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mandoalorian · 2 years ago

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taste of heaven

Joel Miller x F!Reader [smut]

Summary: You and Joel leave the quarantine zone in search of some medicine, when you come across a variant of the Cordyceps, taking life in the form of a pretty red flower. Whilst exposure to this mutated fungus doesn’t prove fatal, it does have some lasting effects.

Warnings: explicit, no minors. Sex pollen fic, exhibitionism, f!masturbation, fingering, tit play, degradation, jealousy, lots of begging, yearning/pining, implied age gap, mention of drugs/reader being drugged, cursing

Authors note: Please reblog to spread this fic around and it’s not showing up in tags! My requests & commissions are officially OPEN again! If you have any questions drop me a private message.

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'Nature vs. nurture' has been a discussion which had dominated centuries of wonder, and even in the year 2023, when the world had been wiped clean from humanity and only the hardened walked the streets, it was something that still preyed on your mind. The theory could be applied in many aspects; but one that you couldn’t quite navigate no matter how hard you tried, was how you had lasted this long living in a war-torn world. You often reflected on how you had kept yourself so clean and away from infected and bad people. You figured that for the first few years you had just gotten lucky. Your state was notified of the Cordyceps Infection before it hit and so you were given the opportunity to escape your city early. They were already building Quarantine Zone’s and conscripting Fedra military in August.

Until Christmas 2003, you stuck by your family. They were with you, alive, for the first three months of the outbreak. By this point, the Cordyceps infection wasn’t exactly seen as a ‘permanent’ thing and the government had yet to give up on finding a cure. One by one you lost your parents, grandparents and siblings, but not before you found solitude in a Quarantine Zone northwest of Rhode Island.

Those fragments of peace and liberty lasted a whole three years before Fedra wiped the town clean, and you had no choice but to evacuate. You headed towards Massachusetts, stopping by different QZ's, meeting new folk along your way.

But nothing was permanent. Ten years ago you found a home in Boston Quarantine Zone.

It wasn't a nice place, full of selfish people doing what they needed to do to get by. Rats on every corner, literal and personified, and so you did your best to stay out of trouble.

You’d take on little jobs and run errands to earn ration cards, and you would follow Fedra's orders to a tee. If there was such thing as a 'golden girl' in this world... well, that would be you.

And then you met Joel.

Joel wasn't a good guy, and he made sure you knew that when you first laid eyes on him. He was ruthless; a killer, and the type of person you should’ve stayed away from. You’d survived this long by keeping away from guys like him and yet, you found yourself drawn to him. There was something about his rugged handsomeness and dedication to survival that appealed to you. When you first met him, you noted that he was a man of a few words. He rarely offered you even a glance and if he did give care to give you his time of day, it would be nothing less than to mumble a warning to you.

It took Joel a while to warm up to you. The man seemed more than satisfied with his partner, Tess, than to even want to give you even just a bit of the minimal attention that you craved. You were unsure of Tess. She was very beautiful, with shoulder-length wavy hair and bright green eyes. You wondered if she and Joel were anything serious, or if they were merely just friends, or perhaps something in between. The pair were inseparable and often participated in smuggling runs together, or were hired as bounty hunters.

It was a smokey grey morning when Joel entered the makeshift QZ pharmacy where Fedra had you working. His dark eyes appeared sunken in and tired, a deep frown crossed his lips.

“I need fentanyl, morphine, oxycodone... something to take away pain.”

He was avoidant of eye contact, looking uncomfortable to even have to ask you of this.

Your jaw slackened slightly and you furrowed your eyebrows together at the man's request. “Are you- are you okay?”

Joel scoffed and rolled his tongue over his lower lip. “It’s not for me.” He snapped back, already becoming irritated that you were questioning his request. It had nothing to do with you.

Unamused by his attitude, you decided on shutting him down immediately. “I don't. We don't sell opioids here.” you glanced away from the man, feeling your cheeks become hot under his stern gaze. Now he was making eye contact and he knew exactly how to intimidate you. If Joel was anything, he was determined and if Joel wanted something he made sure he’d get it, no matter the means or consequences.

“Fedra don't permit anything as... strong as that to be traded in the QZ.”

Joel grunted and slammed his fists on the cashier desk. “Don't play coy with me, girl,” he sneered, hissing through his teeth. “can’t have been the first person to come in and ask for this. You have to know where I can get it from.”

You swallowed, looking around the empty pharmacy for answers. “I know someone,” you said timidly. “Well, know of someone.”

“Take me to them.” Joel demanded, without missing a beat. His desperation was becoming clear.

Seeing your hesitation, Joel brought his fingers down to the pistol that he'd stuffed in the back of his jeans, having been used to being able to make a sufficient threat. But then, before making any rash judgement, he stopped himself and placed a hand on the desk in front of you. He couldn't hold you at gunpoint. You were sweet, kind, and soft. In the many years of knowing him, you had been nothing but nice to Joel. It would be wrong to scare you like that.

Adjusting his composure, Joel took a deep breath and let his body relax. He could ease up around you. You wouldn't even hurt a fly; let alone pull any stunts on someone like him.

“Please." he said quietly, his brown eyes now appearing to be more pleasing than harsh. He could read you like an open book and he knew exactly how to wrap himself around you. You huffed out a sigh and contemplated giving him the information that he so desired.

“There's a guy I've heard Simone talk about. He's housed up on the outskirts of Boston, about a three-hour hike from here. He's her dealer. He'll have what you're looking for, but Joel…" you reluctantly placed your hand down on top of the desk, next to his. “It's in Fairmount. But I don't feel comfortable leaving the QZ. I could get in trouble. And if this is for you— or your own personal dealing, then—”

And for the first time in weeks, Joel's lips curled into a small smile. He moved his hand over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You'll be okay,” he promised, and from the longing look in his eyes, you believed him.

“Can I ask, who is the medicine for?” you interrogated shyly after a few moments of silence. Joel's rough hands were still atop yours.

Joel broke eye contact with you. If he wanted you to be fully on board, then he had to start being honest. “Tess.”

“Is she okay?” you became alarmed, moving your hand away from Joel and already beginning to grab your supplies for the journey.

“She got into a fight with Robert and his men, she's badly beaten up. She just needs something strong to help her fight through it. She'll be okay. She's tough.” Joel wanted to curse himself for offering you so much information, knowing that Tess would've been mortified if she'd learned that he was telling you all of this. But he really needed your help.

“We best get going then,” you said, grabbing your rucksack from behind the countertop.

For a brief second, Joel admired your dedication to helping Tess. It bewildered him a little, knowing that Tess didn't exactly care enough about you to help you the same. Tess often muttered snide words about your inability to shoot a gun or your law-abiding attitude. She hated the way you would sink under authority, but Joel understood it. He understood that everyone had their different ways of surviving, and as long as it was working, then he wasn't one to judge. But right now, that didn't matter. Joel was just thankful that you'd agreed to go with him.

———

Somewhere along the journey, you noticed a shrub peppered with four-petaled flours, painted red with golden pollen in the centre. You’d never seen anything like them before, and you had studied horticulture a few years back in Rhode Island QZ. You found yourself magnetised by their beauty, and with Joel a few yards back from you, you decided to take some time to analyse the plant. Picking one from the bush, you rubbed the soft petals between your fingers and let the grains of pollen sink into your skin. When Joel got nearer, you stuffed the flower in your jacket pocket and continued walking alongside him.

You were about an hour away from Fairmount when you started to get dizzy. You weren’t hallucinating but your perception of your surroundings had certainly changed. The road ahead seemed short and thick and upon the horizon was a glowing pink line.

“Do you see that?” You asked Joel, squinting your eyes as you extended your hand to point to the horizon.

Joel tried following your moving index finger but shook his head. “You’re pointing at everything and nothing. C’mon let's keep going.”

It started out with a burning sensation, your loins ignited and blazed inside of you. You tried to regulate your breathing and found yourself slowly losing concentration on whatever Joel was saying. You wanted to pay attention, you really did. You loved his voice, it was like honey and velvet and there was something about that damned Texan accent of his… you didn’t notice it before, but you were certainly noticing it now. Your nipples felt tender as they hardened and poked out from underneath your shirt and you silently prayed that they weren’t visible through your denim jacket. The air around you was suddenly humid and thick and moist. Moist… you let out a small whimper and stopped dead in your tracks.

Joel stopped too. “Are you okay?” he asked, observing your sudden reaction to the forbidden flower.

“I just need a second to catch my breath.” You exhaled, closing your eyes and desperately trying to cling onto oxygen. Joel glanced back at the trail you’d both been walking along. There had hardly been an incline.

Joel gave you a few moments and when you finally opened your eyes, you offered him a queasy yet confident smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “Let’s keep going. Nearly there now. What were you saying about the—ah, fuck.” You stopped again, feeling a sudden wetness in your panties. Bolts of electricity were shooting up and down your body and within just a matter of seconds, you felt the primal need for something to fill you.

You looked at Joel and then looked away.

Joel said your name softly, drawled it out slowly like he was trying not to spook you. You refused to make eye contact with him, looking down at your feet.

“Don’t lie to me,” Joel said. He placed a hand on your arm and you flinched away from him. “What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, pressing your thighs together hoping for some kind of relief to the ache between your legs. You’re looked around your surroundings, finding a large rock just a few acres away. Ignoring Joel, you sat down and he followed you on your tail.

This was embarrassing. This was so embarrassing.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted, dabbing at the beads of sweat that laced your hairline. “I feel hot and heavy and it’s hard to breathe, I feel like my clothes are constraining me and I’m… I feel…”

Joel crooked his head to one side.

“Joel,” you whispered. “Fuck Joel, fuck…” you hissed through your teeth. “Joel, Joel…” you panted his name like it was a sacred prayer. Joel would’ve been lying if he said hearing you chant his name like that didn’t turn him on.

Extending your arms, you reached out towards the man. He obliged, coming closer and kneeling down in front of you. He placed both of his hands on your thighs to illustrate comfort and gazed into your eyes.

“What is it?” he quizzed further.

You nervously swallowed and reached into the pocket of your denim jacket before bringing out the now crumpled-up flower you’d picked earlier. The pale yellow pollen slipped between your fingers and you dropped the flower on the floor. Upon seeing it, Joel’s dark eyes widened and he leaned away from you.

“No, no, no,” you begged him, opening your legs and pulling him back into you, this time holding him as close as could be. “Fuck Joel, I— I don’t know— I don’t know what’s happening,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he shushed, but there was no denying the slight air of worry sprawled across his face. “What have you done?”

“I think it’s the flower… I just picked it up earlier because I thought it was pretty and, figured I could make a hair clip out of it or—“

“I’ve heard stories about those flowers,” Joel shook his head. “They’re a mutated form of Cordyceps… a variant that’s been growing like ordinary fungus, in environments, masking themselves as plants. I’ve never seen them before but… that’s what I’ve heard they look like.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “Am I infected?”

“No! No, no girl. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine. These plants… they’re known to have a primal effect on their host. They want their host to reproduce so they release endorphins and, I… don’t know the science behind it but,”

“Joel,” you whispered. “Joel…” your voice trailed off, bringing your hands up to his cheeks as you cradled his face. Your thumbs brushed over his stubble which adorned his jaw and you admired the little missing patch of hair there that you’d never noticed before. “I’m fucking horny.” you breathed into admittance.

If you weren’t so worked up right now, you would’ve barked out a laugh at how ridiculous those words sounded leaving your lips. Joel swallowed, his adam’s apple bopping up and down in his throat. You licked your lips and waited for him to say something— anything. But he stayed quiet, only the slightest movement in his hand as he brought it to the inside of your thigh.

You tossed your head back at the gesture and Joel felt his cock throb in his pants at the sight of you coming undone over him. He noted the vein in your neck and the way your perfect lips parted in an O shape as he trailed his other hand up your waist and along your torso to the hem of your jacket.

“We don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to… I’ll be okay if you just give me some privacy and I can… I can… you know,”

“You need me and you know it,” Joel said gruffly, peeling back your jacket and letting it pool into a discarded pile on the floor. You already felt an air of relief wash over you as you lost an item of clothing. You hummed and leaned in closer to him, pressing your breasts which were now tight against your shirt into his face. “Say it.”

“I need you Joel,” you obliged. “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

“Tell me what exactly you need, baby girl,” Joel requested, bringing his hand to your breasts and massaging them through the material of your shirt. He pinched his finger over your protruding nipples and circled around them. He imagined nibbling it and sucking on them, and his mouth began to water.

“I need you, need your cock to fill me up. I want to wrap myself around you, tight, oh God, please,” you begged, grinding on the rock beneath you. The friction between the rock and jeans have you something, but it wasn’t enough. Joel discarded his jacket and unbuttoned his flannel shirt, throwing them to one side on the floor.

“You want me that bad huh?” Joel chuckled, reaching down to his belt and unbuckling it. With a clink, that was on the floor too.

“Need,” you corrected him. “This— this is fucking— fuck— I should be embarrassed.”

“But you’re not, because behind that sweet, good girl persona, you’re just a dirty, unfulfilled whore.” Joel seethed. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought that was an insult, but his degradation only spurred you on more and you let out a moan.

“Your whore,” you told him with a smile. You stood up and pulled down your jeans so you were now sat on the rock wearing nothing but your t-shirt and panties. Your legs still open, you dropped your hand to your crotch and started to rub yourself through the material of your panties.

“Ah-ah,” Joel chastised, taking your hand away from your aching pussy and interlocking his fingers with yours. “Look how wet you are. From now on, only I’m allowed to touch you, okay?”

“Mm, sounds like you want me just as much as I want you,” you teased him, even surprising yourself at that little comment which escaped your lips.

“I do,” Joel answered, bringing your hand down to his own crotch, allowing you to feel his bulge that was straining through his jeans. As if that wasn’t proof enough.

“What about Tess?” you couldn’t help but ask. Even while you were in heat, you found yourself thinking about what Joel and Tess got up to. What exactly their ‘partnership’ amounted to.

Joel smirked and pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. “You jealous?” he mumbled against your skin. The low octave of his voice sent vibrations through your body. He licked a stripe down to your collar bone.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head.

Every touch of his left a stain of fire.

“I think you are,” Joel teased. “You get jealous thinking about me fucking Tess— bending her over and taking her from behind.”

You groaned. “Fuck you,” you whined, running your fingers through his greying brown hair.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Joel chuckled.

Then, something caught your attention. You were drugged— ‘under the influence’— if you wanted a nicer way to put it. You wanted Joel but you had that damn mutated flower to blame, and yet Joel… this was raw. This was all him. He had nothing to blame other than himself because the truth is, he’s wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you.

“I fuck Tess,” he announced and you felt your face sour at his declaration. “But I wish it was you every damn time.”

You huffed as you let him take off your t-shirt. His eyes widened when he saw you weren’t even wearing a bra.

“Somehow I doubt that,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes.

“Let me prove it to you.” Joel replied, this time his words holding the utmost meaning.

Joel unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, alongside his boxer shorts, revealing his long, thick cock. It was perfect, the dark pink head already leaking with milky white trails of precum.

“You’re huge.” you couldn’t help but gasp out, making Joel laugh. You immediately eased at the sound of his chuckle. It wasn’t teasing or fake, but it was genuine and authentic. Dare you say, cute.

But the little butterflies that fluttered in the pit of your stomach were short-lived. Your loins ached even more just at the mere sight of him and you eagerly ditched your panties within seconds. Leaning back, you made yourself as comfortable as you could be atop of the rock and spread your legs for him. What a sight to behold, you were.

Joel admired your glistening folds as he eye-fucked your entire naked body. You brought your hands to your tits and began to play with them as you let him observe you.

“Please Joel,” you begged. “Let me feel you.”

Joel hovered over you and pressed his cock between your folds, rubbing the tip up and down, separating you. Obscene and lewd wet noises filled the quiet atmosphere as Joel gathered your juices on his manhood.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Joel sighed, before bringing a thumb to your clit. He began to draw circles over the bundle of nerves, causing your body to jolt with the overbearing rush of pleasure. You knew you wouldn’t last long and you could feel your orgasm begin to creep upon you. But you needed more.

“Fuck me Joel, I need you inside of me.”

“Like this?” Joel asked and with one smooth motion, Joel thrusted his cock inside of you, your wet walls squeezing around him. “Oh shit.” he croaked out, taking a moment to adjust himself to the ethereal feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Yes, just like that,” you praised. “Move now, please.”

For the first time, Joel followed your instruction without any tormenting or teasing. He’d wanted this just as bad as you did. Joel rocked his hips into you, building up a rhythm that you just couldn’t resist. His movements began to set out a pace but in time he quickened himself, focusing on getting closer to his high as he felt your own body quiver and shake underneath him. You knew he was close when his thrusts became sloppy and he chanted your name under his breath.

Joel delved his face into your neck and you screamed as your climax came crushing down. Joel felt it too— the effect of your orgasm and what it had done to your body. Without any warning, Joel shot ropes of his cum into your pussy before slowly pulling out of you. The warmth of his seed painting your walls was enough to help you come down from your high.

Joel rolled off you and laid next to you, atop of the rock.

The sky was growing dark now and nightfall was approaching.

“Thank you.” you whispered when you regained your breath. You let yourself have a few moments to try and come to terms with what had just happened. By far, the best experience of your life.

Joel leaned over onto his side and looked at you, feeling completely enamoured with your beauty. You were still flushed and sweating but the effects of the flower had worn off now, and you were doing much better.

“Before, when I said I thought of you when I was with Tess… I wasn’t lying,” Joel admitted. “I don’t want you to think…”

You smiled, tangling your fingers into his hair and pushing his face down to meet yours. You offered him a soft, tranquil kiss and Joel moaned at the affection. Your lips were so soft, exactly how he’d imagined. If he could, he’d kiss them forever.

“Is she your girlfriend?” you asked after pulling away.

“It’s not like that at all,” Joel replied. “We just… we’re there when we need each other, y’know?”

You nodded your head silently.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” Joel announced, feeling a rush of nerves and anxiety race through his body. “I mean, not the Cordyceps flower. And not just the sex. But I want to see you again, after today. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way— I know, we’re so different and I ain’t a good guy. Maybe a girl like you would be better on your own, but damn it, I like you and—“

“I like you too,” you cut him off. “Maybe when we get back to Boston, you can take me out on a date?”

Joel grinned, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. There was those butterflies again.

“Alrighty then.” Joel beamed and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “It’s a date.”

-------

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#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x you #smut #tlou

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teamhappyme · 4 months ago

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all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

aka the four times you save mike dodds + the one time he saves you

mike dodds x female!reader

word count: 9.3k

a/n: me? keeping mike dodds alive and well in every universe? absolutely. a good old fashioned 4+1 for you folks! this was another labor of love that has been years in the making because I could never string enough good things together - until I did! it's not my best, but it's one of my favorites, and i love writing for this guy! it's a niche character, but one near and dear to my heart. (I refuse to give up my Taylor swift lyric titles so fight me)

****

The first time you saved Mike Dodds, it was from the awful coffee in the squad room.

It was his first week with SVU, and, let’s just say, everyone is adjusting. He stepped over you while getting the victim’s disclosure, he pursued a lead not pertaining to the disclosure without telling Liv, and to top it all off, Rollins’ sister was behind the whole situation.

So, it’s been a tense week for everyone.

After Kim was remanded to Rikers, and Amanda was released from the hospital, everyone could let out a sigh of relief.

You were wrapping up some paperwork in the squad room after getting back from the courthouse, Liv talking with the chief in her office. You could only assume the accolades he was giving his son, while Liv just had to sit there and bite her tongue. You don’t envy the position she’s in right now.

To keep your eyes open a little longer, you made your way to the breakroom to grab a soda. Much to your surprise, you found the sarge at the coffee machine, ready to pour a heaping cup of old coffee.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” You warned him as you fed a dollar to the vending machine, pressing for a coke to come out. “I guarantee it’s been sitting there since this morning, maybe even last night.”

He nodded, placing the styrofoam cup back on the table. “Thanks for warning me. I’m pretty sure everyone else would’ve let me suffer the consequences.”

“Rollins and Fin would’ve watched the whole thing, but Carisi would’ve ran in to save you. We’re not too fond of perpetuating the newbie pranks, especially on a sergeant.”

You offered him the coke once it came out of the machine, and he took it, giving you a nod of gratitude. He didn’t open it right away, taking a few seconds to fiddle with the tab.

He looked up at you, looking quite defeated for the confident man that walked in here three days ago. “I’m not trying to step on any toes here, detective.”

“Dodds,” You started, but he cut you off.

Again.

“I’m the new guy, the new second in command here, and I understand that it’s going to take some time for you guys to warm up to me,”

“Dodds.” You held your arm out in front of you, hoping he would stop talking. “First things first, stop interrupting me.”

