#roy's shirt if you squint

[naya1770]

remember to kiss your wife before bedtime :)

[ashyyslashy]

million dollar baby - kendall roy x f! reader

You go on a blind date with Kendall Roy circa his college graduation and learn the truth beneath his public front.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: language, drug use, sex while intoxicated, piv sex, discussions of infertility

You anxiously drummed your fingers on the back of the car seat in front of you. Bass music throbbed in your ears, barely drowning out the voice of your taxi driver blabbering to someone on the phone. You were used to overeager drivers pushing the speed limit, but this guy seemed to pride himself on going at least 5 under at all times. Worst of all, the heater in his car was broken, leaving you shivering within the fogged-up windows.

You kept glancing down at the “I’m outside” text on your BlackBerry, received a minute ago and counting. Unable to delay it any further, you typed out “I’m just a few blocks away”, and hit send. Several moments later, it buzzed with his response: “Don’t keep me waiting.”

As the taxi slowed towards the restaurant, you squinted out of the window to search for your date. Truth be told, you were wholly unsure what to expect of him. From what your friend Cecily had told you when she set the two of you up, Kendall Roy could either show up to a date wearing a tuxedo or a tracksuit. 

You slipped the driver his fare and scrambled out of the backseat before the car had even fully stopped, hurriedly pulling your bunched-up dress down. You cautiously stepped onto the curb in your knee-high boots.

“I’m here,” you texted Kendall as you made your way towards the restaurant’s signage. A bustling crowd was gathered in front for dinner, obscuring your view of the entrance. Heat lamps burned outside with customers flocking around them as they warmed themselves. 

You didn’t receive a reply. Your eyes scanning the area, you spied a lone figure standing away from the mass of bodies. He was dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. A cloud of smoke billowed around him, his fingers holding a cigarette to his lips. 

He matched the description your friend had provided: average height and a head of coiffed dark hair. As you approached him, his features became more evident, resembling the photo you’d seen. Your gaze flicked from his dark chocolate eyes to his angular nose, his long face bearing an expression absent of any emotion. 

“You’re Kendall, right?” 

His eyes narrowed, the end of his cigarette crackling. 

“Yeah. Hey. You finally showed up.” His voice was deep and distinctly authoritative, speaking to you with all the air of someone at a business meeting. 

“Sorry, the taxi was really slow.”

He nodded, taking one last puff of his cigarette before dropping it on the slush-covered cement. He ground it down with the heel of his dress shoe, his movements effortless and fluid. 

“Shall we?” he asked, striding towards the entrance of the restaurant without waiting for a response. You were compelled to fall in step behind him - you guessed that a lot of people fell prey to the magnetic force that seemed to orbit him and his family. 

He deftly maneuvered his way through the crowd and walked up to the hostess. She didn’t notice him at first, leaning over her coworker in conversation. He cleared his throat abruptly. Her head jerked up, and she blinked a few times in succession as she took in the sight of him and the way he’d forcefully inserted himself into the space.

“Sorry, sir. How can I help you?” she asked, her tone cool. 

“Reservation for Roy,” he said in a confident, clear voice, fixing her with an intense stare.

“Alright, let me check that out for you. For 8:30?”

“Yeah. I know we’re a bit late,” he said, placing a pointed emphasis on the last word, “but I know you guys have a grace period. So, I’m hoping we can get seated ASAP.” 

A look of brief irritation flashed across the hostess’ face as she picked up two menus. “No problem. Follow me.”

“Ladies first,” he directed towards you, gesturing for you to go ahead of him. You walked behind the hostess, feeling vulnerable to his eyes through the exposed skin on your backless dress.

The hostess guided you to a secluded area at the far corner of the dining room - whether he’d requested the privacy or she had opted to spare herself from Kendall being in her eye line, you were unsure. You thanked her, taking your seat across from your date. 

“Can we start off with two Smirnoffs on the rocks?” Kendall asked.

“Oh, I don’t drink. I’ll have an iced tea,” you said quickly. 

“One Smirnoff and an iced tea then.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably as the hostess walked away. 

“Have you, um, been here before?” you inquired, studying him over the top of your menu. 

“Of course. I take all my dates here,” he replied in an indecipherable tone. 

“Oh. Haha,” you deadpanned.

“No, seriously, I do.” He paused, before letting out a curt laugh at your disbelieving expression. “Come on. I’m fucking with you, you know that, right?”

“Hard to tell.” Your face burned. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here a few times. Cool if I order for the both of us? I know which dishes are the best.”

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to hide the disbelief in your voice.

His eyes studied your face. “So, Cecily wasn't wrong. You’re very pretty.” 

“Thank you,” you replied, your glossed lips curving into a hesitant smile. 

“I hear you want to go into politics?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You know, starting out as an ATN anchor wouldn't be so bad,” he said. “I’m sure we could work something out. You know who I am, right?”

“Yup,” you said, forcefully popping the “p”. “Cecily told me all about you.” 

Clearly not enough.

“Cool. Now that I’m out of college, I’m ready to start becoming more involved in Waystar.”

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for the ego stroke. 

You settled on: “Party days are finally behind you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He flashed you his first grin of the night. 

“Pardon my reach.” A voice appeared at your shoulder, leaning over you to place the drinks on the table, ice clinking in the glasses. 

“Alright. What can I get for you two?” The waiter plastered a smile onto their face and pulled out their notepad. 

You slid the iced tea towards yourself and took a long sip, tuning out Kendall’s voice as he recited your joint order to the waiter.

He focused his eyes on you once they’d left, searching your face once again. You weren’t sure what he was trying to find. You got the impression that he was inept at reading people when so much was centered around himself. 

“Food should be good,” he said simply.

“Mm.” You were about to excuse yourself to the bathroom when his phone rang.

He flipped open his Blackberry screen and squinted at the number. “Oh. I should take this. I’ll be right back.”

“No problem,” you said with a polite smile, trying to disguise your relief.

As soon as he was out of sight, you flipped out your own phone and furiously typed out a message.

“U didn’t tell me Kendall was the WORST. WTF?!?!”

Cecily’s reply came within the minute:

“No!!!! He is an acquired taste but I thought the 2 of u might click ):”

Your fingers raced to fire back: "He’s so entitled."

“Growing up rich will do that 2 u,” She wrote.  “Seriously though, he has a good heart. Give him a chance, 4 me?” 

“Ugh,” you murmured to yourself. 

“Fine.”

You closed the phone in frustration and stuffed it into your purse, before noticing a pair of black loafers on the ground next to you. 

You glanced up to meet Kendall’s eyes. He looked as if he didn't quite know how he’d gotten there. Suddenly so much smaller, his arms curled towards his chest and his phone hung limply from his hand. A lone figure amidst the clinking silverware and pleasant conversation. 

“Um, hey..” He said, his voice shaky. His bottom lip was wavering almost imperceptibly.  “I’m not really hungry anymore. Can, uh, can we just go back to my place?” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You shook the grease-soaked paper bag, the remainder of the fries rustling around inside. You balanced it on your lap as you sat gingerly on Kendall’s art deco sofa. 

“Do you want any more?” you asked softly. 

You were answered by the sound of snorting and sniffing from beside you. Then, a nasally: “Nah, I'm good.”

You tried to keep your eyes away from the lines of cocaine on his phone screen. The two of you had sat in silence on the car ride there, save for him asking your McDonald’s order. It had felt so strange to pull through the drive-thru in one of Logan Roy’s many limos, driven by a stuffy, well-dressed chauffeur. 

Kendall still hadn’t spoken to you when you got to his apartment, descending upon bags of white powder he had stashed away. He’d wordlessly offered it to you, and when you vehemently shook your head no, he seemed to interpret that as an invitation to consume more for himself.

You chewed on the fries at the bottom of the bag, feeling like the eating noises were deafening. The apartment was eerily silent, punctuated only by snorting from Kendall’s end of the couch. 

“Thanks, for, uh, being chill with this,” he said dumbly, pinching and wiping his nose. You felt relieved to see that all that was left on his phone was the white residue. 

“With the… cocaine?”

“Just all of it, I guess. Sorry.” He turned his head to fix you with his penetrating gaze. 

You guessed this was as close to an apology for his behavior as you were going to receive. Placing the bag on the table, you hesitantly scooted closer to him.  

“Can I ask what happened on that phone call?”

His head snapped away from you again. “I don't really want to talk about that.” 

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He slumped back on the couch. 

Your purse vibrated from a text. You dug through it for your phone, holding back a dazed laugh as you saw the text that flashed across the screen.

From Cecily: How’s it going??

You switched it to silent. 

“Do you want to smoke a blunt?” Kendall blurted.

“Um, is that a good idea? After… You know.” You jerked your head towards the evidence on his phone.

“Yeah, why the fuck not?” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

The next thing you knew, you were on his balcony, Kendall’s face illuminated by the skyscrapers and cars passing below. You shivered as the night air chilled you to the bone. 

“Here,” he said, shrugging his jacket off and holding it out to you. 

“Thanks.” Your joint crackling between your fingers, you moved it into the corner of your mouth. You draped Kendall’s jacket over your shoulders and were immediately greeted by the smell of Dior cologne and cigarette smoke. 

“You smoke really sexy,” he said. “Like a James Bond love interest. Mysterious and hot.”

You burst into a mix between a laugh and cough, waving smoke out of your face. “You’re so high right now.”

“So? Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He inhaled deeply, then blew out a smoke ring. “You do this a lot?”

“Go on dates or smoke weed?” you questioned.

“Um, both, I guess.”

“I’ve only smoked a couple times. With friends. And I go on dates every few weeks or so.” 

“All first dates?” he asked.

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Are most of them bad?”

“Kinda.” 

He drew in a deep breath of smoke. “I hope ours doesn’t rank as the worst.” His eyes shined with the vulnerability you’d seen back at the restaurant. As if your opinion held significant weight to him, though you’d known him for less than an hour. As if he couldn't hear one more bad thing tonight. 

“No, of course not. There was one guy who I think was, like, into eugenics?”

“What?” he laughed. 

“Yeah. Like 20 minutes into the date, he said something like,” you deepen your voice, “Doctors say I have the best sperm they’ve ever seen. So I need a healthy wife who’s gonna bear me a shitload of children.”

He let out a curt laugh as a darkness suddenly settled over his expression. Bringing the joint to his mouth, he took another deep inhale. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked, furrowing your eyebrows at his shift in demeanor. 

“No, no. I just fucking hate guys like that, you know? The way they treat women, like they aren't equals.” The inexplicable passion didn't reach his eyes, as if he was reciting a script. 

“Oh. Yeah, fuck him.” You wrapped Kendall’s jacket more tightly around yourself, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. 

“Do you want kids?” he asked after a few moments.

“Uh, I don’t know. Not at this stage of life. But later on, with the right person… maybe,” you replied, your voice nearly drowned out by a gust of wind on the balcony. “What about you?”

“Same,”’ he said tersely. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the joint was in his mouth again before he could. The smoke drifted away in the increasing wind. “You wanna go back inside? Getting pretty cold out here.” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for taking your jacket.”

“Don’t be. It looks good on you.” He paused. “You should keep it.”

You laughed in disbelief, sliding it off of your shoulders. You caught a glance at the tag - Saint Laurent. “I’m not going to keep this, Kendall.”

You tried to toss it back to him, but he expertly moved out of the way. Your heart dropped as the jacket soared off the balcony and onto the street below. Scrambling to the railing, you watched helplessly as it was swallowed up by the headlights. 

Your knuckles whitened around the railing and you could simultaneously feel the color draining out of your face. “Fuck. Kendall, I’m so sorry.” 

He erupted into laughter behind you. “That was a pretty impressive throw.”

You swiveled around and stared at him in shock, your mouth slightly ajar as you imagined the thousands of dollars being flattened by cars below you. “Huh?”

“Hey,” he said, moving forward and placing his hands on your shoulders. “It’s cute how worried you are, but don't stress. I was going to give it to you anyway.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage. 

“Come on, let’s just go inside.” He stubbed the blunt out on the railing and you copied his movements. His free hand found yours, cold and shaking, and steadied it as he interlocked your fingers. 

You welcomed the warmth that greeted you upon stepping back inside his expansive apartment. You could feel a heady sensation wash over your body, a mix of the heat and marijuana putting you into a hazy state of relaxation. Like Kendall, you didn’t care about the jacket: you wanted to hold onto the comfort that he must come back to every night. You let go of his hand and flopped down onto his couch, flinging off your shoes and closing your eyes.

