. I listen to a lot of very odd conversations filled with Sam instigating Willa so that she would get a little pissed at him. There are plenty of lengthy stories from Josh, which probably wouldn’t take as long if he didn’t tell us every side story that goes along with it, but he’s so animated I guess I can’t really complain. 

“Here, Charlotte,” Melody says, “Jake told me how to make your drink, so .. I hope it tastes right,” 

I take a sip, oh lord, that is STRONG, “It’s great!” 

Why did I do that? She needs to learn… Not that I could even correct her right now. 

I sip on my drink for a while, feeling it hitting harder than I’m used to. Every so often, Jake comes out from behind the bar to make small talk with some of the customers or come bug his brothers for a few minutes. I always hope it’s the latter. 

“How are we doin’, Red?” 

I blink rather slowly, “I’m thriving,” slowly cracking a smile, knowing it sounded terrible coming out of my mouth. 

“Well, I’m so glad,” he tells me. The way he makes eye contact but also watches my mouth when I talk makes me want to scream. 

“You know,” I tell him, what are you doing? , “I dare ye to resist me booty,” the alcohol starts speaking. 

“Are…are you trying to flirt with me?” He laughs out. 

“Maybe, is it working?” I ask, biting the inside of my lip. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

“Oh– well,” he giggles quietly; leaning in, he rests one hand on the back of my barstool to support himself, but his face creeps in closer to my ear before he whispers, “You don’t even have to try with me, honey.” Fuck me. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I spend the rest of the night chatting with Quinn and Willa about the most random things. But I think that is what friends are supposed to do? 

Slowly, people start trickling out as it nears 1 a.m. I say my goodbyes to Sam and Willa, which is shortly followed by Josh and Quinn. Jake was nice enough to let Josh go to bed since he was here decorating so early. 

“Ready to go, ducky?” Daniel asks Melody;  party of one officially. 

“Oh, I am beyond ready,” she stretches her arms out before turning to me, “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” 

Shit. I already forgot that I told her about the training earlier today. 

“Yes, you will! Can’t wait,” I do my best not to show that I definitely forgot and that I’m definitely NOT going to feel like shit in the morning now. 

“I’ll see you then,” she says with a little wink. 

I turn to the bar, leaning into my hand with a very minuscule smile painted on my face as I watch him. Just waiting for him to look over at me, I can’t help but stare. 

“I can feel you watching me,” he grins from the other end of the bar. 

“I’m debating on how I’m going to get home, is all,” I say with a sigh. 

“Did you drive here?” He asks. 

“Yep,”

“Okay, so, first of all, you’re not going to do that,” he tells me. 

“And why not?” I protest. He sauntered over to me, leaning against the bar. 

“You’re so pretty,” he says to me, glancing down at my lips until I finally pull the bottom one in with my teeth, “Yeah- you’re not driving.”

My jaw drops; he really got me there. 

“I can just call an Uber,” I tell him.

“Charlotte, I don’t love that idea. It’s almost 2 am, and I literally live just upstairs,” Jake continues to tell me I need to stay here, and I don’t know why I’m fighting it so hard. 

“I don’t want to impose,”

“I’m offering?” 

“Touche Captain,” I giggle a bit at the nickname. I bet he likes it. 

“Just hang out for a couple minutes so I can close the bar down,” he tells me. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Don’t you want to clean?” 

“It’s so late. Josh can help me in the morning,” Jake speaks low as we walk into the stairwell. 

“Oh no,” slips out, “oh, I didn’t mean to actually say that,” 

Jake lets out a quiet laugh, “I got you, don’t worry,” 

Before I can react, he has his arm underneath mine, gesturing for my hand. I lace my fingers into his; the butterflies are back. How fun. He holds my hand tightly, letting me put a lot of my weight into him as we carefully go up the first flight of stairs. 

“I think I can do it,” I tell him; I absolutely cannot? 

“You sure about that, sport?” 

I squint at him and immediately stumble up the first couple of stairs of the second flight, letting out a small ‘oop.’

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” He makes fun of me gently while supporting me again. 

This may be the longest stair climb of my life.

We finally make it to his apartment.

Jake whispers, “You can take my bed, and I’ll just sleep on the couch.”  He’s so cute when he’s concerned.

“Noooo, I can sleep on the couch. I’ve already inconvenienced you.” 

He blinks at me slowly, unamused. 

I can’t stop myself from walking towards his couch, and it’s a humbling moment for me as my legs wobble in the process. 

“No, you don’t,” Jake says from behind me. 

“Jake, really, I don’t mind,” I look back at him, disorienting myself from turning too quickly. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he grabs my arms to stop me from falling over. I just stare at him like a deer in headlights. 

“Yeah, I didn’t want it to come to this, but,” he says before he wraps his arms around my thighs, lifting me over his shoulder. 

Childlike laughter erupts from me as he carries me through his apartment into his bedroom. I can feel his chest vibrating subtly from giggling with me. 

“Here ya go,” he says, moving one hand to my back so he can set me down.  So carefully, making sure not to drop me, he leans down slowly. The feeling of falling became so real suddenly, that I instinctively held onto his shoulder, which pulled him back with me. He stumbles forward a bit, catching himself before landing on top of me. 

I prop myself up on my elbows as I laugh. He’s hovered over me, with a hand on either side; our faces are so close. 

We both freeze as we realize how close we are. I wonder how soft his lips really are… My eyes defy me, shifting down to look at his mouth, just for a second, as he watches me. 

Clearing his throat as he stands up. 

“Uh- here, let me get you a sweatshirt or something,” he sounds timid. Quickly shuffling through his closet, he pulled out a navy sweatshirt and handed it to me. 

“It’ll probably be a little bit loose on you, but better than sleeping like a pirate?” 

I chuckle, smiling up at him. Simply grateful for something comfortable to wear. 

“I’ll go so you can do that,” still clearly very nervous. 

Pulling my shirt over my head, I quickly pull the sweatshirt over me. I lock the bottom of it under my chin so I can see what I'm doing. Oh no. No, no, no, no. My zipper is stuck, and staring at it makes me cross-eyed. I drop my head back, letting out an angry sigh. Please just unzip. My hands get increasingly sweaty, making the stupid plastic zipper hard to grip. 

I hear a few soft knocks on the door before it cracks open. 

“Can I come in?” He asks. 

“Actually… I um… I need help.” 

Coming in quickly and shutting the door behind him, I just stare at him pathetically. 

“My zipper is stuck,” I tell him, embarrassed. 

He chokes back a laugh, setting a glass of water on the nightstand next to his bed. 

He kneels in front of me; oh, this is terrible. I lift the sweatshirt, revealing the catastrophic mess from me, yanking the zipper every which way. 

“Where the hell did you even get these, Red?” He asks, looking up at me with a soft giggle. 

I wish he would just focus. I don't need to look at him like this. Making eye contact causes my brain to short-circuit, and I stare back at him silently. Watching him try to figure out how the zipper got caught, he’s so carefully moving the fabric around. 

“How much do you care about these?” He asks, gently tapping my hip. 

“At this point,” I raise my eyebrows in defeat. 

“Are you sure?”

I just nod ‘yes’ in response. 

He grabs either side of the zipper and tears it apart quickly. The sound of the fabric ripping was relieving, well, for a second. Both of us smile at the fact that I’m free until he looks back down to see the lace of my thong peeking out. 

I see his eyes go wide, and the pink creep into his cheeks as he pinches the fabric together. 

“Oh,” slips out of me. I let the sweatshirt drop, falling to the tops of my thighs as the now ripped pirate pants hit the floor. 

“So, uh, well,” Jake says, holding the back of his neck while avoiding eye contact, “I will let you get some sleep.” 

I don’t know what possesses me to say, “Wait-“ 

Closing the gap between us, I lean up onto my toes slightly, placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” I tell him before crawling into his bed.

“Of course, m’lady,” he says with a bow. His little English accent laces the words, which makes me laugh. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers, shutting off the light as he leaves. 

I fall back into his bed, wrapping myself up in the blankets. They smell like him, comforting, warm. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Seven

Chapter Nine

FDOG Masterpost | Masterlist | FDOG Playlist

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[just-dreaming-marvel]

Caught In A Web ~ 24

CAUGHT IN A WEB MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,195ish

Summary: Trouble is brewing now that the press has been alerted...

Notes: I decided to double-post today! I'm just loving this series right now and feeling a lot of inspiration.

Your heart was pounding. What had just happened? Tony’s hands gripped the wheel with vivid anger while his speed matched it. Before you could register what was going on, Happy was on the line, and Tony was yelling. 

“I want the owner contacted! I want whoever told the press about us to be sued!” Tony’s voice was full of rage.

“I’m on it, boss,” Happy said. “We saw the news—“

“The news?” You rasped. Your breathing was growing more rapid. Your palms were growing sticky, and it was getting harder for you to focus.

“—and began working. Romanoff, Wilson, Barnes, and Rogers are helping manage the situation.”

“Good,” Tony said. “I’m taking Y/N to the compound. The security is tighter there.”

“How far out are you?”

“About 30 minutes.”

“We’ll handle the press. You two take care of yourselves.”

Tony hung up and looked over at you. “Honey?” His hand reached over to hold yours, but you ripped yours away. You missed the hurt expression that took over Tony’s face.

“Stop the car,” you whispered.

“Honey—“

“Stop the car!”

Tony pulled the car over, and you quickly jumped out. You stumbled over to the tree line. Tony got out and followed you.

“Honey… Y/N,” Tony called after you. “I am so sorry that that happened.”

“I—We—“ Your breathing was too fast like your lungs were trying to match your racing thoughts. “I wasn’t—Not—This—“

“Sweetheart, I’m here,” Tony came up and placed a hand on your back. “You need to breathe.”

“I—I can’t—“

“Yes, you can, honey.” His hands went to your waist, and he gently turned you around to face him. Tony kept his hands on your waist, knowing that the state you were in would make your skin sticky. “Follow along with me. In… Out… In… come on, honey. In… out…” 

You gave in and followed his breathing patterns. It took a minute for your heart rate to come down and your breathing to begin to even out. Tony kissed the top of your head as you continued the exercises.

“Tony…” you rasped.

“Yes, my dear?” 

“What is going to happen?”

Tony sighed. He knew that you wanted the truth, so he was going to give it to you. “The press is going to dig into our relationship. They’re going to research you and put articles out there. They’ll say truths and lies and a mixture of them.”

“That’s what I thought… Tony… I…” You looked into his eyes earnestly. “I wanted this to be on our terms… I’m not ready for this…”

“I know, honey, I know. I will do my best to make this right.”

“You can’t take back what everyone will know.”

Tony knew your statement was true, but he would do his best to ensure you were comfortable with this. He would protect you from the ridicule that he and whoever he was dating often faced. You were more than worth it to him. Great lengths be damned. Tony would buy out every news outlet that painted you in a bad light.

“We can make sure everyone knows the truth,” Tony added.

“But will they believe it?”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we know the truth. Okay?”

You took a moment before you nodded. “Okay.”

Tony pulled you in closer. “I will protect you, Y/N, whatever the cost. I love you.”

Tony’s words ‘whatever the cost’ rang out through your thoughts. Those three words terrified you. You knew that his money and his life were worthless to him when it came to protecting those he loved. You didn’t want to lose Tony in the process of protecting you. But you most definitely, didn’t want Tony to lose himself.

~~~

The news was having a field day, and you had barely seen any of it. Tony, only trying to protect you, had FRIDAY block access to the news outlets. But you had seen the security videos; the press was outside of the compound, trying to get in. Your imagination grew wild since you didn’t know exactly what the press was saying. You tried to stay busy with projects and training, but nothing was working.

Tony was all over the place. He was trying to keep you distracted while constantly on the phone with various people to get various news reports down. He could tell that this was all taking a toll on you, which concerned him.

“Hey, honey,” Tony said as he headed into the lab. You were sitting on a stool, staring at something outside the window. “What are you looking at?”

“They’re in the trees,” you stated a slight holo tone to your voice that scared Tony. 

“What? Where?” Tony’s head snapped towards the window.

“Across the river.” You pointed. The glimmer of the camera lens flickered through the treetops.

“FRIDAY, darken on the outside windows.” The windows quickly darkened from the outside, but you were still able to see out of them. Tony came around to the front of you and rested his hands on your upper arms, rubbing his thumbs against you. “I’ll have security take care of them.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” You looked up at him, curious. “It’s in your room. Come on.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you from the stool. You let him pull you out of the lab and to your room.

“Tony, I’m not sure I’m up for any surprises right now.”

“I’m sure you’ll be okay with this one.”

He opened the door to your room and revealed Natasha and Wanda. The room was set up for a girls night. The women smiled at you as you took in the place.

“I thought you could use a girls night,” Tony explained. “Have a sleepover, use my card, do whatever. The rest of the Team will join us tomorrow.”

You turned and kissed Tony. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

“We will be taking you up on using your card!” Wanda said as Tony left.