He had a sheepish grin, and hung his head.

“SVU isn’t like the rest of the department. It’s not as simple as getting the statement, arresting the perp, and going to trial. We have to connect with the victim, make sure they feel safe and supported enough to tell their story. And most importantly, we listen to Liv. She gives a masterclass everyday in being an SVU cop.” You paused for a second, taking another look at him. Of course he looked defeated, the welcome into special victims is never an easy one. “Listen, we’ve all been in your shoes. There’s a learning curve, and it takes a minute to get there, but you will. You’ve got good instincts, you’ve got the rank to prove it. You’ve just got to think in another way now.”

You saw the chief exit Liv’s office, and heard the dejected sigh leave Dodds’ mouth.

“I’m not worried about the learning curve. I know I have a lot to learn. What I’m worried about is not being taken seriously.” You looked over at him, and saw that he was locked on his father’s figure, following him out of the precinct. “I know everyone’s worried that I’m the boss’s son, thinking they have to watch themselves around me. But I’m not his puppet, and I’m not here to report back to him. What happens at SVU, stays at SVU.”

“I appreciate that.” He gave you a pointed look, not sure whether or not to believe you, but you only smiled. “Listen, we’re all straight shooters here. I’m not worried about who your father is or how you got this position. Everyone deserves a fair chance, and after these last few days with you, I think you’ll be just fine here.”

Honestly, you were never worried about his placement here. Sure, the rest of the squad was a little suspicious, and maybe gave him a hard time, but he’ll learn his place. And hopefully, they’ll see this guy, honest and vulnerable, instead of the shadow of his father the next time they look at him.

“Thank you. I know you could’ve chewed my head off after that disclosure, so I appreciate your patience.”

You laughed while moving back to the vending machine, getting a coke for yourself this time.

“It was your one free pass.”

“Technically two, since you saved me from the burnt coffee.” He added, walking back to the bullpen.

“Yeah, next time I’ll let you drink it.”

****

The second time you saved Mike Dodds was after the Lily Evans case.

It was never easy losing a kid, no matter how many years you have on the job. After three months with the unit, he felt like he hit his stride.

All until today.

It was late when Dodds and Liv came back from the Evans house, looking particularly jaded after informing the grieving parents they closed the case.

It was business as usual for the next thirty minutes, paperwork was finished, a celebratory job well done for solving something in a timely manner. And just like that, we move onto the next one.

Once Liv emerged from her office, the rest of the squad started to pack up.

“You going to see Amanda?” Fin asked.

“Yeah, I thought I’d stop by.”

“You know what, she’s been living off takeout. How about we all go up there, and I’ll cook us a real meal.” Carisi interrupted the Lieutenant, Fin in agreement to eat some real Italian food.

The smile on your face was automatic, loving the small moments in your day where there was a little room for happiness.

“Hey Sergeant, you wanna join us?” You all looked to Dodds, slouched in his chair, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

You’ve all been there before.

“Uh, rain check. Paperwork.” He sat up straighter in his chair, pulling a random file from his desk.

You exchanged a look with Carisi before setting your things back on your desk.

“I’ll meet you guys up there. And don’t let Fin eat all the garlic bread,” you teased, trying to keep the happy moment alive.

Once the rest of the squad left, you walked back over to Dodds desk. He continued to comb through the files on his desk, pretending to look busy.

“I know being a Sergeant is a big deal, but there’s no way you’ve accumulated this much paperwork since you’ve been here.”

“Well with all the joy rides you and Carisi go on, you’d be surprised how quickly those car change requests pile up.”

He said with a smile, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“As appealing as that pile of paperwork may be, it’s got nothing on a home cooked Carisi meal. So,” you paused, giving him the opportunity to speak first if he wanted.

He didn’t.

“Why are you beating yourself up over this case?”

“Lily Evans could still have been alive when we first got to her parents house. If I had taken this seriously, we could’ve got to her and maybe she’d be alive right now.”

“Sarge,”

“And I know I should have listened to Liv, she’s got this down to a science. But I just wanted to-“

“Dodds, what did I say about interrupting me?” You chided, and he held his hands out to you in surrender. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but she was gone the moment she got in the van. It’s not easy to accept that at first, but some of these cases, you have to believe it if you want to get through it.”

“I thought it was going to be an easy transition to SVU. Major Crimes was high stress, kidnappings, negotiations, terrorism, all while having the eyes of the media and the city on you.” He shook his head. “I thought I was doing okay. I was listening to the Lieutenant, I was really learning from her, from all of you really. I thought I was bringing something to the table. But Lily, she was just a kid.”

You placed your bag down on the floor, moving to sit in the chair next to his desk.

“My second case with SVU was the Johnny D take down. I transferred from Brooklyn Homicide, so I thought I’d seen it all. Until I walked into that basement, and found four teenagers and kids locked in that basement as sex slaves. I threw up as soon as we got out of the basement, just barely missed Rollins. I couldn’t sleep for the next week, and when I finally cracked, Liv was there to center me. She reminded me why we did this job, of all the people we help, despite the most gruesome cases we catch. It takes a special cop to work in SVU, and you don’t stick it out, you don’t feel this guilt if you’re not cut out for it.”

He looked at you for a few seconds, not saying anything as he took your words in.

“How do you get up and come back to work every day?” He asked and let out a long breath.

“I took Liv’s advice: go home, talk to someone you love, and don’t make this job your whole life. Easier said than done.” You said with a laugh and he joined in. “But you’ve got your dad, he’s been on the job your whole life. He knows what it’s like.”

“He’s not really the talking type. And I’ve never… failed at something before. He expects a lot out of me here, and I want to prove to him that I’m cut out for this.”

“You’re not failing here, Dodds. Trust me, you’d be hearing an earful from Rollins and Fin if you were. I’m actually really impressed with how you’ve adjusted. We’re not an easy squad to assimilate to.”

“You can call me Mike,” he started, a small smile on his face.

You felt your cheeks get warm, and you hoped to god they weren’t bright red.

“Okay, Mike. Then pack up your stuff, cause you’re going to eat the best Chinese food of your life tonight.”

“What about Carisi’s fantastic meal?” He joked as he closed whatever files were open and shrugged his coat on.

“He’ll understand. Now come on, we don’t want them to run out of egg rolls before we get there.”

“Alright, alright,” he joked, running to catch up to you. You waited in silence for the elevator, and you felt a shift in the dynamic between you two. A good shift, one that happens when you finally earn the trust of your partner.

Mike spoke your name as you stepped into the elevator, and you looked over at him.

“Thank you for listening. It means a lot, to know that you have my back, in the field and otherwise.”

You smiled, gently clapping his shoulder as you responded, “Anytime you need an ear, I’m there. You’ve got a squad of incredible listeners surrounding you now. All we ask is the same in return.”

“You’ve got it.” He added without hesitation.

Mike Dodds was going to be just fine here in SVU.

****

The next time you saved Mike Dodds wasn’t exactly your finest moment.

Mike accompanied you to Gary Munson’s house on what was supposed to be a quiet Sunday afternoon. But after a call from his wife Lisa, saying she was finally ready to leave, your Sergeant graciously offered to accompany you to the house.

No one wanted to be back in the presence of Gary Munson, the rogue corrections officer accused of assaulting dozens of female inmates. The case hadn’t even gone to trial yet and it was already causing a lot of tension in the department, not to mention the DA’s office.

“Dragging me out on a Sunday is pretty cruel, even for you Detective.” Mike commented as you walked up to the Munson house. “I smell egg rolls and fried rice in the near future.”

“Hey, I paid last time. It’s not my fault you have a bleeding heart almost as big as mine and agreed to come along.” You said with a grin as you knocked on the front door.

Dodds had been at SVU just shy of a year now, and since the Lily Evan’s case it sort of became tradition to celebrate the closing of a case with that same greasy Chinese food. Even as the cases took longer to close, the two of you could be found there at least twice a week. It became your place, somewhere to meet when it was two a.m. and a case was keeping one of you awake; on a Saturday afternoon when the two of you had nothing better to do with the time off work; and of course, as a reward for helping each other out whenever they asked.

You waited for a minute before knocking on the door again as Mike walked around to the side yard.

“She calls and says she’s ready to leave, and when we get here there’s no answer?”

“What was her exit plan?” Mike asked, joining you back on the steps.

Before you could answer, Lisa opened the front door.

“Hi,” she began, “sorry for keeping you guys waiting.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, attempting to take one foot in the door when Gary stepped out into view.

“Everything’s fine here.” He answered for his wife, her body stiffening at his voice.

“Mr. Munson, we're here at your wife’s request.”

“I… overreacted when I called you guys. We’re handling things.”

“That’s good to hear. So, you don’t mind if we come in?” Mike asked, trying to get some control of the situation.

“Do I need to call my lawyer?”

“We’re not here to talk about the case.”

“Oh right, you’re here because Lisa wants to leave me. Forgive me, I’m just a big, dumb CO.” Gary commented as you shared a look with Dodds.

He was already spiraling.

“Mr. Munson, we don”t want any trouble.”

“Great,” he replied, opening the door further for you to enter. “Neither do I.”

Lisa let out a deep breath as you entered the house behind her. You watched as Gary talked to their kids, trying to convince them everything was normal, but they were too smart for it.

“Why don’t I go upstairs with her and start to pack.” Lisa suggested as she moved towards the stairs, motioning you to follow.

“No.” He commanded back, causing you both to freeze. “She can stay down here with the kids. You go up.”

This was going to be the power struggle of all power struggles. You walked over to sit with the kids as Mike and Gary went into the kitchen. You exchanged another look with him, and he gave you a small nod. It was okay.

The kids slipped their headphones on as you tried to listen in on the conversation in the kitchen, but you couldn’t hear much. You took out your phone to text Liv, a gut feeling telling you this wasn’t going to end easy or as you planned.

You waited for a few more minutes as Lisa packed a bag for her and the kids before coming back down the stairs.

“Alright, Tommy, Annie, backpacks.” She handed her children their bags as they hugged their dad goodbye.

“Ok kids, let’s go,” you started, trying to shuffle them and Lisa out the door.

“Wait, I don’t get a goodbye hug from Mommy?” Gary asked, now cornering Lisa on the stairs. “Isn’t that the jacket I bought you for your birthday?”

“Okay, we’re going to go now,” you ushered the kids onto the stoop, still keeping one foot in the house as you saw Lisa throw her jacket on the floor.

In one motion, he grabbed Lisa off the stairs, pulled a gun from his waistband, and slammed the front door in your face, kicking you onto the step.

“Gary! Open the door!” You yelled out as you got to your feet, banging on the door. “Right now Gary! Open the door!”

After thirty more seconds of incessant knocking with no response, you turned to find the kids huddled together on the sidewalk.

“Ok guys, it’s okay. My sergeant is just going to talk to your parents for a couple more minutes. While we wait, can you go into your nice neighbors house until I come get you?” You noticed the older woman two houses down standing on the stoop, a young girl and a dog with her.

You walked the kids over quickly while calling this in over the radio. You checked your phone to see Liv had answered your earlier text, and that she was already on her way for backup. She should have just come along in the first place.

Instead of going back up the front steps, you ducked under the bay window to try and get a look inside the house. You could see Munson holding Lisa in a headlock, his gun pointed at Mike as he handed over his own guns.

“Shit,” you breathed out, knowing this was going to end with a gunshot from someone.

You backed away from the window and called Mike, hoping to god that you could try and talk Munson out of this before any patrols showed up.

“Detective, you’re on speaker.” Mike said when he answered, the sigh you let out when you heard his voice was a little too loud.

“Dodds, what’s going on in there? The kids are asking for their mom.”

“Tell them she’s not going anywhere.” Gary piped in, his voice beginning to shake.

“I’ve told Gary that we can talk this through, get him what he wants, what he needs.”

“That’s right, I’m here, listening to you, my Sergeant is listening. Do you want me to call a family member, or your union rep?”

“No, I’m done talking. I want you to get my kids somewhere safe, that is all I need. Now, hang up the phone.”

“Mr. Munson-“ the line went dead before you could finish.

“Dammit,” you ran your hands through your hair, trying to think of a way to slow this down. You ran to the back door, then to the storm door, both locked. He had planned this from the moment he came home. This is always how this was going to end.

Back at the front of the house, you saw Liv pulling up and you ran to meet her.

“What’s going on? I got the radio on the way over.”

“Munson’s holding Dodds and Lisa in the house, he’s armed.”

“You didn’t search him?” She asked, and you tried not to take the agitation in her tone personally.

“Lisa told us there were no weapons in the house, we confiscated his piece already. I was getting the kids in the car when all of this went down.”

“Okay. Is anyone hurt?”

“I spoke to Dodds five minutes ago, and they both seemed fine for now. But he doesn’t want to talk anymore.”

You heard the distant sirens, and you could only imagine the escalation Gary was making inside the house.

“Is there another way in?” Liv asked as the first of the patrol cars made their way down the street.

“Back door and storm door are both locked, I haven’t checked for anything else.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She ran over to the first patrol car, getting ready to set a perimeter around the street and then the house as the rest of ESU began to roll onto the street. Liv kicked it into gear, ordering everyone around and trying to come up with the best plan of action.

It wasn’t until Finn got out of his car that you ran into action to. You began to debrief the hostage negotiators on your last phone call, and to describe Gary’s demeanor through the entire duration of this visit. You stressed to them that he was no longer in the talking mood, but they were still going to try.

“ESU is going to try to plan a route in. You know the layout, what’s the best way in.”

“Fastest and clearest is through the back door. But, Lieutenant, give me two more minutes to find another way in. If I can get in there, one female cop is better than twelve SWAT guys taking him down.” You asked, trying to prove yourself in an attempt to earn her forgiveness quicker.

She thought about it for a moment before slowly nodding her head.

“You have a minute to sweep the perimeter again for a secondary entrance. Go.”

You wasted no time in running back through the driveway, past the back door and into the backyard. All the shades were drawn except for one cracked piece, giving you a clear shot to the living room. Munson had a tighter grip on Lisa, his gun still pointed at Mike.

You had to get in there.

The back windows were locked as well as the doors, but you weren’t going to give up. On the side of the house, you noticed the top window opened the slightest bit, and prepared to go in.

You pulled a lawn chair over to give yourself a boost, and took a deep breath in. The window opened quietly at first, and you could begin to hear Munson’s voice again. Slowly but surely you got the window open in silence, and you swung one leg in to the kitchen.

You froze for a second, stuck without a view of what was going on in the living room, praying no one could hear you. After a few seconds, you swung your other leg in, quickly getting to your feet and grabbing your gun.

“… maybe your lawyer will plea out, 9 out of 10 corrections officers cases don’t make it to trial.” Mike was still trying to talk him out of it, even with a gun to his face.

You peaked around the corner quickly, making sure no one had moved since you looked through the window.

“Munson, drop the gun!” You yelled out as you entered the room, catching him off guard enough for Mike to make a move.

Lisa slipped out of Gary’s grip and ran over to you as Mike struggled for Munson’s gun.

“Put it down, Munson!” You yelled out again, but before you could move closer, a shot went off and Mike went down.

Gary froze, putting his arms up as you ran into action. You kicked the gun away from him as SWAT barged in, all guns pointed to Munson.

“Take him.” You yelled out to them as you turned to Mike, finally able to give him your full attention. You knelt down next to him on the floor, watching as he applied pressure to his shoulder. “Hey, can I take a look?”

He nodded, breathing heavily through his nose. You pulled his hand away as blood continued to pour out, but it was a through and through, thank god.

“It’s a clean shot, Mike.” You said as you placed his hand back over the wound, covering your hand with his to apply more pressure. “Hey, stay with me. The medics are on their way in.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He got out with a grimace as Liv led the medics into the house.

“I wasn’t just going to leave you in here.”

You moved out of the medics way, your hands covered in Mike’s blood as they treated him.

“He’s right. What the hell were you thinking climbing in through the window without any view?” Liv asked, slightly less agitated than earlier.

“I was thinking I’m the one who left him in here.” Her eyes softened the slightest, the way they always do when she cares for someone. “And I think you would have done the same thing.”

“Careful,” she replied, a small smile crossing her face. “You don’t want to end up like me.”

“There are worse people to be.”

They finished wrapping Mike up, and you two followed him out to the ambulance.

“Detective,” one of the medics called out to you as they loaded him in. “He’s asking if you can ride along.”

You looked to Liv for approval who gave you a nod.

“Keep us updated.” She added as you hopped in the back of the bus, sending her a thumbs up before they shut the door.

Mike fell asleep almost as soon as he got in the ambulance, but the medic assured you he was stable. He had lost a good amount of blood, but given the position of the shot, they were confident he would be okay.

The surgery was quick, and the doctor said it was a routine procedure. He’s been sleeping and recovering in the ICU for a couple hours, and the rest of the squad would be on their way over once he was awake.

“Detective, he’s awake.” A nurse came out to find you, escorting you to Mike’s room.

He was sitting up straight, arm bandaged from shoulder to elbow, but he looked completely unfazed.

“I come out of a workout class looking worse than you do right now. How is that fair?” You said as you walked into his room.

“Well, I regularly go to the gym, so that helps.” You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to smack him on his bad shoulder.

“Ok, hotshot, we get it.” You let out a breath, taking in his hospital state again. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot. I know it was a through and through, but God, it hurt pretty bad.” He said with a laugh, only to grab at his shoulder, moving too fast for his new injury.

You thought about what he said earlier, how you shouldn’t have gone in the house on your own. Maybe he and Liv were right. If you hadn’t gone in, without telling anyone, without any backup, he may not have been shot. It could’ve ended peacefully, without any harm to anyone.

“What you said earlier, you were right. I don’t know what I was thinking going in by myself. I put you and Lisa in danger, I got you shot. If you didn’t get the jump on him he could have hurt you two even worse-“

“Stop.” Mike interrupted you, placing his hand on your forearm, gesturing for you to sit down on the side of the hospital bed. “I didn’t say that because I was mad at you. I don’t blame you for me getting shot. You shouldn’t have come in because it could have been you in this hospital bed, with a gunshot wound much worse than mine. And I wouldn’t be able to have that on my conscience, you getting yourself shot for me.”

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, instead you just sat there, looking at the man that you most definitely would have taken a bullet for. And you’re pretty sure he would do the same for you; how terrifying to know someone cared for you like that.

“I’m really glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done…” you trailed off, not wanting to think about what could have happened.

“You shouldn’t have come in, but if you hadn’t, I don’t know if I would be sitting here, relatively unscathed.” he reached over, grabbing your hand in his. “Thank you for that.”

You squeezed his hand in recognition as your eyes began to water, not knowing what to say next.

“Are you sure you want to stay with us in SVU? You get shot twice in one year, that would have most people running away.”

“And let you drink the squad room out of coke on your own? Not a chance.” He replied.

“Good. Joint Terrorism would be too boring for you anyway.” You said with a smile.

“In all seriousness, I feel like I can make the biggest difference here. There’s time to move up the ranks later. Right now, I want to be at SVU, with you by my side.” He admitted, as his hand held onto yours tight.

There was a shift in the air, a conversation the two of you had been avoiding for a few months. It wasn’t the time now, and it may not be for a while, but now it’s out there. And neither of you are going anywhere.

A knock on the door pulled you out of your bubble, dropping Mike’s hand as the rest of the squad came into the room. They greeted Mike, lightly ribbing him about having nine lives.

A hand fell on your shoulder, and you looked up to find Liv behind you. She had a knowing smile on her face, but you knew she’d never ask. At least, not yet.

Instead, you focused on your family in the room, and how grateful you were for everyone to be here, safe and sound.

****

The fourth time you saved Mike Dodds happened off duty.

You agreed to be his date to an NYPD fundraising gala that his father was dragging him too. Mike warned you that they were a long night of politics and fake smiles, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious to see how the brass lived.

Unfortunately, Mike hit the nail on the head with the political atmosphere. You’d been at the gala barely an hour and you’d already spoken to two people running for district attorney. If you weren’t listening to someone’s campaign pitch, then you were hearing from the brass how much trouble the SVU squad caused the department, despite the “good work” we all do.

“I hate to say I told you so, but, I told you so.” Mike said while handing you a glass of wine.

“How many of these has your dad dragged you to?” You asked as he took a sip of his beer.

“Too many. And now that I’ve ruined his dreams by staying at SVU, he’s going to continue to drag me to them as punishment.”

“Well, if the drinks and the food continue to be free, I’ll come to as many of these as you need me too.” You offered.

“First I’m paying for Chinese food, now I’m paying for galas, you’re an expensive date.” Mike joked as you shoved his completely healed shoulder. He hasn’t let you pay for dinners since he got shot.

“That’s the price you pay for greatness.” You said with a smile, making him laugh. “Is he really still pissed at you for not going to JTTF?”