Cecily’s words appeared behind your eyelids: It’s not his fault he grew up rich.

You wondered if you’d be as much of an asshole as he’d been earlier tonight if you were used to being in a bubble where only your needs mattered. You’d probably laugh too if someone threw a $5,000 jacket over your balcony. His lifestyle was like a numbing agent, keeping him coddled and wanting for nothing. But it seemed like he was trying so hard to pretend that he was serious now that he’d come out of college, with his desire to become involved in Waystar - although you surmised he’d spent most of school in a cocaine-induced stupor.

Did it weigh on him that none of this was his? Or did it not matter where it came from, as long as it was his?

You opened your eyes and glanced over, his back facing you. Your eyes studied the curve of his spine through the fabric of his fitted white shirt. You registered the sound of a needle dropping onto a record, and the thump of hip-hop music filled the room. 

“How vintage of you,” you teased.

“I took this player from my dad. He’d probably be pissed if he saw what I was listening to on it.” He turned to you, his eyes alight with supposed rebellion.

He moved closer until he was standing over you, his face a few inches above yours. You rolled over onto your side, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, and realized you wanted to know how his lips would feel against yours. Before you could change your mind, you reached out to cup his face and brought it towards you, brushing your mouth against his. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth; he tasted unsurprisingly of cigarettes and vodka, the scent of his cologne again filling your nostrils. 

He clambered on top of you, his pelvis digging into your hips. You smoothed your fingers over his shaggy hair, gelled strands falling into your face and lightly tickling your cheeks. The long, wavy locks felt so inherently boyish as you mussed them up, providing a stark contrast to his attire. You turned your attention to getting rid of that attire, working open the buttons on his pristine white shirt. His body was pale and lean, a light smattering of chest hair coarse underneath your fingertips.

You felt his fingers travel to the back of your dress, tugging on the zipper and sliding it off of your body. He murmured a compliment against your mouth as he ran his hands up your stomach to your breasts, gently squeezing the flesh. 

“You want to move to the bedroom?” he asked softly. 

“Mhmm.” 

He hoisted you up, guiding your legs around his waist as he carried you to his room. Your lips were fixed to his neck the entire way there, leaving marks on the creamy, stubbled skin. 

Kendall deposited you on his bed before going to undo his belt. You sunk into the plush mattress, intoxicated by his luxuries. Reveling in your high, you pulled your panties down, tracing circles on your clit as you watched him finish undressing. He studied you just as intently. Tugging his pants down revealed his hardening cock through the fabric of his Tom Ford boxers. 

You dipped your fingers into your entrance in eager anticipation. He tossed his boxers to the side, allowing his cock to spring free, precum leaking from the tip.

“Come here,” you murmured, moving the decorative pillows out of the way with your free hand.

His arms were around you again, his tongue exploring your mouth, his hands traveling across your naked body. You were hopelessly under the spell of Kendall Roy, dying for him to be inside you.

“Please,” you whined. 

“Please what?”

“Please, fuck me.” 

He tossed one of the pillows at you. “Use that to show me how much you want it.”

You were too far-gone to be irritated at this obvious power trip. 

“Okay,” you sighed, obediently straddling the throw. You rubbed your bare pussy against the blue velvet, undoubtedly leaving a trail of slick as you ground into it. 

He laid on his side in an emulation of Kate Winslet, pumping his cock as he watched you.

“Are you enjoying the show?” you asked, your question punctuated by a soft moan.

“Very much so.” He smirked. “You can stop now.” You ignored him, continuing to roll your hips against the pillow. He reached across the bed and pulled it out from under you. 

“You’re no fun,” you complained, mourning the loss of friction.

“Wouldn’t you prefer me to the pillow?” He put his arms on either side of your torso, boxing you in. You stared up at his face; his expression was hungering for you and for something inaccessible at the same time. If you were sober, you might have stopped, asked him if he was okay. But your drug-addled brain only had one urge: the ubiquitous urge shared by a frat guy hoping to score.

“Yes,” you admitted breathily.

He responded by lightly teasing his cock against your folds. You let out a noise that was a mixture between frustration and lust. He coaxed your legs into the air, putting you into a spread-eagle position. His eyes locking with yours, he slid inside you with agonizing slowness. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to absorb as much of his body heat as possible as he thrusted into you. You were inches away from his dark, intense eyes, feeling so close to him yet so far away at the same time. You wanted to melt into one another so there was not even the tiniest amount of space between you - your flesh turning into jelly, mixing together with his dripping body into one inseparable mass. To share a hive mind, know the thoughts and emotions he was hiding beneath his well-groomed face, the desire behind each movement of his cock. 

His thrusts were sloppy, wet, unfocused. His hands held your legs in place, allowing him to push into you ever deeper. You were intoxicated by the animalistic scent of his sweat as perspiration ran off his chest onto yours. 

“I’m close,” he murmured, his thrusts increasing in speed.

“Wait, I’m not on birth control,” you protested, momentarily breaking out of your lustful daze. “Pull out first.”

“Don’t worry, I’m shooting blanks anyway.” He said it as casually as if he was telling you the weather, but he was unable to fully mask the fresh pain in his voice. Words faltered on your lips as shock washed over you. 

“So can I just cum in you?” he pressed.

“Y-Yeah.”

He stilled, a grunt escaping his mouth as a feeling of sticky warmth filled you up. Cum dripped out of your pussy and onto his pristine sheets as he slid out. He flopped onto his side next to you, facing away.

You stood up and walked over to the room’s adjoining bathroom, locking the door behind you.

What the fuck? You mouthed at yourself in the mirror. You smoothed your hair and wiped away your smeared makeup, trying to remove all evidence of a tryst that had soured. You’d blame the weed and forget all your misplaced desperation and affection for a man who didn’t even have the decency to offer to help clean you up. 

You sat down on his heated Toto toilet to empty everything out. When you stood up to flush, you found yourself at eye-level with Logan Roy. He wore a smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of his face, begrudgingly posing in a newspaper clipping from 1980 which marked the billionaire’s founding of Royco. A clipping that was, strangely, framed and affixed above the toilet in Kendall’s apartment. 

You imagined Kendall standing in front of this toilet every day during his American Psycho morning routine, staring up at his father. Dad, am I good enough for you? Do I piss like a man? A slave to the judgment of his God. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

You scanned the expensive products littered haphazardly across the bathroom counter before lathering your hands in his Aesop soap. You envied the suds and water washing down the drain of the stone vessel sink, wishing you could disappear as easily. Checking your appearance in the mirror one more time, you unlocked the door and cautiously ventured back into the bedroom. 

Kendall’s back was still facing you, his limbs splayed out awkwardly across the bed. He almost appeared to be shaking despite the warmth of the apartment.  

“Um, do you want me to stay?” you asked quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Whatever you want,” he murmured into the pillow. His voice was thick with tears.

Damn it.

You didn't owe him anything, but you still couldn't bear to leave him like this. Tentatively, you laid beside him, reaching for his hand. He crossed his fingers through yours. You flinched at the sensation of his clammy palm. 

“The call I took at dinner, it was the sperm bank telling me my sample wasn't viable,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

Your stomach plummeted to the floor. It was as if all the blanks of the night had been suddenly filled in. Every strange reaction, forlorn look, shifty glance. “I'm so sorry.”

He rolled over to face the ceiling. He stared at it for several moments as if trying to decipher something in the creases of the paint. “It was a stupid dare by my friend to donate it. He thought it'd be funny if Logan Roy had some nobody heir out there somewhere and he never knew.” He sniffled. “Anarchy and all that shit, right? Well, now he won’t have an heir at all. At least not from me.”

“There are other ways, Kendall,” you comforted.

“I know my family. None of them will be the right way.” 

You snuck a glance at his red-rimmed eyes, feeling your pull towards his lifestyle fade into obscurity. In his world of excess, there was a constant demand for more, and he was never quite enough. Just laying beside him felt stifling. The massive bedroom was closing in on you. 

You waited for him to say something else, but all you heard coming from his side of the bed was soft, steady breathing. You weren’t going to wait for him to regain consciousness. You were going to take this chance to leave, doubting that he’d ever contact you again and feeling guilty about not contacting him first. 

You threw one last look at his crumpled form before leaving to collect your purse from the living room. You were left still slightly buzzed, consumed by the odd combination of human emotions that you surmised kept zoos in business: pity for the caged animal mixed with a sick, guilty fascination at the spectacle of it all. As you boarded the elevator down to the ground floor, you pulled your phone out and stared blankly at your chat with Cecily, wondering what the fuck you were going to tell her. Your head buried in your Blackberry, you almost didn’t hear the voice calling out to you as you pushed out of the revolving doors.

“Miss. Miss!” You whirled around to see the chauffeur from earlier waiting patiently by the limo, parked out front. “I’ll take you home.”

“Oh- are you sure?” You wondered how long he'd been waiting there.

“Yes,” he said tersely. 

“Okay, thank you so much.” You clambered into the car, reciting the area of New York City where you lived. You were unsure whether you appreciated this gesture or felt like you were being shuttled away like just another hook-up. But you were just another hook-up, you reminded yourself. You were a blip on Kendall’s radar, a chance encounter, a rando he’d told too much. All you could do now was forget.

[aprilthearcher]

pining and anticipation [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.1k 

warnings: cursing, sex jokes, idk it’s roman (what else do you expect?) english is not my first language, so there could be some mistakes. not edited. also, the longest elevator ride ever. not my picture.

wrote this while listening to “dress” by taylor swift, so you might want to listen to it too. 

“Are you wearing a tie?”

The silence in the elevator was corrupted by her question. In the second it took him to respond, the only sound to be heard was the soft music playing on the speakers.

“I mean it’s hanging round my neck, isn’t it?” His sarcastic answer should’ve probably gone unnoticed by her because of how much he used them and how usually she heard them, but there was something… off. Roman wearing a tie was off, and his whole demeanour, which she’d started to take notice of just now, was getting weirder. He was stiff. He was never stiff. Roman was always jumping up and down, even on the small space of the lift. 

“Well, yeah, but you never use one,” she squinted her eyes, staring at him and trying to come up with the reason for this new “formality”. Her eyes left his face for a moment to look at the simple, black tie adorning his chest. It was crooked and the knot was not right, almost as if it was completed out of desperation. Her fingers were twitching to mend the mess he’d done while putting it on.

“It’s just a tie, I guess,” Roman tried to sound (and look) relaxed, unfazed by her interrogating eyes. Did she have to know fucking everything? 

“And yet, I’ve never seen you wearing one.”

What was the problem with him wearing a fucking tie for once? Roman thought. She had a problem with them, now? He was wearing one for her in the first place, to try to look more ‘put together’ or whatever the hell that fucking article on the Internet had said. He had spent a solid thirty minutes trying to get the knot right — he was sure he had never put some much effort on something —, but his fingers would all clash against each other, the fabric was getting wrinkled with each attempt he failed, and his screams at the Youtube video that was supposed to help him to “get the perfect Windsor knot” would soon alert the whole apartment complex; not that he’d care but he was getting louder, he had a pounding head to account for that.

“Who are you, my fucking mother now? Interrogating me on a fucking tie? Sorry, fucking tie-police, I’ll take it off then, if it fucking bothers you so much.”

She had always wondered whether “fuck” and all of it derivatives had been Roman’s first words since there was never a day that passed by in which he didn’t — fucking — (over) use them. 

He had started to move around the elevator to shake off the tie, unbuttoning two bottoms of his white, spotless shirt. His hair was starting to get wilder when she grabbed his hand clawing at the piece of fabric. 

“Don’t take it off, it... it... It looks good,” she said lightly. Roman stopped moving, as if he had been petrified all of a sudden. “But, just, let me put it right because this knot, it’s not even a knot, Roman.” Her fingers started moving around his neck, lifting the collars of his shirt after bottoming up only one of the buttons Roman had undone, unravelling the mess he’d done in just a few seconds.

“What if it’s a tie knot of my own creation, huh? Should I call it the ‘Roman Roy knot’, then?” 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes in response, a small upturn of her lips getting comfortable in her face. “Yeah, sure, only you would know how to do this mess.” He started moving again so she wrapped a hand around the tie and yanked down, then forward to keep him still. 

“You’re getting all kinky here, (Y/N). I mean, I get it, elevator, me, the man of your wet dreams, and you, in that pencil skirt that hugs your a..”

The back of her hand slapped his shoulder. “Shut up, Roman.”