~~~

Bucky and Bruce showed up not long after Tony dropped you off at girls night. They decided to head to the compound before the rest of the team so that they could try to gauge how you were doing. They found Tony outside and went to the edge of the river to wait. Tony was in the suit, threatening the reporters hiding in the trees.

“So clearly, he’s handling this well,” Bucky commented.

“Hopefully, Y/N’s doing better,” Bruce said.

Bucky scoffed, “If she’s seen what the outlets are saying, then doubt it.”

“Just trying to be positive here… Do you think she’ll run?”

“Tasha told me that Tony said that he'll walk if this life gets too much for her. He said he would do anything to protect and love her but would walk away from her if it were too much for her… He’s doing his part to show her love and protect her. If he notices that it’s too much for Y/N—“

“He’ll let her go… Tony told me she practically jumped from the car on the way here. She was panicking.”

“We’ve got to step in before either of them does something they’ll regret.”

“Well,” Tony flew over to the other men and landed, “look who showed up early. Jealous of girls night?” His helmet disappeared into his suit.

“Came to help you,” Bucky replied. “Clearly, the press won’t leave this place alone.”

“They’re waiting at the Tower, too,” added Bruce. “There’s helicopters circling.”

“Thankfully, only the Avengers have the right to fly over and around the Compound,” Tony stated.

“How’s Y/N doing?” Bucky asked.

“Fine.” Bucky and Bruce eyed each other, knowing that Tony’s answer was a blatant lie. “She’s with Red and Little Red right now.”

“Have the two of you talked about what happened?” Bruce asked.

“I’m not going to push her.”

“It’s been two days, Tony.”

“She needs time. She’s been through a lot lately.” Tony’s eyes briefly landed on the window of the Compound that he knew was your room. He knew you weren’t okay, but he felt he knew how to help you better than the others. Tony shook his head, and the helmet covered him again. “I’ve got to finish getting these idiots away from my property.” Then he flew off.

Bruce sighed while Bucky watched Tony fly away.

“Steve is definitely not going to like how they are handling this,” Bucky commented.

~~~

“Okay!” Wanda said as she clapped her hands together. “We’ve watched two movies so far, but I’m getting hungry—Oh! Should we order a little bit of everything? We have Tony’s card!”

“Sure,” you responded with a shrug.

Wanda and Natasha shared a look. You hadn’t been very talkative, so they first decided to watch the movies. Now, the two women were growing concerned.

“Okay, time to talk,” Natasha said. 

“About what?” You asked.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

You sighed. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t have to enter your mind to figure out that was a lie,” Wanda said. She moved over and rested her hand on yours. “Talk to us.”

You pursed your lips as tears whelmed up in your eyes. “I don’t feel safe… I hate that I don’t feel safe. Especially because it’s Tony, and he’s never not made me feel safe. But this—“ You paused, trying to keep your emotions at bay. “I haven’t even seen what has been said, but I know that my whole life is out there besides my powers. I know they know that I’m in my mid-twenties, Tony is in his early forties, and they are talking the hell out of it… My relationship will constantly be placed under the microscope now.” You let some tears fall. “They’re in the trees… they’re at the gates. They’re at the Tower… They will never leave me alone again… and I’m scared, and I don’t feel safe.”

“Have you talked to Tony about any of this?”

You quickly shook your head. “I can’t. I can’t talk to him because he’ll blame himself. He’ll think he’s the reason I don’t feel safe, and he’s doing everything in his power to make sure I do. He’s constantly flying around, calling someone, checking on me. He hasn’t been sleeping or eating. Tony is killing himself to make me feel safe. But—“

“But it’s not working,” Natasha finished for you. You nodded. “None of this happened the way it should have, Y/N. I am so sorry for that. Your relationship deserved to be made public on your terms.”

“How am I supposed to tell Tony how I feel? It will break his heart. He’ll blame himself… And I can’t—I can’t do that… I love him too much.”

You broke out into sobs. Wanda quickly brought you into her to hold you. She looked at Natasha with great concern for you.

Natasha thought back to the conversation she shared with Tony in Wakanda about how he would walk away to keep you safe. She knew that your honesty would drive him to that point. She also knew that you and Tony were meant to be. Natasha and the others had witnessed it. She could not let this break up your relationship.

~~~

Natasha snuck out of the room as soon as you fell asleep in Wanda’s arms. She headed for the lab to check on Tony. When she turned the corner to the lab, she halted. The interior glass walls of the lab had been shattered, various sizes of glass scattering the hall. Not caring for the jagged pieces, Natasha rushed into the lab. Tony was hunched over one of his work tables. There was an Iron Man gauntlet on his hand.

“Tony?” Natasha called with great concern in her tone. 

She carefully walked around the glass and various lab equipment tossed about. She walked to Tony’s side, ignoring the few bottles of alcohol that lay on his worktable. His hair hung across his forehead, and his eyes were red and puffy. 

“Tony?” She tried again.

“I heard everything,” his voice was raw. “I was just checking in…”

“Tony. She’s just struggling—“

“She doesn’t feel safe. I’m doing what I can, but it’s not working… It’s not enough… I’m not enough…” Natasha noticed the tears that fell from his eyes. “I’m going to have to let her go, Red.”

“Stop it. You’re Tony Stark! You never give up.”

“I will if it helps her feel safe… I would give her the world if I could, just for her to feel safe.”

“I will not let you do this. At least not yet. It’s been two days. We need to give it longer. The press will die down.”

“It’s me, Natasha. The press never dies down.”

“They will because we will force them. We are Avengers, Stark. We can win this war.”

“Nat—“

“No! I’m putting you to bed and cleaning up this mess, and we will meet as a Team in the morning.” Natasha took Tony’s face and forced him to look at her. “I will not let you ruin this for yourself, Tony. You deserve happiness too.”

next chapter >

[shesmyboot]

Baby Severide- Chapter 6: Going Home

*Gif belongs to its rightful owner, it is not mine*

Pairing: Kelly Severide x reader

Summary: A familiar face announces some good news and allows you to take your baby home

Words: 1002

Warnings: hospitals, mentions of surgery

Read on Ao3 here

Next Chapter: Chapter 7

Notes: Remember how I said the next chapter would be longer? Yup, It’s longer, but not by much. Also, how fitting is it that this is my 3000th tumblr post? As always, a reblog of any chapter earns a tag in chapter posted after that! Enjoy!

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——

“Okay… what does that mean?” Kelly asked, standing up to show his concern.

“I want to have a neonatologist come and look over Alexis just to be sure, but I’d like to discharge you both tonight.”

You were in disbelief, absolutely shocked they’d let you out early. 

“When can we have the neo- who did you say that was?” You asked.

“A neonatologist. Dr Clark is his name. I’ll have him come by when he has a moment,” she smiled.

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

As Doctor Calhoun left the room, you and Kelly both had smiles plastered across your faces. 

“I guess we better start packing up,” you shrugged.

A knock on the door a few moments later interrupted your packing. A familiar face walked in.

“Clark?” Kelly asked in disbelief, “Jeff Clark?”

“Kelly, this your kid?” Jeff responded.

“Yup, this is her.”

“She’s beautiful, mind if I do my checkup?”

“Not at all.”

“Hi, I’m-“ you started.

“Oh right, sorry baby. This is my wife, a damn trooper carrying a Severide baby,” Kelly chuckled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Doctor Jeff Clark, uh… formerly Firefighter Jeff Clark. I used to work with Kelly before going to medical school,” Dr Clark explained.

“Good to meet you, Doctor Clark.”

“Jeff, please. Kelly’s a good friend.”

“Alright, Jeff.”

Walking towards you and Kelly, he pulled his stethoscope out.

“I can do my exam while she’s still in your arms, if that’s good with you Kelly,” Clark motioned.

“Absolutely. How did you get into neonatal…?” He led off.

“Neonatology? Funny story actually,” he laughed, moving the stethoscope around Alexis’ back and chest, “through my residency, I had the opportunity to work in the NICU for a shift. Loved it so much, I took on a few more shifts and eventually I switched over. Now I get to take care of brand new babies for a living.”

“It’s an honourable thing you’re doing here, Clark.”

“Craved the rush I got working with the CFD, now I get to do that with less bunker gear.”

Kelly chuckled, “how’s she looking?”

“Nothing as of yet that would make me want to keep her here, other than the fact she’s adorable.”

“She gets it from her dad,” you interjected, giggling.

Doctor Clark completed a little more poking and prodding on Alexis before replacing his stethoscope to his neck. 

Jeff smiled, “I’m finished up here. You guys are good to take her home once we get all of the paperwork done.”

“Thank you, Clark,” Kelly stood up to hug him with one arm.

“Good luck Severide Family. Bring her back soon, will you? Always nice to see the ones that make it.”

Jeff left the room and happy tears streamed down your face.

——

“Do we have everything?” You asked, situating yourself in the wheelchair an orderly had brought for you. 

“Diapers, wipes, fan, diaper cream, blankets, postpartum hospital freebies,” Kelly laughed, “I think so.”

“Car seat?” 

“Alexis is in it, baby. We’re all good,” he assured you.

“Ready?” The orderly asked.

You nodded and Kelly placed the car seat on your lap. The orderly started to bring you out towards the parking lot with Kelly carrying your bag behind you.

“This is your stop,” the orderly announced as you reached Med’s exit.

“Thank you,” you replied, grabbing Alexis’ car seat and standing up.

Kelly took the car seat, “I’ve got her.”

As you made your way to where Kelly parked your SUV, what felt like miles away you might add, a few tears rolled down your face.

“What’s wrong?” Kelly stopped, enveloping you in a hug with one arm.

“I’m just so happy,” you smiled through the tears, “I didn’t think I’d ever get to have this moment.”

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Once you made it to your car, Kelly fastened Alexis’ car seat and helped you into the backseat beside Alexis. 

As he drove home, he made sure to drive as carefully as he possibly could, knowing you’d give him trouble if he didn’t. 

“Ready to carry her into her first home?” Kelly asked, unlocking the apartment door.

“Excited, but exhausted,” you smiled.

“It’s late, Alexis is already asleep. I can put her in the bassinet if you want.”

“We can do it together, that’s ok.”

You waddled in the apartment, carrying Alexis’ car seat.

“I didn’t think I would still have the waddle,” you laughed.

“You may not be pregnant anymore, but you’re healing from a major surgery, babe. Take it easy.”

He led you over to your bed, still carrying your hospital bag with him.

“Anything you want out of here for tonight?” He asked, “I’ll go put the breast milk in the fridge.”

“Just my phone charger please,” you replied, taking Alexis out of her car seat and bringing her over to the bassinet by your night stand.

“Do you want to get up with her tonight or should I let you sleep?”

“If you aren’t too tired,” you smiled softly. 

“I’d love to get up with her. You need sleep, I can tell.”

“I do need sleep,” you laughed, “you sure you don’t mind feeding and changing her tonight. I know that recliner couldn’t have allowed you to get too much sleep.”

“I ran into burning buildings on no sleep sometimes baby, I’m sure I can get up with Alexis so you can recover.”

Getting yourself tucked under the covers, you turned out the light on your night stand. After Kelly came back in from the kitchen, he crawled into bed beside you with heavy eyes. 

Placing his arm around your waist, he snaked his hand to lay over to you belly, something he did while you were pregnant when he wasn’t on shift. Even when he was on shift, you placed your own hand there, as a comforting reminder. 

“Goodnight Kelly,” you leaned over to kiss him, “I love you.”

“Goodnight baby, I love you too. Thank you for keeping our baby safe these past nine months.”