“The Five-Year Plan has been officially ruined, I’ve been told. I must have really pissed him off if he’s calling Matt and begging him to come home.”

“Your brother?” You asked.

The little brother that Mike had spent his whole life looking out for. He was responsible for him since he was a kid, and every one of Matt’s failures was considered one of Mike’s in his fathers eyes. The last time Mike talked to him was last year, after he picked him up from rehab. He was catching a plane to Mexico City with no plans of coming back.

“He called me last week, asked to help get dad off his back. I guess I’m the new disappointment in the family.”

“Hey, if your dad wants to go play savior with your brother, let him. But don’t let him and his agenda get in your head. He’s no better than these political puppets surrounding us.”

“Speak of the devil,” Mike muttered under his breath, nodding his head behind you.

You turned to find his father, Chief William Dodds, approaching the two of you.

“Hi son,” he greeted Mike with a firm handshake, then turning his attention to you. “Detective. It’s nice to see you.”

“You as well, Chief.” You shook his hand next, resisting the urge to squeeze too hard.

“Don’t you two clean up nice. Most cops that come to these things have no idea how to dress, they’ve spent too much time in the ranks to know what life is like outside of it.” Chief Dodds commented, and you gave a polite nod of your head.

If you didn’t care so much about Mike, or your career, you would’ve chewed his head off right here, right now.

“Well, we don’t have time for all the show business like you guys do, we’re busy keeping the city safe.” Mike added.

“My son, he gets so defensive, takes every comment personally.” His father said and turned towards you. “Mike didn’t tell me you were coming tonight, or else I’m sure he would have asked me to be on my best behavior.”

“Dad,” Mike tried interrupting him, but it was no use.

“But I never thanked you, for acting quickly at the Munson call. If it weren’t for your quick thinking, Mike could have been hurt a lot worse.” You took the compliment from the Chief, but waited for the other shoe to drop; you knew when you were being set up. “Although if you didn’t leave him in there alone with an armed perp in the first place, we could have avoided all of this. Nevertheless, it was handled, and I’m sure you acted just as your Lieutenant trained you to.”

It was no secret that Chief Dodds was not Liv’s biggest fan. He undermined her every chance he could, and he never tried to understand how SVU was different from every other department. Mike being placed as the Sergeant was his way of getting an inside scoop, but boy did that backfire on him.

And once you piss off Olivia Benson, you piss off her whole squad.

“Our Lieutenant is the best commanding officer I’ve had in my time at the department. Ask anyone that has served with her in SVU and they will tell you the same thing. It’s a shame that you didn’t get the opportunity to learn some things yourself. A lot of people hold her in high regard, so I’d be careful what you say about her around here.”

“And if I were you, I’d watch my tone around your District Chief, Detective. Especially with your Sergeant standing in ear shot. It’s clear to me that SVU has no respect for the chain of command, and it would be a shame for you to learn this the hard way. Mike has already had to deal with the repercussions of being tied to SVU.” Chief Dodds threatened, and you actually had the audacity to scoff at him.

Mike began defending you, but you stopped him, holding your hand out in front of him.

“I don’t scare easily, Chief, and it's going to take a lot more than threatening my reputation to get me to turn my back on Lieutenant Benson and Special Victims. As for your son,” you looked back at Mike, his eyes steady on you the entire time. “Sergeant Dodds has been an incredible asset to our squad, so much so that our Lieutenant wanted him to stay in permanently, which I know is a sore spot for your ego. So you can continue to take shots at me, and my character, because you don’t really know me. But I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to stand here and listen to you drag Mike’s name, and his stellar reputation through the mud because he decided to make his own path. One that doesn’t involve all these fancy parties and pictures that you so thoroughly enjoy.”

Chief Dodds was stunned into silence, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He looked at Mike who also had a stunned expression on his face, but a smile was starting to show through.

“Excuse me.” The Chief removed himself from the situation, moving on to the next party goer with a smile on his face.

Once he was out of ear shot, your shoulders deflated and you turned around to apologize to Mike.

“I am so-“

“Do you want to dance?” He interrupted you, his smile now fully covering his face.

It took a few seconds for you to actually hear what he said, and when you did, you couldn’t help but laugh. Clearly, he wasn’t mad about you going off on his father.

“I’d love to.”

Mike took your hand and led you to the small dance floor, weaving in and out of older couples dancing the night away to the orchestra. You quickly took in your limited audience, including two Sergeants from your precinct, and the deputy commissioner of communications. He wrapped his arm around your waist drawing your attention back to him.

“You alright?” He asked as you curled your hand around his shoulder.

“Just a lot of people here, watching,” you said as Mike began to laugh.

“You just chewed my dads head off, a district chief, in front of these people, and now you’re scared of them seeing you dance with two left feet?”

“I don’t have two left feet.” You replied, squeezing his shoulder in jest. “I just don’t want people talking about me, that’s all.”

“Cmon, they’ve got better things to talk about than me and you.”

“If they heard anything I said I’m sure they’ll be talking about the crazy SVU detective for ages.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your waist, drawing your attention back to him. “No one has ever stood up to my dad like that, not for me.”

“Well someone should have. I know he’s your dad and you love him, but that doesn’t give him the right to control your life or talk down on you.”

He shook his head as you continued swaying together, slowing down a bit to match the tempo of the music.

“It means a lot for you to do that. And if I wasn’t so impressed with your outburst, I would’ve done the same for you. I should have.”

“I’m not worth getting into a fight with your Dad, Mike. Like he implied, I’ve got no real future outside of SVU, not that I’m really looking.”

“You’re worth it to me.” Mike said, eyes locked on your own. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have made it a week in the squad. You’ve changed my perspective on a lot, both on the job and off.”

You smiled, lightly ducking your head as you felt the blush creep onto your cheeks.

“Well you’re not so bad yourself, Dodds. You’ve taught me a lot too, maybe too much. One day I’m coming for that Sergeant’s shield of yours.” You joked, and he threw his head back in laughter.

It was so nice to see him like this. It was rare to get a moment of pure happiness on the job, and you weren’t sure how honest you wanted to be about changing your relationship outside the precinct.

“As soon as you pass the Sergeants exam, you can have it. You’d be better at this job than me any day.”

You moved a step closer to Mike as more people stepped onto the dance floor. You’d never seen this many cops dancing in your life.

“I meant to tell you earlier, but, you look beautiful tonight.” Mike said, trying not to be obvious in looking you up and down.

You were blushing now for sure.

“Would you take it back if I told you I had to borrow this dress from Liv?” You had panicked last night, not knowing what to wear to a gala, and not wanting to embarrass Mike.

“Not a chance, extra points for trying so hard.” You laughed as he put some space between you.

“Mike, I know you’re a show off, but you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” You warned, but it was too late as he lifted up your arm, gently spinning you underneath him. He smoothly pulled you back into him as a few people cheered for you. “Do you have to be good at everything?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” You hid your smile in his shoulder, not missing the way his hand slid comfortingly over your waist and lower back.

And unfortunately, you fear you could get used to this feeling.

****

The first time you were saved by Mike Dodds was in the middle of a bar fight.

This wasn’t your finest moment, yet you rarely seemed to be on your best behavior around Dodds.

The two of you were undercover in a joint operation with Vice. The bar had been home to an underground gambling ring for years, and a few weeks ago you got credible intel that they may be branching out into sex trafficking.

Three other Vice detectives were in the bar with you as their Captain and the rest of their squad surveilled from an unmarked van outside.

“You want a refill?” Mike asked as you finished your second club soda, trying to hide the sour look on your face from all the bubbles.

“And pretend I’m not choking on this awful carbonation instead of a smooth vodka? No, I’ll pass.”

He got the bartender’s attention and ordered himself another alcohol free beer and a Diet Coke for you.

“Thanks.” You tipped your glass to his and took a refreshing sip before conducting another once over around the space.

“Simmons is still situated by the door, Ruiz and Lawrence have been under for an hour now.” Mike stated into his earpiece, updating the team outside.

There was no timetable on this, and as far as Liv was concerned, we were on our own in terms of conducting our investigation.

“This whole joint investigation thing is feeling a little one-sided to me.”

“Well give it a little longer before doing a lap to check-in with Simmons. If they don’t want to help us, they can tap in two of their guys from outside. Lieu already made that clear to their Captain.” Mike said before taking a sip of his non-alcoholic delight, his face scrunching in discomfort.

“Looks delicious.” You said with a smile, earning a laugh from the Sergeant. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you talked to your dad since the gala a few weeks ago?”

“Oh, you mean since that SVU detective tore a Department Chief to shreds?” He joked as you rolled your eyes. “I have, and he was extremely talkative thanks to the fact I avoided him for a week after.”

“Do I owe you Chinese food for the rest of the year in order to keep my job? I should know that my outbursts don’t come cheap.”

“He told me that he was impressed by you.” Mike started, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “He was mostly upset about your blatant insubordination, especially in such a public place, but he was impressed. I think he may even like you.”

“Are you messing with me?” You asked, not fully trusting the relaxed smile he was giving you.

“He asked that I bring you along to the next gala, all of them actually, ‘if it wouldn’t be too much trouble’,” he finished in air quotes, signifying the direct words from Chief Dodds. “My father is impressed with you, and probably wants you to be his next conversational opponent.”

“And what did you say, you know, about bringing me along?”

You hoped you didn’t sound pathetic, or eager, or anything other than an inquiring friend. But it was hard to act normal when you felt the butterflies in your stomach and your heart rate increasing over the fact that Mike and his dad were talking about you.

“I said I’d have to ask her. Not sure how she feels about spending so much of her free time with the Dodds.” He said before turning in his chair to face you. “But I told him I had a good feeling you would, you don’t just tell off a Police Chief for a work friend. And of course, as long as Liv lets you keep borrowing her clothes.”

“Funny,” you said while shoving his shoulder, earning another laugh from him. It was then that you saw Ruiz head up the stairs, subtly motioning for you to meet her in the bathroom. “Ruiz is back up, I’m gonna go check-in with her.”

You walked straight to the bathroom, having to dodge a noisy bachelorette party on your way. Ruiz was washing her hands when you walked in, and you quickly cleared all the stalls before she began talking.

She kept it short so that she could get back to the game, but they weren’t getting far on the sex trafficking front. Apparently the boss was going to be here later on, but even then there was no guarantee he would offer anything up. Their investigation, of course, was going to be handled by the end of the night, but there were no promises for us.

You waited a full three minutes to exit after Ruiz in case anyone was watching her. When you left the bathroom and started making your way back to Dodds, you saw a Blonde woman sitting in your seat, cozying up next to him at the bar. As you got closer, you recognized her from the bachelorette group, a sparkly pink sash giving her away.

“Hey, everything okay?” Mike asked as you joined the two of them.

“Yeah, just a bit of a line in the bathroom.” You said, watching as the new girl continued to look Mike up and down. “Did you make a new friend?”

“I’m Alex!” She jumped in, big smile covering her face as she moved to place a hand on Mike’s arm. “I came up to get a round of shots for my group of friends. It’s Lizzie’s last weekend as a single woman, and we cannot let her be sober for one second of it. But then I got distracted by Mike over here - a guy as handsome as him shouldn’t be sitting alone at a bar.”

“Well, luckily I came back in the nick of time.” You said, hoping she would order her shots and be on her way.

“I was telling him about our weekend - we’re down here from Albany, we’re not city girls. We’re headed down the street for our next stop, apparently there’s a popular karaoke bar that all the famous people stop in at. I told Mike he should come with us, invite a few of his cute friends along too to keep the party going.”

“I don’t really see him joining you for the rest of your night, Alex, but thanks for the invite.” You replied while taking a step toward Mike, lightly wrapping your arm around his shoulder, hoping she would take a hint.

“Okay.” Alex said with a chuckle before continuing, “But you should be careful, leaving your man alone in a bar with those pretty brown eyes of his, cause someone’s gonna come up and take him away.”

“His eyes are hazel, actually, they’ve got a little bit of green in them depending on the lighting. I know it might be hard for you girls from upstate to differentiate colors, so I can help you out.”

You never considered yourself to be a jealous person, especially over someone who wasn’t even yours to have. But something about this girl coming up to Mike on this night, after the recent events that have gone down between the two of you, you felt a little protective over him.

“Everything alright over here Alex? Where are those tequila shots?” Another blonde woman with a pink sparkly sash came over to us, checking in on her friend and drinks.

“Yeah, they’re coming. Just trying to tell my new friend here to keep an eye on her boyfriend or he may decide to join the group of pretty out of town girls for the night.”

“Listen, Alex,” you remove yourself from Mike, taking a step closer to the girl who was really ruining your already shittiy night of undercover work. “I don’t know how bar etiquette works at your little townie spot up in Albany, but us city girls like to take the fight outside.”

“Alright, why don’t we just continue our night and let you girls go back to your party.” Mike interjected, feeling his hand on your lower back, steadying you out as Alex only laughed.

You took another step toward her, not knowing what your next move was, before the bartender stepped in.

“You,” he pointed to you, then to the door. “Fighting’s gonna get you thrown out any night lady. You’re done.”

“Thank you, sir,” the girls replied.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything else, Mike was standing behind you, arm wrapped around your waist to lead you toward the exit. Simmons eyed the two of you as you walked out, shaking his head with a smile on his face. You weren’t going to live this down.

The two of you made it down the block before breaking away from each other, looking back to see if anyone followed. When you looked back at Mike, his hands were on his hips, a growing smile on his face.

“Don’t,” you warned while running a hand through your hair. “Don’t say anything.”

He didn’t, but he couldn’t keep his laughter in any longer. You wanted to yell at him, tell him it wasn’t funny, that there was still an investigation going on, and this was completely embarrassing for you both. Instead, you joined in his laughter.

“Were you really going to fight the innocent bachelorette party from Albany?” He asked through his fits of laughter as you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not. But how else was I supposed to get the drunk bridesmaid away from you so we could continue our surveillance? Offer her more sparkles?”

“Or offer to buy the next round of shots.”

“Now you tell me,” you said as you leaned against the side of the building. “At least we didn’t mess up the whole op, then I’d be in really deep shit not only with Liv but with Vice, and there’s nothing I hate more than owing a favor to a Vice cop.”

He nodded, agreeing with you as he settled in next to you. You knew you should go check in with the Captain, confirm they don’t need you for anything else before leaving the investigation, but you weren’t going to move until Dodds did. And the way he relaxed next to you, you had a feeling he didn’t want to leave any time soon.

“No one ever notices that my eyes are hazel, you know. It’s kind of weird how you hit the nail right on the head with the fact about them turning green.”

You turned to look at him, a little smirk on his face as he leaned his head back against the wall.

“As weird as talking to your dad about your close friend’s gala availability?” You hit back, watching him laugh and nod along with your point. You smiled to yourself for a second, remembering the conversation from earlier. “You’re sure I don’t owe you, he does like me, or at least tolerate me?”

“Do you want to talk about how much my dad likes you or how much I like you? Cause let me tell you, I’ve got him beat by miles, I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

“Mike,” you started, watching as he pushed himself up to stand in front of you.

“Are you really going to look into my hazel eyes and tell me you don’t like me? That you weren’t going to get in a bar fight with a random girl for me?” He asked, and you let out a shaky breath.

“You know it took me a while to figure out your eyes were hazel, I thought they were brown for a while. I’m not some crazy person who just studies people’s eyes all day.” He nodded, trying to hide his smile as he let you finish, “and I wasn’t going to get in a fight with her. Maybe, maybe I would have shoved her, but I wouldn’t have thrown a punch.”

“Well that’s reassuring.” Mike added, and you couldn’t deny him now. Not when he was listening to you ramble on about his eyes, and his father, and all the weird things you two knew about each other.

“I like you too.” You confessed. “And you’re right, I wouldn’t attend galas and tell off police chiefs for just anyone. I’d only do it for you, Mike.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He said while wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

Mike’s eyes flickered down to your lips, taking his time bringing his gaze back to your eyes. You felt yourself nod the slightest bit, gently guiding him closer to you. His lips were soft against your own, slow and gentle as you kissed him back. He pulled away for a second, another check-in, before you leaned in again. You let him take the lead as you ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, trying not to smile as you felt his teeth graze your bottom lip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against you, lightly pecking your lips a few times.

“Don’t be, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hours could have been spent lazily kissing Mike Dodds, feeling your stomach slowly build with butterflies. But you caught the smile he was trying to suppress, and it became contagious.

“Well,” he said with a laugh, gently resting his forehead against yours. “I guess you do really like me.”

“I guess so.” You leaned back to kiss him again, not wanting to let him go now that you know how good he feels. His tongue danced across your lips for a few seconds, and you relished in the feeling before slowly pulling back. “I don’t mean to be a total buzzkill, but we aren’t exactly going to be able to hide this for long at the station.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He assured you, gently kissing your forehead. “If some shuffling needs to be done, or conversations need to be had, we’ll take care of it.”

“So your dad may get to move you around after all, how nice.” You said with a laugh, as Mike nodded. If it meant you could be together, and Mike was happy with it, why the hell not.

Before he could say anything else on the subject, his phone began to ring.

“Please don’t be Liv, please don’t be Liv,” you begged as Mike pulled away from you, quickly answering his phone.

“Hey Lieutenant,” he greeted Liv on the other end of the call and you closed your eyes. This was going to be good. “No, the Captain got it wrong. She got us thrown out for threatening to fight another woman.”

You rolled your eyes as he continued to talk to Liv, pacing the sidewalk trying to set the story straight and wrap up this godforsaken joint investigation.

Mike pulled the phone away from his ear now, walking back over to you.

“She wants to talk to you.” He said, trying to hand you his phone.

“No, she’s going to yell at me in that Liv tone, when I didn’t really do anything wrong!”

You caught his small smile before he gave you a quick kiss.

“Then you can explain that to her.” He said, holding out the phone to you. He kissed you one more time, for good luck and courage, before placing the phone in your hand.

You tried to hide your smile as you took a breath and placed the phone to your ear, ready to plead your case.

“Hey Lieu, I did not get into a bar fight with the bridesmaid from Albany.”

****

#mike dodds #mike dodds x female!reader #mike dodds x reader #mike dodds fic #law and order svu #law and order: svu #law and order svu fanfiction #law and order svu fanfic

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big-girls-forever · 3 months ago

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Kinktober 9: CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE

Massively Milky 🥛 / Euphoria 💖 (Using the Kinktober by wonderful @fatguarddog)

Length: 2673 words

Tags: lactation, lesbians, belly expansion, bloating, weight gain, rapid weight gain, hot ladies in pencil skirts, inexplicable levels of lactation, some mild intox

Hannah was just finishing up the mopping in the first public bathroom when she heard a loud yelp of pain from the other one. Hannah thought this was a bit unusual. She’d been a janitor for this building for a good long while, before the new company even moved in. Working the night shift and cleaning up was honestly a lot more relaxing than it was with the previous corporation that used the place as an office. The new folks - VitaTech - had cordoned off a few areas as “laboratory sections” which she didn’t have access to and didn’t have to clean, which meant less work for her for better pay. Occasionally, someone would stay after hours to finish up some paperwork, but hearing a sudden and pained yell from a bathroom was certainly new. She moved her cart with a little more haste than normal.

When she walked in, she saw a woman standing at the far end of the line of sinks. She was a petite, short girl in classic office lady attire: a pencil skirt and a white button-up. The button-up had been messed with slightly. Her collar was off and a few of the top buttons had been undone. She turned to look at Hannah while speaking on the phone.

“Ugh, listen,” she said, “I’ll- you don’t have to come back in. I’ll figure it out. Get an Uber or something. It’s my fault really. Yeah. See you tomorrow. Yeah, I’m putting it in the report. Bye.”

The office lady sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to Hannah, “I’ll be out of your way.”

Her face looked red and flushed, and she was sweating. Hannah gave her a smile of concern.

“You sure? You sounded like you were hurt there, and… you don’t look like you’re doing so hot, if I’m being honest. You can stay as long as you need, I’ve got the whole night to clean up.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” said the woman. She started to fix her collar in the mirror. “Oh, yeah, I guess I am kinda sweating a lot.”

Hannah leaned on her cart.

“If I can ask… what’s the matter?”

“You know what they do here… it’s embarrassing, and it’s painful.”

“Ah, geez,” said Hannah. She knew that VitaTech were some sort of biotech company, but wasn’t exactly sure how that related to this poor girl’s issue. Maybe she had to do some heavy lifting in the lab? It was hard to say. She didn’t look like a person who had done much physical labor. Still, Hannah wasn’t really a woman to leave a girl in need.

“Hey,” she said, “If you need a lift to the pharmacy or whatever, I can totally give it.”

“It’s not really a pharmacy problem,” she said. She winced slightly as she moved.