“Geez, not in the mood, got it. Maybe when we get to my office, I got a new desk I’d like you to…”

She tightens the tie, hard, now sporting the perfect Windsor knot, to shut him up. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, slightly choked, his neck a little bit red. She might’ve done it with just some pressure on purpose.  “I’m into choking too, you know”. 

You could never win with him. One minute he was as stiff as a board, and now he was cracking up sex jokes, one after the other. 

The elevator came to a stop a second after (Y/N) had finished accommodating the tie around Roman’s neck. She peered at him, biting down her lower lip in an attempt to stop herself from kissing his cheek. The pining had her heart about to burst out of her ribcage. 

It was when the elevator’s doors opened that she felt Roman’s hands sliding down to her hips. It made her want to scream. She was sure Roman’s  fingerprints would leave their mark on her skin, no matter the fabric in between. The touch and the look in his brown eyes, shining under the soft glow of the yellow-tinted lights. All of it made her want to scream. The years they spent together and the years they spent apart from each other.

An irritated, low cough broke them apart. About to enter the elevator was Frank. Roman glanced at his face while sporting a smirk on his own. Frank had his eyebrows raised, his eyes set on him and not his daughter. 

“Dad,” started (Y/N), shaking her head. Before she could assure her father any of the thoughts running through his head were incorrect, Roman interrupted her.

“If you excuse us, Frank, we have very important things to do.” 

He guided (Y/N) out of the elevator with one of his hands on her lower back, mirth all over his face when he peeped over his shoulder to take a look at Frank, now inside the lift. 

Frank watched them walking down the hallway, Roman’s hand going lower. He averted his eyes just as the doors of the elevator started to close to not see where it would land on his daughter’s body. He thinks he heard her voice screaming at the man, who responded with what sounded just like a hyena’s laugh. Frank rolled his eyes, sighing in annoyance at both of their antics. Some part of him wanted them to get over whatever fears they’d felt and just get together, or whatever. It was exhausting, the tension everytime they came into the room. The furtive glances at each other when one of them wasn’t looking all throughout important meetings, the petty fights, the name-calling, the yelling and then a second later, the laughs they would share in complicity. Though, he wasn’t convinced it’d changed much, anyways. 

[deadchannelradio]

i'm cutting roy out of every story i got him in with jason sorry jayroy stans i still believe in the joyfire dick grayson emotional thunderdome he just doesnt belong in the architecture i am crafting for jasons life nor does Jason belong in his. roy has his own life that is largely batboy free other than Being Weird With And About Dick Grayson. as such jasons stupid little dog Princess Monster Truck's inception (she is staying forever, but this particular inception is going away) i noodled at the beginning of is being put in the trash compactor to die forever. crunch crunch. so you can have it here instead. in my fanfiction abortion morgue.

“Laurie wants me to get a dog,” Jason says as Roy walks in the door, foregoing a ‘hello’ or an ‘I missed you’ or a ‘was the mission fun? It looked like you had fun when you shot the enormous bird-thing in the back of the neck with an explosive arrow and blew its head clean off’. He’s scrubbing a very clean pot with the maniacal focus of a man on the brink, up to his elbows with suds. 

Roy sets his bag down on the floor and tosses his jacket on the chair beside the door, toeing his shoes off. Jason points at the jacket without looking. “Do I look like your maid?” he asks. “Pick it up.”

“I would be a very happy man if you did,” Roy says, briefly transported to a world of short skirts and little aprons. He shakes himself off, then hangs his coat up properly before Jason gives in to the conniptions that are clearly bubbling under the surface. “Hi honey, I’m home, I missed you, we’re getting a dog?”

“Laurie wants me to get a dog,” Jason repeats darkly. They don’t talk all that much about Jason’s therapist or what he does in therapy, but all her best ideas that Roy’s heard about- starting prozac, getting an apartment and living in it full time instead of a rotating to a new squat every couple of weeks- have been accompanied by this tone of voice. “I shouldn’t get a dog.”

“Why the hell not?” Roy asks, coming up behind him to kiss the back of his neck and wind his arms around Jason’s waist, his shirt damp with dishwater. Jason backs up from the sink slightly to give him room, but doesn’t stop washing the soup pot. “You’re an adult. You have adult money and adult time. We can get a dog.” Roy likes dogs, conceptually. He hasn’t ever owned one long-term, but he enjoys them walking down the street and tied up outside of little coffee shops, and Haley and him hang out when Dick goes out of town and Barbara is unavailable to spend time with her dog-goddaughter. 

“I’m a felon,” Jason points out.

“Do no felons have dogs?”

“No good dog owners are felons.”

“Do you personally know every felon with a dog?”

“What if I have to go on the run again? Or something happens and I can’t take care of a dog?” The sound of the steel wool on metal is getting more grating by the second. “What if someone finds the apartment? Or-,”

“How many of these did you bring up with Laurie that she didn’t have a response for?”

Jason does not have an answer to that, given his silence and aggressive increase of scrubbing. Roy bites his shoulder until Jason flails a wet hand up into his hair and pulls him off, accidentally beaning him in the face with a soapy lump of steel wool. They’re totally getting a dog.

“We’re not applying for anything,” Jason says a few days later, tucking himself into a black jacket and grey scarf that he’s wrapping practically up to his ears. “I don't need a dog. This is a free zoo. We’re just looking.” 

“Of course,” Roy says, pulling on gloves and smiling serenely at the dog filled future yawning open before him. Jason gives him a suspicious squint, intensity ruined by the way that his knit hat is pushing his hair in every direction like a smacked dandelion. In spite of his claims, Jason is visibly nervous the entire monorail ride to the ASPCA, jaw clenched and tunneling into his coat like a turtle. Roy links their elbows as casually as he can when he has to pry Jason’s arm away from his body and scrolls his phone mindlessly. He’s been having visions of dog ownership- flyball, bitesports, long morning jogs with a scruffy heeler or blocky bully breed, agility classes and obedience courses. Admittedly, Roy knows very little about most of these things, but he’s willing to learn. 

Gotham ASPCA’s dog kennel contains pit mixes by majority, most rather unhelpfully labeled as lab or hound mutts, fooling absolutely no one beyond maybe a few landlords. The worker- Safia, on her name tag- who’s leading them around is looking at Jason out of the corner of her eye, as visibly nervous as Roy knows Jason is. He doesn’t look it, a hulking, silent presence over Roy’s shoulder, communicating with Roy mostly by eye contact and shifts in his stance. The biggest scar on his face lifts his upper lip in an accidental snarl, showing teeth, and his winter layers don’t make him any less bulky. She’s trying, at least, in that way that people do when they know they’re making a rude judgment based on little evidence but can’t stop themselves from feeling it. Roy’s sure that Jason isn’t picking up on that, though, just that he’s making her uncomfortable.  Roy puts a hand on the small of Jason’s back as they look at a lanky, blonde shepherd named Snuggles Friday, and Roy watches Safia relax by a few degrees. Friday licks at Jason’s hand through the wires as Safia talks about her, whining, her ears so huge they flop over for a second when she shakes her head. Jason’s fighting a smile. Roy gives Safia a conspiratorially hopeful grin and crosses his fingers, startling a real smile out of her. 

“I think all of our play rooms are occupied at the moment,” Safia says apologetically. “But I have a few more dogs I think would be a good fit for you if you want to look around and then decide who you want some time with?”

Roy looks at Jason, who shrugs, which is probably as good as they’re going to get right now. Friday is still licking his fingers enthusiastically, and Jason pulls away with some reluctance as they move along. 

He stops a few steps later, so abruptly that Roy walks into his back. 

Someone has accidentally left a swiffer duster in the kennel in front of them. It’s barking, a high and snappy thing, and it’s doing a little dance on its tiny feet, like it’s tip toeing in place. Its eyes are unsettlingly large. Roy laughs, looks over at Jason to make a joke about how it’s just not a dog if you can use it like a football, stops. Jason’s fists are clenched by his sides, his face going slowly red.

“That,” he growls through gritted teeth, “is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen.”

Roy sends a mental goodbye note to Snuggles Friday. “That’s Caramel,” Safia says as Jason speed-reads the note attached to her kennel with the clinical efficiency usually given to an autopsy report. He drops to his knees, pauses, then gingerly presses a hand against the wire as though he’ll break it. Caramel leaves off the barking and begins licking Jason’s hand like it’s the last scoop of ice cream in the truck on a 100 degree day. Its hind end seems to be undergoing a seismic event.

[eeveebitches]

phone. || Roman Roy || smut

Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Dom!Reader Summary: You and roman talk over the phone, stuff happens along the way

Word count: 2.115

18+ only! More under the cut,

Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, degradation, pillow humping, phone sex, implications of jealous/possesive roman

A/n: as DJ Khaled said, "another one."

_______________________

It's unusually dark in Roman's apartment.

You squint your eyes, looking around for any sign of him, hand busying itself to locate the light switch. "Romes?" There's no reply, and as you finally manage to switch the lights on you realize he isn't here. The shoes he usually keeps sprawled by the door are missing, as well as the scarf you had given him for his last birthday.

You shrug off your jacket and hang it, noticing how Roman's lighter jacket seems to be missing as well. Cautiously, you walk around the empty space. You take note of the way he left his cologne on the coffee table without its cover, and as you go to his bathroom you see his aftershave is uncrewed, too. He was clearly in a rush.

His bed is messy, as it always is when he's left to deal with tidying the sheets himself. You chuckle at the shirt of yours peaking out from under his pillow. It takes a lot of mental strength for you to not snap a picture for future teasing material, and instead kick your shoes off. 

His scent surrounds you as you nuzzle into his goose feather sheets. The scent is sharp, and woody, and clearly trying too hard to be noteworthy. But deep in those harsh, overpowering scents of desperation, you smell the chamomile from the 'calming room sprays' he always claims to be buying ironically. You also smell your own perfume, and with enough focus you can even smell hints of the vanilla of the soaps you use.

The sudden ringing of your phone startles you. You fumble a bit trying to remove your phone from your pocket, smiling as you realize it's the tiny devil himself calling.

"Romes?"

"Don't 'Romes' me, where in shit's name are you?" he immediately grumbles out, not giving you a second to trade simple formalities. 

You can't help but laugh at him. "And hello to you, too. What do you mean, 'where am I'? Where are you?"

He groans, then mumbles something far too incoherent for you to pick up over the phone. "Uh, at your fucking apartment? Did you seriously forget about me that fast? I'm seriously regretting hooking you up with that new job, since you're now apparently too cool for little ol' Romes." After a few seconds of processing his words, you frown. "Wait, what? You're at my apartment?" 

"Okay, yeah, you totally forgot, and I just embarrassed the fuck out of myself for breaking and entering. Nice knowing ya, I'm gonna go jump into a river or some shit," he mumbles underneath his breath. Even through the phone you can tell he's pacing around. "Can you even swim?"

He scoffs at that. "The fuck kinda question is that? You don't ask a guy about to take a cyanide pill if he's well versed in medicine, do you? Twisted bitch." Your frown deepens the more you listen to him. "Roman, we were supposed to meet at your apartment, you do remember that, right?"

It's completely silent on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Then, "Oh fuck off, you are not at my apartment right now. Just admit you forgot and let me go cry-jerk myself to sleep in your bed," he huffs out, trying to fight back the strain in his voice.

"Romes, I'm laying in your bed right now." He laughs at you, clearly doubtful, but as he quiets down you get the feeling he's starting to believe you.

With his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear, Roman looks down at the pillow of yours he's holding. It's a long one, for your neck or something, and he relishes in how much it smells like you. "So what, we're at each other's apartments, laying in each other's beds, like total fucking idiots?"

You can't help but snort at that. "You're the idiot, since I'm at the right apartment. Also, way to go snitching on yourself. You better have removed your shoes before getting in my bed," you say, tugging at a bit of string connected to one of Roman's pillows.

"Yeah yeah, my shoes are off. I am gonna piss on all your furniture, just so you know. I need to mark my territory as the alpha and all that," he jokes, swiftly unzipping and shuffling out of his pants. "Oh, I'm also gonna sleep here because I can't be fucked to call someone to drive me back. Your bed is comfy as shit, anyway."

You let out a humored chuckle, quickly putting the phone down and removing the top layers of your work clothes to leave yourself comfortable. The sound of his voice is small, so after getting settled back in you grab the phone and place it right next to your head.

"Sorry, was getting comfy, what's up?" 