[justallihere]

AHHHHHHHHH

Before I get into my thoughts(I freaking LOVED this chapter): I hope you find this amusing. I took a post-work nap and was super excited to hopefully wake up to the new update... I then had a very strange dream involving me reading the new chapter but it took a very strange and morbid turn where a lot of people ended up dying in your fic? 💀 I was very confused 😭 bc at some point it wasn't even FW-related anymore, it just had the characters and they were all dying and then i was fighting for my life trying not to die???? I blame the mix of caffeine I had before my nap and my chronic pain. Safe to say i woke up sweating and very confused BUT i grabbed my phone and was very happy to see the notifications for the update.

Moving onto my thoughts (Alli, the way i was LITERALLY screaming throughout the entire chapter) Strap in for a LENGTHY ask. I just love you and this fic so much can you tell my parasocial relationship might be getting out of hand

Xaden woke up and was like "Where is my wife and why isn't she here and in bed with me so I can secretly cuddle and admire her beautiful face and hair 😞", man is whipped

Violet being very grouchy and uncomfortable bc she is in pain and probably didnt sleep well? Honestly so relatable bc i was like, same girlie same. I love how you continue to highlight how Violet deals with chronic pain and how people around her are stunned by how she continues to function (i.e Garrick) It's so realistic and I love it (looking at you RY, some days ppl can't just push through and put it inside a box all the damn time) Xaden is so in tune with her needs, he's frothing at the mouth for the chance to take care of her

“It’s called taking care of you. My sincerest apologies if you’re unfamiliar with the concept.” I FREAKING SCREECHED. The fact that Xaden verbalized this to Violet's face, it just shows how he is already starting to try to re-write the narrative between the two and their relationship

Even though you already gave us the snippet of the divorce convo, I still ate it up, I can't get enough of these two!!!!

Big brother Brennan coming in clutch and telling everyone that she can only stomach fruit so Violet doesn't have to do it herself!!!! wonderful detail and it shows Violet that Brennan cares and remembers. He's trying Violet!!!! But Violet still hasn't forgiven him and I am living for it. Make him suffer girlie

I am so honored that my comment has now contributed to this fic 😭. This will be my Roman Empire for a HOT second. Of course, Xaden was able to deduct that she's good with poisons, its only right 😌. I imagine this is the progression of Garrick's face during this (🤨🤯😧😳) and Brennan has the biggest internal grin 😭 I am a sucker for older siblings being proud of their baby siblings

DON'T PANIC, THE BOOK OF FABLES WAS MENTIONED. WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE REVEAL!!!!!!! Brennan is stirring the pot whether he knows it or not. I'm cackling manically for the havoc that is about to be unleashed on their poor souls.

Did Xaden want to wring Brennan's neck for talking about the wyvern? Or he is secretly happy that he didn't have to do it himself. I remember there was an ask about how in the contract Tyrrendor wasn't allowed to disclose that information to Violet?

freaking frack... Xaden taking care of Violet will always make me weak. The fact that Violet lets him???? Girlie deserves to be pampered after the absolute shit she has and will go through

“Have you ever considered that I like putting my hands on you?” Xaden asked.  -- I would fold so fast, Violet is so strong 🫡. Xaden is so in tune with her nonverbal cues. She doesn't have to say a word and he's ready to be at her service. Man is down BAD for his wife and I am fully supportive of men being absolute simps for their hot wives

the fact that we get the backstory to how Xaden learned to braid and how Sloane MADE him redo it until it was good???? *chefs kiss* Of course Brennan would do Sloane's hair. He needed it as much as Sloane needed someone to do it for her. I am SOBBING. How do you keep making me feel things Alli??? I DON'T DO FEELINGS!!!!!

Deigh feels like a pseudo uncle or older brother to Andarana and I am LIVING for it. Andarana's like "Mom and dad need to bone so I'll make Deigh hang out with me" 😭

Of course, Violet comes up with a new way to implement runes. THATS MY GIRL! You are a genius for thinking that!!! (unless that's canon then please ignore me. I think I've reached a point where fanfics almost become canon for FW and I can't differentiate them rn)

 "Disappointment washed over him, entirely illogical; he liked the sight of her wearing something that belonged to him." You poor soul Xaden. Its only downhill from here. Emotions are never logical smh

"For that alone, Xaden didn’t complain when he took the gloves, and Liam just grinned like he knew it." I bet Xaden would murder her brother if he wasn't important if it would ensure her laugh and smile like that

geez. if you read through all of this and still answer me, thank you 🖤🖤🖤🖤 (I'm re-reading this and realized I actually wrote an essay....) I hope you can rest up this weekend and take it easy!!!!

I also took a bomb nap before posting this chapter yesterday, I love that we were on the same page about it 🫶🏻 (also it’s not parasocial if it’s reciprocated, we’re besties now)

So many beautiful thoughts here thank you!!!!! Xaden is a simp and he and Brennan are NOT prepared for Violet to find out secrets and start demanding answers from them. They should be more scared than they are

I like to let Garrick learn some new scary fun fact about Violet every so often, it keeps him humble. He deserves to be scared of this woman half his size (and as soon as he figures out that keeping her happy means Xaden will do anything, he’ll take so much advantage of it. So will Mira when she starts spending more time with them).

Deigh has been roped into this strange little family and he’s like “okay this is fine I guess” because he respects Tairn and Sgaeyl and also likes Andarna but is a little scared of her at the same time

Honestly the runes in the book confuse the fuck out of me, I tried my best, I don’t think it’s canon but Violet strikes me as the type to have all these extravagant ideas about how to use them except she’s not good enough with them yet to do it herself so she asks Xaden who will do literally anything for her

[angelasscribbles]

Sunday Six 09.17.23

I know I haven’t posted a chapter in a couple of weeks. I’ve posted extras, character boards, memes, links, cleaned out most of my asks, etc. But no story updates.

Rest assured that it’s simply because I have so much on my plate. Sometimes I get fixated on one story and you get regular, frequent (maybe too frequent) updates on that one story, while the others can sit untouched for months. Other times, my interest, and my attention, bounce around like a damn volleyball and while I’m still writing regularly, I have multiple projects I’m running between so many things are getting closer and closer, but nothing is actually ready to go yet.

Throw in that both the school year and volleyball season are back in full swing and I am underwater with projects, obligations, and events in real life as well.

No promises on the when of any of the below, but I wanted to give a little update about where I am with all the things. So without further ado…..

Spoilers are under the cut:

ONGOING SERIES….

Heir Apparent Chapter 21:

In the months following the press conference, things settled considerably with Liam. He had stopped pushing the idea of a Cordonian Arrangement and had been nothing but solicitous and courteous with both Drake and Riley.

All of them continued with therapy and progress had been made. Liam and Drake gradually fell back into the patterns of their lifelong friendship as the tension between them eased.

Riley and Drake agreed to relocate temporarily to the palace as they awaited the birth of Cordonia’s heir. While things had calmed between the three of them, the press had only ramped up their frenzy over the impending birth.

Riley couldn’t go anywhere without being set upon by the paparazzi, so she stopped going out. Everything and everyone came to her. It was both a perk and a restriction of being the mother to the heir apparent to the throne.

The baby was doing well, they had collectively decided to wait and find out the gender at birth. They had learned to do a lot of things collectively, everyone was settled and happy, or at least content with the way things were.

Then all hell broke loose.

Savage Love Chapter 35:

Leo

I shifted nervously as the car pulled up in front of the small, clapboard house on a quiet residential street in a working-class neighborhood. We had opted for a sedate sedan rather than drawing undue attention by pulling up in a limo.

If Max was right, she was here. If Riley’s intel was correct, she was in Hidar. But even if she wasn’t home, perhaps the woman that raised her would be and I could get some answers. If she was home, then I was about to meet my sister for the first time.

My sister.

The Dark Kingdom Chapter 6:

She took a step sidewise, away from Drake and toward the door, “Maybe I should leave. Coming here was a mistake-“

“Riley please!” Drake’s hand shot out to stop her, but he halted his momentum as he watched her flinch away from him. He drew his hand back and then held both of his arms up in front of him, palms open, “I’m sorry! I understand what you’ve been through, and I would never do anything to-“

Her gaze swung wildly from Drake to Liam, “You told him?”

“No!” Liam looked aghast, “I mean, not exactly…not like you think!”

“What other way is there? Either you told him, or you didn’t!”

Liam met her eyes with equanimity, “You told him… when you told me.”

“I…don’t understand….”

Drake’s gaze bore into her, but he didn’t attempt to grab her again, “Please give us a chance to explain!”

Unexpected Chapter 7:

“Besides that, I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between her and Beaumont.”

Liam’s head snapped up, his brows furrowing, “Bertrand?”

“No,” Drake snorted, “Maxwell.”

Liam sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and bringing them to his lips, “Why do you think that?”

ONE-SHOTS

(Titles are just working titles and will most likely change)

Four (Bad Romance):

The air was thick with anticipation as the door to the royal apartment closed behind them.

“Would anyone like a drink?” Liam asked, suddenly a little stiff. He had very little sexual inhibitions. By any standards, he was pretty adventurous. He was both a voyeur and an exhibitionist, he liked to watch, he liked to be watched. He was pansexual, the attraction was about the person, not their gender. His relationship with Riley was open sexually, they both indulged in the occasionally meaningless hookup. He was no stranger to group sex. Being part of a committed throuple, threesomes were common enough. Bringing a third, or fourth person in had happened on a few occasions.

None of that was the problem.

His eyes slid across the room surreptitiously as he poured thirty-year-old bourbon carelessly into four tumblers while taking in his best friend’s nervousness.

At least he wasn’t the only one.

Drake was the problem. The man was gorgeous but straight. Liam had put any unrequited romantic or sexual feelings in a box and locked it long ago. They were friends.

Best friends.

Their relationship had survived falling for the same woman but their arrangement, up until now, had kept their respective sex lives with her separate.

The memory of Drake naked in the shower after their last workout flitted through his mind and his dick twitched.

Shit.

Leo Smut (A Bad Romance Prequel Story):

Leo Rys, former crown prince, and current international playboy made his way leisurely through the crowd, searching for prey. The BRIC Celebrate Brooklyn Music Festival was one of his favorite New York events. All summer long, free, outdoors, and full of eligible, hot women.

He had been at loose ends since he abdicated the throne. Sailing around the Mediterranean on a cruise ship had been amusing for a little while. Until he’d gotten his heart handed to him. Again.

He knew he should be doing something with his life, but he didn’t know what. Not yet. He would give himself a couple of years to have fun, then he would get serious about something.

Meanwhile, he was on the prowl for his next good time.

He spotted her next to the stage. The lead singer was eye fucking her, and she wasn’t exactly discouraging it.

She was wearing a crisscross tie-dyed halter top, her hair spilling down her back in luscious dusky waves as she undulated her body seductively while keeping her eyes locked on the singer.

His focus narrowed. Target acquired.

NEW STUFF/COMING SOON(er or later)

Cordonian Royal Airlines

Insurrection Chapter 2

The long-awaited follow-up to King Breaker. I really wanted to post a snippet, but almost every line is a huge spoiler so just know that it’s in process.

Queen of Hearts:

Premise: Crown Princess Riley Rys has no interest in marrying any time soon but she’s not above taking advantage of the diversions offered by the endless stream of hopeful young noblemen that are paraded in front of her by their ambitious parents. But what happens when someone a little more…common catches her eye?

Format: A possibly open-ended series of the ongoing adventures of Cordonia’s untamable princess. (Still deciding)

Credit to @karahalloway for the series title.

Disclaimer: I know I’m not the first or only person to flip Riley into the role of royalty and I’m sure I won’t be the last. This is simply my take on it.

A/N: While I’ve made Riley the princess, I have not flipped Liam into the commoner role (that role belongs to Drake), but I have, instead, made Leo and Liam members of the Cordonian nobility.

Board:

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

A year ago, I posted my first ever fic for the 9-1-1 LoneStar fandom.

Or a year and a couple of days- It's basically the time in between when Owen tells TK they're moving and getting ready to move-

here's a snippet from the first chapter-

That was all TK could take. He got to his feet and walked out of the restaurant, ignoring that Alex was still saying something to him.

After leaving the restaurant, TK knew where he was going without thinking about it. He knew he had enough cash (as this night was supposed to be celebratory and Alex always gave TK a hard time for not having enough cash on him). TK knew where to go; he went and told them what he wanted and got the pills without barely saying a word. He barely even blinked.