“Hospital?”

“I don’t want the bill,” she said, “I just… sometimes working for this company is sort of ridiculous, okay? I don’t want to involve you if you aren’t down with it, it’s really like… weird to talk about.”

Hannah grinned lightly.

“What’s your name?”

“Cassie.”

“Cassie, I’ve spent the last three years cleaning up the vomit of middle-aged businessmen who liked to day drink. Seriously, you’d think you were watching Mad Men with how much liquor the guys in here were putting away before VitaTech came in. Whatever it is, I promise I won’t be fazed by it.”

This made the woman laugh a little.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Fine,” she said, “If you’re really so curious, the problem is… I’m an accountant, but I’m also a tester for VitaTech. Whenever they’re workshopping a new product, it usually goes through someone like me first.”

“So, you like, have a condition or something?” Asked Hannah, “I mean, I know they make some kind of drugs here, I’ve seen the warning signs on the labs.”

“No, no,” she said, “The drugs they make are mostly recreational. At least I think.”

Hannah squinted at the sweating, ruddy-faced woman in front of her.

“Like MDMA?”

“No, let me get to it. They were… how do I put this. They’re testing a drug that’s supposed to induce lactation, and I quote ‘above and beyond the normal capacity for a human.’ Which is, the, uh, problem. Because they’ve yet to figure out the quirk where a user needs some degree of suction to get the milk out.”

“What?”

“And today I was super busy trying to handle the accounts because apparently we had an incident over at one of the subsidiaries - a happy accident really, it seems like we actually made a customer for life but still some stuff had to be handled involving minor costs and I had to work with some people on that. You know how it is. Anyways my point being that I was so busy that I totally forgot to go to the milking machine today.”

“What?” Repeated Hannah, still trying to process the first parts of what she had said. There was a very long and awkward silence.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird,” said Hannah, “And kinda painful. Because they’re so tender.”

“You just said that you have so much milk in your breasts that it hurts because you’re an under the table-”

“I’m salaried.”

“A salaried test subject for lactation drugs. For recreational purposes.”

“Yep.”

There was a long, long silence as Hannah stared at Cassie, and Cassie stared at her, and as they stared longer and longer there was silently an acknowledgement of mutual attraction that made the scenario only more awkward. She was a pretty brunette, she was well-dressed, and she was talkative in a way that made Hannah want to smile. Now, she had informed her that it was in fact medically necessary for her nipples to be suckled because her breasts were so sore from being so full of milk. Though she had not known, Hannah suddenly felt as though her whole romantic life, from the crush she had on her art teacher in grade school to her disastrous attempts at wooing college girls to now, had been preparing her for the occasion when a cute femme absolutely needed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to have her nipples sucked. The only remaining question was whether Cassie was thinking along the same lines, and how to approach it.

“So,” said Cassie first, “I guess I’m gonna be calling that Uber…”

“Uh,” said Hannah, “Well, I don’t have the keys for the labs, but, maybe we could figure something out to get you out of here without you being in pain.��

Cassie seemed to look down at Hannah’s nametag.

“Hannah - you’re Hannah, right?”

“Right.”

“I know what you’re thinking. They’re still trying to test if this stuff is just regular milk still. And also I have no idea how much is in there right now.”

The silence continued for a while, then Cassie sighed.

“But, if you insist, then…”

Cassie leaned up against the wall and slowly, and began to unbutton her shirt, revealing what looked like a slightly modified maternity bra. Hannah stepped forward slowly as she reached for the hooks on the bra.

“Oh, come on, I’m a woman, not a raccoon,” she said, “I’m not going to run away if you make a sudden move.”

Hannah laughed and walked the rest of the way to her, and helped her unhook her bra. Sure enough, her breasts were small, but as she moved they looked almost stiff with how full and engorged they were. Her areolae were wide and brown as if she were pregnant, and they were spotted with little white dots of milk. Cassie then sat herself down on the floor with another slight yelp. Hannah followed her.

“Do you have any idea how dirty these floors get?” Asked Hannah.

“No,” she said, “But I trust your work from last night. Now, get to work. And remember, no teeth.”

Hannah smiled and gently put her head to the girl’s chest, and then took her lips to a tit. At even a slight suction, milk began to spurt into her mouth, like a soda can that you shook before opening it. Hannah grunted in surprise and swallowed but didn’t let up; she was sure that at this rate she’d be dry in no time. Cassie sucked in some air, a noise somewhere between pain and arousal, and took one of her hands to Hannah’s head and brushed her fingers through her hair, then pushed her harder into her breast.

“Keep sucking,” she said, “Harder.”

Hannah of course obliged and kept to her work. Cassie’s milk was surprisingly sweet and rich. She had known that it would be different from the sort that you got at the store, of course, but even with that this was extremely abnormal. So she kept on suckling, and suckling and suckling on her nipple. Cassie was mostly silent except for an occasional muffled moan or deep breath in, though she kept her hand firmly on Hannah’s head so that she couldn’t stop drinking.

Not that she would want to stop. As she drank, she felt increasingly warm and bloated and yet there was no sign of Cassie’s milk stopping. In fact, she could feel herself getting a heavier belly with each passing moment from the sheer mass of milk that she was swallowing, which felt plainly impossible. Faintly, she became aware of the sound of the zipper on her uniform slowly pushing itself downward from the growing size of her own gut. Hannah felt like she should have been a little distressed by that, but she felt so warm and happy from all the milk that it was a little hard for her to feel anything other than nice. The feeling was almost like being drunk, if only a little milder.

Eventually, slowly, she felt the milk coming from Cassie’s tit slow down and then practically stop. When she pulled away and looked down, she was astonished to see how bloated her belly was. Her uniform had pulled down to the point where she could see the white tee-shirt that she was wearing underneath, and her gut was so full that it looked like she was six months pregnant. Cassie seemed entirely undisturbed by this. She reached up and grabbed her handbag from the place where she left it on the sinks, and then pulled out her phone.

“Might as well get some work done,” she said, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I feel great,” Hannah said woozily, “Oh wow. This, uh milk. Kinda making me like… a mix of horny and… happy? Like drunk happy. Couple of beers happy.”

“Ooh, that’s new,” said Cassie, “Your belly doesn’t hurt or anything?”

Hannah shook her head.

“Feels great!”

“Okay, I’m putting down elasticity and some mild intoxicatory effects in the notes… there. Done.”

She put her phone back away, and then looked at Hannah again.

“Do you think you’re done? I’ve got two tits, Hannah.”

“Oh, yeah!” Said Hannah eagerly, “Your milk is also really tast-”

Her compliments were cut off by Cassie pushing Hannah’s head into her other tit. Almost automatically her lips latched onto her nipple and began to suck. She felt increasingly adoring of Cassie and her tits that were giving her so much to drink. Her head felt like it was floating and she felt a shock through her body every time Cassie moaned again. Increasingly, the moans went away from pain and towards a pure and animal arousal.

“Good girl,” said Cassie, “Good, good, keep at it.”

Now whatever effect the milk was having on her was truly hitting her. Her urge to giggle was only overwhelmed by her ever-growing love of sucking on tits, and of Cassie. She felt like she was floating even as she felt that her gut was getting heavier and heavier, and getting perilously close to the ground. The zipper on her jumpsuit was almost certainly reaching the bottom now, and she could feel the cool air on her belly as her shirt rode up over her bloated belly. And then, just as with the first one, she ran out of milk to drink. This time, Cassie had to gently dislodge her from her breast. Hannah flopped backwards and rested on the back wall, giggling and sighing.

“Hahaha,” she said, “No more milk! Job done!”

“Thank you very much,” said Cassie, “Are you… alright?”

“Oh I’m fine,” she said, slurring her words, “Super. Oh my God. Do you see my belly?”

“Yeeeep,” said Cassie, “They did say one of the side-effects could be pressurized lactation. Looks like you got the brunt of it.”

Hannah tried to touch her tender, full belly and groaned. It sloshed slightly with milk as she moved it.

“Aw, man, this is so much,” she said, “I guess it’s good that I’m bulking. Oh well, time to finish my… rounds and stuff.”

She tried to stand and almost immediately fell off balance, barely able to keep herself from falling over. Cassie caught her and helped her up, smiling gently.

“Woah, there,” she said, “Looks like you can’t really balance yourself. I’m gonna- how about this. I’m sure our bosses will understand that what you did tonight was really nice.”

“Nice…?”

“Yeah,” said Cassie, “You’re basically a superhero for this. You don’t need to worry about mopping the rest of the floor.”

Cassie began to fix her own clothes, putting herself back together.

“I’m good to drive now. You clearly aren’t in any state to do so,” she said, “How about we go back to my place… sober you up, lack of a better term, and we’ll explain ourselves tomorrow?”

That sounded just wonderful to Hannah. She nodded vigorously, and followed Cassie out of the office on tottering legs.

***

Hannah woke up with a headache and a strange feeling of softness. She groaned and fumbled around on an unfamiliar bed, trying to remember what had happened the previous night. She had definitely met a very nice woman named Cassie. That woman had… had some drinks with her after work? That part wasn’t clear. She remembered feeling kind of drunk, but not drinking anything with alcohol in it. Then they went over to Cassie’s place. She definitely saw Cassie’s tits at some point, she was definitely sure of that, and they were very pretty. As she opened her eyes to the faint light, she saw Cassie next to her, already up, wearing sweatpants and a sports bra.

“What happened last night?” Muttered Hannah.

“Do you remember the milk?”

Hannah was suddenly hit with the rest of the memories of what had happened, though there was still a large blank for what happened after she left work. She had gotten inexplicably drunk and ridiculously full on another woman’s milk, and then gone home with her, and then.

“Oh fuck,” she said, “Did we have sex?”

“No,” said Cassie, “Well, unless you consider vigorous nursing and you continually pawing at me throughout the night for more milk to be sex. Also, you’re fat now.”

“What?”

Hannah suddenly sat up in bed and nearly screamed. Just as inexplicable as Cassie’s tits was her own overnight transformation. Her thighs were thicker, and so were her arms, now heavy with plush fat. Her breasts had likewise gotten a big leg up, now sagging onto the most changed part of her body. Gone were the abs that had taken so much hard work. Now, she had a large, soft apron of fat that spilled over her waist. After taking it in for a moment, she laid back and groaned.

“That’s going to take forever to work off at that gym,” Hannah said.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Cassie, “I’ll take you to the researchers, they’ll get you back in shape in no time.”

Cassie paused and looked at her, and then slowly began to take off her bra.

“But before we go… I think I’m full again. Mind if you help?”

Hannah rolled her eyes, and then gladly aided a woman in need once more.

#rwg #wg #lactation #belly expansion #i'm not as inspired by all of the prompts so I am doing them sort of piecemeal #kinktober 2024 #hope that isn't annoying or anything #intox

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discokicks · 1 year ago

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THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic.

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry.

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing.

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least.

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it.

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices.

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it.

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple.

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you.

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated.

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing.

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips.

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen.

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this.

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach.

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return.

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders.

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question.

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.”

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you.

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it.

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it.

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too.

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it.

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither.

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does.

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings.

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs.

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now.

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position.

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box.

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss.

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more.

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #aatwe #aces #the one who can't walk up stairs

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l-egionaire · 5 months ago

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I wrote out before what I imagined Luz's life would be like if she never went to the Boiling Isles, so I figured I'd give my idea on what happened to the witches of the Boiling Isles in that situation. (Something I've shared with @ordinaryschmuck)

Belos's plans for the Day of Unity continued on unimpeded....but unbeknownst to him, Raine Whispers, Darius, and Eberwolf work to understand his goals and plans. After an undiscovered trip into his mind (along with the Emperor's own nephew) and discovering his plans, they work to save the inhabitants of Bonesborough. Raine gets an idea.....and goes to see their ex, Eda the Owl Lady. After a lot of discussion and secret maneuvering among their coven members, they all get to work in evacuating all the willing Bonesborough residents along with any kind of possessions they can take into the human world.

Unfortunately, when they try to get Alador to leave on the Day of Unity, while he and his children are willing to go, Odalia isn't and tells Belos and the Coven heads of this plan. The evacuess frantically flee as Belos charges to try and bring them back. Eda the Owl Lady engages him in battle in order to give the last few people enough time to escape...but the battle uses the last of her magic and she's trapped in the form of the Owl Beast, Raine just managing to get her cursed form through the portal door before shutting it on Belos.

At first, it was an adjustment for the former Demon Realm inhabitants to live in the human world, especially since the human "knowledge' they had was extremely innacurate. But, one day, Raine, Darius, and Eberwolf were all approached by a mysterious organization. One member was an effeminate man named Mr X.....and the leader of the grouo was a man with six fingers, grey hair, and glasses wearing a trenchcoat who knew a great deal about the Boiling Isles, simply called "The Professor." After a long talk, they agreed to help the Demon Realm folks integrate onto the human world, giving them forged legal documents and things so they could do stuff like attend human schools and get jobs.

The organization also assisted in helping build a place hidden away, where the Boiling Isles folks could live without needing to hide if they wanted to and hold onto their witch culture, called New Bonesborough. They even assisted them in finding any sort of magical beings banished to the human realm and make contact with them in the hopes they'd join their society.

Some witches decided to integrate into human society, living hidden through the use of illusion stones. Some chose to live in New Bonesborugh full time, continuing their old lives the best they could. And some split their time between the two worlds, living amongst both.

Raine was one such witch, spending half their time as a leader in New Bonesborugh's witches council and the other in the human world being a music professor at Gravesdield University....and now raising their adopted son, King.

And so, the Witches of the Boiling Isles did their best to make peace with their new human world lives, living amongst them in secret.....for a good few years at least.

But that's another story....

If anyone has any asks or questions about this scenario, I'm happy to answer them.

#The Owl House #Owl House #ToH #Eda Clawthorne #Amity Blight #Alador Blight #Odalia Blight #Gus Porter #Bonesborugh #Mr X #Amphibia #raine whispers #darius deamonne #toh eberwolf #Hunter whittebane

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galaxycunt · 1 year ago

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You Turned Me Inside Out

4k ish fluff and angst

Leave a comment if you wanna!

You’ve sent the divorce papers with a news coo until they became tired of you. Still, you persisted. You figured Buggy wasn’t dead yet, you would’ve been told right?

Your think back on that quick courthouse wedding, you were seven months pregnant, Buggy even bribed a clerk to keep quiet. Wouldn’t do a husband any good to be arrested on his wedding day.

You thought it was romantic at the time, even if your first marriage was officiated by your first mate. Less complicated that way. Maybe that was a bad omen, he was good for awhile. He left you both, even a guy with a bad childhood didn’t see anything wrong with giving it to his own. Even left your daughter with his nose.

You kept your bar, plenty of sailors talked shit about marrying you. The townsfolk pitied you, you decide awhile ago to say you were widowed. Less humiliating that way. Even if he was dead, Buggy never was letting you go anyway. Your baby had your smile, so she smiled for the both of you these days.

The baker’s daughter watched her awhile you ran the bar. It was an easy enough arrangement, you always adjusted to new plans on the fly.

And that’s when you see him.

“Cabaji,” you yell across the crowded bar, “unless you’re waving a white flag, get the fuck out!”

Your loyal patrons readied themselves for a fight, who needed a ship when you had drunks?

”Look! Sorry! The captain wanted me to check the place out!”

You hop over the bar, marching straight to him, “where is he?”

He obviously didn’t enjoy this task, you always liked Cabaji.

”On the ship.”

”Folks, I’ll be right back. I got kids upstairs, don’t start a riot. Alright?”

A rousing ‘aye, aye!’ surrounds you both, you may have never had a high bounty like your husband, but you had that.

Cabaji leads you to the Big Top, your nerves gnawing at you. You’re worried you’ll kill him, his crew then turning to kill you. Leaving your daughter all alone.

You shook those thoughts out, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Buggy was waiting for news in his cabin, and Cabaji reluctantly leaves you to knock on his door alone.

He swung the door open, like he was waiting for that knock. Only to be faced with you.

”You…it’s really you.”

“You have a fucking wife, remember?”

His shoulders drop, “I…I know.”

You slap him, and he takes it with grace. You decide one isn’t good enough, slapping him a few more times.

”Glad that wasn’t a punch,” he tries to joke.

”I’m a better person now, for my daughter.”

”How is she?”

”You don’t get to ask that.”

He gives a nod, “how are you?”

”Sign those papers, I’ll be much better.”

”I can’t do that.”

You search his face, Buggy looking like a kicked puppy pissed you off more than anything else.

”You left us, just let me go.”

”I have plenty of excuses, none you wanna hear.”

You stare into his eyes, hoping he would combust. You damn your heart, because you want to hear it all. You spit on the floor turning to leave, Buggy following you back to your bar. You’ll feel better once it was on your turf.

The patrons watch him over their mugs, you motion Buggy to sit on an empty stool. You ignore him for most of the night, thinking if you should go get your baby. Buggy looked pathetic, staring at his beer. You had a soft spot, begging to be acknowledged.

With a sigh, you go upstairs to let your sitter go home. Your baby looks too much like him, especially when she cries. You love your kid, you do, you just wish she wasn’t his.

”Here,” you say, “you run off with her I will kill you.”

She’s a lot bigger than he remembers, it had been 4 months since he held her last. Buggy knits his brows and frowns, holding her tight. The man sitting next to him coos at your child, making him beam with pride.

You should’ve known that’s all it would take, Buggy loved the spotlight. At least the little red nose was cuter on her, he kissed it enough to make her giggle. Being a dad was easy, he just got to sit there and make her happy.

You hate him for this. You consider killing him now anyway.

“Out with it then, another fucking bird try to eat you?”

”Do we gotta talk here?”

You look around, a few people are pretending to not eavesdrop. It gives you some courage, that you’re totally in the right here.

”Yup.”

He sighs, “damn it. Fuck, okay fine. I was nervous. I was tired. I needed a fucking break.”

”Oh, this is incredible. Please keep going.”

He groans, “I was gonna only be gone a few days. Retire on a high note.”

”Captain Buggy retiring? I liked the bird story better.”

He looks down at your daughter, his finger being gummed to death. He lets her have the whole hand, rubbing his face with a forearm.

”Okay, so not a permanent one. But long enough! You’ve done it, you know the deal.”

“I didn’t have a kid yet.”

He whispers your name, “I love you. I love her. I’m here now, that’s gotta count for something.”

”Do you even remember her god damn name?”

He looks down at her, “Marcela. She has my heart on a string, you both do.”

You should’ve known better, pirates didn’t get tied down. You both knew a baby’s place wasn’t a ship, and his wasn’t a nursery.

”Well, you saw her, guess you’ll see her again when she’s 18.”

“Oh come on, barkeep, I haven’t seen my own kids in years. Man’s gotta work.”

”Shut the fuck up, Benny. Your wife hates it and so do I. All wives do!”

You point at Buggy, “not all husbands have detachable dicks. Should’ve cut that off while I had the chance.”

”You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

You smile, “you married this bitch. Guess you’re gonna have to sign those papers.”

He grumbled, reattaching his hand so he could hold the baby better before slamming his beer. Buggy continued to glare at you the whole night, to his credit, he would stumble upstairs occasionally to change her and hand her off to you to get fed.

At closing time, you found them both asleep in the corner. You could cry, seeing her peacefully in his arms. He should’ve stayed, he was cruel and nothing would let you forget.

You whisper in his ear, “Buggy. Let me take her up.”

He yawns, gently passing Marcela to you. She only stirs a little bit, and you hope she’s at the point where she’s finally sleeping through the night.

Buggy notices how tired you are, “permission to come aboard?”

You shake your head, “no.”

”I’m your husband.”

”You didn’t care about that detail until now.”

He balls his fist, “I never forgot.”

You shush him, shooing him away as you take her upstairs. He follows you anyway, and you remember the rifle above your bed. You’ll use it if you have to.

You put Marcela to bed, Buggy right beside you, regarding her like she was made of glass. He let out a breath you didn’t know he was holding. A shy smile you could see in the dim light.

”I’ll walk you out,” you urge.

He doesn’t put up a fight, only lingering at the front door.

“Goodnight, Buggy.”

”Wait, can I come back?”

”Why would I want that?”

“Oh, come on! I’m not the first fucking pirate having to go do their thing! Not like she’s too old to even remember me!”

”Fuck off Buggy. You made a fool of me more than once.”

He frowns, “baby I’m sorry.”

You shove him outside, slamming the door and locking it tight. He bangs on the door a few times, shouting and cursing.

“Don’t wake up the baby!”

He stops, storming off in a huff. You figure this was going to be a yearly occurrence, more if you were lucky. You wonder briefly if you should take up one of those regulars on their offer of marriage, if only to make Buggy pissed off.