Roman lets out a low whistle. "So basically stripping naked? That's hot. You should take pictures of your boobs or something and send them to me," he says, his clutch on your pillow growing tighter as he continues, "we could have hot and heavy sex over the phone, like they did in the 60s when FaceTime and pocket pussies weren't a thing."

"I'm down if you are," you reply as casually as you can, despite the fact that the idea of it excites you. Roman seemingly chokes on his own spit at that, coughing for a few seconds. Ad he clears his throat, he awkwardly unbuttons his blouse as he keeps the phone flush against his ear.

"Oh yeah? What're you wearing, then?" he asks in a try-hard sultry voice. It's hard not to laugh at that, but you manage. "A 17-inch strap on with LED lights, what about you?" Roman lets out a forced moan in reply. "God, that's fuckin' hot. I'd see my insides glow all kinds of pretty colors and shit," he forcibly continues moaning out.

With his blouse fully unbuttoned he shuffles it off, ignoring the fact that he somehow is already getting riled up. Maybe it's the fact that he's surrounded by your presence, or maybe it's the fact that your voice is dangerously near your ear. 

Whatever it may be, it makes him move a shaky hand down to his length, applying a singular squeeze to himself and fighting back the hiss he wants to let out. "Seriously though, can you at least try to hide the fact you smell my shirts while you sleep? They're just sticking out," you chuckle out, tugging at the shirt you had previously spotted.

The silence on his end is oddly tense as you fully pull the shirt out, and you quickly realize why.

"Roman... do you actually cum on my clothes?"

He lets out a quiet 'fuck', keeping a solid hold of his cock through his underwear as he realizes he's been caught. "Shit, I-- yeah, I do, sometimes," he weakly stutters out. You tut at that, heat pooling in the bottom of your panties. "So, what, you jerk off sniffing it and thinking of me, or...?"

Roman's breathing slows, turning into weak pants that you can pick up on your end. "I, uh, yeah." A devious grin tugs at your lips as you shimmy yourself to a more comfortable laying position. 

"What do you think about?" It's a simple question, really, but the way Roman gasps through the phone makes it worthwhile. "I dunno, just-- fuck, things," he struggles to groan out as he rolls to lay on his side, the pillow he was clutching automatically slotting between his legs. 

His cock throbs with need, but something about using your pillow seems too much, even for him. Your shirts, and the occasional pair of underwear were one thing, but your bed felt so clean. Roman didn't want to be the one to make it-- make you dirty.

"Do you think about me touching you?" You hear him mumble out a small 'yeah' in response. You respond back with silence, quietly urging him to keep talking.

His clutch on your pillow tightens, knuckles turning white. "I think about you hugging me, 'cuz you always do when you see me," he whines out, as he continues fondling himself with his one hand while the other keeps its hold on the pillow. "You always, uh, squeeze? And you just smell really good, which is nice, I guess."

"Is that all?" You smile at the whine Roman lets out. "Whatever, I like other shit, too," he mumbles out, trying his hardest to practice restraint.

"What's 'other shit'? Like last week at that fundraiser in the closet, did you like that?" you coyly ask him. The drawn out moan he lets out at the memories is like musicto your ears. "Uh-huh," he weakly moans out, the muffled sound of fabric shuffling causing your mind to race with thoughts of what he's doing.

Roman's hips start a hiccup-y rhythm, attempting to grind into his own touch as he thinks of that night. You had toyed with him all night, dishing out casual yet flirty touches to whoever was there, shooting him a wicked grin any time he caught sight of it. When he had dragged you into a closet to try and stop your little show, you had demanded he went on his knees and apologized for his behavior.

By the end of it, Roman was a sweaty mess as he ground against your leg, trying desperately to keep quiet as you taunted him. Just thinking of how nasty you were to him that night, despite you gracefully letting him use you to get off, sends his head reeling as he gasps at his own touch.

You snicker at the desperate noises he's making. "Are you touching yourself Roman? In my bed of all places? You have no shame, do you?" 

"None," he whimpers out, pulling down his drawls to let his reddened and leaking cock spring out, smacking against his stomach. "Are you using your hand to get off? You sick, fucking puppy?" Roman groans out a quiet 'yes' as he carefully strokes himself at an unsteady rhythm. "I w'na use your pillow, can I-- fuck, can I please use y'r pillow?" He gasps out deliriously.

The shocked laughter you let out through the phone is genuine as you realize he's really into this. "Seriously? How fucking disgusting can you be, asking for my pillow? Was using my clothes to jerk off not enough for you, creep? Go ahead and use it if you're really that much of a degenerate."

He immediately places the pillow on the bed and goes to lay on his stomach, moaning as his dick makes contact with your pillow. He doesn't waste any time, immediately picking up in thrusting speed as he revels in the friction the pillow gives against his cock.

"Oh my god, you're actually doing it. Rutting into my pillow like a dog in heat, absolutely fucking revolting," you hiss against your phone, "y'know I have cameras in my room? I could easily send everyone you know the footage of you fucking my pillow like a flithy pervert. You'd like that, anyway, freak."

Roman's moans grow louder by the minute, every one of your poisonous words shooting straight to his cock. "Fuck, 'm close," he groans out, sweat rolling down his forehead as he desperately chases his release. "Are you seriously going to cum on my pillow, Roman? You're a genuine embarrasment, god."

His breath stutters before he lets out a gutteral moan, ropes of cum shooting onto your pillow and most definitely permanently staining it. "Jesus fuck, Roman, you're a legitimate freak," you giggle out through the phone as he slowly comes to, pants coming out muffled as he buries his head into the unused pillows. 

"What the fuck, man," he groans out, phone still held against his ear. You let out a chuckle, glancing at the time on your phone and realizing it's gotten quite late. "You doing okay, Romes?"

He lets out muffled noises of confirmation. "Yeah, just fuckin' tired now. Thanks for the, uh, phone sex. It was great." 

"Go clean yourself up, Romes. And just put the pillow somewhere in my bathroom, I'll take care of it." He lets out a small whine, awkwardly tucking himself back into his underwear before shuffling to your bathroom. "You're legit going to be the reason I die an early death. I'm gonna fucking, cum my brains out or some shit," he mumbles out as he drops the used pillow on the ground, grabs some wipes and cleans himself up a bit. 

"Sounds like a great way to go out," you hum out in reply.

"Of course you'd think that."

[peapodsinspace]

What Makes a “Human”

Fullmetal Alchemist: brotherhood/manga

Read on Ao3!

Warnings: minor violence, mild thoughts of self harm

Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Roy Mustang

Words: 5,688

Summary: “Al stretched his legs out in front of him.

What would it be like to have feeling in this body?

Would it be cold? or hot?

Would it hurt?”

Or, Alphonse thinks about his [inhuman, wrong] body. Roy has a job for him. They talk.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Alphonse stared at the clock between the two beds in front of him. One of the beds was occupied by a snoring Edward, and the other was empty, blankets still untouched, since no one was using it.

The bed was meant for him, of course.

But the frame looked rickety, like it wouldn’t support the weight of his metal body.

And what comfort would lying in a bed bring him? He couldn’t feel the soft mattress or be warmed by the blankets.

He couldn’t even fit in the bed, or at least, not well.

He was too tall.

Al stretched his legs out in front of him.

What would it be like to have feeling in this body?

Would it be cold? Or hot?

Could he even regulate his temperature?

How different would it be from his flesh body?

Would it hurt?

Could having a body made of metal even hurt?

Alphonse’s didn’t.

He wished it did hurt, sometimes.

Just so he could feel human.

Really human.

On nights like this, where he sat all alone, the things people had said about his armored body swirled through his mind.

The comments were always positive.

They’d talk about how nice it must be to have a body that doesn’t need to eat or sleep.

But Al missed it.

He missed it terribly.

Every little thing he used to take for granted.

He missed eating dinner at Winry’s house.

He missed climbing trees and feeling their bark under his hands and feet.

He missed cool breezes, and the way the air smelled just before it rained.

He missed feeling the warmth from Ed’s hands when he led him around, or when Ed would pat him on the head or-

“Alph’nse…? What’re you doin’ staring at the wall?”

Al snapped his head up, staring at the sleepy face of his brother. “Oh! Um. Good morning, brother!” he responded quickly.

He’d missed the sunrise this morning. Somehow, it made his mood worse.

Edward rubbed one of his eyes, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. “Yeah, mornin’. You didn’t answer my question.” He turned his gaze back to Alphonse.

“Huh?”

Ed tilted his head. “You were all spaced out, Al. Are you alright?”

“Yep! I was just thinking.” The younger boy stood, grabbing the book he (hadn’t) been reading off the floor beside him.

Edward furrowed his brows, as if he was trying to dissect Al where he stood.

Al shifted nervously on his feet, eyes flitting across the room, before looking back to the clock and-

Oh, 6:53.

Alphonse gasped. “Brother! You slept in! We’re gonna be late to meet the Colonel!”

Edward’s head snapped to look at the clock.

He cursed, jumping out of bed and snatching a fresh set of clothes from his bag. He bolted to the bathroom, shirt already half-taken off.

“MAKE SURE YOU’RE READY TO SPRINT TO THE MEETING POINT, OR WE’RE IN FOR A BIGGER EARFULL THAN WE’RE ALREADY GETTIN’!”

Al huffed, gathering up their things and re-packing them.

Normally, Alphonse would give Ed a lecture too, if it wasn’t a little bit his own fault they’d be late.

Then again, why didn’t Edward ever set an alarm?

He was interrupted by his brother slamming the door open, looking no more presentable than he had a few moments ago.

“We have to leave now,” Ed hissed, hopping around on one leg while he tried to get his shoes on.

Al shook his head fondly, distracted from his earlier thoughts by watching his brother’s antics.

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

Alphonse shifted to the side, internally kicking himself for zoning out during Colonel Mustang’s briefing.

The man didn’t seem to notice, luckily, just like the last times it happened.

Ed was unintentionally covering for him by complaining and trying to annoy Mustang as usual, causing the Colonel’s attention to be diverted away from Al.

He didn’t miss Lieutenant Hawkeye’s occasional glace at him, though.

Al hoped his helmet’s lack of expression kept her from noticing he was lost in his head.

All he heard so far was that this person they were after was a State Alchemist, and his name was something-Hertz.

He sighed, doing his best to tune back into the conversation.

“-once we get there. Understood?” The Colonel looked fed up already.

“Sure,” Ed responded flippantly. “We get to the guy’s house, look around, don’t touch anything-” he said the last part in a mocking tone. “-and get the hell out. Oh, and we make sure not to touch anything there.”

Mustang’s eye twitched.

“Sorry about him, Colonel!” Alphonse said quickly, doing his best to glare at his brother, who wasn’t paying him any attention.

Roy sighed, waving him off. “Looks like we’ll be there in less than a minute,” he responded instead.

The Lieutenant glanced out the train’s window, as the station approached. “We don’t have enough time to go over the map, sir.”

“Map? Who the hell needs a map for a house?” Ed huffed.

“The map isn’t for his house, Fullmetal, its for the winding maze below it.” Colonel Mustang hissed through clenched teeth.

(This guy had a maze under his house? Who was he anyway? Apparently, Al missed quite a lot)

“Oh.” Ed scratched the back of his neck.

Any further comments were interrupted by the train stopping.

Mustang just shook his head and started walking towards the exit of the train.

The others followed behind him, two silent, and one grumbling about “dumb Colonels”.

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

Alphonse studied the cluttered room he stood in, pivoting on his heel to get a good look around. The ceiling was low- low enough he had to constantly duck- and the walls were chipped and stained by water in some spots.

The floorboards, only visible in the paths between the piles of books, papers, boxes, and all kinds of other junk, had seen better days.

The room was dominated by a tall shelf, packed full of books and trinkets to the point that a gust of wind could be enough to send it crashing to the ground.

Despite the room being so cluttered it felt cramped, it was surprisingly devoid of furniture.

The shelf, two mismatched rocking chairs, and a desk with nowhere to sit were the only furniture pieces in the room, other than a fireplace that clearly hadn’t been lit in some time.

Al walked through the room, stepping over papers that had fallen into his path.

According to Lieutenant Hawkeye, the only thing their map didn’t detail was where the maze connected to the house, though she suspected it was a normal underground addition originally.

Which meant they were likely looking for a basement or cellar, where they would then have to find the entrance to the tunnels.

Given the general layout of the house, it was most likely that this room they were looking for was a cellar.

Which didn’t seem like a problem until you realized that cellars are often accessed via trap door, and a trap door can be easily hidden under lots of things.