The whole time as he bought the pills and as he made his way back to his apartment, he thought of the old story about the two wolves, and the one who wins in the fight is the one who is fed. But instead of one wolf being hope and one being despair, they each had a distinct voice. The first wolf sounded like TK. This wolf said, “don’t do this. You don’t want to do this. This is a bad night but this is not the answer. It will not help. It will not make things any better. You will have to explain this to your dad. Worse; you will have to explain this to your mom. It isn’t too late. You haven’t done anything yet. You need to get those pills as far away from you as possible. It would be better if you were mugged on the way home than if you took those”.

The second wolf was not quite as chatty. In fact, he only said seven words. But he said them over and over in a voice that sounded a lot like Alex; “Damn. You’re a lot of work, TK”.

Read what happens next here.

[dari-ede]

In the Middle of the Night: Ch 30

CHAPTER 30: Every Line in our Hands

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30

MASTERLIST

Summary: As Bangtan prepares for a new chapter in their lives, they head to their private property in the forest for a songwriting workshop. As a songwriter and producer they have worked with for years, I’m asked to tag along. I was ready for the heavy workload and small amount of sleep during the workshop week. However, I wasn’t ready for the storm that came that changed my friendship with Namjoon forever.

Notes: Maya makes a decision....

Pairing: Idol!RM/Namjoon x OFC

Genre: Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut

Rating: M (sexual scenes/sexual assault in prior chapters)

Status: Complete

Note: I haven't given it one final read-through but I wanted to post it as soon as possible. I'll probably be doing edits late in the day today or throughout the week when I finally have time. Sorry!

Warnings: a LOT of feels, talk of therapy, talk of assault

**********

- Jimin's Apartment -

I needed a break from my phone. Since arriving in Seoul a few days ago, I had been having the worst of luck. Because I hadn’t planned to be back in the country for a few more weeks, it had been a hassle getting things settled with the banks. I was usually better prepared when I traveled, but all of this had been so last minute.

It sucked having to quarantine in a home that wasn’t mine. However, I was grateful to Jimin for lending me his house for the time being. My apartment wasn’t ready, so Jimin had been my only hope. He wasn’t scheduled to get back to town for a couple more weeks. I have no idea where I would be crashing after that, but that was something I could worry about later.

Right now, I only had the energy to stress about money. And food.

I had finished almost everything edible in Jimin’s kitchen. I was running out of resources and needed the damn banks to allow me access to my accounts. Of course, they wanted me to be there in person, but it was difficult to do so in the middle of a mandatory 10-day quarantine. After landing in Seoul, which by some miracle no one leaked to the media, I came straight to Jimin’s house, tested, and was told to stay until I was cleared.

Asking for favors was not easy for me and I had asked enough of Jimin already. Messaging him about needing him to use his own funds to get me food had been embarrassing. He said he would have things delivered to me by the morning. I would just have to hold tight for the night.

My stress was causing great strain and the only thing I could think to calm myself was to set my phone down and do something else. I read a book, listened to music, and finally decided to take a long bath. I had kept my phone away on purpose.

And that had been a bad idea.

Had I kept my phone next to me, I would have gotten a heads-up from Jimin.

But I hadn’t. And now I was staring at a perfectly chiseled Adonis, at a loss for words.

This had not been part of the plan.

His splendor made me stop in my tracks as I exited Jimin’s room after showering. My eyes took in his face. His leveled, smoothed nose, his heavy-lidded eyes, and round, luscious lips couldn’t look more perfect. His jaw was set, his eyes round in an almost-wondered look.

The sudden realization that I hadn’t seen him in a month was physically catching up to me. My legs wanted to run to him. My arms wanted to wrap themselves around his shoulders. My lips wanted to claim his. My soul had missed him, but so had my body. And it was needing to make contact. It was craving him.

“What are you doing here?” he suddenly asked, his eyes glaring at me now.

I had never seen his face switch so quickly. One moment he looked too stunned to speak and the next he was looking at me like some bug he wanted to squash.

But rather than react sadly to hearing his tone, my body seemed to melt. My ears had also missed the deep timbre of his voice. Even if it had some venom in it.

“You were just gonna come back to town and not even call?” Namjoon demanded. His words began to make snap me out of my hypnotism. “You’ve ignored all my messages, so it shouldn’t surprise me you want to physically avoid me.”

My brain caught up and my body finally caught up. My mouth opened to speak, but I was silenced before I could even start.

Namjoon continued with his anger. Continued voicing his hurt. “Do you have any idea how shitty that feels? I calledyou, messaged you. I fucking sounded like a goddamn dog begging for forgiveness. And you couldn’t even bother giving me a response? You contacted Jimin right away but not me? Am I unworthy?”

His thinking or saying that he was unworthy of anything ripped something inside. I finally spoke. “I wanted to wait until my quarantine was over. I’m stuck here for 10 days. If I were to have called you, I would have immediately wanted to see you—and I can’t. There’s a mandate.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are looking at me, but he doesn’t see me. It’s like he’s looking at a stranger who’s feeding him lies.

“Ask my Tia Jia,” I said desperately, needing him to believe me. “My quarantine is up in a few days. After, I was going to call you so we could meet.”

“She’ll lie for you,” he accused.

“Then ask Yoongi. I told him I was going to call you first thing after I got the green light.”

He snickered, the glare in his eyes still there. “Of course, you still communicate with Yoongi. You tell me him more than you tell me.”

He was so full of anger that he wasn’t seeing things clearly. He was putting up walls. It was a defense mechanism, I knew it. I needed to keep my calm, make him see. “No one knows me the way you know me, Namjoon,” I said gently, hoping he recognized this was true.

My calmness wasn’t having the effect I wanted to have on him. He didn’t want me calm. But he wanted me to meet his energy.

“Except those other guys who slid inside you like I did that night. They know you like I know you,” he said without thinking, going for the jugular. Needing me hurt the way he was hurting.

His eyes went wide with horror as soon as the words left his mouth. Instant regret.

But the words couldn’t be sucked back in. They were in the air, shooting straight at me like daggers. And they hurt me exactly the way he intended.

I took in a sharp breath, feeling the blades cut right through my skin and hit my chest.

I turned away, feeling the tears sting my eyes. My body reacted like it always did at being wounded, it recoiled. My feet took some towards Jimin’s room. I couldn’t lose it in front of him.

But he was faster. His body blocked me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I—I’m a fucking idiot.” His voice was strained. “Maya, I am so sorry. I don’t know why I said it. I was wrong.”

My feet moved back, keeping my body safe from his.

“I am so sorry. I’m a fucking prick.” He went down to his knees, his face twisted in remorse. He got on the ground, bowing down and pleading. “Please.”

Hot tears came streaming down as I spoke. “I wasn’t with you for the sex. No one knows me like you—emotionally. No one makes me feel the way you do. I felt safe around you, but then…when you said that—” A sob came out as I remembered.

Walking down the halls barefoot with only my skirt and top.

Tears had smeared off my makeup. I looked like a goddamn wreck. My shoes and undergarments had been left behind. Security both gawked at me and looked away in shame.

Humiliation of a slut.

“I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” he repeated, his head bowing as low as it could.

I took breaths to get ahold of myself. “This is why it’s difficult to let someone in. Because when I do, they have ammunition to use against me. They know what to say, what information to use to belittle me.” It felt so foreign to be this honest with him; it was uncomfortable. But I forced myself to feel the discomfort. “No one’s ever known me the way you have. Every time I’m with you, you reveal some knowledge you have of me that no one has ever noticed about it. It makes me feel so naked. I hated it.”

His head remained on the ground, his body slightly shaking from his own sobs.

Unlike seeing my mother in a state of disarray, I’m fully moved by seeing Namjoon like this. Seeing his regret made me want to immediately give in and forgive him.

But I shouldn’t. I needed to be smart about all of this. It was not ok what he had said to me. Both times.

“Why did you say it?” I demanded.

“I don’t know," he answered with his head still down.

No, I wasn't going to accept that. “You must know. As you said, it’s been a month. You’re telling me you haven’t thought about why you said it all this time?”

He calmed himself and then lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine. “It was out of anger.”

“You wanted to hurt me?”

“Yes.” He looked at me with pain in his eyes. “When I said it that night, it was because I thought I meant nothing to you. It made me angry and I wanted to hurt you. I remember what your exes used to say to you and it slipped. This time, the same thing happened. I felt you cared more for Yoongi and Jimin—feels like I’m not high on your list.”

To think he would stoop so low and try to damage me—on purpose—the same way my exes had ripped something in me. I never would have thought Namjoon to be someone so…normal. Such a human quality to be imperfect.

“I need to know," I forced myself to say. I didn't want to continue this talk. I was feeling so much, but I knew I had to continue. "You have to be honest. Do you have a problem with my sexual past?”

He shook his head, his face serious and steady. “No. You have a past and I would be foolish and selfish to not want you to have one. What I’ve always cared about is how you treat and see me. That's where all the anger came from, I swear.”

I understood. He had been an ass for saying it—twice—but anger was something I could easily understand.

He hung his head again and apologized once more. He was clearly remorseful.

However, I needed to set boundaries. I needed to stand up for myself. “When I open up to you, I expect you not to throw it back at me. It will only make me pull away from you.”

He sat back up and nodded. His face was flushed, tears still coming down. He apologized again.

“I appreciate the apology,” I said genuinely. I turned towards the couch. “Let’s sit down. You’re gonna hurt your knees.” I didn’t wait for his response and went towards the couch.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him get up and walk toward the empty chair. I wasn’t sure if it was because of his presence or due to feeling a sudden chill, but I shivered. Either reason was valid for my body reacting that way. I looked around for the hoodie I had been using in quarantine. I found it on the chair that Namjoon was starting to descend on. Before I could ask if he could hand it over, I noticed something about it.

It was his.

Of course, I knew it was his hoodie I had been wearing. He had left it in LA and I had used it several times since our breakup. However, wearing it in front of him wasn't appropriate.

I tried not to disguise the fact that I was looking for something, pretending it was the blanket on the couch I had been looking for. However, it was no use. He had noticed. His eyes went to the hoodie behind him and a slightly embarrassed look spread across his face.

However, even though he looked awkward, he still reached for it. “You can—”

Grabbing the blanket, I made sure to be extra noise in wrapping it around me, draining out his words. Thankfully, he was quick to catch onto what I was doing and shut up.

As I turned to him, I noticed we were a little too close. And even though my body wanted to get closer to him than I already was, my brain reminded me of the mandate. I was already breaking so many laws with Namjoon being here, I at least wanted to make sure we followed the six feet rule.

After a few moments of silence, Namjoon opened his mouth, ready to start the talk but I cut him off. “Let me start.”

He nodded and kept silent.

Meeting his eyes, I said some words I wanted to say that night. “I need to apologize as well.”

His eyes stayed on me and said nothing.

I took a breath and started what I had set out to do after walking out of Sihyuk’s house about a week ago. “You told me multiple times what you wanted from the relationship—you were very clear. You wanted transparency and I didn’t give you that. I was wrong for how I behaved. For keeping our relationship a secret from my family. I recognize I was dismissive of your emotions. I am very sorry for that.”

He nodded, accepting my apology, but he needed more words from me. “Why did you want to keep me a secret from them? It felt like I was this dirty little secret. I’ll be honest, these last few weeks, the thought that you might have someone on the side came to mind.”

I shook my head, appalled. “I never—”

“I know,” he cut me off. “You would never do something like that. It was a thought that came to mind several times. I want to be fully honest about it. My head went into some pretty dark places these last few weeks. My opinion of you wasn’t very good.”

Guilt stabbed at my chest. I knew he was being with these words. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I know why you refused to tell your family?” He did his best not to sound hurt.

But I knew Namjoon well enough to hear it. “I genuinely thought that not telling my brothers had been an oversight, but after talking to Dr. Rob, I see things differently now.”

He looked a bit shocked. “You’re seeing your therapist again?”

I nodded. “After that night, I kind of had a breakdown. Similar to years ago when I was in the middle of an anxiety attack. After a few days, I knew I needed help. Dr. Rob has been helping me figure some things out—find out why I’ve had this wall up with you.” Using the blanket as a guard, I tugged it tighter around my body as I felt my anxiety start spiking. “I learned that me keeping you at a distance stems from childhood trauma.”