Buggy was persistent, showing up early the next day. You had stepped outside with your baby to walk around only to be surprised by him, a punch to his gut for his trouble.

”God! Morning to you too.”

”Buggy, I’m surprised you’re still in town.”

You can’t stand the sight of him, but he does look good without his make up. The morning sun bathes him in a heavenly light, picking up stray strands of hair like a halo. He looks at you like he was thinking the same thing. He smiled the way he always did with you, his gaze soft as he stepped in your personal space.

Buggy knew how to turn on the charm like a switch. You didn’t want this Buggy, you married the real one.

”How’d you sleep?”

”Fine, been doing fine for months I’ll have you know.”

He grazes your shoulder with his as you kept walking, “where you headed?”

”The beach. She likes waves.”

A futile attempt to shake him off, he spent time on the ocean even with his weakness. Buggy didn’t show any hesitation in following you, eyes glued to the carriage in front of you. You figure it’s an ego thing, she looks like his little clone.

He helps set down a blanket with all her toys, laying on his belly with her as he she coos. You couldn’t fold this easy, turning away to count the ships docked in the distance. It was easier when it was just you and him, sleeping together before he took off for who knows how long. You really should’ve married someone else, he knew how to sell himself too well.

“Does she get, uh well, do people,” he motions to his nose.

”Oh no, I think it’s cute on her. Don’t think anyone really wants to insult a baby in front of me.”

He smiles, “glad to hear it. You let me know if I need to knock some heads. Both of you.”

He lays on his back, dangling Marcela above him.

”Stop that.”

”Oh, she’s fine. She’s laughing, I got her.”

”No,” you're on the brink of tears, “stop acting like you give a shit. Just get outta here. I’ll marry the baker, he’s bonafide.”

”Bonafide? Ain’t I bonafide?”

You shake your head and he huffs.

”I give a shit. I actually take my vows seriously.”

”You left, couldn’t be fucked to be a real husband and father.”

Buggy sets the baby back down, turning to look at you. You swat his hands away, regretting that you been humoring him this long.

”If I knew letting you keep my balls would settle things, I would’ve,” he grumbles.

”Yeah, it would actually! I need a new stress ball!”

Buggy grits his teeth, “you’re the only one in the East Blue who’d even think about saying those things to Buggy The Clown.”

It was getting childish, kicking sand at him, “I’m not your god damn fan. I say whatever the fuck I want.”

”At least I’m not a fucking baker.”

”Yeah, if your baking is like your cooking, you’d be lousy at it!”

He laughs, a long hearty one. He picks up your baby, walking her to the edge of the shore, letting her toes dip into the warm waters. You’re hiding a smile, fatherhood looks good on him. And he knows it, laughing in your face like that. You suppose you couldn’t blame the guy, Roger was the last person you’d expect to teach a kid manners.

”Hey,” he calls out, “you pack a lunch?”

You nod, and he gives a thumbs down, “I’m taking my girls out. Get some good grub.”

You really should decline, “there’s a cafe on the pier. Great pancakes.”

”Let’s go then!”

So you spend the day with him, Buggy was mostly hush about what he was out doing. Out of shame or boredom, you couldn’t tell. Buggy even helps you stock the bar, shooing away your extra help when she arrived. You let it happen, and you’re not sure why.

Maybe if he wants to spend the night, you’ll lock his hands and feet away so he can’t escape this time. You look at his hands, thinking about the last time you let him hold you.

God, are you that weak? Are you really falling for your husband again?

Funny joke, he should hire you as a writer.

”What’s up, baby?”

”I think you should stay the night.”

His face lights up, “great. That’s so great.”

He detaches from his legs, letting his torso twirl around with you and Marcela in his arms. You let out a gasp as he did it, holding onto him tighter.

The first time he did this to you, you felt like a fairy.

“You’re so cute when you blush.”

”I’m not blushing.”

He tilts your chin up, “you are.”

You shake your head, finishing up your tasks. It had been hell since you saw Buggy last, your heart yearned for him every day. Pirates aren’t used to being so open with their feelings, you wonder if he meant it when he wanted to keep your hair in a locket. You sent it with a letter, he only thanked you.

”Buggy, did you even miss me?”

He was changing a diaper, nearly dropping the pin, “of course I did.”

”Are you lying?”

His hand flies to you for a moment, stroking your hair. You shove it away, and he recalled it back to pop into place.

”I could never lie to you.”

”You just leave out the truth.”

He looks as heartbroken as you, “I’m not a good man, I’m sorry I gave you that impression. But I love you, I love our family.”

You only nod, ignoring him the rest of the night. The patrons don’t flirt with you, now that your daughter was being held by her father in the corner of the bar. Someone puts on the record player, a romantic song wafting in the air. Didn’t fit for a sailor bar, catchy enough that they sing anyway.

”May I have this dance?”

”They'll have my head if drinks ain’t poured fast enough.”

”Let ‘em,” he whispers in your ear.

Two hands are still holding Marcela in her seat, his forearms wrap around you as he swings you around. You always loved a man who can dance, and as expected Buggy was a showy dancer. Even without fingers he dipped and twirled you, lifting you up and over.

You collapse into his chest once the song was over, you’re guided back to the bar so you could pour drinks. A smile doesn’t leave either of your faces.

”Sir, your girl is the best thing that could ever happen to us salty dogs!”

”Don’t I fucking know it,” he beams.

There’s a twinkle in his eye as he returns with your baby, hopping on the counter he gives a sharp whistle.

”Alright listen up, today’s my little girl’s half birthday. A round on me!”

The loud commotion doesn’t bother her too much, Buggy still making sure to cover her ears as he grins at you. In this moment, you’re completely charmed. You’re too afraid to kiss him, you know you shouldn’t kiss him. But he grins and your daughter laughs and maybe, just maybe it’s okay.

He offers to close the bar, and you insist to count the money. He didn’t leave you high and dry last time, but you weren’t that stupid.

Soon he trudges upstairs, kicking his boots off. He sits on the bed only a moment, before shaking his head.

”Do you want me here? Or should I sleep on the couch?”

”Couch.”

”Okay. Hey uh, can I kiss you?”

”What?”

”Just the cheek? The nose? A hand?”

You must be tired, “kiss me like a man, Buggy.”

He kisses you slowly, treading carefully until you push him away. He clears his throat, and sleeps on the couch as promised.

You wake up before him, realizing he let you sleep the whole night. You always liked watching him, it was rare that you were up before him. Buggy was like some strange version of an angel, those long lashes fluttering, chiseled jaw and lovely lips.

You crawl closer to him, his breath hot on your face. You kiss his nose, if you could even call that. It’s so light, there was no way he could feel it.

His eyes flutter open anyway, “well, hello.”

”Thanks for letting me sleep.”

”Go back to bed, she’s still sleeping too.”

Your heart goes soft, come with me, you want to say. Instead, you let sleep overtake you again.

You aren’t sure of the time it is now, and you notice Buggy was gone. You strain to listen to your baby, you didn’t hear anything either. In a panic, you shoot up.

”Buggy?”

”In here!”

Oh thank fuck.

He’s on the floor, playing with your daughter. You ease your heartbeat, standing there a little awkwardly.

“C’mere.”

He drapes an arm over you, “can that kid watch Marcie today? I wanna take you out, just us.”

”I’m not a cheap date.”

”Oh, I know.”

You haven’t dressed up in ages, nervously fussing with your hair until he knocks on the bathroom door.

“Be out in a minute.”

What were you even doing? How many women do you know with husbands like him? The loneliness, the worry. It was easier when you were younger, Buggy was made for the sea. He couldn’t stand being on land for long.

So why did you marry him? Because he was funny? Because he was cute? He loved you the only way he knew how; a captive audience, an adoring fan.

But that’s not really true, is it? It never was for you, he loves you honestly. A rare thing from a pirate.

Buggy whistles at the sight of you, “gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Bug.”

”Only stating the obvious, I could go on but, we got plans tonight don’t we?”

He doesn’t fit in amongst the diners surrounding you. If not his best outfit being a striped shirt and dirty pants, it’s his leg on the chair arm with a drink in his hand. People gawk at his nose when he’s not looking, thankfully focused on you.

If you were honest, you didn’t belong in this place either.

“Why are we here Buggy?”

”You deserve it, had a pretty good haul awhile ago.”

”That why you left?”

He grimaces, “yeah. Found a map.”

You look at your plate, chewing slowly. Buggy drinks more than he eats.

”We were arguing more, you seemed so unhappy. I uh, figured it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

Your vision blurs, “you should’ve told me.”

”I know honey, I know. I never…I never sat still long. As much as I’d like to.”

He insisted it could work at the time, claiming that pirating would be a side gig. Pirates weren’t built for that, as much as Buggy loved his circus you know he loved treasure more.

”So now what? When’s the next time you’re just gonna run?”

Buggy wouldn’t face you, “I-I don’t know. I do know…I won’t leave you stranded. Not again. Ever.”

You lose your appetite, running out on him. You aren’t sure where you were going, running towards the ships docked in the pier. He’s right behind you, shouting your name. You ignore it, reaching his ship.

You wish you kept a bottle, you’d burn the damn thing down. You laugh bitterly, the sea really is his mistress.

“Baby, hey. Let’s talk.”

”If I didn’t send that letter, would you even come back? When I was pregnant?”

Buggy holds your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His jaw is tense, his fingers tremble. You never seen him so undone.

”I never left. Not really. I married you because I love you.”

”Don’t bullshit.”

”I’m not.”

You slap him, “don’t lie to me.”

”I’m not.”

You shove him, “don’t lie to me!”

“Baby stop! I’m sorry okay! God damn.”

You attempt to knock his head off his shoulders. He grabs your hand before you do, “come on. Let me show you something.”

He leads you to his cabin, among the mess and clutter he digs for something. He hands you a box, all your letters, photos, even an old wanted poster. He even kept a onesie and one of the footprints you thought was thrown away.

“I did it for us, I always do it for us.”

You’re on the verge of tears, “You’re going to Grand Line soon, aren’t you?”

He nods, “I had to square away my affairs, I had to see you again.”

You swallow hard, “how long?”

You never sailed that far, your own crew wasn’t ready for that. If he lived, you knew how long he could be gone.

”I don’t know. I do know one thing, I’ll be back.”

You let him hold you as you cry, you could feel droplets on the top of your head. You both stand there crying for who knows how long. Eventually Buggy kisses your eyes, and you tug on his shirt to pull his lips to yours.

It’s a good sign, you feel fireworks even now. He lifts up your skirt, fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear.

”I love you,” he whispers, “my North Star.”

Buggy stays with you for several weeks, and a small part of you wants to pretend he’s going to stay. When your first love died, you promised to remain by the sea. They’d protect you, even in spirit. You hope that promise extended to Buggy, they would’ve like each other.

You help him ready the ship, Buggy stalling in every way he knew how. Not enough costumes, a spotlight was out, you both knew how this was going to end.

He doesn’t let go of your daughter, showing her every single part of his ship. The crew adores her, promising to make her a cabin girl once she’s old enough. It kind of sounds nice, Buggy plans to bring you along too when the time comes. That sounds pretty good to you too.

Eventually, the Big Top sets sail. You teach Marcela to wave to her daddy, you blow kisses as you shout farewells. You promise to tell her about him, and he promises his damnedest to write every day.

It wasn’t going to be easy, it was going to be lonelier this time around. But you are a beacon, an angel of the sea to guide him home.

#buggy the clown #one piece #buggy x reader #buggy x you

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year ago

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A Whole Man is Hard to Find -chapter seventeen

-Summary: Rosey conducts a series of interviews with those who know the Captain intimately but through wildly differing association, a prostitute, his quartermaster and his doctor. Meanwhile above decks Captain Presley deflowers a new river with the support of Johnny Cash. Both lovers live for the few moments they can steal at the end of the day to savor each other.

-Warnings 18+: usual universe warnings apply with this addition of caning, mentions of past female rape, past murder and talk of Syphilis and the use of the archaic word “sodomy”. Along with current smut, which mostly includes gratuitous descriptions of sweat, sweaty balls, men being very hot when they’re sweaty so long as they’re Elvis and -it’s a lot of sweat porn ok?!

“Beaumont.” Aida acknowledged from her place on the floor, arm deep in the Captain’s personal trunks.

“Overton.” Rosey snickered at the stand off, keeping her pistol raised all the same. “What’re you in here for?” she repeated.

“So the captain didn’t send you back after all.” Aida ignored her, “My, my, isn’t he gettin’ brave now, defyin�� the colonel every which way.”

The power of her sneer nearly swayed Rosey. “A change of plans,” she diverted, “the Captain can do that.”

“Oh can he?”

“Yes.”

“That's new. He never could before.”

“He’s not beholden to his partner.” Rosey took aims to measure her language lest she commit an indiscretion, “They are, after all, just partners. Equals, there was a change of plans, that’s all.”

“Equals.” Aida savored the word as she rose to her feet before letting out a grating cackle that made Rosey flinch, “I’ll give ya credit for your ignorance, child, s’not like you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

“No, no I suppose that I haven't seen what you’ve seen.” Rosey conceded, her voice dripping with disdainful accusation.

“No, how could you?” Aida hemmed her in against the door and Rosey felt torn between shoving this witch off or making an ally of someone who knew him so well, “Word on the boat is you’ve been kept quite remote on that little plantation, and sure, sure, he’s tidied himself up real nice for you, hasn’t he? How would you know what kind of man he is?”

The urge was strong to spit back in Aida’s face the proof that she had known him longer than she, that Rosey had ridden atop his young shoulders in peacetime and held him nowadays aboard while he cried his memories out. She wanted to protest that she knew him well. But those were not things due to Aida, the Captain had been upset she’d even seen them in the bath together, how much more would he object to their history being exposed. And besides, these were things to prove Rosey knew him, but Aida was right, she knew precious little *of* him. “I know the kind of man he is with me, and he’s a good man.” she murmured instead.

“Is he?” Aida wasn't sneering, she looked intrigued and Rosey’s heart thudded in fear of a misstep. Vaguely she recalled Elvis having told her in their early days that he had a reputation to maintain, to keep folks in line. Being a feared man didn’t deter him from tossing gifts into the crowd or holding babies or patronizing school charities. Rosey figured that admitting he was good to her could hardly damage his reputation. But the way Aida’s maimed eyes kept searching hers made her frightened of betraying him.

“Incredible the lengths men’ll go to for virgin cunt.” the woman declared at last and Rosey flinched at the language. “What’ll it last ‘em? A minute? Fifteen if he’s got willpower? And then poof, done, gone, you’re just like anyone else to him, after he’s done.”

“What were you snooping for?” Rosey didn’t dignify this sad prophecy with an answer.

“Oh, just some things-“

“Of yours?” Rosey snapped, the weight of her still clutched pistol reminding her of her worth and her dearness to him.

“You could say I have a stake in them.” she shrugged.

“What do you mean by that?” Rosey pressed her scornfully.

“You seen any photographs laying about? Or buried under all them books he hauls?” Aida asked her and while Rosey contemplated how to play her hand when she’d not only never seen photographs aboard or even imagined he’d possessed some, Aida went on while turning back to the trunks, “Id’have thought he’d make certain to have at least something in his arsenal if he’s gonna be a brat. ‘Stead it looks like his partner has everything required to sink him and Elvis hasn’t got anything but a stuck up girl-child to defend himself with.”

“Why would the colonel sink his own partner?” Rosey maintained, choosing to leave her place by the door and take a seat on the bed, sheets still thrashed and unmade from his devouring a few hours before. Her legs clenched at the memory.

“You’re good.” Aida proclaimed and some stupid and starved part of a Rosey actually preened at being praised by such a hardened individual. “You’re real good. What’s your deal with the Colonel?”

“I haven’t anything against the man, he’s just tiring.” Rosey insisted.

“No, I mean, what did he offer you to come along?”

Rosey pondered this line of questioning with a perturbed heart, realizing she either had a chance to spin a lie here or else get caught in one. “Who says we’ve got any deal?”

“Do I need to name your predecessors for you?” Aida asked, sitting back down on the floor with shameless confidence in the Captain’s prolonged absence, “Let’s see, of course there was Aida first,” she chuckled that harsh chuckle of hers at this self narration, “and then there was a Polly and a Tamara and we can’t forget the pretty, pristine Lucilla who had him turnin’ himself inside out to please her, all for not, all of them unable or unwilling to stay when the colonel yanked his chain. All of them reportin’ dutifully to the colonel on his wakings and his habits. And those ones were just the ones he made promises to, that promised him back. There was Etta, though she lasted all of a sneeze ‘cause the colonel was against her.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re his spurned lover?” Rosey asked, amused.

“Ha,” the woman shook her head, “there ever been a woman spy who hadn’t had to play lover?”

“You’re a trash spy.” Rosey found it in herself to jest, “Look at your work,” she gestured to the clutter on the floor, “and halfway in you just spill it out that you’re a spy? Aida, I had some hopes you hated me but I trusted you didn’t think me a fool.”

“Didn’t say I am.” Aida smiled that awful smile of hers, wider than ever this time and Rosey noticed her gums were shiny and silver. “Said I was.”

Rosey kicked her leg out boredly and hummed. “During the war?” she ventured.

“Mm..” Aida just shrugged. “He really not paying you anything?”

“I’m not acquainted with the colonel.” Rosey summarized, “I’m here at the Captain's disposal, he’s the one who pays my wages. And you knew that already.”

“Lord girl.” Aida rose to her knees and began repacking the half emptied trunks, “Whatever it is you’ve done back home, won’t be worth sticking round here to escape. Trust me, they’ll string you up alongside us all if not worse. The world out there’s got a particular distaste for whores, they’d look kinder on a murderer.”

Rosey didn’t protest either title. “Leave the stuff be,” she commanded “with the way you’re cramming it back in -he’ll know someone’s been going through it. Trash spy, you are.”

“Mm, alright.” Aida dropped the books she held back to the floor. “Weird feller he is, to keep this but no photograph apparatus. Colonel must have it.”

“What on earth is that?” Rosey asked her, pointing to that something on the floor that looked akin to an oversized musicbox and had as its extension a wand at the end.

“A hysteria treatment.”

“Hysteria?” Rosey savored the word carefully, only having heard of it from books.

“Yeah, real handy for the uptight ones,” Aida leared accusingly at Rosey’s prim pose, “the ones so proper they’re liable to get strangled with their own collars.”

“How does it work?” Rosey ignored the barb, soothed by red hot memories of indulging the captain in ways that could never be dismissed as prudish.

“It vibrates.” Aida picked the thing up by its box and plopped it in Rosey’s lap. “Crank it.” she goaded as Rosey fumbled with her new burden and carefully began to turn the lever. It was a steam mechanism of sorts, that was obvious from the hissing sound alone and the way the wand’s

outer skin began to pick up in rotational spins, powered by the cord tethering the two women to each other. When she was satisfied as to its pace, Aida took the wand and held it to Rosey’s exposed shin and the girl felt her whole leg rattle from it.

“Hellfire!” Rosey snatched her tingling limb up and away from the device after a moment's indulgence.

Aida laughed at her again. “Husbands pay him a lotta money to hold this to their wife's frigid cunts.” she explained, discarding the wand on the scattered heap of books and neck clothes as she rose to her feet, “And plenty of women risk divorce just to feel it again. Reckon it turns ‘em hysterical, ‘stead of the other way ‘round.”**

Rosey thought of the bathtub -their first tryst- and colored, a grimace forming as that sweet memory became tainted with the knowledge that everything the Captain did with her had been done by him to multitudes before her. As transactions, no less.

“Don’t pity him, girl.” Aida warned, “That money keeps him soft and happier than most, and it keeps you spoiled and fed.”

“I only pity those who do it without alternative.” she muttered. “Captain Presley’s put that behind him.”

“Ha, right behind him. So close behind him it’ll snag him by the britches before the year is out.” Aida shook her head, “You’re a foolish idiot talkin’ him into a rebellion.”

“It’s no rebellion when it’s between partners.” Rosey sneered.

“I keep forgettin’ the whole ‘equals’ part.” Aida admitted with mock regret before continuing, “Bit hard to do if you’d seen what I’ve seen. If you’d seen one of those equals let the other cane his bare backside like a green school boy over a tiny defiance. Equals my ass. How much trouble have you gotten him in that he’d risk this much?”

Aida had approached Rosey during this sickening divulgence and Rosey fast felt her power in the situation escaping her but was too rattled by it to wrestle back her rightful dominance.

“I suppose you’re real proud of yourself for standing by during such an event.” Rosey managed to spit while shrinking against the wall. Her hands began to sweat, she tossed the hysteria box off her lap and gripped the sheets beside her to dry them, feeling for her discarded pistol “And for a man who gave you so much. You’re not even mad for him.”