Couches, shelves, cabinets… giant piles of god-knows-what, to name a few.

So, needless to say, Al was a little worried they’d be digging through piles of junk all day.

Just the sort of mindless activity he didn’t want to be doing, with the way his thoughts had been drifting recently.

He ducked further as he passed under a doorway, shuffling by an especially precarious book-stack.

The Lieutenant glanced up at him momentarily stopping her… rhythmic stomping…?

“What are you doing?” Alphonse blurted, tilting his head.

Hawkeye smiled. “I’m trying the find the trap door by listening for hollow spots under the floor.”

“Oh! I can help with that!”

“Sure. You might want to use something a little duller than your boot, though. The metal might be too loud,” she responded, going back to tapping her heel on the floor.

Alphonse paused, before turning and grabbing a nice wooden hat stand from the other room.

With that, he joined the Lieutenant in tapping the floor.

He wasn’t entirely sure what a “hollow spot” sounded like, but after asking Hawkeye to clarify, she simply said he’d know when he heard it.

Al was left to his tapping, until Hawkeye paused.

“I think I found it,” she said, crouching down.

Alphonse looked over his shoulder, setting down the hat stand.

The Lieutenant had started moving some boxes away from where she crouched, and Al hurried over to help her.

As they cleared the rest of the area, a larger than usual seam between the planks started to emerge.

After Hawkeye tested the door by cracking it open slightly, she stood and brushed off her pants.

“This must be the one,” she said.

Al nodded.

“I’ll go and find the Colonel and Ed. You stay here, and make sure nobody comes out.”

“Alright!” Al responded chipperly.

He was happy he wasn’t the one to traverse the rest of the house, which from what he could see, was even more cramped than the parts he’d been in so far.

Hawkeye turned, stepping over another pile of papers, and leaving Al to stand beside the newly uncovered door.

It only took a few minutes for Colonel Mustang to appear beside him, startling Alphonse enough that he straightened up and hit his helm on the ceiling.

The man laughed quietly, glancing at him. “You’re a little tall for this place, hm?”

“Yeah…” Al replied, more downcast than he intended.

Mustang squinted at him, opening his mouth to reply-

“Hey, Al! Good to see you’re doin’ fine. I was starting to think this place was the maze,” Edward said, crossing his arms as he filed in behind Hawkeye.

Roy stared at Alphonse for a moment, before blinking and turning to the others. “Alright. Once we’re in the tunnels, stay on high alert,” he ignored Ed rolling his eyes. “Fullmetal, Alphonse, make sure you’re sticking with the me or the Lieutenant at all times, since we are somewhat familiar with the layout of this place.

“And for the love of god, don’t run off on your own.” He looked directly at Edward when he said that last bit.

Ed huffed. “Whatever you say, Colonel Bastard.”

Alphonse shrunk under Mustang’s glare, even though it wasn’t directed at him.

It seemed to have no effect on Ed, though.

The Colonel sighed. “Let’s get going.”

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

Roy walked briskly, listening to the puddles’ splashing as he and his team passed through them.

The tunnels weren’t as cramped as he expected, though they were far from spacious.

Unless “spaciousness” was in reference to the distance they spanned, in which case, it would be apt.

So far, getting into the tunnels had been the hardest part.

Roy just hoped it would be smooth sailing after this, but he found that to be incredibly unlikely.

It seemed like all the small things were out to get them this time.

Riza’s flashlight wasn’t working at first and Fullmetal had nearly tripped twice, though he strongly denied both accounts.

And then there was Alphonse.

The boy struggled to make it into the cellar, nearly falling down the steep stairs due to the steps being so shallow.

And if he thought the ceiling in the house was low, then it was even worse down here.

Al was practically bent at the waist just so he didn’t risk hitting his head on the beams.

On top of all that, he was silent.

That on its own wasn’t weird, but he’d been silent all day.

And Roy had no idea what was wrong.

Either way, Alphonse was spacey, and that was a dangerous thing to be when traversing through a labyrinth made by a rogue State Alchemist.

The group continued forward, silent other than the sounds of their footsteps and the occasional snarky remark from Fullmetal.

It didn’t take much more walking for Roy to realize the maps (or blueprints, really) had no information pertaining to the scale of the tunnels.

He didn’t have long to consider exactly what that entailed, when he found himself staring down two diverging paths.

“Were these tunnels not on your map, Colonel?” Edward asked, scowling. He managed to make “Colonel” sound like an insult by itself, forgoing his usual addition of “bastard” or any similar name.

Roy clenched his teeth. “No. It appears some new additions have been made.”

The boy huffed, but didn’t respond.

“Assuming the maps were correct at some point, then this is proof Hertz still actively working,” Riza said. “Should we split up, Sir?”

“Yes, I think that would be best.” Roy studied both tunnels from where he stood. There seemed to be little to no difference between them.

“Right, Al and I can go this way, and-“ Ed started.

“No, Fullmetal, you and Al will each have to go with either the Lieutenant or me. You weren’t able to look at the layout of this place since you were late, remember?” the Colonel interrupted, speaking sternly.

“And obviously those maps were wrong,” the boy snapped back.

Roy took a breath. “While it’s true they may not have been completely accurate, it’s still very possible this new addition connects to the rest of the tunnels somehow.

“Which means, you two wouldn’t have any idea what’s what either way, but we-” he gestured between himself and his Lieutenant. “-would.”

Ed huffed, but didn’t argue back. Roy knew that’s as close to a “yessir” he’d be getting, no matter how long they went back and forth.

“If that’s all cleared up,” The man said, with a pointed glare at Edward. “Then we should get going now. Alphonse, you’re with me. Fullmetal, stick with the Lieutenant. She’s in charge, understand?”

Edward grumbled something under his breath, but walked over to stand beside Riza with little fuss.

“Meet back here in no more than two hours,” Roy said, giving a curt nod in response to Riza’s acknowledgment.

The Colonel turned, stepping towards the rightmost tunnel, while Riza led Edward to the left one.

“Bye, brother! Be careful,” Al said softly, waving.

“Bye, Al. You be careful too. I don’t wanna be draggin’ bits and pieces of you outta here,” Ed responded, reluctantly stepping away from his little brother.

Alphonse hummed, waving again, and walked quickly over to meet Roy where he stood.

Roy nodded to Al, before starting off down the damp tunnel once again.

The boy followed close behind him, still oddly silent.

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

As the two continued through the alchemy-made labyrinth, the scenery began to change.

What was originally a long and straight tunnel, with damp floors and smooth, detail-less walls, became something more structured, and much cleaner.

Luckily for Alphonse, the ceilings became a lot higher throughout the halls, allowing him to straighten up to just a hunch of the shoulders.

It wasn’t long before additional rooms began popping up, each of which had a heavy-looking door that, upon closer inspection, was also made via alchemy.

Each time they saw a new room, it was the same cautious procedure of easing the door open, and thoroughly checking the inside for any important material.

All the rooms so far had been incomplete, or full of empty shelves.

Roy glanced over at Al as he came to a halt in front of two doors, opposite each other. He gestured to one with a nod, and Alphonse walked up to it as the Colonel turned to the other door.

Roy swung open the door and slipped inside, hand poised to snap. He heard Al enter the room behind him.

A quick glance around showed it was another dud, just full of tall shelves and one or two empty crates.

Scuff marks on the floor were a new addition, though.

The crates were all muddy this time, too, and none were on the shelves.

As he went to get a closer look, he heard a call from the other room.

“Colonel? There’s some… thing here,” Al said, raising his voice slightly. The boy sounded more confused than distressed, but Roy still wasted no time leaving the scratch-mark-and-crates-room behind him.

“What’s…” Roy started, trailing off he came up beside Alphonse.

Infront of him was… something, indeed.

Shelves, still empty, and crates were present in this room as well, but ceiling-high stacks of dirt blocks were a new addition.

What caught the Flame Alchemist’s attention was the uncanny sculpted face that stared back at him.

It appeared to be made of dirt or clay, with minimal details going into its slightly distressed expression.

It was one of many disembodied heads lying on the ground, haphazardly piled together.

Roy paused, before taking a step forward and nudging one of the heads with his shoe. It fell over, rolling and taking a few of the others with it.

“What… are they?” Alphonse asked quietly, tilting his head.

“Clay faces? I’m… not entirely sure.” Roy stepped back. “Either way, they don’t seem to… do anything, so we’ll keep moving.”

Alphonse nodded, hesitantly following the Colonel, but not without another glance at the faces.

Roy tapped his middle finger and thumb together as he walked, thinking.

What could those dirt heads be for?

They were likely created by Hertz, but why?

What purpose could he have for them? Were the dirt blocks for making more, or something else?

The more he thought about it, the less he knew.

The faces weren’t particularly detailed, so it didn’t seem like a random hobby. They were all nearly identical, however.

Were they made with alchemy? Or did Hertz just sculpt them by hand? Did he hire someone to make them?

Questions, questions, questions, and their next few stops did nothing to answer them.

Roy and Al were just met with more empty shelves, as if the dirt heads were a one-off thing.

It wasn’t until Roy heard heavy (non-metallic) footsteps, that he paused.

“Colonel? Is that-“

Roy held up a hand, listening for the cause of the sound.

“Sounds like more than one person,” he said quietly.

Al hummed in response.

“Make sure to keep an eye out behind us, Alphonse.” Roy took a few cautious steps forward, at a much slower pace than before.

Roy smiled slightly at the boy’s attempt to deaden his footsteps, though it didn’t have much effect.

As they walked, the tunnel started to open up even more, until Al was able to stand up fully.

The footsteps became louder, along with the sound of stone scraping stone.

Rounding another corner revealed a large cavern, supported by wooden beams. Various sized stones were piled up in several spots along the walls.

The source of the footsteps were several hulking figures made from dirt, wearing those same sculpted faces Alphonse had stumbled across.

They shambled around, seemingly having no direction.

That was, until Roy realized several were heading straight towards them.

“Alphonse, get ready!” Roy ordered, stepping off the side and lifting his hand.

He squinted at the figures, as they changed path to follow him.

All of them.

As if they didn’t even see- or weren’t concerned with- Alphonse.

Roy snapped with his left, shooting a beam of flame into the abdomen of one of the dirt sculptures. The attack did nothing to slow it, only scorching an area on the thing’s side.

A glance to his right showed Alphonse had transmuted a spear and was having a bit more luck in destroying one of the sculptures via tearing it apart.

Despite being right in front of the boy, it still played him no mind, not even showing a reaction to getting its arm and a chunk of shoulder detached from its body.

The sculptures continued their approach, at the same slow pace.

Roy gritted his teeth. What made them go after him?

Another snap, but this time Roy used a less focused attack in the hope of dealing more damage than before.

The sculpture he aimed for stumbled and fell, being unable to walk further with its legs incinerated.

That seemed to get a reaction from the other sculptures. Several of them changed course to gather around their fallen comrade.

Were they trying to heal it?

Roy whirled around, snapping twice to take down several that approached him from behind.

Another glance at Alphonse showed he was fine, though the sculptures still didn’t react to him.

The Colonel pursed his lips. The numbers were quickly becoming a problem, even with Al trying to help, they just wouldn’t stop coming for Roy.

When he turned again, he saw the sculpture whose legs he’d blown off previously. It was laying still, curled in on itself and reaching for its burns.

And the ones that stopped near the injured sculpture started hitting it.

Relentlessly swinging in what seemed to be a blind rage, completely oblivious to the fact they began to hit each other in the process.

As Roy studied them, he realized the same thing was happening to the others he’d burnt. The Injured ones would be still, studying the burns, and ones near them would attack.

Why? What were they doing?

Interestingly, it didn’t take them long to move on, and they did so all at once.

It was as if whatever had them so captivated had ceased to exist and they were left to go after the next most interesting thing, which seemed to be Roy.

Unfortunately, the Colonel didn’t have long to ponder this further, as one of the sculptures came up behind him quicker than he anticipated.

He tried to turn, lifting his hand in the process, but the thing had already begun swinging for him.

It hit him solidly on his side, sending him sprawling onto the floor an impressive distance away. His head slammed into the ground hard when he fell, making his vision go white for a second.

He could hear Alphonse’s distressed yell, though it sounded like he was fairly far away.

Pain bloomed from his side as he moved, spiking in intensity when he shifted his weight onto his hands and knees.

A sharp stabbing pain in his chest made itself known, but he ignored it in favor of stumbling back onto his feet.

The movement made his vison swim.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw several of the sculptures were much closer than he liked.