I went on to explain what I had discovered with Dr. Rob. I went into a little more detail about what I witnessed as a kid with my parents. Made the connection that the toxic relationship I grew up watching damaged my trust in a partner. Boyfriends, to me, were a tainted category.

“I didn’t tell my parents about us at first because I don’t have a close relationship with them. I might talk to them on a weekly basis, but it’s always short and I never share anything meaningful. Plus, I’m sure my mother’s ability to taint anything I care about had something to do with it. Not telling her kept you safe for me. I can easily see her make a comment about how wrong I am for you. She did it several times with Jerry. I didn’t want her doing that with you.”

Namjoon’s face was calm, but his eyes were very loud about how he felt about hearing this.

“And I think there are a few reasons why I didn’t tell my brothers. One of them was because it would make us more real. Which increased the possibility of you leaving. And that scared me.” The abandonment issues I didn’t know I had started to resurface. Now that I could identify the feeling, I took notice of it quickly. “The only guys who stuck around were the bad ones.”

“Jerry was willing to stick around,” he pointed out immediately. “And he was great.”

“But he didn’t really know me. I kept a lot of things from him. And the things I did tell him, he dismissed,” I countered back.

“But I do and I want to be with you,” he said without hesitation.

My heart ached for multiple reasons. “Which makes you more dangerous. It’s a double-edged sword.”

“I know I fucked up. And I am more than willing to ask for forgiveness every day—”

I cut him off. “No. I know you regret it and know you mean your apology. I forgive you. I don’t want it to become something that hangs over us. I’m still hurt by it, but it won’t last.”

He gave a slight nod. After a quiet moment, he spoke up. “I really don’t want to push you away. But I want to be let in. And I want to know that you’ll allow me in.”

I held onto his eyes, noticing how pleading they looked. I had to be honest. I couldn’t sugarcoat this. “It’s gonna be tough for me. Letting someone in is not easy. The last people I let in and depended on ended up fucking me up. I put a wall up for survival and it’s been hard bringing it down. I’ve always been aware of the wall’s presence and I’ve never minded it. But with you, I mind. I don’t want to keep you out. Even if my fight or flight instincts are screaming at me.”

He looked away, seeming to think about something.

It was a look I had seen far too often, especially more toward the end of our relationship. He was holding back. And like always, I wanted to know what was on his mind. “What? Tell me.” I braced myself for whatever he was about to say.

He didn’t meet my eyes but answered my question. “When we fought that one night—not the very last one, but the one when you almost left in the middle of the night…?”

“Yeah…?”

“You were reliving something….”

I thought back, trying to recall that night.

“Your anxiety kicked in…”

I remembered. “Mm-hmmm.”

“What was it?” There was a slight look of reluctance like he was afraid to ask. Afraid of my reaction. Afraid I might not answer.

I had told him I wanted to let him in, now I had to prove it. “A fight between my parents.”

His facial features relaxed a bit. “What was it about what I did that triggered the memory?”

The image of his fiery brown eyes crossed my mind. Eyes that were always so warm when I looked into them had been icy that night. “Your anger. You’ve gotten mad at me before, but that look…that was real anger towards me.” My eyes stayed on his as I told him what I discovered with Dr. Rob. “I know you’re nothing like my parents. But that night emotions were already escalating. My feelings for you were getting more intense. Internally, I was fighting with my defenses. I wanted to let you in and I also wanted to keep you away. Sadly, the wall won that night. The image of my parents fighting pushed me to keep it up. Not to mention that I’ve had prior relationships that around the four-month period, their demeanor changed. The thought did cross my mind that you were going to turn into one of them.”

He thought for a long moment, considering my words. He looked down at his feet, which were joined. He moved his feet a bit, thinking.

“What?” I asked, knowing he was hesitating in asking something serious.

He didn’t meet my eyes but did speak up. “I thought you might have been reliving something else that night.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Something you haven’t been able to tell me. Something you’re keeping secret.” The cocoa browns that pulled so many feelings out of me came up. “There’s something I want to know. I’ve been holding back in asking because I’ve never wanted to push you to tell me anything you’re not ready to. But it’s gotten to the point where I keep imagining the absolute worst.” A stream of tears began to come down as he braved himself. “What happened to you that caused the anxiety attack years ago?”

Another difficult hurdle had come. Tears were also coming out of me and I took a few breaths to get myself under control. “I want to share everything with you, Namjoon. But some things are difficult to talk about. Some things that,” flashes of the scariest moments of my life came to the forefront, threatening to suck me in. The bulwark I had built since childhood stood tall and strong, though, keeping the old memories at a distance. That fucking wall was my protector just as much as it was my poison. “I don’t want to ever relive,” I finished as I caught on to my words again. “There are some things I suppressed and can’t remember. There are other memories I wish I could forget.”

He cut me off, a look full of concern as he witnessed my state. “I don’t want you to relive something that is going to do more damage. I don’t want you to have to dig in too deep that you get lost.” The tears coming down from him were probably thicker than mine. “I just wanted to help you. It seemed like there was something you were going through and I wanted to comfort you. Especially since you weren’t seeing your therapist anymore.”

I nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. “I shouldn’t have stopped therapy. I should have continued it. I thought I had a handle on things, but I didn’t.” I took a breath and finally said the words I had practiced so much with Dr. Rob. “I wasn’t prepared before in letting a significant other in. But I want to. I want to let you in. And I promise that I am working on it and will continue to work on it. I will tell you in more detail about what happened, but I won’t tell you everything this time.”

He waited patiently. “Whatever you want to tell me. And whatever you don’t or can’t, that’s ok with me, too. As long as you’re getting help is what matters.”

******Tugging the blanket around me, I finally told him. “Around the time my contract was about to expire, I was to have a meeting with some executives and Ky was supposed to be there. However, things happened and Ky couldn’t be there and neither could some of the executives. Only one of them met with me. The meeting started ok, but somehow it turned into a nightmare. The executive made comments that hinted at me doing him sexual favors in exchange for a better contract. It was surreal at first; I thought it was some joke. But then he walked over to me. He got too close. I froze. I felt my shirt come undone.”*******

I took the chance of stealing a look at Namjoon, wondering how he was taking this.

His face was expressionless. He kept his eyes on me with no hint of anger or pain. I let out a breath, relieved. It was something I feared a little. Namjoon had always been one to control his emotions, always relying on his head. But there was always the possibility of his emotions getting the best of him. I knew if he did lose control, I would focus on him rather than myself.

I was about to continue but then I noticed his fists. They were clenched. His arms tightened. He was angry, I could feel it now.

I instantly began to worry about him.

“What then, babe?” Namjoon said, pulling my focus away. “Don’t focus on me. Go on.” He had caught my stare.

I took a breath and continued to speak about my assault. I didn’t give him too many details, still not feeling ready to tell him everything. He sat still and listened. I told him about my talk with my mother and when I got a bit emotional, he made a move to move toward me.

With a shake of the head, I pleaded him to stay where he was. “If you hug me, I’ll come apart. And I want to get through this.”

He respected this and stayed in his seat. However, he did lean forward, looking ready to rush to my side as soon as I gave him the go-ahead.

A good while later, I was certain I had shared as much as I could about my trauma. I shed many tears, but I didn’t feel as bad as I thought I would.

Looking out the window, I could only imagine what time it was. It was pitch black. This had taken a lot longer than I thought.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. I bet it wasn’t easy,” he said genuinely, a look of complete care on his face.

“Thank you for listening,” I responded.

“I like listening to you.” His words moved something in me.

Having just shared so much with him, I felt a shift between us. I felt a shift in myself. The fact that he had sat there for hours listening to me and respecting my boundaries moved something in me. Suddenly, I had the urge to tell him everything; tell him exactly what I thought of him but had been too afraid to share in the past.

“There's more I need to tell you," I said, building up even more courage.

I was certain he could tell I was getting nervous. He offered me one of my favorite smiles. "I'm all ears."

I took a deep breath and began to let my heart pour out. "You are, without a doubt, the best human I know. You’re kind, gentle, resilient, positive, and empathetic. You deserve the goddamn world.” Talking about my admiration for him was making me quite emotional. So emotional that I started to cry. What I felt for Namjoon was not something that I had ever allowed myself to feel. Dr. Rob said that it would take some time to talk openly about this positive emotion without my body physically responding this way.

I was quick to notice how Namjoon shook his head, disagreeing with my view of him.

But I needed him to know how I saw him. “Despite the negativity thrown at you, you keep your composure. You stay collected when it matters most. It’s one of the many reasons why I fell for you.” Looking into his beautiful features, I continued my praises. “And there are so many qualities that made me fall for you—many physical. Like your pout. The pout you make when you mutter to yourself. And how you look when you come out of the shower in all your gloriousperfection.” He blushed wildly at this. But I wasn’t done. “When you chow down your third bowl of noodles, your Adam’s apple bobs in this very sexy way. And my favorite thing about you is how you make me feel happy.” A burst of crazed laughter came out of me, thinking of all the little moments with Namjoon. The last few weeks we had been together, this was one of the emotions I had felt and tried to block: happiness. It was so foreign to me, so I had naturally recoiled from it. However, in the month away from him, I came to find that not feeling happiness was a feeling I did not want.

He took a breath, wiped some tears, and looked directly at me. He opened his mouth, ready to say something.

But I wasn’t done. There was one last thing I needed to tell him. The most important thing I knew I would ever say. “I love you, Kim Namjoon.”

It felt like a breath of fresh air saying it. While it was difficult getting to this point, letting out the words felt good. Felt so right.

My eyes did not sway from his cocoa browns. His body relaxed—he looked relieved.

I was bathing in the happiness of finally saying the words to him but then noticed him getting to his feet. I acted instinctively and got up, wanting to get close to him. However, I remembered I was under quarantine. If I had the virus, he might get sick again. It would mess up his entire schedule. I backed away as he made a reach for him. “Six feet,” I reminded him.

He followed me, a determined look in his eyes. “Fuck the six feet.” He reached out, catching my upper arm and keeping me in place.

“Namjoon—” The air got caught in my lungs as his touch sent thrills throughout my skin. Every cell sang in joy. However, my brain demanded I take back control. I tried to pull away.

His bold and gentle hands came to my face, keeping me. His mystic eyes held my gaze.

My brain and body became mush at that point, giving up the battle. I sighed into his touch.

“Say it again,” his honeyed voice said above a whisper.

I don’t think I could ever deny him anything. “I love you, Kim Namjoon.” My heart fluttered at hearing myself say it.

I was entrusting him with my heart. And as I felt him around me, I was positive he would protect it and me at all costs.

He let out a kind of laugh I had never heard him make. It was high and kind of panty. He sounded a bit delirious. I saw the smile I had been missing for over a month. His eyes squinted as his smile widened. His nose scrunched up a bit, changing the freckled constellations on his beautiful canvas. How had I lasted so long without seeing this expression every day?

“I really missed these,” I said, my fingers reaching up and tracing the cluster of marks around his eyes and nose.

His hands moved down to my middle and tightened around me. His face came down to my neck, his nose hitting the spot between my ear and neck. He took a deep inhale. “I missed you.”

I turned my head towards his own neck, wanting to smell him back. My nose grazed his skin and I breathed in his woodsy scent.

We stayed like that for a long time, until he finally pulled up. His arms stayed around me. “I found out how I felt about you while I was with my last girlfriend,” he said, almost out of nowhere.

My state of happiness made my mind not work fast enough. “Huh?”

He went out to further explain. “I broke up with my ex a year ago because I was falling for you. By the time we were in the backhouse in the soop, I was a goner. I knew that week.” His eyes stayed on me, one of his palms back to stroking my face. “I love you, Mayahuel.”

I never thought my heart would feel ready to combust. Every fiber of my body tingled as small amounts of electricity danced inside my cells. Tears of happiness erupted once again.

More happy pecks were shared.

It started light, but I quickly felt the heat start kicking in. Not wanting Jimin’s house to be the next place we consummated our new relationship, I decided to kid around with him. “Just don’t forget I’m the one who said it first.”

He let out a light laugh. “You might have said it first, but I definitely felt it first. I let you say it first, know that,” he said teasingly, biting my lower lip.

I gave him a light smack. “You really don’t want to turn this into a competition,” I warned. “I probably fell in love with you years ago, I just was suppressing it.”