“An event? It was a weekly pastime some years, that cane saw more of him than it did the pavement.” Aida puzzled, “He’s really told ya nothin’, has he?” that revelation brought Aida more amusement than Rosey could ever imagine so hideous a face could express while Rosey felt sick at the idea of how much harm one stupid piece of wood could inflict, “Are you sorry for the dog that’s made to do a party trick before it gets a bone, Miss Beaumont? Do you give a dog a bone when he refuses? Mad for him, hmph.”

“Why’re you telling me all this.” Rosey asked, shame and anger battling inside her.

“Stop that.” Aida ordered and shortly after Rosey felt a sting to her cheek as she was slapped. Too stunned to respond in kind she sat there with a gaping mouth as Aida inspected her reaction.

“Stop what?” she hissed, palm to her her tingling cheek.

“Actin’ like you ain’t starved for details.” Aida smirked, “Clever girl like you, must’ve found Miss Etta most boring -so much talk, so much talk, so little history actually said. You’re downright panting to snoop yourself, don’t deny it.”

“I-I-I’m not!” Rosey defended, “I’m not denying.” she amended.

“Prove it.” Aida smirked.

Rosey knew this was a test that a normal child would have passed years ago, school bullies or debutante rivals would have buffeted her so that a manic, washed up prostitute’s goading would have little effect. But Rosey was no normal child, sheltered and so little buffeted in the gentler forms of cruelty, she knew only the hard scrabble, hard edged tests of life. With a sinking feel of doing wrong yet a pulse quickening excitement for daring it anyway, she looked about the room for a prompt. Her eyes fell to the bindings the Captain had used on her bosoms, and beneath it the masculine costume Aida herself had loaned her.

And she recalled his blush.

“When you loaned us that garb,” she began and no matter how hard she tried to be brazen she couldn’t manage more than a hushed whisper, “you mentioned…equipment. You asked if he wanted the ‘equipment’ with it.” She looked up to find that Aida was holding her peace, more restrained than Rosey had ever seen her and far from being comforting it made her feel like she was about to be sprung upon by prey. “I want to know what that was. What you meant. What you use it for.”

-‘Depraved things’ -the captain had called them sternly, but he’d stuttered and hardened all the same at the mere suggestion of them.

“How did he respond when he saw you in ‘em?” Aida pried and Rosey thought maybe she’d misjudged her, and she was merely a lonely gossip shut up in this dark hold for too long. Rosey caught a glimpse of herself in the future. “Did he find you arousing?”

Rosey wasn’t about to divulge that but the rosy blush that earned her his nickname was quick to answer for her. “What’s the equipment?”

“A wooden cock.” Aida replied with commendable bluntness.

Rosey hadn’t even contemplated the existence of such a thing. Her marveling face must’ve said so.

“Attached in the common place on the wearer with a harness.” Aida was eager to share and Rosey felt unsettled again at the knowledge that cruelty and degeneracy were the only two subjects that seemed to bring the woman joy. “Plenty a’men like bein’ with men that way but there’s those that like a woman to take ‘em thataways, too.”

“So they-“ Rosey couldn’t help herself, the curiosity too burning to be tamped down, “-they…suck on it?”

Much to her surprise, Aida looked a little puzzled herself for a brief moment before replying, “Well, no, not usually. They pay me to fuck ‘em.”

“In the mouth?“ Rosey persisted, annoyed at the splitting of hairs between taking and being taken orally.

“No, in the ass!” Aida was equally annoyed until she realized by watching Rosey’s bewildered expression that the girl wasn’t playing dumb.

“How does…how does anything fit up there?” she balked, certain Aida was having a laugh at her expense. From the stigma of sucking a man that she had learned from youth, she naturally assumed it was because it was associated with acts performed by sodomites and was the one way men could pleasure each other without a cunt. “How large is this wooden -object?”

“Girl,” Aida smirked, “we’re talkin’ cock, wooden and otherwise, goin’ up the back way. A throat ain’t got nothin’ on the squeeze of a tight ass.”

An array of emotions and wonderments hit Rosey all at once, converging in her mind to fill her with that tantalizing tingle of newly acquired knowledge mixed with a substantial amount of shock and concern over the likelihood of the Captain having engaged in this activity. Which further exacerbated her curiosity as to why he would find the mere suggestion of a renewal of that type of indulgence arousing. “Does that not hurt?” she asked.

“Like hell if you ain’t prepped right.” Aida’s graying tongue flicked at her lips and Rosey felt a pang of dread in her stomach.

“How does one prepare for that?”

“Stretchin’ the rim out.” she shrugged, “All my clients pay for that -after all, if they’ve got time and money to pay a woman to bugger them, you can count on it that they’re much too delicate to take it raw.”

“But if you’re just, out and-“ Rosey bit her lip to try to find a kinder word but it was ugly business no matter how one put it, “if one was out hawking oneself?”

“Beaumont,” Aida lifted a tattooed brow at her transparency, “you can count on it that the Captain done felt like his insides were getting scraped raw most times. Ain’t no oil in a back alley or bent over a barrel, but sometimes, sometimes it must’ve been good. He’s got a lingering taste for it, or maybe he just likes pain.”

“You’ve done this, for him?” Rosey asked dismally and wished she hadn’t even before it rolled off her tongue.

To her surprise Aida answered, “No. reckon he took enough real cock to keep him staggerin’ well into the weekday most times.”

“But not anymore.” Rosey noted once more while raising her chin, and as if noticing her shift in mood, Aida began to retreat towards the door.

“No, not anymore.” she agreed before spitting out, “Gone a whole year without sellin’ ass and he already misses it. Some folks are born whores.”

“Say that of him again and I’ll blow your brains out.” Rosey promised, and by then she had retrieved her pistol.

“Keep your eye out for those photographs.” Aida responded tersely, making as if to go.

“You’ve a claim to them?” Rosey leant forward in the cot, persisting in pressing the issue.

“Mm, yeah, I do.” Aida eyed the pistol warily.

“What- what kind of photographs am I to be looking for?” Rosey asked, exasperated and curious only for her own sake. And his. “If he had such an apparatus there could be all manner of prints! And I’ve heard with the mechanism that some may be undeveloped-“

“These are developed.” Aida laid her hand in the door knob, “Older, too, you’ll tell by the style.”

“I’ve never seen one in the flesh! How am I to discern style?” Rosey protested. “What kind am I looking for?”

Aida stared hard at her before her mouth twisted, “Oh, you’ll know what kind when you see them, Beaumont.”

Rosey’s hands had turned from clammy to frozen in her attempt to disguise her panicked breathing. “Beyond the photographs, what is it you want?”

Aida stood by the door of the small room and swayed, side to side like a considering crow and Rosey gave her all the time she needed.

“I know you wanted me to catch you.” She insisted gently.

“Hmph.” Aida grunted, contemplating a confession it seemed, or else another mode of attack. Rosey would never know.

A knock rang out from the other side of the door and Aida’s hand flew to her own mouth, signaling with a finger to the lips for Rosey to be silent. To play that the room was empty. Rosey wouldn’t be caught abetting a woman as displeasing to the Captain as Aida and chose to ignore her.

“Enter!” Rosey answered instead, clear and assertive.

Aida was forced to move back from the opening door as the formidable bulk of Sister Rosetta entered, looking first at Aida and then down to the spilled trunks, then up and across to Rosey on her rumpled cot.

“Miss Beaumont,” ever the stickler for etiquette, Rosetta ignored the intruder for the time being and addressed herself to the one she was seeking, who also happened to be the lady of the boat, “Dr. Nicholas informed me that yesterday you charged him with a meeting this afternoon to review…certain questions you had?”

“Oh, yes, yes I did.” Rosey recalled her fiery stipulations for allowing the doctor to stay aboard. She didn’t miss the way Aida watched this interaction with avid interest.

“He’s asking a time, ma’am.” Sister Rosetta prodded, she was being awfully respectful and Rosey wondered if the woman knew of her recent marriage or was merely setting an example for Aida. Either way, Rosey appreciated it.

“How about, a umm, an hour from now?” Rosey calculated, “We ought to be on our way by then, and the more nauseating swells should have subsided. Nothing like going over numbers when the boat’s rocking.”

“I’ll see to it he’s conscious by then.” Rosetta replied with deferential irony and Rosey filed that remark away for later. “Exactly what are you doing in here, Overton?” she asked the old prostitute next.

“I was returning her clothes to her.” Rosey spoke up and Rosetta, in line with her newly found deference for Rosey Presley, accepted this fib with narrowing eyes but tight lips. “And, as that’s done with,” Rosey went on after a burdened silence in which Rosetta’s judgmental stare impressed upon her the need to do…something, “you may go, Aida.”

Aida did not exit in haste, she slipped behind Sister Rosetta’s considerable bulk and gave a searing, lasting, parting look of what Rosey feared bordered on conspiratorial camaraderie before shutting the door behind her.

Rosey sat on her cot and fought the urge to fidget on the cot, to kick her leg and scuff her boots under Rosetta’s unwavering observation. That hideous, vibrating apparatus was still lying sideways on the floor.

“Child?” Rosetta broke the silence at last and Rosey ground her teeth at the sudden absence of all respect and deference, merely parental concern remained and no small rebuke in it. It had been a show for that whore, then, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed, Rosey would always be stuck as that cloistered little girl who grew up to be a stunted young woman.

“I’m glad you came by Sister, I’ve a complaint against you.” Rosey spoke up, daring this due to the sting of repeated losses of authority, first to Aida and now to her.

“With me?” Rosetta repeated, seemingly astounded.

“Yes.” Rosey smoothed her hands out on her lap, “It would seem a confidence I trusted you with a few nights gone, a confidence I would have kept to myself if not so shaken, was repeated to the Captain in its most gruesome and twisted manner.”

“By me?” Rosetta repeated, eyebrows raised nearly to the band of her exquisite turban.

“There was no one else to insinuate what he now believes as gospel truth.” Rosey pointed out icily, “He is under the impression, Sister, that he forced himself on me the other night.”

“Unsuccessfully!” Rosetta protested, “He knows he was unsuccessful. There’s no harm done.”

“The harm is in the intent!” Rosey cried out, “And in the fact he believes himself capable of it! He won’t even-“ with effort Rosey reined in her narrative to the details proper to be shared, “he would barely trust himself alone in his own room with me. And while that has been surmounted by vows and begging on my part -he is…tentative.”

“Not a bad thing.” Rosetta pointed out, chin lifted, “A man that -hungry, a man like that oughta be tentative. And that night should have proved it to you.”

“What occurred that night was not unwanted.” Rosey enunciated, near to a rage, “And I would not have him think otherwise. I did not tell you otherwise. I confided my wants to you and admitted my sins, that I wanted his babe! His love! And you took that, took that temperance of mine and told him he was a brute?”

Rosetta swiped her hand over her brow a half a dozen times as if battling something quite heavy before deciding on a course of action and hauling up the rickety chair to sit in front of Rosey, amidst the wreckage of the trunks. “You think well of him.” she noted and before Rosey could more adamantly rephrase this moderate sentiment, she held her hand up for silence, “And it’s well that you do. And it is well for him, too. But with such a man, it is well for him to know what he is capable of, and to not think too highly of his own restraint. Not when we are speaking of something as heavy as this.”

Rosey did her best to listen and give such a statement it’s due weight and consideration, but peeved at continued insinuation of her own naïveté felt compelled to retort, “Ma’am, I’ve seen a woman forced, my own sister in fact, I don’t need to be told about heaviness. I’m telling you now, I object to saddling a man, however volatile and, and, and hungry as you call it, with the taint of such cruelty. He would never.”

“You think I care about the act?” Rosetta scoffed but gently added, “Child, there’s sins and then there’s harm. And then there’s bringing a child into a world not fit to care for it. And that’s what I object to. That’s what he objects to. And that’s what deserves heaviness and fear from such a man, and you should fear it too.”

Rosey swallowed hard, the shift in Rosetta’s tone becoming softer than she’d ever seen and it took her unawares. In vain did she summon back her old ire, instead like a helpless student, she waited for more.

“Don’t be so eager for a babe, girl.” Rosetta murmured sadly, “Not in times such as these. Even good men betray you, and even the ones who don’t -they’re not promised tomorrow to provide for you. And in your case, without him, there’d be no Captain Presley to buy your child and bring him up as his own.”

Rosey tapped her boot on the floor rhythmically as an assorted pattern of clues formed in her mind and suddenly it was quite plain, all those hours teaching him math in her presence and watching her watch him frolic with the captain and her so very angry at the colonel for threatening him- “Cal is yours.” Rosey realized, “He’s your son.”

Rosetta pursed her lips and nodded, more vulnerable looking than Rosey had ever seen her stoic face, “And it would do him no good to know.” he mourned, “For I had a man, and he was a good man with ivory skin, blue eyes and a wife, and he told me he’d come back for me. That was a whole war ago.” she noted, “And the only man who came was Elvis, bought us both out of our debt. Freedom ain’t sweet when ya can’t eat and when the color of your skin affects your child’s chances. If you were to have a bastard, you’d be nearly in the same case as me.”

Rosey leant forward and tentatively laid a comforting hand on the stalwart lady’s knee, “I’d no idea. Not when I was teaching him -and you, right there, holding your tongue. I cannot fathom it.”

“One day,” she murmured, “you’ll love someone enough to hold your tongue, even if you want to claim them. And what kind of parents would you be? A man of pleasure and a murderess? This isn’t a just world and it’s certainly not a kind one, you’d never get to keep your child. Promise me, never a child, if I could spare either of you that, I would, that’s why I’m sayin’ what I am saying.”

“I can’t make that promise.” Rosey gasped, heartsick and persuaded, “I-I can’t, it’s not for me to make. Not alone.”

Sister Rosetta received this with grudging admiration for Rosey’s loyalty to his headship over her.

“There was a woman aboard, little over a year ago,” Rosetta’s tone turned dreadfully measured after her brief vulnerability and Rosey braced herself, knowing the tale was worth heeding if so circumspect a woman took to divulging secrets, “she was wealthy as was her husband. And the Captain had a fear that she had begotten a child off him.” Rosetta paused as if weighing her narrative once more, “He was most careful about that, you see, with his work, such as it was, most careful. It was paramount to him. But with this woman it was feared. Some couples are harmless, some women are needy, and some are depraved. They all pay the same. But,” she folded her hands again and again before rising and speaking to the door, “but this particular couple, they were crueler than most. Thwarted his precautions knowingly. Seemed to delight in it, like it was a lark to taint themselves with him. It’s a common thing paid for, a sort of abetted cuckolding with the husband engaged. It wore on him, Miss Beaumont, years and years of seeing marriage so demeaned and him being the instrument for it but -never to such ends as this. I don’t know what Etta tried, and I don’t know what Aida planned, but when these helpers failed he came to me.”

“What -what did he want?” Rosey begged. “What did he intend?”

“I don’t know.” Rosetta sounded like a jaded witness, “But he told me of it, told me he was begging God to finish that woman, anything to prevent a child of his to be raised by such degenerates.” Rosetta turned back to her, looking over Rosey’s head, “He gave himself back to God that night. And stuck to it until you came along. The next port of call he sent me to their room to deliver a telegram that had come in. It read of an emergency, the couple demanded a ramp be lowered before the boat had fully docked, they were eager to be off. Considering his passenger's request paramount to an order, the Captain lowered them a ramp.” Rosetta locked eyes with Rosey as the girl guessed a million endings to this harmless tale, “That was the only time Captain Presley has ever lost passengers while unloading. Crushed them between the hull and dock.”

Rosey found her mouth had gone dry when she tried to swallow her shock, choking on her own emotion, Rosetta went to the wash basin and brought her the pitcher, encouraging her to drink.

“Don’t you ever think that man takes the prospect of a child lightly.” Rosetta ended her caution quite simply and Rosey gave the pitcher back with nerveless hands.

“You think he-“ she could not say it the first try, which was ironic enough considering what unaccounted and horrible things she’d laid to his account when she first met him, “-killed them?” she whispered.

“Court ruled it was an accident, Me. Cash was an advocate.” Rosetta acted suddenly as if she was arguing against her own narrative, “And since then the Captain became a most revernat disciple of the gospel of his youth. There’s nothing more to be gained from guessing. Till you.” she added, “Now it bears some worth in repeating. Just, bear in mind when you’re fooling and he’s suggestible -he don’t take it lightly, child. He don’t take it lightly.”

Rosey repacked the trunks when Rosetta left her, unable in her rearranging to help herself from snooping in some small way. There was nothing very remarkable save a large assortment of knives that looked as motley as possible with different inscriptions and initials on them, suggesting other owners. There were strong ribbons of silk, too, 10 times longer than needed to tie up even Rosey’s long mane of hair, and clasps too, cosmetics of coal and rouge in tidy little containers. And a hairbrush that looked innocuous enough until one examined the phallic handle. Rosey nearly dropped the thing in startelement that she was holding something with veins and ridges so similar to the real thing while being pantomime.

It felt disloyal and she dropped it back into the trunk. It thudded dully on the wooden bottom and still no photographs were to be seen. A single cameo was wedged amongst books and when she cracked its decaying hinge open she found a picture of Captain Phillips looking ten years younger and without a lick of gray. Wartime portrait. She tucked it back in place and threaded the strange assortment of thin silk shifts and a large corset, as if for a big boned woman, around the more delicate things and stacked the books as best she could manage.

This done she went to her meeting with the doctor, such as it was with a table set up in a closet beside the Boilers that held pitchers and hoses in case of a fire in them, foggy and lost in early memories of the captain. Not the sunlit frolics of childhood that were dimly returning to her the longer she stayed with him but that dreadful first night they met. She wracked her brain for the little details she’s once worried to shreds in her fear of him but had since been smoothed out like so much jagged ivory in a near completed sculpture. She recalled the way he shoved through the New Orleans riff-raf with unblinking authority and the way he’d snapped his fingers and bought her with only mild protest from other bidders. She thought of his playful refrain to her these day “No murder, Rosey!” and realized with an ache that he may not have meant it so lightly. He was begging her off a path he had been down. The more she thought of him in those early days and the fear he elicited in her, the more she realized him capable of the tale she had just heard.

“Just once I wanna hear Old Beaumont’s daughter say ‘cock’ while grinding back on mine.” he had been so mean with his words that first time, goading and venomous at her for her lofty origins. Or was he just used to speaking like that to highborn ladies who got a thrill from a working class man soiling them?

It was more of a wonder that he was capable of love now, and hated himself as faintly as he did, with such a history. Each new little discovery of it that she made was like pricking her fingers on hidden pins in a seemingly complete cross stitch. If she could run above deck now and hug him and have him lave her pricked fingers with his tongue and promises -she would.

Instead, “Good afternoon, docter.” She greeted and closed the door of the closet behind them.

She took the seat on the far wall, which was only about three feet apart from himself with a rickety board serving as a desk. Rosey laced her hands around her ink pot atop her accounting books with admirable poise and gave him a smile. Dr. Nick’s smile wavered but he returned it all the same.

“To be perfectly honest, Miss Beaumont, I am confused by this, uh, interview, shall we say?” he admitted as she laid out her papers and asked for a list of drugs and medicines used in the captain's care. “I am not beholden to you or owe you any information, the art I practice is guarded by oath and the law of this land states no boat of this size can traverse without a doctor, i am thus immune to any threat you may make or change you may attempt. You are a purser, ma’am, and I am a physician. I suggest we keep to our respective callings, the better to pass this trip in a harmonious manner.”

“I am indeed a purser,” Rosey dipped her pin in the ink with methodical precision, “and as such I am to make an account of what comes and goes in our revenues. I am not here to play chemist sir, I am merely here to ascertain to what purpose we spend nearly 40 dollars monthly on Mercury. salts?”

“Pah.”

“The boat pays for that, sir.” She reminded, “Another ten for opiates, another thirteen for -“

“You are new to book keeping, yes?” Dr. Nick interrupted.

“No, I am not at all new to it.” Rosey answered truthfully.

“Book-keeping in a brothel, then?” he guessed, “Just as you would pay for lye or salt marsh to seed your fields, this vocation requires a vast array of…fertilizers. Stimulants and relaxants and numbing drugs -the human body can only sustain so much on its own power, Madame. I shall spare you the details but there are illnesses to treat as well. Rife amongst such work.”

“Spare me no details, which illness is which drug curing, Doctor?”

“The Mercury -Aida ingests that morning moon and nightly on my orders.”

“That’s why the entire woman is turning silver, I suppose?” Rosey shuddered and noted it down.

“An unfortunate side effect.” he conceded, “Along with vomiting and wasting, the disease can be attributed for the rest of her symptoms, the mind and vision. The rotting of brain matter and soft tissue that you have no doubt smelled. She is not alone, half the boat relies on Mercury to keep the rot at bay.”