Behind him, more were at about the same distance, effectively surrounding him.

He turned fully, hissing in pain when his ribs protested.

Roy snapped twice in quick succession, aiming for the legs of the sculptures in an attempt to slow them down.

His thoughts raced as he fought trying to figure out the trick behind these things.

What did he have in common with the injured sculptures?

Something that didn’t apply to Alphonse.

Another sculpture popped up beside him, falling backwards when a wall of flame hit it.

That only served to make the others draw closer, as if they were moths to a flame.

…Moths to a flame?

Were they attracted to the fire?

But why go after him?

Even before he used his alchemy, the things had targeted him.

Unless it wasn’t the fire itself they were attracted to?

Roy jumped backwards, away from the dirt arm that swung at him and very effectively interrupted his thoughts.

These things were getting far too close for comfort.

Another snap, and two more went down.

Roy glanced around wildly at the sculptures. His attacks weren’t having as much effect as he’d hoped, but here underground wasn’t exactly a perfect place to be blowing things up willy-nilly.

Just then, several of the sculptures were torn away from their lines, and Alphonse shouldered past them.

“Al! These things- they’re attracted to heat! That’s why they won’t go after you!” Roy shouted.

The boy knocked down another sculpture, practically dragging it away from Roy.

“Heat up my armor with your alchemy, then!” Alphonse shouted back, voice reverberating in his helmet.

What?

“What?”

“Set me on fire! They’ll go after me too, and I can fight them off!”

Set him on fire?

Roy gawked at him, speechless.

Hell no! Hell no.

Roy ducked, barely avoiding a swing.

He stumbled away, nearly losing his balance when his vision started swimming again.

“Colonel!” Alphonse shouted again.

He really was surrounded again, and Alphonse was struggling to grapple with the sculptures as they moved towards Roy.

Roy stumbled forward, glancing up to see Al desperately trying to drag these dirt-things away from him.

“Dammit, Alphonse,” he hissed.

He hoped this kid knew what he was doing.

Roy raised his hand, poised to snap.

He knew Al was clever, who was he kidding?

Three snaps, and Roy sent a wall of flame towards Alphonse, burning all the sculptures in its path.

As they neared Al, the flames dispersed around him so only a small portion made contact with the boy’s armor.

The sculptures’ reactions were instantaneous.

As if a switch was flipped, they all turned towards the wall of flame.

Even as the fire dissipated, they continued towards it, seeking out the heat left over from the scorched ground and the armor-clad boy who stood in the center of it all.

Roy backed up quickly, away the horde of sculptures looking to trample him.

Several of them tried reaching for him, but most were too interested in Alphonse for the time being.

The boy had drawn up a transmutation circle -already! Damn, he worked fast- and knelt down beside it, waiting for the sculptures to be close enough to attack.

The ground cracked, and several pillars of stone came out of it, smashing into the sculptures and burying them under rubble.

They didn’t move, despite the heat they sought being just out of their reach.

With that, they were (more or less) free of these godforsaken dirt sculptures.

Roy turned, ignoring the ache in his side, and walked quickly over to Alphonse.

The boy tilted his head, looking concerned. “Colonel! Are-“

Roy reached out and used his glove to brush some soot off Al’s armor. “Are you alright, Alphonse?” he asked, unintentionally saying what Al was about to.

The boy stepped backwards brushed Roy’s hand away. “My armor might still be hot! You could get burnt!”

Roy’s lips quirked up. “It’s not. I barely had to heat it up at all.”

Al dropped his hands back to his sides, like he was pouting.

He shook his head, starting to say something before his eyes snapped back to Roy.

“Are you alright? Your face is bleeding!” he said instead.

Roy’s hand automatically went up to his chin, where he could feel blood dripping.

He turned his hand at the last second, so he didn’t get the fingers of his gloves wet.

“I am,” he responded, studying the blood now on the back of his wrist. “I may have cracked a rib or two as well.”

Alphonse made a distressed noise.

For some reason, Roy felt the need to clarify: “I’m fine, Al, it’s probably nothing serious.” He tilted his head, grinning. “Hell, it might just be a bruise.”

Al ducked his head a little, still looking worried.

Roy studied the boy for a moment, before turning and pulling out his pocket watch. “We should get moving again. We don’t have much time until we’ll need to meet with Lieutenant Hawkeye and Fullmetal.”

“Right…”

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

Alphonse trudged through the tunnels behind Mustang, watching him closely as if he was waiting for the man to collapse.

Any time Al found himself around an injured person (usually Ed, unfortunately), he couldn’t help the anxious feeling that rose up in him.

Maybe it was because he could no longer get injured himself, or maybe he’d been like this since his mom died, but Al just couldn’t stop worrying for his friends.

Hence the staring.

Alphonse could tell the Colonel had noticed.

He didn’t say anything.

“…Colonel Mustang?” Al said quietly.

The man hummed in response, slowing his pace to level with Al.

“You said earlier that you barely had to heat my armor up. Why?” The boy continued, tilting his head with a metallic clink.

“Why?” Mustang glanced at him. “Because there was no need to.”

“Yes, I see that now, but why take the risk? Wouldn’t it have been easier?”

“I don’t burn people when I don’t have to, Alphonse.” His tone turned matter-of-fact. “It was unnecessary to light you on fire, or whatever you envisioned. I simply took the best course of action based on my options at the time.”

Alphonse shook his head. “But it would have taken much less effort to just aim all the flames at me,” he insisted.

The colonel stopped walking, turning to face Al when he did the same.

Mustang’s expression was stern, the same way it was when he issued orders to his men.

“Years ago, I promised that I would never burn another human unless I absolutely had to. And when I do have to, I always keep it minimal to avoid unnecessary injuries.” He tilted his head. “Understand?”

“Yes, I get that. It’s a good policy-“

Mustang hummed.

“-but I can’t get hurt,” Al continued. “So why bother with the precautions? You’re wasting time! And by doing that, someone might actually get hurt!”

The Colonel frowned. “So you’re saying I should prioritize the health of others over your own?”

“Yes! Because they’re human- or, because they have human bodies!”

“Hm. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I don’t value any human life over another when it comes to those under my command.”

Alphonse sputtered. “But you’re injured! And if you would’ve just-“

“Just what? I’d be injured either way. Don’t forget how long it took me to realize those things were attracted to heat.” He narrowed his eyes. “I will not unnecessarily endanger you, and that’s final. Am I clear?”

“Are you-“ Al huffed. “Fine.”

Mustang stared at him. “If you’re wanting to pout, then do it on your own time, Alphonse. Don’t forget we’re still in enemy territory.”

With that, he turned on his heel, continuing forward.

Alphonse watched Mustang walk for a moment, before following after him.

Why didn’t he understand? Al couldn’t be hurt!

Why didn’t he listen?

Did he think Al couldn’t handle this?

The boy huffed.

Ed may be the one who’s a State Alchemist, but that didn’t mean Al was any less capable than his brother!

Maybe, if Al had a human body, then he’d be the one with the fancy watch!

God!

He felt like screaming!

Mustang always seemed to understand him and Ed, so what’s different now?

Why, why, why!

Was it that he didn’t think Al was capable?

Did the Colonel really think he relied on Edward that much?

Did he-

“Alphonse.”

The boy turned sharply. “Yes, Colonel?”

“I expect a certain level of professionalism when I’m working with someone.”

Al stared at him.

“If you have a problem, then spit it out,” Mustang continued. “If you were Fullmetal I’m sure I would have heard it by now.”

“Well, I’m not,” Alphonse huffed.

The Colonel blinked at him. “Really?” He said, exasperated.

“I thought you said that we were on enemy territory, so we don’t have time for this,”

“I said you don’t have time to pout. I see you haven’t listened, so just say whatever it is you want to say before we stumble across more of those dirt-things.”

Al stared at the man.

He wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t!

Mustang shifted his weight to his other foot, meeting Alphonse’s gaze with an impatient expression. He looked like he was going to give a scolding.

Al huffed again, shaking his head. “I just don’t get it! I don’t understand you. You won’t endanger people when it’s not necessary, and you don’t value one human life over another. Great! Awesome. But how can you look at me and still say those same things apply?

“In case you’ve forgotten, I can’t get hurt and I can’t feel pain! I can’t die. So why risk yourself to save me from nothing?”

Was it not obvious?

Alphonse was only human by technicality.

A fully human soul in a fully inhuman body.

It just didn’t make sense.

He can fight, same as Ed.

He’s an alchemist, and a good one too because of Izumi.

So why…

What would he do if he got Mustang hurt, or even killed?

Who would help Ed get his body back?

Alphonse would protect his friends, no matter what. He wouldn’t-

“That’s what you’ve been thinking of all day,” Mustang said, more of a statement than a question.

Al just stared at him, uncomprehending.

The man sighed, looking at him with… something in his gaze. Concern? Understanding? Al wasn’t sure.

“No one has the right to decide what makes a person human or not,” he said simply. Mustang had the same odd air of regret about him as he, Hawkeye, or even Lieutenant Havoc occasionally had when speaking about the military or their pasts.

“Once you start thinking like that, thinking you aren’t human, or you don’t deserve to be called human, you lose everything. I can’t say I know what it’s like for you- my soul has been in this body all my life and I imagine it will be until the day I die, but I…” Mustang trailed off, almost looking like he was somewhere else for a moment.

He looked up at Alphonse again, expression closed off as it usually was. “Have Fullmetal give you a pep-talk when you see him again.” With that, he turned, continuing down the tunnel.

Al watched him for a moment, turning the Colonel’s words over in his head again.

Somehow, Mustang knew more about how Al felt than he let on.

The boy walked quickly to catch up with Mustang. “A pep-talk?” he asked, tone much lighter than it had been for a while today.

“Fullmetal seems like the type,” he responded cryptically.

Alphonse shook his head, baffled. “I don’t think he is!”

The man paused, glancing at Al. “How can you be certain?”

“I’ve known him all my life, Colonel!”

“All your life? That’s not very long, though. You’re only ten.”

“I’m not ten…”

Mustang hummed. “My apologies. Eleven.”

Alphonse just laughed.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Paris (Superstar Chapter 5)

I'm so in love that I might stop breathing

Drew a map on your bedroom ceiling

No, I didn't see the news

'Cause we were somewhere else

Privacy sign on the door

And on my page and on the whole world

Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours

Roy and the Reader continue to see each other in secret while the AFC Richmond goes on a road trip.

Roy Kent x Reader

6.2k words

Warnings: Language, suggestive references, mentions of adults drinking adult drinks, Roy Kent showing lots of green flags, fluff because boy did I need it after the last couple chapters

~

“Don’t fucking go,” Roy grumbled, grabbing a fistful of the too-big Richmond shirt I wore and pulling me back towards him.

“Just getting some water,” I murmured, trying to wiggle out of his grasp.

Moonlight made his skin glow pale as he started to sit up, groaning quietly. “Lemme get it for you.”

I pushed his chest back down, my fingertips brushing against thick hair. “I’ll be right back,” I huffed with a giggle. I pressed a hard, sloppy kiss to his lips before climbing out of his bed, tugging at the hem of the shirt he’d given me to wear in place of proper pyjamas.

Despite my drowsiness, I practically skipped down the stairs, my heart full of something I wasn’t quite ready to name yet. After we’d had a good talk about everything that happened at the fundraiser and what we wanted out of our newly established relationship, Roy had pulled out a homemade chocolate dessert to share, and things had escalated in ways that made me blush to think about.

A mumbled love song lingered on my lips as I opened and closed cupboards to find a cup I could use, straining to see in the dark. The glowing green numbers on the stove read 3:56. Perfect. That was plenty of time before I had to head home and get ready for brunch with Keeley and Rebecca. I could go back to bed and cuddle and maybe even wake up Roy for another round-

“Good mornin’.”

“Fuck!” I shrieked, trying to pull down Roy’s shirt to cover my lower half as a bright light shone on me. I squinted at the figure across the kitchen. “Jamie?!”

Jamie Tartt stood there, dressed for a run and wearing a shining light on his head. “Er, is Roy home?” Even in the dark, I could see him trying to avert his eyes from my figure. “We’re supposed to go for a run. I let myself in, sometimes he forgets to lock his side door…”

My entire body burned with embarrassment. “I, um, I-” I tried desperately to think of a reason, some excuse, to explain why I was half naked in Roy Kent’s kitchen, but nothing came to me.