“You said it was only a crush!”

I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s not the story I’ll be telling everyone,” I said, giving him a playful smile.

“You better play nice or I won’t feed you tomorrow,” he warned. “I know you’re running out of food. I’ll let you starve,” he joked with a flirtatious smile.

Giving him another smack, I let out a pout. “Be nice to me. All I’ve had today has been ramen which was probably five years old. I found it way in the back of some dirty cupboard.”

With that, Namjoon immediately pulled out his phone and ordered multiple dishes from one of my favorite places. He went on to order me groceries that would probably last me a week. He ignored the dozen times I told him he was going overboard.

I openly rolled my eyes at him.

He didn’t answer me; his eyes looking at my arms. We were both now on the couch, waiting on the food. His body and the blanket were providing a nice warmth, but it wasn’t enough for my body. “How are you still cold?” He reached over to grab the hoodie on the chair.

However, I stopped him. “Can I have the one you have on instead?”

“Why?” he asked with a frown, but I didn’t miss how he started to take off his hoodie.

“The other one has lost your smell,” I said honestly. “Plus, this one is already warm.”

He let out a chuckle, the hoodie now off him. He handed it to me gently.

As I put it on, I took in his body. I hadn’t noticed before because Namjoon tended to wear baggy clothes. He rarely put on clothes that rightly fit his frame. But now, without the sweater, I saw how much weight he had lost.

“Namjoon,” I said, concerned.

“What?” he asked, confused by my reaction.

“You look…different.” I wanted to say scrawny, but that wasn’t a nice word to use.

He waved his hand, dismissing it. “It’s not just because of what happened. I was traveling, remember? No time for the gym. Then I ended up being stuck indoors for close to three weeks. I got an appointment to meet with my trainer in a few days.”

I gave a nod, but still couldn’t help but feel guilty for my part in his state.

Namjoon was quick to catch on to my emotions. “Hey,” he said, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “No guilt, ok? It was a bad time, but we’re not going back there. We’re looking ahead.”

The next nod I gave was a little more confident.

Then, a chime came on, signaling our delivery had arrived. After retrieving the bags of food, we sat on the floor to eat. I probably shouldn’t be eating this late, but I was starving.

“What are your plans after coming out of quarantine? Can your apartment be ready by the time Jimin gets back?” Namjoon asked as he fed me some of his noodles.

I took them, hungrily. “I’m hoping so. I really hate apartment shopping.”

“Stay with me until it’s ready,” Namjoon immediately offered.

“Are we ready for that?” I asked him honestly.

He thought for a moment. “I want to be, but maybe we aren’t?”

“If you have to ask, then we aren’t. I don’t want to take a step we’re unsure of.”

He nodded and took a big bite from his noodles.

“Where do you want from us?” I asked. “I know you’ve always wanted to share your thoughts but held back. I don’t want to keep you from voicing what you want to say.”

He thought for a moment. “I want a nice dinner with you and my parents. I want to properly introduce you. I’d like to see if it’s at all possible to meet with your aunt Jia and Uncle John, formally. You consider them more like your parents.”

I smiled, thinking his wants were easy to meet. “My aunt and uncle will be here in a few weeks, so that’s easy to make happen.”

He frowned. “They’re coming? What for? Just for a visit?”

“Well, Sihyuk actually invited them. They’ll be visiting for about two weeks.”

“Why does Sihyuk want to meet with them?”

I then told him.

*********

~NAMJOON~

Weeks later….

There was only reason Namjoon had gone to HYBE on his day off was for moral support. Today was the day. And he was positive Maya’s anxiety would be spiking. He had seen her over his place earlier and her nerves were already jittery.

The elevator doors opened to his designated floor. He walked out and headed to the lobby, seeing one man and two women speaking to each other. The man and the older woman were sitting on the couch as the younger woman paced in front of them.

Yeah, her anxiety was spiking, Namjoon thought as he quickened his pace.

They were in such heavy discussion; he was positive they hadn’t heard him.

The couple was the first to notice him. He gave them a smile and polite bow.

Maya’s aunt and uncle got to their feet and greeted Namjoon back.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Maya had stopped pacing and making her way to him. “What are you doing here?” she asked him. She was trying to hide the feeling of relief.

If her aunt and uncle hadn’t been present, he would have wrapped her in his arms to calm her. However, he had been raised to be a proper, Korean man and kept a proper distance. He got as close as he felt was respectful. “I told you I would meet you here,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, but I thought you meant it would be after the meeting.” He noticed how her legs leaned towards him, but she also kept her distance. She knew him well to know what he was comfortable with when it came to PDA. They had met with her aunt and uncle a few times for her to know.

“I wanted to be here to escort you if you wanted. And to answer any last-minute questions.”

“So, it really is going to be just the three of us and him? No other executives? No lawyers?” Asked Jia, still looking like she didn’t believe what had been said to her several times.

Namjoon smiled and nodded. “Sihyuknim cares and respects his artists. Having a meeting with the artist and their parents is something very important to him. He wants the parents to know he’s taking good care of their child. That he is willing to treat the artist like extended family. He did the same with us. It was just us, our parents—no lawyers—and we signed the contracts. It’s the reason why Big Hit is so small. He wants it to be a family business.”

John’s chest puffed a bit like he loved the idea that he was considered to be Maya’s parent. Jia’s smile spread wide, clearly feeling the same. There were even some tears in her eyes.

Jia seemed to shake herself out of it. “Namjoonah, is there a particular wine your parents really like? Mayita says they like wine but is unsure which is their favorite,” Jia said.

“I’ll message you an image of it,” Namjoon promised.

Maya’s aunt and uncle were going to meet Namjoon’s parents tonight. It had been Namjoon’s mother who had invited Maya’s family over.

Maya had been over for dinner at his parents' every weekend. Namjoon also had a feeling Eomuni would be inviting them to the house for Seollol.

“We would appreciate that, thank you,” responded Jia.

“How have you guys been sleeping?” Namjoon asked, curious. He remembered John mentioning the other day how the time difference was affecting his sleep.

“Better last night,” John said.

They were staying in Maya’s new apartment. Her old apartment was having too many issues with the renovations and wasn’t going to be ready for the initial date they had given Maya. The landlord let Maya out of her lease early, so she was able to look for another apartment.

While it had caused a lot of stress for Maya for a couple of weeks, something good came out of it. She had found an apartment in Namjoon’s community, so she was now a lot closer. They wouldn’t need to use so many drivers now since they were only walking distance from one another.

But even though they saw each other every day, they didn’t sleep in each other’s place. This time, Namjoon wanted to make sure their emotions were stable before they took that next step. Like before, Maya assured Namjoon that once he was ready then she would be, too. And it’s not like he didn’t want to sleep with her, because goddammit he did.

However, he was really enjoying the stage they were in. During the few weeks they had gotten back together, Maya had done such a turn-around. She was emotionally open and communicated very well with Namjoon. Gone were the days that she kept things to herself. The only time she did this was when she wasn’t sure what she was going through. And she told Namjoon so. When she got confused about something, rather than closing up, she let Namjoon know she needed time to decipher what she was feeling or thinking. This change in her made Namjoon fall deeper in love with her. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but it was the truth.

And the more he fell in love with her, the more he was drawn to her physically. It was getting harder to keep his hands off her. He was ready to make that next step with her. And he had a feeling it might be tonight. There were just a few things he needed to take care of.

“Should we start heading up?” asked John as he looked down at his watch.

We all turned to Maya.

She nodded, looking at little nervous.

Jia reached over and squeezed her arm before taking her husband’s hand. “Let’s go.”

John made a motion for Maya to lead the way.

As Maya walked, she took hold of Namjoon’s arm.

Together, they all walked towards the elevator. Plenty of eyes turned towards the four of them, their gaze lingering on Maya’s arm linked through Namjoon’s. He was sure Maya noticed the stares as well.

She didn’t seem bothered by them, though. She kept her head high in confidence.

Namjoon felt his heart swell and witnessed Maya feeling indifferent to the staff learning about her possibly romantic relationship with Bagntan’s leader, RM.

Yeah, he was definitely taking her to bed tonight.

**************

MASTERLIST

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30 Sequel (Book II)

***********************

AN: This concludes the story I planned for Maya and Namjoon! Thank you everyone for coming along on this journey! I adored writing these two.

However, I do have some news—good or bad, I don't know. This story will be continuing. I haven’t been able to get rid of these two from my head. Mostly it’s because RM smutty songs keep inspiring me. The first chapter of their new story is up and linked here.

I have the story (mostly) mapped out. It won’t be a story as long as this one ( I hope). It will work mostly as a journey of the two learning how to navigate through a mature, adult relationship. I intend to have an equal amount of fluff and smut in every chapter. It will work more like chapters of drabbles than one, big story.

Similarly to ITMOTN, though, I’ll want a big chunk of the story written before I start posting.

[swaps55]

So, a little peek behind the curtain for anyone who might be wondering why the hell it's taking me so long to update Fugue.

I've got roughly 18,000 words drafted of what was supposed to be one chapter that is now two. Getting those words out has been an adventure.

I agonized for about a week on whether I had the right person in the right scene for a character moment, decided I didn't, then rewrote the scene with a different character. Which required giving a LOT of thought to How Does This Character Grieve.

And then I decided the scene was in the wrong place so I moved it. And now have to rewrite it again for reasons that I will elaborate on in #9 & #10

I spent a month trying to block out the right sequence of events for an action scene. I finally did it. And I hated it. It felt wrong, Kaidan was out of character, the tension wasn't high enough, and it missed the overall mark by a mile.

Had probably three rubber duck brainstorm sessions with Real Life Romance Option (RLRO) to solve this problem. Revised the scene. Better, but still didn't believe in it. Said fuck it and just moved on. Maybe the answer will become apparent as I move through the rest.

Revised the scene from #1 again now that I had written the scene mentioned in #3, because #1 theoretically resolves some of the tension in #3. But the tension is still fucked up so this scene still isn't right.

Started blocking out the next round of combat, realized that it was boring from Kaidan's POV (not his fault - the interesting action was just happening where he wasn't), and then decided I need to change it up. Wrestled with that for a few days, because writing from the POV of OCs is always a little bit of a risk and I don't do it lightly. Decided it was important and valuable enough to do it.

Problem is, I have not written this character's POV since Sam died, so I took several days to sit with THAT and figure out what the world looks like through her eyes after his death and how that would help me tell the story I needed to tell. Problem: I still didn't REALLY understand what story I was trying to tell. I knew what the basic sequence of events were, but the character growth hadn't clicked yet.

Wrote the POV, and now, some 13-14k into this part of the story, FINALLY FIGURED OUT WHAT ALL OF THIS IS TRYING TO BE ABOUT. Thank god, now at least I know what I'm trying to accomplish other than Plot.

Realize that I now need to rewrite scene #1 from a totally different POV to create the parallels I'm looking for to move Kaidan along on his grief arc.

This presents a problem, because it puts me in Kara's POV while she is solving an engineering problem, and Kara is much smarter than I am. This meant another brainstorm session with RLRO, who handed me the PERFECT solution to the problem that fixed my character problems, fixed my tension problem, would make it possible for her to be smart without me being smart, etc., BUT, it meant throwing out every single word I'd spent an entire month writing.

Because of this entirely new development, which utterly changes the dynamic I am working with, I have to rewrite #1 AGAIN (which I still have not gotten to because I just finished #10).

I also still have to do first round revisions on the rest of the damn thing, because the back end of these two chapters is really raw and needs some love.

SO THIS IS WHY IT IS TAKING SO LONG. Every time I crown a chapter of Fugue as the most complicated writing I have ever put together, another chapter says, "hold my beer."

Once these are sorted out, I have two more chapters to write plus an epilogue. I think I know what I'm doing for all of it, but because each of these chapters interlink in important ways, what I think I am going to do is just write them before I post anything new. That way, everything will line up right, and once I am ready to post again, I can do it consistently.

I am really hoping I can make some progress over my holiday break (hopefully, but no promises, because I am traveling for part of it).

I am committed to getting this story done, and regret how long it's taking, but trust me, you did not want to read what I had before I figured this out.

Boy this one has been HARD. But I'm almost there. Almost. I'm really happy with the rewrites I just finished. One more big scene to rewrite. Then it's just revisions. I can handle that.