“How long?” Rosey asked, “How long must they be on it for a cure?”

“Girl, there is no cure for such filth.” he grunted, “We are talking of back alley, degenerate diseases, lowborn blood and the judgment of God on all such products of lust combining to waste them away.”

“And what are you treating the malaria with?” Rosey moved onto another Devine pestilence that she was certain the captain suffered from.

“I don’t recognize anyone with it.” he objected, “No swollen tongues or yellow eyes.”

“It can be chronic-“

“-no, not in my study of it, it can’t.” he shook his head with surety, “Syphilis, that’s what we’re fighting aboard, and the Clap. I suppose we should think of getting you on a regimen if you’ve been having -relations.” he muttered with what Rosey truly thought might be blunt concern for her welfare. “There’s no cure, but these medicinals they are -essential for any quality of life to be maintained and for comfort to be found at the end. Essential. Syphilis, It’s a spirochete you see, not at all like a bacteria, under a microscope it looks rather like a corkscrew drilling its way into each cell, siphoning off the life from it.”

Rosey swallowed thickly at that image and jotted down another column, “What symptoms was the captain experiencing that such a disease was suspected?” the difference between himself and Aida’s derangement were obvious, but perhaps that was just a matter of time.

“He runs fevers, he has sweats, he is fatigued,” the doctor rattled a mundane list of ailments boredly, “he engaged in sodomy. It’s clear.”

Rosey bit her lip at the recent revelation as to the details of that act and retorted softly, “He vomits, almost every morning, he vomits. Does that not sound more of cholera, at least?”

“Where would he have gotten cholera?” The doctor scoffed.

“He was abroad for years during the war!” she retorted heatedly, “And was held prisoner in Elmira of all places -do you not think that sufficient to contract an illness without contracting the wrath of God, too?”

“Was he kept there?” Dr. Nick showed grave surprise, “I didn’t know him then.“ He explained as if that were an end to it, nothing remarkable about having judged a patient’s case without any history given. “I was hired by Colonel Parker to help ease him in his vocation, and for the occasional assist when sleeplessness took hold. You’ve nothing against sleep drafts do you?” he suddenly asked in horror at her ignorance.

“I’m here to account, sir.” she managed in a horse whisper and marked the Mercury salts for two, all the rest having been discharged from service. She started another column for unaccounted drugs which she figured she could assume with some surety that the Doctor himself indulged in.

“We really ought to get you on something, it spreads you know.” he insisted not unkindly.

Rosey shifted in her seat and thought of her innocence still so resolutely intact. “I think you’ll find that won't be necessary, sir.”

Come evening they were still at it, tallying figures and dosages that ran like Greek in Rosey’s head to the lulling of the familiar boilers clang, making white noise beside them.

A grating scrape silenced them both as the jarring sensation of the boat catching on some unknown barrier below them cast the fear of God on them both. Not in all her time aboard had Rosey heard something remotely similar. Not even when the Captain sidled the great monstrosity up the docks. He parked his boat smooth as a dance master, a little bump and sway and they’d settle as the ropes tethered them.

Not so this screech, it reminded Rosey and the doctor both that they were in a floating cask. Following was a disorienting little tip where the ink pot began to slide towards her and she caught it, unnerved by the small but unmistakable turn the boat was taking.

“Have you ever-?” she broke the silence as they still stayed unbalanced like a buggy relying on a single wheel for a reckless curve.

“No.” Dr. Nick had his eyes searching the ceiling as the lamp above them stayed slanted to the side like their balance. “He’s makin’ the turn,” he surmised sounding a little awed, “we’re headed into the Missouri.”

Rosey wondered if she’d feel it when the water changed, beyond the boat righting itself after the turn. She wondered if the Captain would at least, with those keen hands and attuned senses. Would the current change? Would the depths affect his grip on the wheel? Was the strain of the boilers her imagination or was it like they were truly fighting for access into the giant tributary. Would the river gods let him in? Hand braced on the wall as her chair went slightly askew beneath her weight, Rosey let up her first little prayer in ages and it sounded strangely directed towards the captain’s talent instead of God.

Up above decks the Captain’s eyes smarted from kerosene fumes and hours of squinting into the pale lamp-illuminated river mists, they gathered like shrouds on the old Mississippi’s surface as the inky waves danced into the edge of the black sky. Elvis felt like it was a funeral procession of sorts, all black robes and white smoke like he’d seen in New Orleans

‘Don’t count me out yet, ole Miss,’ he thought fondly, ‘watch me come back to you old girl’.

Jerry was to take the evening watch and still refused to go down below to catch his nap, too anxious for the damn turn into the tributary like the rest of them who knew anything about anything. Elvis tried to comfort himself that if he ran them into a sandbank and drowned them all, first day of the job, he’d at least be responsible for killing General Sherman.

As it was Elvis sniffed away the smarting fumes and gritted his teeth at the gnarly scrape that wailed into the night as he toggled the massive wheel to his left, a little too much, too soon? Or was he too late to thread the damn needle? The current felt like a damn whirlpool keeping him at bay and he had to stick out a foot off his high stool to force the wheel straight on his course. It was unnerving the way it would have spun and spun them to oblivion if he’d let go the slightest bit.

“Ya got it, ya got it.” Cash’s rumble sounded steadying in his ear and once again Captain Presley gave thanks for the Divine intervention and kind suspicions of Mr. Binder who didn’t trust his investment that far westward without the Waterway Committee’s watchdog tagging along to guard it. The fact it was ole Johnny Cash from dear dead days gone by and more recent redemptive ones, only made it kinder. Between Rosey’s pardon and Cash’s presence, Elvis was ready not only to repay Mr. Binder generously but even to like the man. “Ya got it, don’t spook, man.”

Johnny kept the damn unhelpfully small print map up in the right half of Elvis’ view, thumb tacking it to the top of the wheel for the past half hour as Elvis’ glued his eyes to each treacherous little bend of the entry way he’d never probbed before.

“Which one is it, damnnit?” he hissed to himself as every little juncture was running together on the map and maybe he shoulda brought his glasses if he knew this was going to be more about reading for hours straight and far less about seamanship.

Cash reached over him and wiped the off the compass with his jacket cuff and that was all the rebuke Elvis needed for his small tantrum. “Instruments ain’t lyin.” Cash grunted.

“Either of you bastards wanna ease us into this whirlpool, be my guest.” Elvis had to get his anger out or else tip them and he felt better right away at the guffaws it inspired.

“Fuck no.” Jerry chuckled nervously in back and Elvis hated him for the way he was just shy of talented enough to do this and thus could warm his hands around a hot canteen of coffee while Elvis’ numb and braised hands cramped on the wheel.

“Ease is the right word.” Johnny chuckled, “don’t let Lamar spook and gun us in.”

“I know, I know.” Elvis grunted as he felt himself get in a groove, the current finally splitting at the bow on either side like a welcomer instead of a barrier, “I-I think I’m in, I’m -I’m in somethin.” he added unsure, “Lemme me in sweet Missouri, lemme in Big Muddy.”

If one of the soldiers beneath them had been atop he might have laughed at the language or thought it pantomime but it wasn’t, none of the rivermen laughed, they just bit their lips at the necessary double entendrés and prayed the fickle water would listen.

“Mhmm, nice n’ easy you’re in, I feel what ya mean -tell Lamar not to spook.” Cash urged Elvis again as the boat began to tug into the bend as it ought, causing the deck and the whole dark horizon to tip to their right as they turned west.

“He knows!” Elvis bit back, knuckles white as the wheel tried to tug him fully to the side, his thigh working harder to pull him upright again.

“Does he? If it were me I wouldn’t trust a single fella who ain’t a professional lover not to gun it in, full steam ahead, right about now.” Cash admitted.

“Lamar don’t ya Fuckin’ do it!” Elvis grabbed the horn and hollered down to his boilers, “Make her swallow us whole if ya do!” and it was just in time too, the boat began to rattle and hum as if a few more scoops had been added and the bellows worked a few pumps beyond direction. “Quit pumpin’ so hard, damn you.” Elvis hollered again and his amplified voice rattled around the boilerdeck like Hades sending out a decree into the underworld, it made Rosey perk up across from Dr. Nick. “I tell ya when to add coal, fucks sake -no intuition for feelin’ it give, some folks…” Elvis trailed off in a grumble and let the horn fall with a clatter back in place.

The current of the Missouri runs southernly from its source in the great northwest and where it meets the Mississippi just north of Saint Louis, it forms a churning caldron of wrecks, tide pools and sediment. Enough steam is required to make the turn and keep one’s progress against a current that flows over eight miles an hour, yet too much steam and it will tip you right into the swirl of the conjoining streams.

“Sweet Jesus I feel like I’ve been turnin’ for hours.” he groaned, his shoulders burning from the strain, “Gonna run into the opposite bank this way.”

“How she feelin?” Was all Cash replied.

“Looser.”

“Looser bad or looser good?”

“When is looser bad?” Jerry asked with a snort.

“Looser’s bad when your fuckin’ wheel spins like a roulette wheel, ya idiot.” Elvis helpfully supplied.

“Yeah, never seen that yet.” Jerry conceded that he was a very good first mate and hadn’t allowed such a thing to even happen.

“I-I dunno man she’s loose but- but I feel her tug-“ Elvis bit his lip and tried to process both the instruments and the leading of the wheel. “-left.” he decided, “She’s tuggin’ left.”

“Then show her who’s boss.” Cash grinned and thumbed at the droplets on the map, squinting himself at the small type. “You plan to tuck us in before Kansas City for the night? Nice lil cove right about there.” He pointed at the map with his big blunt finger but Elvis had his tongue between his teeth and he leaned on the wheel spokes to pull the boat right.

“Just trying to get past this bend then I’ll think about goddamn coves.” Elvis grunted, “She won’t stop sucking m’bow to portside.”

“Want a hand?” Cash asked mildly.

“Fuck me it’s like asking the wife to fuck this mistress.” the captain muttured instead, switching from pleading with the river to begging his boat to go where it wasn’t built for, its high top decks -so spacious and regal for entertainment or speed- precariously teetering in the rough n’tumble of the backwoods river. “Ooooh hell she's tuggin’,” he exclaimed finally, “Lamar, Lamar! Gimme more now!” he yanked at his own controls, a stick that precariously opened the steam valves at whim so long as enough coal was supplied below, and the Proud Marie lurched into the turn with all the rage of an offended deity. “Cash? Wanna help?” he barked, wild haired and sweating in the gas light and looking more in his element than Johnny had seen him in ages.

“Bless me no, you juggle your own women.” he smiled instead. “Pay attention to that tuggin’, now. Don’t wanna die now we’ve threaded the damn thing.”

“Oh I’m payin’ attention, alright.” Elvis laughed. “But now she’s tuggun’ like the current’s suckin me ‘stead of pushin’, Cash.”

“How fickle is woman.” Cash mused while lighting up a cigar.

“Just think,” Jerry piped up encouragingly, “couple more hours of this then you can go lay on soft bosoms and catch some shut eye.”

Seeing as how it was already past ten in the evening, the thought of more hours was more tortuous than conciliatory. “Jerrah, how about you fuck off and make yourself useful. Light my cigar f’me again, damn mists keep puttin’ it out.”

“You can’t just breathe tobacco up here.” Jerry pointed out even as he struck a match and cupped it to the Captain's face.

The captain glanced at him, all sooty lashes and water speckled cheeks in the warm glow of the kerosene wick, “Watch me.” he puffed, as he felt the river give him a lane and he slotted in, pulling his wheel straight again. “This got me sweatin’ like a whore in church.” he whistled, no longer jealous of Jerry and his coffee.

“Works every time.” Cash agreed with a knowing smile and Elvis grinned back.

“We’re in boys, we’ve well and truly entered her.” he announced a mile in and half in, and had there been daylight, the mouth leading to the Mississippi would have been seen slowly shrinking behind them like a portal to the known world.

“Done so gentle, I'd bet she didn’t even bleed.” Cash patted Elvis' shoulder and he smiled back, fighting the urge to slump over the wheel and fall asleep now the day’s worst was over.

A few hours passed and the Captain did tuck them into a cove for the night, running the ropes out the hawser holes to secure them to the beached wreck of a more unfortunate predecessor on its banks. He woke Jerry where he’d slumped in his chair for his watch.

“Say hi to Rosey for me, EP.” he mumbled and Elvis didn’t begrudge him after having slapped him around a bit to thoroughly wake him.

“So you kept her aboard?” Cash asked him as they tromped down the multiple flights of ladders to the lowest deck, handrails and boot grips slick with mist and the single lantern Elvis held doing little to light the way.

“Cash, she killed for me.” the captain reminded in a dazed murmur.

“She’s really somethin’ then?” Cash made conversation as they creaked open the side door, an absolute racket of a sound in the otherwise sleeping boat, and stepped into the starboard side of the stables.

“Whadda you think?” Elvis sassed with smug awareness that Rosey really was something else.

“And ya love her?” Cash rumbled on in that easy way of his that would have you declaring shit you didn’t have figured out yet.

“Whadda ya think?” Elvis answered again and started weaving through the horses instead of going to his little closet and its cot and warm bosoms, “Hellfire, it’s a sea of horses down here.” he muttered as he walked down an aisle of where the tethered yet majestic creatures nipped at him with eager muzzles or else swished him with elegant tales, “Poor Beans, s’like berthing on a transport. Bullshit steerage accommodations for m’boy.” he bemoaned when he found him and Cash assumed Beans forgave all with the nearly amorous way the horse flung his head neck around Elvis’ and the two swayed in a cheek smashed embrace.

Removing himself from the equine reunion, Cash busied himself with going to the far side where the racks of loose hay puffed out between wooden slats and grabbed himself a bundle to replace Bean’s trodden supply. When he returned he found Elvis in discussion with someone, and after initially assuming it to be his tetched horse, Cash realized there was another fella down here with him, not one of the crew, just a sleepless soldier come to keep his horse company, or the other way around.

“Best cure for it.” Elvis was agreeing pleasantly to something the man had said and Cash assumed it was insomnia, “M’boy here’s always my first choice. Is your berth comfortable, got everythin’ ya need?”

“Yeah, it’ll do.” The man replied a few horses deep into the row and Cash squinted trying to make out a discernible facial feature in the gloom and all he succeeded at was recognizing yellow colored hair. “Sleep a whole lot better of they’d kept the female comfort aboard.” the man added with a joke.

“Ain’t fittin’ on a government boat, they says.” The Captain maintained a neutral tone and took to unsnarling one of the braids in Beans withers.

“I bet the rich bastard who ran this kept a few, ya know?” The man disagreed with a grin, “The guys have pooled together, we’ve got a decent amount of cash for anyone who wants to give us a tip to where we can find the maids. Can’t run a boat without maids.”

“You can.” Elvis replied a little harshly, “Leastwise they’re all men.” he added.

“Well, if we get desperate enough...” The fellow joked.

“If ya get desperate enough you’ll find yourself sucking lead outta my pistol ‘fore I let you mess around with my folks, that clear?” The captain crouched and yanked up the lantern he’d set on the floor and pushed it into the crowd of horses to make out the man’s face for future reference and illuminating his own. The man was nearly middle aged and was unremarkable really, in every way, except for the glinting brass uniform buttons running down the front of his navy blue jacket.

“Wh- shit me, you the captain?” the man asked in surprise, putting his hands up in a pacifying way, “Sorry sir, just kidding is all. It’s gonna be a long trip.”

It was indeed, nobody knew that better than Elvis and he decided the fellow was jovial enough, hell- if it weren’t for Rosey’s presence the captain would have taken such a joke in stride and he knew he was being irrational about it. He’d let rip with such humor himself at times and it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t and there was no use antagonizing his human cargo on the first day over a joke. The scuff of Cash’s boots behind him reminded him he didn’t need to be bowing up at everyone, mildness was the order of the day.

“Yeah, gonna be real long.” Elvis agreed and they exchanged tired smiles at each other, the fellow was missing a front tooth on his lower set and had a shock of golden hair that had turned a little straw-like from hard living. “You got a wife or kids?” he asked, stepping aside so Beans could munch on the hay Johnny brought.

“No, no I’m unattached.” the fellow replied, “It’s better that way I figure.”

“Whores don’t miss ya.” Elvis deducted with a conciliatory grin and the man took the offered olive branch with a knowing smile.

“I suppose they don’t.” the man laughed back. “You seem awfully familiar,” the man went on, “have we met? Did you used to work transport during the war?”

Elvis didn’t quite have the heart to tell the guy that even if they had met he was about as remarkable as a piece of straw and thus not memorable, a nice person didn’t deserve the insult so Elvis said instead, “Judging by your accent, I highly doubt I’d have been carryin’ you down river.”

“You an old Rebel then?”

“You’re a New Yorker?”

“I am.”

“Yeah, then, seems not.” Elvis shrugged, “Unless,” an awful thought struck him, “-you always been in the Calvary?” he inquired, his own interest peaked, knowing without a shred of vanity that his own face was not particularly forgettable and so when folks told him they’d met before he tended to believe them.

“No, used to be infantry.” the man was puzzled by this line of questioning, “Bought my own commission five years ago.”

“Shieet!” Elvis exclaimed, thinking he’d cracked it, “You ever guard at Elmira?”

“You were held in Elmira?” the guy repeated in disbelief.

“Uhuh, you ever guard there?”

“Hell no, a shit detail that.” the man was offended, “I was down chasing General Hood in Alabama.”

Elvis squinted at this dead end and stippled his fingers on Beans’ back, trying to think of an alternative meeting. “Hood was doing the chasin’, if I recall.” he snarked.

“And we were doing the killing.” the guy smiled back and Elvis let it be.

“Don’t leave the damn candle goin’ till it burns down,” Elvis warned as he and Cash turned to go, “the hay would be happy to catch and keep us from ever makin’ it to the Dakotas.”

“I won’t!” the man replied and as they walked down the cramped hallway that led to Hodge’s room and then Rosey’s, Elvis felt with the keen discernment of too much time spent in dark alleys that there were eyes pinned to his back in the dark hold, watching where he and his lantern went for the night. Elvis could curse the builder of this ship for all its lonely little cubbies, but he knew how to make use of them. Those eyes burned him all the way to his turn and he felt like scratching his shoulder blades, the itch was so strong.

Natural curiosity was a reasonable reason to give the man, but Rosey made the captain unreasonable, and before he turned he doused his wick and Cash stumbled straight into his back.

Instead of grumbling, his friend muttered, “lead on.” in a quiet tone that suggested he got the Captain’s ploy.

“You’re in here with Lamar,” Elvis opened the door to one tiny berth with double hammocks, “Charlie and Cal are across and I’m in through there to a storage closet.”

“Your girl got a gun?” Cash asked instead as he stood on his threshold, “I don’t like that sonuvabitch.”

“What do you take me for?” Elvis smacked his shoulder, “Course she does and not just any, I got her Stan Whatie’s lil ivory project.”

“No, hell, the Cherokee’s?”

“Mhmm, won it over cards.” Elvis said.

“I’ll be damned, you romantic bastard.” Cash marveled, “Don’t tell my June, it’ll heighten her standards and I don’t trust her standards on a game of cards.”

“I won’t.” Elvis snickered and bid him goodnight, creeping through the dark into the next room and fumbling between the cots till he thought he’d found Cal and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“You’re precious, ya know that?” Charlie’s voice murmured back instead and Elvis’ head reared back with a shocked snort before he turned to the other bunk and its far smaller and utterly unconscious snoozer and repeated the kiss on the forehead originally intended.

He then felt along the wall until he felt the small latch and he pushed it open to find Rosey in nothing but her nightgown, still burning the midnight oil with her nose in a Pharmakea encyclopedia.

“Baby.” he whispered in greeting, tip-toeing past the chair and the trunks to their cot and being pleased as punch by the happy little cry she gave as she flung herself up in the bed to receive his kisses.

“Elvis!” she acted as if it had been years and her love had grown in the meantime and the small kiss he meant to give turned into a full embrace and his intentions for keeping away until he could strip from his work coat and keep her nightclothes unsoiled were irreparably thwarted by her vigor. “Today was a year long, I’ve waited and waited.” she moaned into his mouth and he grinned pleased against her cheek and peppered it with kisses that smelled of tobacco, “You smell of kerosene.” she laughed once she finally released him and he grinned down at her happily.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked as he began to unbutton his coat, “How’re them bruises.”

He nodded to her chest and she rolled her eyes before assuring, “They’re fine.”

“I wanna see.” he insisted, but made no motion to make her, just kept popping buttons on his leather coat and she rather shyly tugged the wide scoop of her neckline down to show the tops of her breasts, unsure if this was routine or if she was meant to be seductive.

“Aww poor bubbies,” he mourned at the still present marks of the bindings, “Hoist ‘em up a little, I wanna see the undersides.”