“Oi! Tartt!” Roy stormed down the stairs, still in the sweatpants he’d worn to bed. “The fuck d’you think you’re doing here?” he bellowed as he flipped on the kitchen light. “I fucking texted you to run on your own today.”

Jamie’s mouth formed a perfect O as Roy towered over him. “Shit, I lost my phone at the party on Friday. Think one of the papps nicked it. Keeley’s picking me up a new one today after brunch.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Coach.”

Roy’s face and whole chest were red with rage. “Well now you fucking know. So get the fuck out.” His eyes landed on me as I tried to strategically hide myself behind the kitchen island. He glared back at Jamie. “And don’t fucking tell anyone about this. Or I’ll slice your prick off, have it properly taxidermized, and give it to Keeley as a fucking Christmas gift.”

“We’re just trying to keep things private for a bit,” I clarified to Jamie, who still looked confused. “This… thing is still new, and we’d just like to not tell everyone at work yet.”

Jamie nodded, blinking a few times. “Nah, I geddit. Don’t need the other gaffers and the guys givin’ you shit.” He gave a small salute to Roy. “See you Monday, Coach.” Then he shot finger-guns at me. “And you have fun with Keeley later, yeah? I promise I won’t tell her about-” He pointed back and forth between Roy and me. “-this thing.”

Roy shadowed Jamie all the way from the kitchen to the front door, slamming it shut behind the player. When he came back into the kitchen, his face instantly softened. “Sorry ’bout that,” he grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes. “Fuckin’ Jamie Tartt, losing his fucking-”

I approached Roy and wrapped my arms around his middle, blushing at the feeling of his bare skin. “Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “I highly doubt Jamie’ll tell anyone. That threat of yours was painfully vivid.”

Roy’s body relaxed against mine as he wrapped an arm lazily around my shoulders, pulling me close so he could plant a kiss on the top of my head. “I know a real good taxidermist, too,” he grunted.

“Lovely,” I snorted, lifting my head to look up at Roy’s face. We exchanged sleepy smiles. “Hi,” I hummed.

“Hi,” he whispered. He bent his head towards me, touching his lips to mine so softly I could barely feel them. “Wanna go back to bed? Get a bit more sleep before you gotta head home?”

My cheeks warmed as I gazed back up at him, my heart purring. “I wanna go to back to bed,” I began slowly. “But… I don’t want to sleep.”

Roy’s eyebrows flew up. “In that case-” He lifted me and threw me over his shoulder, giving me a light smack on my butt as he carried me back upstairs, my squeals of laughter echoing throughout the house.

~

It took all my strength to pry Roy’s muscular arms off me later that morning. He proposed that I cancel on Keeley and made several other suggestions about how I could spend my time, all of which had me red in the face and rolling my eyes as I gathered my clothes off his bedroom floor.

Roy Kent is absolutely smitten with me, I hummed to myself as I drove to brunch, my mobile vibrating to let me know that Roy Kent⚽ was texting me for the dozenth time since I’d left his house that morning, asking me to change my mind and come back. After finding a parking, I silenced my text notifications, not wanting to give either of my friends an opening to ask why in the world my officemate was texting me so obsessively on my day off.

Heading into brunch. Call you after I typed as I walked towards the restaurant, not bothering to hide the wide grin on my face.

“Ooh, is someone sending you a dirty picture?” I jumped as Keeley hooked her arm through mine. “Is it Roy?”

I quickly stuffed my phone into my purse, hoping she hadn’t seen the number of heart-emojis on the screen. “Ha. Hello to you too, Keeley.”

Keeley kissed my cheek as we entered the restaurant. “Come on, I need all the details,” she demanded. “Please, I’m dying!”

We quickly found Rebecca and settled in with drinks and food. The conversation almost immediately turned to Rebecca’s party, which she declared a success.

“Oh, but what about…” Keeley nodded to me. “You know…”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows as she swallowed the champagne she’d been drinking. “What? Did I miss something?”

Before I could explain in a way that didn’t worry my boss, Keeley leaned forward. “Okay, Roy thought that Richard had done something, you know, unseemly to this one.” She waggled her eyebrows and nodded towards me. “So, Roy tried to actually murder Richard, and Jamie and I took them to a side room so they wouldn’t cause a scene- yes, I know, I’m a great PR person, you’re very welcome- and these two-” Another nod towards me. “-had some weird, very sexy energy between them. Then they were alone in that room for a while and when they came out Roy actually danced. Twice.” Keeley smirked at me. “Let me repeat, Roy Kent danced.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows flew higher and higher with each word out of Keeley’s mouth. She gawked at me. “Holy shit, are you and Roy shagging?” she gasped.

“I mean this with all due respect because you’re my boss, but sod off, Rebecca,” I grumbled. “Keeley’s exaggerating. There was a misunderstanding with Richard, Roy was a tad drunk and got carried away trying to be protective, we calmed him down, and he was a perfect gentleman to me, his friend.” Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

“Don’t listen to her Rebecca,” Keeley teased. “She’s completely in love with Roy and he’s just as smitten. In fact, Jamie was telling me-”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “What did Jamie say?” I tried to keep my voice even and my face uninterested; deep down, I knew I was failing. There is no way Jamie would tell her. No fucking way.

Keeley smiled; she knew she was winning this game. “Just that you and Roy are always holed up in your office together. He brings you lunch all the time. Sometimes gives you a ride home from work. And Jamie swears that Roy’s been less brutal during their training since the day you started at Richmond.”

Rebecca nodded. “I can’t help but notice that you two are practically attached at the hip at work,” she added sheepishly.

“Well, yeah, Roy says I give him a break from having to talk to Ted and Beard all day.” They didn’t need to know that he’d mumbled that while half-asleep in bed that morning.

Keeley was now completely smug. “The man’s in love with you,” she declared with finality.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s called friendship, Jones. Try it sometime.”

“It’s called romance, babe. And you and Roy Kent should try it sometime.”

~

“How about Much Ado About Nothing? With Emma Thompson?”

“Fuck no!” bellowed Roy from the couch as I walked back into his living room, carrying a beer for each of us.

I rolled my eyes. “Come on Roy, a little Shakespeare won’t kill you.”

He sat up, baring his teeth at me. “I fucking hate Kenneth Branagh,” he growled, accepting the beer I handed him. “With his fucking around on Emma Thompson. What a prick. The woman’s a treasure.”

“Oh.” I stared at him for a moment, ever amazed at the things that flew out of his mouth. “So, do you hate Helena Bonham Carter as well then?”

Roy shook his head, making room for me on the couch. “Nah. Emma Thompson and her made up. No bad blood there.” He took a sip of his beer. “But fuck Branagh.”

“But Emma’s in Much Ado,” I pointed out as I plopped down. “And Keanu Reeves. You can’t let Branagh ruin it.” Roy rolled his eyes. “How about this,” I offered. “Emma Thompson double feature. Much Ado About Nothing, followed by Sense and Sensibility. That way you get to see her win an Oscar and meet the love of her life Greg Wise.”

“Hmmf.” Roy narrowed his eyes at me, debating my proposal. Finally, he settled into the couch, wrapping an arm lazily around my waist to pull me back with him. “Alright. I could go for some Jane Austen. On with the fucking Branagh movie then.”

Satisfied, I grabbed the remote to Roy’s massive television and found the movie. As soon as Emma Thompson appeared in the opening scene, I laid down my beer picked up my work laptop from the coffee table and opened it. Roy groaned louder than usual beside me.

“Fuck, are you really doing work right now?”

“Sorry, someone’s got to double check the reservations for the Paris game.” AFC Richmond would be playing in an exhibition against a French club team, and Rebecca had tasked me with making sure the lodging was all arranged. I suspected it was mostly because I had casually mentioned taking one French class in school, but it was nice to have responsibilities besides editing the grammar on Coach Lasso’s tweets and returning Coach Beard’s library books.

There was a small pressure on my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Roy leaning on me, his eyes skimming the room arrangements spreadsheet on my screen. “Oi, I think there’s been a mistake,” he hummed. “You’re in room 218, and I’m in room 222. Shouldn’t I be in 218 too? Would help save a few pounds.” He raised an eyebrow at me, not bothering to hide the grin on his face.

Unable to resist, I planted a kiss on his scruff. “Or, I could let the club pay for the rooms, and if you want to see me, you can put in the effort of sneaking down the hall like a gentleman.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless you want to announce to the whole club that we’re dating, and Ted can spend the whole trip calling us his OTP and making comments about being in the City of Love.”

Roy was clearly weighing his options as he stared at me. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he put his beer on an end table leaned back onto the cushions. “Fine. Just make sure you slip me a key to your room. I’m not going to be standing in a hotel hallway knocking like some fuckin’ creep.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure.” I made myself a note to ask for two keys for every room; less suspicious than just asking for myself. “Any other requests?” I asked dryly.

“Hmm.” Roy feigned thinking. “Throwing Jamie Tartt off the top of the Eiffel Tower might be a fun team-building activity. Montlaur too while we’re at it.”

“Thought you were over that,” I hummed, checking my confirmation email from the hotel and using Google Translate to make sure I didn’t misunderstand anything.

Roy shrugged, his hand lightly grazing my hip. “Still don’t like the way that prick looks at you.”

I snorted as I sent Rebecca the confirmation email and room assignments for her approval. “And what way would that be?”

“The way I look at you.”

Email sent, I closed my laptop and returned it to the coffee table. “Roy,” I said slowly, straddling his lap and taking his face in my hands. “No one has ever looked at me the way you do.” I kissed his neck tenderly. “Besides, why would you want to waste your time in Paris on Jamie and Montlaur? Wouldn’t you rather be with me?”

“So, you’re saying we can skip going to fucking Paris and just spend the weekend here?” His nose nudged my cheek. “I’ll even let you put on more Kenneth Branagh movies.”

“Oh, hell no,” I scoffed, sliding off his lap and leaning back to watch the movie that had gone ignored during our conversation. “You are not talking me out of a free trip to Paris.”

~

“Alright, so I’ve got some Albert Camus for Beard, sudoku for Ted, and a sleep mask for Roy.” The coaches held their hands out for their requested road trip items. I held tight to the hardcover copy of The Stranger that Beard reached for. “No writing in the margins,” I ordered. “Library says you can’t do that anymore.”

He rolled his eyes and took the book. “Fine.”

Ted smiled as I handed him the book of sudoku puzzles I’d picked up on my way to work. “Thank you so much,” he gushed. “This is real sweet of you to get these little presents for us. We might have to start callin’ you Willy Wonka.”

I shrugged. “Honestly, no problem, Coach. We’ve got a long trip ahead, might as well enjoy it.” I just don’t want to play “I spy” all the way to Paris. I turned to Roy. “And sleep mask, as requested.”

His eyes narrowed as he took the sleep mask out of my hands. “It’s pink,” he grumbled.

“Goes well with your eyes,” I answered cooly.

Roy glanced around, making sure the other coaches were out of earshot. “Is this from your fucking nightstand?” he hissed, biting back a laugh.

I shrugged, now completely grinning. “Yeah, I was hoping you’d recognize it.” I playfully batted my eyelashes at Roy. “You’re gonna wear it on the bus, right?”

The man was seriously fighting a smile. “Maybe,” he growled quietly.

Before I could make another flirty comment, Ted came back, rubbing his hands together happily. “Alright ya’ll, should we get these puppies onboard this puppy?”

Roy sighed and turned around, glaring at the players who were milling around the parking lot while Will finished loading their luxury-brand luggage onto the team bus. “Whistle!” he shouted, getting their attention. “Oi! Get your asses onboard now, or else you can fucking walk to France!”

When the Paris exhibition game was first announced, Rebecca had planned on everyone just flying; it was the team, particularly Sam and Jamie, who insisted that a six-hour drive would be fun. Part of me was not looking forward to six hours on the road, but knowing I’d spend those six hours next to Roy made it bearable.

I nudged Roy as we watched the team load onto the bus. “Sit with me?” I whispered.

“Like you even have to fucking ask,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, gesturing for me to climb aboard.

An hour later, we were on the road, and the boys had finally gotten sick of singing “Richmond Til We Die”, much to Roy’s relief. Now they were all having their own conversations, or listening to music, or watching movies on their phones. The quiet time meant that the coaches and I could finally chat at the table at the back of the bus. As usual, Roy sat next to me and spread himself out a little bit, his thigh pressed against mine and our arms brushing; he often did this “manspreading” at meetings as a way to have physical contact without drawing suspicion.