[jester-darling]

Jester’s Story (Chapter One)

notes; Jenna and Jester are the same person, but Jester uses he/they and Jenna uses she/her. Also thank you @slovoricbutbetter for beta reading and actually getting me to post this!! CW/TW there’s mentions of bulling and self hatred. Hope you enjoy!

Jenna grew up knowing she was odd, weird, different, a million different words to describe her; none of them being normal. Jenna wasn’t normal, she knew that, but she wanted to be. Well, her mother wanted her to be. Jenna just wanted to be loved and happy, to earn love meant to be normal. 

“You can’t be normal with your obsessions Jenna!” She heard. 

“Look at this freak! Acting like our singing court jester!” She was teased. 

“God damn it, Jenna! Why can’t you just be a normal kid! Normal kids don’t HURT other kids to keep them away from crushes Jenna! God- just- just go to your room, I have to get ready for work. I don’t have time for this, just go.” Her mother always ranted.

Jenna grew tired, and fast, so when she was ten she put all of her obsessive tendencies, love, and general excitement in a box, and called the box her alter-ego Jester Darling. It was still her, just how she actually felt and was, she was Jester, and Jester her.

A completely normal thing to do as a ten year old, yep completely normal. That leads Jenna to now, a first year at a university in Russia, moving into her dorm, holding a box filled with Jester Darling themed items. 

“So roomie, what’s with the box of diamond stuff? Oh wow that’s a lot of lavender!” Her noisy dorm mate asks. 

“Oh nothing much, just some merch from a streamer I like.” Jenna grumbles shoving the box under the, honestly rather crappy, bed supplied by the school. Jenna glared at the box, Jester Darling is supposed to stay hidden. Jenna and Jester are supposed to stay separate. Why did this nosy good for nothing-

Jenna hated nosy people, she knew that. She sighed and took a deep breath, readying herself to stand. Jenna whimpers softly as she stands, the hard, cold floor of the dorm didn’t help her knees. 

She had gone with a perfectly normal pink and yellow theme for her half of the dorm, perfectly cute, perfectly normal, perfectly Jenna. 

“Sorry! I never introduced myself! I’m Jenna. It's nice to meet you!” Jenna smiled at the dorm mate she almost immediately forgot the name of, this is going to be a long year. 

[greenhikingboots]

2022 End-of-Year Fic Review ✨

Thanks for the tag @cellsshapedlikestars. 💋 Ya’ll know the drill. Answers below the cut. 

1. What’s your AO3 account?

GreenHikingBoots. I used to write my Jonsa stories as NorthernLady and my Dramione stories as DakotaDelacour.

2. How many words did you write in total in 2022? AO3 Statistics says about 140,000. But I have 1) an incomplete Dramione multi chapter that was around 40k words before I orphaned it 2) some fics I originally wrote and published in 2021, took down, reworked, and republished in 2022 and 3) a whole lot of words in Google Docs that aren’t ready to be published yet. So, yeah, take that number with a grain of salt. I’ve seen a handful of writers I really enjoy with way higher numbers and it’s a bit tempting to compare and get down on myself. But you know what? If 140,000 words is about right, that’s like two full young adult novels in a year. As a hobby! That I do not get paid for. That’s pretty awesome. 

3. How many fics did you publish in 2022 // multi-chapter vs. one-shots?

21. Again, some of these were originally from 2021 but taken down, re-worked, and re-published. I’m not sure how to count the exact breakdown since I have a handful that are two or three parts (so technically multi-chapters) but the word counts are short enough to match some one-shots out there. Generally speaking, I have a lot more one-shots than multi-chapters. I think only one of my fics is longer than 25,000 ish words and more are under like, 6,000 ish. 4. What was your longest-fic // shortest fic? Longest: Inevitable. It’s the outline at about 72k ish words with one chapter left to go. Shortest: About Damn Time. It’s 921 words. That’s a Pretty Name is a close second with 971 words.

5. What was your most popular // least popular? Most Popular: Inevitable, which I think is to be expected because it’s the longest. A Boy in His Cups is my next most popular, the Jonsa one-shot I’ve had up the longest. Least Popular: That’s a Pretty Name

6. What fic didn't perform as well as you thought it would? So Mighty Love + Better Dreams (a two part series that’s about 25,000 words total) was originally part of one of those fic I published as NorthernLady, took down before completing, re-worked, and re-published this year. And the original version was pretty popular and considering it’s mostly the same fic (the major difference being I found a way to end it sooner), it was easy to assume it would perform similarly. But that wasn’t the case at all. I’m guessing people were turned off by the new “Ambiguous/Open Ending” tag? I’m not sure. This series isn’t one of the ones I’m super proud of since it relies heavily on the show plot and I’m more into the books these days. But!! The closing line to Better Dreams is one of the best damn things I’ve ever written and I kinda wish it wasn’t hiding in a fic most people don’t want to read. So there’s that. *shrugs*

7. What fic performed way better than you thought it would? I don’t know about *way* better, but I published Crossing the Threshold around the same time as several other one-shots, and I was surprised to see it beat out the others. I mean, it’s got a cute premise and I was excited to share it, but if I had to rank everything I posted from late September to early November, it probably wouldn’t even make the top half let alone the very top spot. Glad others like it, though.   

8. What was your favorite fic you wrote in 2022? Goodness, this is a difficult question. I recently said in another post that A Boy in His Cups is probably the fic I’m most proud of. I’ll stand by that. It’s just got all the elements I love most about Jonsa fanfiction. But Wait and See and Maiden in a Tower are also very near and dear to my heart. I’ve gone back and read those two a handful of times. I try not to care too much about stats (I still care more than I’d like), so I guess what I really like about these three is that they make not caring about stats easy. Like, I love them for the pure fun of writing and would have been pleased with how they turned out even if no one ever saw them. What’s another way of wording it? Many of my other fics are more like an idea that I need to get out of my system so I can move on. Whereas these three fics make me go, “I want to crawl inside this fic and live there!!”

9. What was your favorite fic that somebody else wrote in 2022? Oh my! I’m pretty bad at keeping track of what I’ve read and even worse at remembering titles and who wrote what. Also, I read a lot of stuff after it’s been completed which means just because I read it in 2022 doesn’t mean it was written in 2022. But here are some authors I remember being in my bookmarks at different times throughout the year: thimbleful @justadram_a_dram honey_wheeler @vivilove-jonsa @woodswit @kingsansa @estherruth-jonsatrash @ode-to-an-inkwell @amymel86 Kit_Kat21 caesia @chispas-and-broken-bindings ganymede_elegy (@cellsshapedlikestars) (I try to read and love on other writers I see on Tumblr. Is that obvious by this list?) Also ganymede’s Lounge Act and Mating Game (still in progress) are probably the WIPs I followed most closely. I also have a special place in my heart for her fic The Ghost Inside since I was a beta reader for that. 10. Tag your friends so they can play as well!

Anyone in #9 who hasn’t already been tagged and/or anyone else who wants to play with us!

-x-x-x-x-x- Short descriptions of all my fics mentioned in this post: Inevitable - Modern AU - high school, fake dating trope, best friend’s sister/brother’s best friend That’s a Pretty Name - pre-canon romantic undertones, Sansa lectures Jon about courtesies Crossing the Threshold - Modern AU - high school, drunk confession of feelings About Damn Time - Modern AU - college; Sansa gets a gift from Jon on her birthday A Boy In His Cups - Jon I GoT reimagined; he already knows the truth about his parents Wait and See - Jon struggles to regain his memories after dying and being brought back to life Maiden in a Tower - another pre-canon romantic undertones, a kissing game in the godswood Mighty Love/Better Dreams - seasons 6 and 7 of the show but make it Jonsa

[iztopher]

listen. i know this is a cop out. but i genuinely want to know the answer to all of those ask meme questions, so let's just say please answer any of those questions you want to

OMG no if this is a cop out it is an incredibly flattering and sweet one, and i am delighted to do it

...under the cut because this is going to get a little longer because i am in fact doing all of them! (that i haven't already done, anyways)

1. what's the fic youre most proud of?

i keep calling don't you dare go down the best thing i've ever written, and i'm standing by that for the foreseeable future. i put together a lot of stuff i'd been thinking about for years in that fic and i'm really satisfied with how it all came together

2. what's a fic that took you to an emotional/dark/hard place?

this is a really fun question for me because it's kind of embarrassing, because my answer is... i don't have one that i've posted! the fics that take me to a hard place are the ones i have trouble writing the most, so a lot of times they don't get finished. and when they do, i tend to not post them (see question 4).

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to?

nearly all of them! but if i had to pick one, lovely things (but you're the loveliest). it took me a couple years to write, and the last two chapters were written when moonie was visiting me for a week and with a lot of encouragement from her, so i have a lot of good-sad associations with it.

i'm also currently writing a te'ijal character study that is no where near finished yet but has been my quiet close to my heart passion project for a couple years. i'm so scared to work on/finish/share it because i want it to be Perfect and i'm trying to suck it up and do it anyways because the most important thing is that i get it out there!

4. what fic of your own do you read for comfort?

another embarrassing answer which is... none of the ones i've posted publicly, because i have a tiny treasure trove of fic i've written just for this purpose HAHA. they tend to be much rougher around the edges and not up to my standards for characterization (i often joke they're part of "Communication AU", which is an AU where everything is the same but characters who would never openly communicate are willing to do so) because they tend to get into topics that I genuinely do not know how to write when everyone is being cagey/secretive/repressed.

5. what fic of your own won't you read?

the ones i deleted from my computer/external drive </3 but nah otherwise i'll read any of them.

6. what's the hardest part of the writing process for you?

FINISHING THE DAMN THING.

i'm constantly writing like 5-10 fics at a time and flitting between whichever one strikes my fancy the most, which is really fun for the experience of writing and really hard for actually... getting any of them ready to share...

not to mention endings are hard. my little mermaid au outline is currently on the third or fourth version of its ending.

7. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

i cut my teeth on the aveyond fandom, so i tend to go into a fic expecting 2-4 people i know personally to read it and not much anyone else. receiving feedback/support makes me happy & receiving any response beyond what i expect makes me ECSTATIC, but i tend to fair pretty well with not getting it, either.

9. what's your writing process like?

get idea! immediately write as much of the idea as i have, in rough chronological order, but skipping over any sections i don't have in mind yet. then I fill in the rest of it with an outline... unless i don't. (sometimes, if i don't have specific ideas for a fic beyond the initial concept, i kinda just trail off and then pick it back up and keep making stuff up.) since i write mostly oneshots, if i don't have to skip anything in this stage (and i actually made it through to the end), my rough draft is finished at this point! i often still outline for oneshots, though, if i do get stuck/skip sections.

so if i haven't finished my rough draft, then i slowly chip away at that outline every time i pick the fic up again. or just keep going from where i left off in the trailing method lol. i edit a lot as i write at this point in the process, which i'm trying really hard to curb, because i think it's one of the things that makes it hard for me to finish.

once i have the rough draft done, i edit it through a few times. for each edit i make a new copy of the document and just make the changes in there. i tend to tackle each draft fixing a different aspect - one will be cleaning up any plot/logic errors, one will be tightening up characterization and dialogue, etc. when I write te'ijalahad, I tend to have a draft specifically for adjusting nicknames/name usage because otherwise I'll default to "wife" and "husband" for everything and half the fun of these two is the variety.

then, when I'm like, okay, this is pretty good, I give it one more read through where I look at everything all together and edit it. if I'm feeling pretty confident or trying to keep the fic a relative secret, I do this stage alone; if not, this is the point where I enlist a friend to beta for me!

also the one unhinged process of this is every time i get stuck / pick the fic up for the first time in a long while / get to the final read through i write it directly in AO3. I have been told this is chaotic and dangerous

10. how has writing positively impacted your mental health or overall mood?

writing is one of my relatively many creative hobbies & like any of them it makes me really happy to do! i love the feeling when the pieces all click together. it's just fun! writing is also special and particularly satisfying because sometimes when i'm doing game dev or drawing or whatever and i can't figure it out i get pissed off lol but i never get like... upset when i can't figure out a writing thing. i just let it simmer and come back to it.

i'm also trying to work on writing more vent/heavy/comforting stuff as a way of handling my emotions instead of getting stuck in them & spiraling but i'm kind of bad at reminding myself to do that

11. Has a fic you’ve written ever caused issues/controversy?

no and for that i say thank god (although sometimes i get worried about that. i don't think i need to be though)

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

my own desk <3 i love when it's dark outside or raining but i'm not picky haha

13. Do you take pride in your writing, or does it embarrass you? Why?

hell YEAH i take pride in it. that doesn't mean it doesn't embarrass me sometimes, though i'm honestly just proud of myself for finishing a project, so looking back at a fic that i got through enough to post always makes me feel really good. also, i (usually) write characters the exact way i headcanon them, so i'm always like wow... i'm so proud of this characterization... like wow i wonder why it's almost like i wrote it exactly to my tastes. also sometimes the way i use language makes me feel like "oh yeah i did good".