With burning cheeks, Rosey scooped a breast in each hand and pushed them above the covering of her linen gown. The flash of hunger that seared though Elvis’ compassion made her shift in want on the cot.

“You been puttin’ the oil on ‘em like I told ya?” he asked.

“Yes I have.”

“S’very important, don’t be lazy about it.” he insisted. “Poor pretty babies, can’t believe I hurt ‘em like that. Gotta put oil on ‘em.”

“I know Elvis.” she agreed, “And what about you? How was it? We felt when you made the turn!”

“Did ya?”

“Yes, and I heard you yelling at Lamar.” she smiled shyly and he didn’t know why she looked so pleased about it.

“Oh.” he exclaimed, “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean to be so angry. He's just such a bull about these things and ya gotta just ease it in, insistent but not forceful, ya know?”

“Don’t be sorry.” she simpered breathily and licked her lips, “You sounded like you were-“

“Like what?” He asked, genuinely confused, as he tried to find a place to hang his coat, “We really need more pegs in here.”

“You sounded like -a lover.” she hissed the last part, knees drawn up to her chin on the cot and he could pinch her cheeks, she looked so cute in her bashfulness.

“Did I?” he hummed, turning towards her as he emptied his various pockets of knives and timepieces and the like. “And did that excite my lil girl?”

“Maybe.” she whispered.

Oddly, he sniffed the air at her answer and squinted as if the findings puzzled him, “You ain’t played with yourself though, have ya?”

“Why- no. No I haven’t.” she gaped in some surprise.

“See, I’d know.” He told her with surety, “When I’ve been above deck all day I get my senses cleared, ya see? And when I come back down I can sense anything.”

“Oh.” her cheeks still flamed.

“Who else has been in here?” He asked after another sniff and his face darkened.

“Oh,” Rosey startled, “Sister Rosetta, she stopped by to remind me of my meeting, and Cal too, for a bit.”

“An-who else?” he asked with the look and tone of a man who already knew.

“Uh, well then there was Aida” Rosey kept her voice light, “she came so I could return her clothes to her.”

“Why’d you return them?”

“We’re done with them.” she replied, puzzled, “Aren’t we?”

“No, no, not necessarily.” he frowned, “And what’s the rush to return ‘em? She ain’t goin’ nowhere?”

“I just- I didn’t think. Sorry.”

“I don’t want you near her, you hear me, Rosey?”

“I-I do. But it wasn’t…she just came by.”

“I bet she did.” he seethed and he undid his vest with savage jerks and Rosey swallowed hard.

“I understand. But -no harm done this time.” she tried to pacify.

“You don’t need to seek out whores for friends, alright?” he went on, “And you don’t need to listen to whores for nothin’ regarding us. If I wanted a whore I’d go get me one. Some things are left better untouched, lil girl’s brains bein’ one.”

“Is she dangerous?” Rosey asked.

“Oh she done a thing or two in her time.” He agreed mirthlessly, “And been done a thing or two back, I suppose.”

“The doctor says her brain is rotting from the illness.” Rosey crossed her arms uncomfortably at the recollection and the rather obvious proofs of the same that being around the woman gave. Even the stench of flesh rotting that lasted hours after she’d gone. No amount of perfume or douched lemons could contain it.

“Why was he tellin’ you ‘bout her case?” Elvis demanded again. “He don’t need to be tellin’ a lady like you ‘bout syphillis’n’shit.”

“Is that what’s killing her?” Rosey asked.

“Most likely.” he shrugged, “They injected the mercury salts into her eyes for it a couple years ago, didn't do shit to slow it. I take ‘em orally and they burn. A- a-a-and I ‘member thinkin’ while I was holdin’ her down for it: nobody ever paid us more for a bit a pain as I paid for that fuckery.”

“You paid for that procedure?” she shuddered.

“She begged me, they said it would help. I-I-I hate her but -I couldn't just let her…rot.” he shook himself, “I'd rather someone shoot me ‘fore I get to that point. Why was he tellin’ you all this?” he argued again, brows knit and a hurt expression on his face, “Why you diggin’ into all this?”

“Elvis,” Rosey sighed and he took a breath too, as if aware he was tired and cranky, “the meeting was to discuss medications, you recall? We -our boat- spends an inordinate amount on medicines and opiates for our…so-called employees.”

“Yeah, cause this way a’livin makes you sick, Rosey.” His hands smacked his sides listlessly. “S’why Aida’s so doped up. Fuckin’ terrifies the shit outta me, and if I didn’t think God wouldn’t like, it I’d toss her overboard as bad luck. But no way around it”

“But you couldn’t have always felt that way,” Rosey reminded, “you were lovers once.”

The captain stopped what he was doing and spun round to face her with some alarm on his face, “That what she told you? That we was lovers once?”

“Well,” now that Rosey thought on it, Aida hadn’t explicitly said so, she’d just listed herself in a line of the Colonel’s erstwhile spies and remarked how seduction was integral to such a role, “no, she’s didn’t say so exactly-“

“-Well we weren’t!” he declared adamantly, as if for his own benefit as much as hers, “Doin’ shit to another body so folks pay ya don’t make ya lovers. It jus’ don’t, Rosey. No more’n me shoveling coal with Lamar makes us married.”

“Alright.” she replied just as adamantly in order to calm him and held up her hands while she was at it. “So y’all did…work…together?”

“I reckon you already knew that.” he muttered, yanking off a boot rather clumsily, “Why’re you so nosy tonight, anyways, hmm?”

“I-I just wanna know you.” she sighed.

“You do!”

“Know *of* you.” she clarified what bit of self recognition she’d come to realize this morning.

“Know Of? Wh- what’ve you been drinkin’ down here girl?” The captain laughed, “Gettin’ all philosophical on me. Ya know me, historically, biblically and a lil too well. I ain’t got any notion ‘bout takin’ you into sordid lil avenues of my life that don’t make no difference now.”

“But I think they do!” Rosey protested a little vehemently and he stopped midway through easing off with his workboot, hand cupping the scuffed heel as he stared her down. “I think it’s pertinent! All this stuff we don’t speak of! Why -you don’t sleep some nights and I dream terribly and -you haven’t even showed your interest to me since you learned who I was!” she managed to insert the most pressing aspect there at the end and felt proud of herself for carrying on through his stare.

“Lil girl, you gone tetched?” He asked mildly, stumbling over to the cot, one clunky boot on and his other a sock foot, laying his beautifully fashioned and wheel calloused palm against her forehead, “Why, I ain’t barely drank anything all day for fear of washin’ away the taste of you this mornin’. Not shown interest? -huh.”

“I mean -your own.” she pointedly stared down at his belt buckle, or rather, the prominent seam below.

“Rosey!” he laughed at her, “I’m dog tired a-and I -my interest has been shown. Sweet Jesus I ain’t got the brains for this. Not tonight.”

“So you can manage it dog tired with Aida but not with me!” she shot back and they both seemed to be equally surprised that she was harboring such expired jealousy.

“I can manage it fucked outta my mind with a gal who didn’t use to look the way she does now.” he growled and then went on in a mocking voice, “And it’ll cost ya only three silver dollars to watch, ma’am.”

Rosey sniffed and shrugged off the barb, figuring she deserved it, “Etta gave me a remedy for this.” she whispered hopefully instead.

“Oh I bet she did.” He eased off himself and stood straight again to work on his remaining boot, “And I’d rather eat fire ants, thank ya.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh it’s great!” He assured with a laugh, “For the first five hours. Then ya start thinkin’ bout amputation. If I catch you slippin Horny Goatweed in my tonics’n’shit I’ll take you over my knee girl, I ain’t teasin.”

“I won’t.” she swore, disturbed at the mere notion of slipping anything into anything he took.

He patted her cheek in acknowledgment before sitting down heavily beside her and setting to yanking off his grimy shirt, the pit stains dark and visible as he raised his arms and struggled with the garment.

“What’s this really about?” he asked softly as the fabric cleared his flushed face, his hair soft and mussed, grease defining each half-hearted curl at the nape of his neck.

“I’m bein’ silly.” she acknowledged with a shy smile.

“Ain’t no crime that.” he smiled back, “Not on my boat. Hell, there ever been a time you ain’t silly, girl?”

“Maybe not.”

“Didn’t think so.” he teased, leaning back against the wall in a slump on the cot’s sagging bedding. “Can’t I jus’ be tired, Rosey?” he asked again, “And I’ll let you be silly.”

“Fair enough.” she sighed.

“Well go on now, be silly. I done told ya you could.” he prodded with a finger to her rib and she jerked from the tickle.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it.” she shook her head, “And you're tired so- so I won’t make you.”

“I don’t wanna.” he agreed but added sweetly, “I don’t wanna talk about mine but I’ll listen to yours, long as you need. What’s goin’ on up in that noggin? Too many figures, hmm?”

“Secrets more like.” Rosey mumbled petulantly.

“Lord, you got more?” he sighed and didn’t seem angry but she let out a scoff that he’d think she meant her own, she thought of the photographs.

“No,” she chose to leave it be, “no, I’m talking about more curatives.” she teased.

“Girl, just cool it.” he laughed, “I’ll lick ya again.” he offered hopefully and with a little twinkle in his eye that could almost pass for energy.

“What about turtle soup?” Rosey dodged, hopeful that a teasing reference to the first night they met and her naivete and his flustered concern for her eating the aphrodisiac back would rouse a smile.

It did. Predictably his mouth quirked and those pillowy lips looked twice as lush and full now set in a heavy thatch of two day old stubble. He let out a groan of playful aggravation with her preoccupation.

He gently grabbed her listless hand from her own lap and placed it on the rough denim covering his crotch. “You do what ya like.” he sighed, “Can’t promise nothin’.”

The seam was rough but not stiff, as if he’d worn those trousers into softness even at that most vulnerable juncture. As always with his package there was something to pet, even as she ascertained he was not fibbing, he was as soft and tired as he ever got and remained so despite her touches. Even in sleep he was stiffer. She let her hand cup the soft stones spilling on either side of the thick seam, far down between his legs, rubbing at their full undersides and wondering if they ached like her breasts when confined. He shifted on the cot, not in a restless movement at all, but rather as if to settle in for whatever she wished, his legs spreading wider. He even bent his knee and raised his leg to plant one bare foot on the cot, spreading himself as wide as a girl for her attentions, his tall frame cramped and folded by sitting sideways on their little bed.

His soft state inspired soft touches and Rosey found some stupid contentment stroking his sack through the worn denim, running the back of her knuckles up to his shaft that he had tucked nearly to his belt. She realized that despite her boredom with today she was tired too, tired of thinking and tired of mental exertions and ever since he’d taught her, she found this physical outlet far more relaxing than a sleeping tonic.

“I kneed a man here, between the legs, once.” she whispered like a child telling stories at a sleepover and squeezed his sack just the smallest bit. His eyes that had drifted shut while savoring her touches opened up in flutter.

He didn’t seem perturbed by that, by her need for violence, just drowsy from being petted. She should make him sleep. “You can smack me there…if ya like.” he whispered back, entirely serious and not even slightly hesitant. “If ya like -or, or pinch?” he added again as if he’d missed the mark oniy by sheer variety of options as she remained frozen in concern by the offer.

“I don’t.” she got out at last and he shrugged and let his eyes close again. “I-I don’t want anything but gentleness for you.” she expounded and he bit his lip and held his peace for a moment as Rosey mentally smacked herself at the realization he did tell her things, they did talk about…things. He just didn’t do it like a girl unburdening herself or a sinner in the confessional. He offered little insights freely like this one and she was too busy being horrified to notice them for what they were: confidences.

“Jus’ tonight, right?” he asked and meant for it to be teasing but it felt burdened.

‘Maybe he likes pain’ -Aida had said.

“I’d-“ Rosey weighed her options with this newfound awareness in mind, perhaps he would tell her more often what he wanted -like the first few weeks- if she remained a blank enough canvas for him to create on, “I’ll be whatever you want.” she settled for that and began palming him again, enjoying the way the fabric between his legs was still a little damp, either from mist or else his sweat from sitting at the wheel, legs unable to spread or air out. The way his shoulders were dry but the pits of his shirt could be wrung out suggested the same and some strange, torrid appreciation for his toil made Rosey’s mouth water.

There was an oil stain down at his inner thigh and she thumbed it thoughtfully and felt how the fabric was stiff from the stain compared to the rest. He made a soft little noise of contentment under her touches, his one hand busy in the most lazy way with petting her hair that fell all the way to her hip.

Touching. Being touched. God! she’d had so little of it in her life, and so much fear of it for so long and now she was leaning beside a man petting the damp seam of his trousers like a cat's neck. She wedged her hand under his thigh for leverage and bent herself to kiss at him there.

She could hear the staccato of his gasp even from there. “Rosey I-I ain’t even washed, sweet cheeks.” he warned softly.

“I know.” she answered and her voice was a moan, inhaling his pungent sweat, nothing clean about him and she rubbed her face in the pure distillation of his daily exertions like a cat in heat. “I want to smell you.” she told him and it made him swallow hard as she laid her hand on his thigh, the one spread out with his foot up in the covers, and spread him even further, that damned inherent flexibility of his being tested by the strain. His outer knee hit the mattress and it was Rosey that moaned at his ability and Elvis felt like he might shatter into fragments at the erotic pride that rushed through him at the thought of having impressed her.

“Sometimes it’s better, feeling rather than…being felt?” she tried to explain against the damp denim.

“I know!” he sounded more awake and enthused than he had all day, more than even this morning. “I-I know it’s -it’s glorious ain’t it?” and he pet her hair again with happy fervor until she rose up and knelt in front of him, beginning to undo his belt determinedly.

“You’ll wash in the morning.” Rosey decreed as she unfastened the buckle and tugged at the button holding in his warm belly.

“Yes lil’mama.” he agreed with hoarse meekness and drew up his other leg to make her efforts easier.

She opened the fly and tugged it apart, being hit by a wall of musk as he’d predictably poured himself straight into the denim this morning, sans underpants to collect the sweat. He was nearly steaming in that denim hammock. She envied the wash maids and their tasks.

She told him as much and laughed incredulously. “You’ve gone silly.” Elvis swore again.

“No, they treasure your sweat-soiled clothes, I’m sure of it.” she shook her head and reached out with the tips of her fingers to touch the dank appendage and its hammock of swollen stones, the dark curls of his wiry hair almost shiny from the sweat. “Those girls find your trousers -they fight over them i wager- and the winner holds them up and presses them to their faces like this-“ and she put her face to him like a girl kissing at the reflection of a still pond, her hands winding around his waist and digging into the damp back of his trousers, kneading sticky, plush flesh there, too. “-and then she licks at your trouser seams,” and Rosey underscored her point by doing the same to the imprint of his seam on tender pink flesh, “and she moans over the tartness she tastes and the rest of them hate her for what they can’t have. And if she’s really brave-“ Rosey couldn’t believe her own mind at this rate but face pressed to the Captain’s musky balls, she wasn’t truly in possession of any rationale beyond him, him and him, “-she’ll take them to the little closet with the feed sacks and she’ll prop herself up and she’ll touch herself to the smell of you. Wishing she could thank you for your hard work.”

“I haven’t any washer maids.” he whispered while looking down at her eyes with wide, guileless blue ones that were somehow playing a part with their projected innocence while being more himself than anything else about him. “I got rid of them all.” he says.

“Then I’ll have to wash them myself.” she murmured back, raspy and coy, “And I’ll be the one to thank you accordingly.”

The Captain sucked in a breath so hard at this predictable reply that his bottom lip went with it, pinned between his teeth ‘till the vibrant pink turned white under his cruel bite. “Can I watch?” he asked, his voice hoarse with hope. “Watch you be my lil washermaid?”

“So long as you don’t let maid know.” Rosey cautioned with a smirk and dug her hands deeper into his backside, pulling him apart absentmindedly until she felt his cock wag beneath her chin with the first ounce of interest shown tonight. She reared back and stared at the docile thing, twitching pathetically when she dug her nails in a little harsher once more. He sucked in a breath and turned his head to the side and Rosey took her hands out of his trousers to tug the front of his pants further down those sturdy thighs.

She’d no real intention of exciting him after all, only missed him and wanted to taste him before sleep. Tomorrow or next month or eternity was ahead of her to sort out why he responded the way he did. For now her duty was to put him to sleep where he belonged ages ago.

“A big man like you has got to be discreet,” she plotted with him and his face eased as they returned to their play, “the little washermaid wouldn’t know how to face the captain if he found her in such a degradi-“

“-uninhibited position, yes, God, yes!” he interrupted her with an appreciative rush and turned the subject sweet.

“You'll wash in the morning, I want to smell you all night.” she murmured again as she stood up and fully tugged his trousers off over his long feet, making him close his legs from their previous bend.

“Yes’m.” He murmured a little dazed and he looked like he was answering while asleep, the poor man was so visibly tired and she tenderly pushed his naked form to lay down the proper way, all the way flat, on their bedding.

She was not sure what it was about skipping a bath that made him seem more manly, more than he even usually was, but seeing his figure laying there naked on the ratty sheets, hairy and greasy from sweat and the stubble coming in thick -she palmed a breast at the sight of it, distracted from her debate as to keep her nightgown on.

“Strip.” his eyes fluttered in an effort to stay open but they flicked up and down her cotton gown and his eyebrow moved in a motion that was as eloquent as a hand waving it off. “You’ll be warm enough w’me.” he assured her of what she was already sure of.

Rosey drew the gown over her head and tossed it beside the Captain’s denims, only her long hair a covering over her shoulders as she stared down at him once more, savoring the beauty she was about to embrace before reaching high above her and turning the gas lamp out.

Plunged into darkness, she shuffled the couple feet left before her shins hit the cot’s edge and a large, warm hand cupped the back of her thigh and tugged her in. She fell atop him and wiggled till she was tucked into his side, her hand petting at the light fur on his chest and her nose nearly buried in the swamp of his underarm.

He grunted disbelieving at her choice. “How’re you feelin?” she asked, touching his forehead in the dark with the back of her hand, finding it a little clammy but not fevered.

“M’tired.” he replied and none of that had anything to do with Dr. Nicholas and his ponderous list of life

-threatening diseases the man beside her was supposedly harboring.

“You’re not holding off…making love to me…for fear of getting me sick, are you?” she whispered the concern of the day, finally.

“I-I told ya why I’m holdin’ off, Rosey.” he sounded a bit pained but not angry.

“You promise? You’re not just putting it off to spare me -something?“ She begged.

“There’s been nothin’ I was ever less inclined to put off, my girl.” he murmured tiredly as he turned on his side, mashing his face into her breast, giving an accentuating hump of his pelvis against her hip.

“All my life, I ain’t ever been the first choice.” she muttered and his arm tightened around her, “I’ve killed for other women, for Maddy, the ones who were chosen. Wanted, when others-“ she trailed off before picking up in a thin voice reedy with confusion, “-I was talkin’ with Rosetta earlier and I realized I-I was there. I was there for it and not even they wanted me. A dozen men, one woman, and I-I was left alone. I know I should be glad of it.”

Elvis stared at the blackness that somewhere shielded a face he longed to read, but that poor little voice told him a world enough of hurt. He clutched her closer and was going to ask what on earth she meant, who and when and what sort of want she referred to when Rosey added as through in a sob:

“Poor Maddy.”

He startled and turned to grip her in a hug, processing what he was frightened she meant. “That -child, that ain’t no compliment.” he begged her to understand. “Even some of the worst don’t go for -you were a child.”

“Was I? I don’t recall.” she whispered.

“Yes you were.” he declared it, made it truth, “Jus’ ‘cause you only recall it now you’re grown, don’t mean you weren’t a child back then.”

“I’d forgotten.” She repeated, numb in horror at the thought of what else was buried.

“You -you recall anythin’ more?” he asked what he was so very scared to know, hardly sure he could carry the weight of more but certain only a coward would make her carry it alone.

“It took ages.” she whispered, “My knees hurt somethin’ awful from kneeling behind the stove. Took forever for them all to stop.”

The captain crushed her to him and she gripped his back like a shield, “You can tell me, Little Cricket.” he soothed, “Can tell me anythin’ at all.”

“Can I?” she sniffled .

“Mhmm.”

“Then I will -if I recall.”

“Good girl.” He whispered into the damp of her forehead, placing an almost fatherly kiss there.

“So you planned on it, marryin’ me fully? Sickness and all, you swear?” she smiled at the pitch black hollow of his throat, grateful to have it out and trying to gauge with her hands whether a fever burned his life away even now.

“Rosey, I didn’t once plan on you.” Elvis admitted with an affectionate pat and promptly fell asleep.

Go ahead and scream and speculate and gush all you want, I love. Hope you enjoyed💋

**dialogue credit to Captain Smitty

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