14. Do you compare yourself to other writers? In a positive or negative way?

not really! when i read by other writers i try to take note of aspects of what i like about it and if any of that is my present in my writing/i could make it be present, but other than that i try to mostly take a "wow! two cakes!" approach even when my own writing is concerned.

15. How do you think your writing has improved over time?

relatively recent past: i have a tendency to overexplain myself, and i think my improvement is clearest when i've stopped doing that and have trusted my words to speak for themselves more. or: i feel like i've gotten more direct in what i'm trying to get at?

longer: what i just said on a larger, way more visible scale, and also i feel like i've done a good job at figuring out what i actually want to write and sticking to that. i've gotten more confident and firm in my characterization, stopped trying to write romance because i thought that was the best way to write characters interacting, let myself stop trying to write non-aveyond fic when for me fic writing is for fun and that's what's most fun for me, etc. also i feel like i've gotten more comfortable with using language in a less than 100% literal way.

16. Do you re-read old fics? Is there a time in your writing you won’t go back to?

i would theoretically read any of my old fics that i haven't outright deleted from existence, but i tend not to read anything i wrote before college. i gotta dig out the external drives for those and it's very rare that feels... worth it...

everything on my ao3 I reread fairly often though dghksdl at the end of the day i am a huge part of my intended audience and it only makes sense i read the fics i wrote partly for myself!

17. What’s the best engagement/interaction/feedback you’ve received from someone who’s read your work?

oh man I cannot pick because I'm genuinely so grateful for everyone who reads my stuff and gives engagement <3 my favorite type of engagement is anything where someone says a favorite part, though, whether that's as general as a scene or as specific as a line of dialogue/writing (also shoutout to xzoni who has written multiple play-by-play comments on my fics)

...actually the best engagement i've ever gotten is that on don't you dare go down, literally like 10 different people responded to it by pointing out one or both of two specific lines and being like "this part was so good/my fave!" the like, unanimous agreement that some of that writing was really good? was such a good feeling and is probably part of why that's the fic i'm proudest of.

18. Do you only write when you’re inspired, or do you try and sit down at specific times and write no matter what?

(grimacing) inspired ... i'm trying to work on that. i've found that when i try to write every day, i do, but my other hobbies fall by the wayside, so i'm trying to make sure i write/draw/game dev at least one day a week and then fill in the rest of the week with whatever i'm inspired to do. good compromise.

20. What’s the greatest gift you’ve gotten from your writing?

oh man not gonna lie this is a little metaphorical for me. on a very literal level, a lot of my fics are essentially gifts for myself - i wanted them to exist & knew i was the only person i could be Certain would make them. and that's really nice! to have content to go back to and appreciate.

and on a broader meaning level, i feel like it's given me a sort of confidence that feels really nice, and has let me engage with some really cool people over the common interest of writing, even across fandoms or original content. it feels really cool to talk to people (such as yourself) about Writing TM and be like, wow, I have this thing in common with really cool people whose work i admire!

...not to say this is a little metaphorical for me and then Keep Talking but actually one more thing on this answer is that i remember being like, 9 years old and reading aveyond fic by these authors in their 20s, who i thought had such detailed and thoughtful characterization, and being like, man! i hope i'm like that when i grow up! ...and now I literally am? I'm 23 years old and writing about those exact same characters and I'm proud of that writing & satisfied in my characterization and headcanons, and honestly i feel like one of the greatest gifts writing has given me is the gift of an incredibly achievable goal that i still had to spend 10+ years getting to and feel really proud of myself for doing so.

[thestraggletag]

I posted 890 times in 2022

191 posts created (21%)

699 posts reblogged (79%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@phoenixwrites

@deliriumsdelight7

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

@thatscarletflycatcher

@disarmluna

I tagged 518 of my posts in 2022

Only 42% of my posts had no tags

#red carpet - 121 posts

#fashion - 51 posts

#emmys 2022 - 39 posts

#rumbelle - 35 posts

#wc 2022 - 21 posts

#hotd spoilers - 20 posts

#rumbelle fic - 15 posts

#spoilers - 13 posts

#thestraggletag fanfiction - 9 posts

#argentina nt - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 127 characters

#but you bet your ass i wondered around there alone for like ten minutes with only my phone for light screaming here kitty kitty

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The Changeling, Chapter 1

Rating: M

Summary: Belle and Lacey had always been as different as two twins could possibly be, but always ready to do whatever it took for each other. Which includes Belle putting her life in pause to replace Lacey in hers as she checked herself into rehab to kick a drinking habit that could potentially end her modelling career. All she had to do is attend some fittings, do a couple of photoshoots, avoid if possible the slimey and two-timing Killian Jones and steer clear of Lacey's boss, Mr Gold, and his suspicious nature.

How difficult could it possibly be?

A/N: This is my Rumbelled version of A Change of Place. Fic will have a total of around 6 (or perhaps 7) chapters.

“Lacey, honey! So good to have you back! How was the West Coast?”

Belle blinked, trying not to jump out of her skin when a tall woman dressed in a red maxi dress ran over to her and embraced her. ‘Be Lacey’, she told herself over and over, like she had done often in the past, when they had played at being each other to fool people. 

“I missed you too Ruby.”

It was easy to recognise her from Lacey’s descriptions, even without the bright red streak in her hair. Like her sister had told her she was loud and charming, personality exuding out of her. She could easily picture her and Lacey being best friends, going to parties and turning heads everywhere. She was glad she was on their side and knew of the whole damned mess.

“We have so much to catch on, hon. Let’s go somewhere more private, ok?”

She barely got time to admire the well-preserved Gothic revival details of the main foyer of the House of Gold, a building reminiscent of the Barbizon. Its sheer size and appearance spoke of power and wealth, but also of style and elegance. She wished she had the time to take it all in, wished she was simply visiting her sister at her place of work instead of trying to pass herself off as her. She told herself not to touch her hair, held up by bobby pins, a lot of hair lacquer, and a prayer, and followed her sister’s friend up an elevator.

She was soon whisked away to one of the middle floors, where she could tell most of the clothes were produced. It was all a mess of fabrics, feathers, rhinestones and forms, with people hovering over sewing machines and aligning sequins in different patterns. Ruby walked straight to a corner partially covered by folding screens. Behind was a small couch and a coffee table. It was clearly a well-used hidden little nook, one Lacey had mentioned was in constant use whenever the time came to start fitting the dresses to the models, before they were even finished. Given that the fashion house was meant to be months away from the nearest showing it looked like things were rather advanced, to Belle’s admittedly untrained eye. From what she knew from facetiming Lacey this was supposed to be a rather quiet time, specially for the models. It was the main reason why Lacey had chosen then to go visit her in California and why she had agreed to the switch, really, especially since it was supposed to be for months.

“You’ll hardly have to do any work, I promise! You’ll get to hole up at my fabulous apartment to do your thesis and enjoy a bit of life in the Big Apple! It’ll mostly be like a vacation.”

To Ruby’s credit, she waited till they were sitting down to lose it on her.

“Is Lacey mad? What the hell was she thinking? What the hell were you thinking? From what Lacey told me about you you were supposed to be the responsible twin! The level-headed one! You should’ve said no!”

Belle had thought that, over and over, on her plane ride from California to New York. It was a stupid idea and would never work. But Lacey was her little sister. Younger by minutes but still. Her responsibility, now that both their parents were dead. She owed her this. This chance to turn things around.

“You wanted me to tell Lacey that I wouldn’t help her get into rehab? Help her quit drinking? When I’ve been wanting for years for her to even admit she has a problem?”

She had told herself this too, when Lacey had shown up out of nowhere in the small apartment in Rosindale, near Berkeley. California reminded her a bit of Australia, which was nice, but the real reason why she had chosen to move there after graduating from Columbia was to pursue her PhD in Library Science and train, at the same time, at the North West Document Conservation Centre. She was hoping, after finishing her degree and the courses she was taking, to be able to work for museums or, if she was lucky, in the curatorial department of some major library. Her work at the university library was nice, but antique books were her passion. 

She hadn’t expected Lacey to show up at her home at all, taking into account she was supposed to be on the other side of the country, living the glamorous life of a Manhattan-based model. And though she had at first acted flippant, as if she had simply decided to impulsively visit her sister, she had eventually come clean about things. She had spoken in vague terms, and Belle hadn’t pushed for more, about increasing blackouts, bad decisions and regrets that were beginning to pile up. Then she talked about how when they were younger they used to play-act as each other and see whether they could fool their parents. Belle had read between the lines and told her she was crazy if she thought she was going to try a switch, like they did when they were girls.

“I’m scared, Bluebelle. I’ve never been scared this way before.”

That had decided her, then and there. She would see it through, how difficult could it possibly be? She had told herself over and over as she drove Lacey to a very private rehab centre and later took a flight to New York. She could continue with her thesis long-distance, her advisor preferred they meet virtually anyway. It was doable, and worth it. And it would only be for three months. Lacey needed that opportunity and she owed it to her sister to help her get it. Ruby, on the other hand, seemed to be more pessimistic about the whole thing.

“It’s just a couple of photoshoots and some fittings, right? I can do that.”

“Except that Lacey checked into rehab before I could tell her the house is pushing the fall show forward to avoid the competition getting wind of our designs like it happened in the last two shows. They bumped the date by six weeks, and Lacey’s program does not allow for contact with the outside world except in case of emergencies for the first whole month. So this means you will have to do a lot of the preparatory work and the pre-show, at least till we’re able to contact Lacey and get her to come back. Bosses want to give a sneak-peek to a few select names to further avoid being scooped.”

“A show? What do you mean a show?”

Ruby was looking her up and down, as if he was analysing every detail of her body. Surprisingly it did not feel creepy or objectifying, though it did make her feel anxious. Though Lacey and her were twins, she knew she wasn’t in shape the way Lacey was.

“Your measurements are not exactly Lacey’s. You have a bit more of a waist and thighs, and less breasts. Some padding will take care of the latter, and I suppose I can secretly get Granny to let out some of the clothes, but it won’t be enough. You gotta lose some weight or Joanna, the main fitter, will notice. We gotta get you ready for the pre-show events at least, and then we can adjust the clothes again for Lacey when she comes back. Granny will see to that. And so Lacey will handle the actual show, don’t worry about it. We’ll give her a call as soon as we’re able."

Belle took a few moments to be indignant about the remarks on her body. Sure, she wasn’t as thin as Lacey, and her breasts were more on the modest side, but that was because they were real. Then the reality of her situation sunk in and she began to panic.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do a show, or a pre-show, or whatever the fuck you’re talking about. I was psyching myself up for a fucking photoshoot, but a show? With an audience? No fucking way!”

Ruby seemed to be fully in agreement with her, which was nice. 

“I know! Look, no offence, but fashion shows are gruelling and they’re an art form. Lacey is the face of the collection, so she’ll feature centre stage on that night. It’s more than okay to go get her back. Her career is everything to her. I’m sure she can arrange for a rehab stay later.”

See the full post

45 notes - Posted July 15, 2022

#4

Hey, non-hispanic people, any of you have ever heard the mysterious call of the knife-sharpener? Or is this, somehow, uniquely a legacy of Spanish colonisation?

46 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

#3

You cannot take ONE nap on this website because when you come back everyone is collectively hallucinating a Scorsese film.

47 notes - Posted November 21, 2022

#2

Anyone still working for the UK government?

52 notes - Posted July 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hey guys, I saw this thing on a TV show and got me curious. Americans cut their food and then switch their fork from the left hand to the right to eat it? Is this an actual thing that most Americans do? And what if you are left-handed?

97 notes - Posted March 13, 2022

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