“Alright, so lay that schedule on us,” Ted was saying as he tossed a handful of the trail mix I’d packed for him into his mouth. “What’s on the itinerary, Ben and Jerry?”

Unable to resist cracking a grin at his little rhyme, I opened the document on my tablet. “So, once we arrive, we’ll have a team meeting to go over strategy with the boys, followed by team dinner at a local restaurant, Rebecca and Higgins’ll join us for that, and then movie night.” A shiver went down my spine as I fent Roy’s knuckle graze my arm. “It’s all arranged with the hotel. Then tomorrow, team breakfast at the hotel and head to the stadium for the game. And after the game everyone’s on their own until we meet at ten the next morning to come back to Richmond.”

Ted smiled. “And the movie is set to go?” Despite the publicity surrounding the exhibition game, the man absolutely knew what his priorities were.

We quickly finished confirming the team’s plans for the trip, with Ted making a few jokes about eating fries and frog legs and toast. The entire time, Roy strategically pressed himself close to me, making me want to finish our meeting so he and I could retreat to our usual seats together, where we could stealthily hold hands between our seats. Instead of dismissing us, though, Ted announced that he had one more topic to chat about; Roy groaned loudly, but a sharp look from me shut him up.

Beard cleared his throat. “So, we’re currently looking very seriously at this Spanish player, Dario Vargas. Skilled striker. Would be a great asset to us.”

“And he’s actually going to be in Paris at the same time as us,” Ted explained. He turned to me. “D’you think you could find a good place for me and Rebecca to have dinner with him tomorrow after the game? We’re hopin’ to wine and dine ’im and reel in the big fish before we head home.”

“Sure, Ted,” I assured him, starting a search on my tablet. “Dario Vargas….” I cocked my head at the men. “Why do I know that name?”

Coach Beard sat up a little. “Well, he’s been a pretty big name on a couple of Italian and French teams in the last few years. So maybe you’ve seen his name on a sports network or something?”

No, that wasn’t it. This guy’s name was so familiar, but I didn’t associate it with football. For some reason, his name made knots begin to appear in my stomach, and I didn’t like it.

“Hmm, maybe,” I agreed, wanting to end the meeting already. “Anything else?” Roy growled beside me.

Ted shook his head, all smiles. “Nope. We’re all set, Mookie Betts.” He nodded to Roy. “You can go take a nap now.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” he grumbled, jumping up. Internally, I rolled my eyes at his dramatics.

About fifteen minutes later, I had Ted’s reservation settled and could put my work away. With a sigh, I collapsed in my seat next to Roy, who was indeed wearing my sleep mask. I pulled out my phone, quickly typing a text complaining to Keeley about her decision to stay home from the trip.

A hand brushed against my thigh. When I glanced up, Roy had lifted my sleep mask slightly and was staring at me from under it. “Oi, what fucking movie are you making us watch tonight?”

“Bridget Jones’s Diary,” I answered as my mobile vibrated, letting me know Keeley had sent me a reply. “It’s one of my favorites.”

The sleep mask was now entirely lifted and resting on top of Roy’s head. “Because you fancy that wanker Hugh Grant?”

A snort flew out of my mouth. “Colin Firth, actually.” I glanced at the words on my screen; Keeley was suggesting that I ask Roy about his baguette. In return, I sent her several middle finger emojis.

“You like that whole Mr. Darcy shit?”

I rolled my eyes; Roy was talking as if he hadn’t just been completely invested as he watched the five-hour miniseries of Pride and Prejudice with me a couple days ago. “Yes, I like that whole Mr. Darcy shit. Have you seen Pemberly?”

“No wonder you like my house,” he muttered, grinning. His eyes flickered to my phone. “Why’s Keeley sending you so many eggplant emojis?”

~

“No, I like you very much. Just as you are,” Colin Firth said to Renee Zellweger onscreen.

In the back row of the hotel conference room turned private theater, I let out a breathy sigh. Roy eyed me carefully, the lights from the screen playing on his face.

“You like this?” he whispered, barely audible.

I nodded. “I like anything Colin Firth says,” I answered.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “And the grand gesture shit?”

“Obsessed,” I replied, grinning.

“Good to know,” he muttered, slumping in his seat a bit, his knee knocking into mine. He leaned over once more. “What’re you doing after this?”

I craned my neck to make sure everyone was preoccupied by whatever antics Bridget Jones was getting herself into. “Going to bed, probably. Yourself?”

A smirk graced the face I always found myself thinking about. “Probably going to your bed.”

Sure enough, I woke up the next morning curled up in Roy’s arms. It had quickly become my favorite way to start my day: turning around and seeing that bearded face still half asleep, tracing shapes on his arm as he squeezed me a bit tighter to himself, and murmuring sweet nothings back and forth before starting our day.

The light coming through the space in the curtains told me that we didn’t have much time before Roy had to sneak back to his own room before the team started milling around the halls and heading to breakfast. And my mobile ringing on the nightstand told me that I wouldn’t even get to enjoy the time we did have.

“Hello?” I grumbled into the phone, giving a small stretch as Roy stirred beside me.

“Good morning, darling!”

The sound of my mother’s voice had me scrambling to sit up and cover myself with the blankets, as if she could see the way I had turned Roy’s black shirt into pyjamas. “Morning Mum,” I blurted out. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry it’s so early, I just wanted to catch you before you get busy. How’s Paris?” Her voice was nonchalant, oblivious to the scene on my end of the call.

I cleared my throat as Roy began to wake up, squinting up at me with a scowl on his face. “It’s great, Mum,” I answered, raising my eyebrows at Roy, who nodded in understanding. “Text me what you want me to bring you as a little souvenir, yeah?”

“Sure, love.” In the background, I could hear dishes clanging; she was probably getting breakfast ready.

“So, everything’s good? The team’s treating you well?”

My hand rested on Roy’s arm as I completely sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Yeah, they’re great. They’re basically big kids, really.”

“And the gaffers?”

Roy turned over to wrap his arm around my waist, gazing up at me with a sleepy grin. “Very nice,” I assured her.

“And how’s Roy?”

I nearly choked. “Roy?” I repeated, shoving his arm off me.

She chuckled into the phone. “Yes, Roy. You know, tall, brooding, handsome, football star. Photos of him all over your walls since his Chelsea days. Disappeared upstairs with you at Dad’s birthday dinner. That Roy.”

Roy tapped my shoulder, tiredness all over his face. “Can you ask your mum when I can come over for dinner again? That was some of the best fucking pasta I’ve ever had.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line while I swallowed hard. There was no way my mother didn’t hear Roy. And she was definitely capable of recognizing that it was way too early for me to have company. Finally, whisper came from her end: “Is that Roy?”

The options weighed in my head. Flat-out lying and telling my mum that she was crazy, that she’d just heard the television, no way was Roy Kent in my hotel room, was probably not an option. She’d had dinner with the guy; she knew his voice. There was always telling her that the team was getting together for an early-morning breakfast, but the room was too silent to believe twenty-something football players were horsing around a hotel dining room.

That only left me with one choice: the truth.

“Yeah, Mum, that’s Roy,” I admitted, biting my lip.

To my surprise, she laughed. “Well, I’ll be! I was wondering what happened after Dad’s dinner. You hadn’t mentioned any other fellas in a while.” She paused thoughtfully. “Does he treat you well?”

Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard. “I’m so glad, darling. When you’re back from Paris, we’ll have the two of you over for dinner. No birthdays this time.”

My gaze fell to Roy, who was watching me curiously, eyebrows raised. His eyes were full of the adoration I had quickly gotten used to as his fingers traced circles on my hip. “Really well,” I promised my mum, smiling down at Roy. “The best, actually.”

Relief and joy filled my chest. “That would be great, Mum. Roy’d love that. He still asks about that pasta you made for Dad’s birthday.” Roy smiled at the mention of the food he’d been bothering me about since the dinner in question. “Listen, I gotta go, we’ve got some team things to do before the game. But I’ll send you and Dad pictures, and I’ll call you when I’m back in town, alright?”

We said our goodbyes and hung up. When I placed my phone back on the nightstand, Roy was sitting up, watching me carefully.

“You told your mum about us,” he observed quietly. The look in his eyes was unreadable.

I pulled my knees to my chest, nodding. “Hope that’s okay,” I murmured. “I… I hadn’t planned on telling my folks yet. But I know they won’t tell anyone til we tell them we’re ready.”

To my surprise, Roy leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Of course it’s okay. Just promise me one thing.”

I leaned my head against his, nodding earnestly. “Anything.”

“Get me that damn pasta recipe.”

~

The game went magnificently. The French club had a stellar reputation, but the Greyhounds were up to the challenge. Two remarkable assists from Jamie, incredible goals each from Sam and Colin, and an unbelievable penalty kick from Dani led to a Richmond victory.

Back at the hotel lobby, the boys made plans to go out on the town to celebrate, with Richard taking the reigns thanks to his own experiences in the city. Ted and Rebecca bowed out to go to the dinner reservations I’d made for them and the player they were trying to court, and Beard had already left to meet his girlfriend who had made the last-minute decision to fly in that afternoon to spend the evening together.

That just left me and Roy.

“You didn’t want to go out with them, did you?” he asked quietly as we watched the guys debate where to start their night.

I shrugged. “They invited me,” I admitted. “But someone had given me instructions to pack that red dress I’d worn to the charity ball, so I was hoping I had plans tonight already.”

Sneaking another glance at the team, who slowly made their way back up to their rooms to change into their clubbing outfits, Roy slipped me a piece of paper, scrawled on in his sloppy handwriting. “Go outside at eight. There’ll be a car waiting for you. Give the driver this address.” He paused, his eyes flickering to my mouth for a brief moment. “Wear the red dress,” he added.

“Aye, aye Coach,” I agreed, shooting him a puzzled grin. With a short growl, Roy turned and walked out of the lobby, leaving me with the paper in my hands and several questions in my head.

At eight on the dot, I made my way down from my room to the lobby. With the red dress and heels on, as well as the inordinate amount of time I’d spent on my hair and makeup, and a night in Paris ahead of me, I felt a bit like a movie star. A few of the guys were lingering in the lobby, waiting for the group to assemble. They waved when they saw me and called out compliments; I even heard a joking wolf-whistle from Colin.

“Thanks guys!” I called out as I approached them. “You guys going to get into some trouble?”

“You comin’ out with us?” Isaac asked, gesturing to the group. “Richard’s got a great night planned for us. We’ll all take turns dancing with you and you won’t have to buy a single drink, it’s all on us.”

Dani winked. “Unless you ditch us for a French guy and we don’t see you until mañana.”

“I don’t think Roy would like that very much,” Richard chirped, cackling to himself.

The guys all turned and glared at him, hissing at him to shut up and reminding him that we all agreed not to tease her and giving him a warning that Roy’s going to kill you.

I cleared my throat, hoping they’d assume the blush on my cheeks was just makeup. “Um, I’m sorry, what’s happening?”

The guys all looked at each other helplessly before Colin finally spoke up. “We just all noticed there’s a bit of… tension between you and Roy? The good kind,” he added quickly. “We all totally ship it.” There was a murmur of agreement among the team.

Jamie cleared his throat. “Come on guys, leave ’er alone. They’re friends. Roy’d murder all of ya if he heard the way you’re talking.” He smiled at me. “You, go. Have a good night, whatever you end up doin’.” The wink Jamie shot me had me wondering if he knew what awaited me once I walked out of the hotel.

After wishing each other good evenings, I left the team and headed outside. Indeed, there was a black car waiting for me with a driver, uniform and hat and all. He nodded at me as I approached.

“Mr. Kent’s friend?” he asked, smiling.

“Um, yes,” I confirmed, pulling the piece of paper out of my clutch. “He said to give you this.”

The driver took the paper and opened the door for me. “If you’re ready.”

I gazed out the window as we drove, glancing down at my mobile every few minutes. I had sent Roy a text when I got in the car to let him know I was on my way, and all I got was a thumbs-up emoji. While part of me was enjoying the mystery of it all, I couldn't help but feel nervous. Where was he taking me? Some small café on the outskirts of the city where no one would notice us? Another hotel, where we could actually share a room? Wherever it was, it would probably be somewhere dark and quiet where we could hide in a corner.

Instead, we slowly pulled into a parking structure. Fuck, maybe Will was right when he told me he thinks Roy might be a serial killer.

The driver parked and turned to me. “We’re here,” he announced, although I couldn’t figure out where “here” was.

“Er, thanks,” I mumbled as I opened the car door. “Will you wait here or…?”

“’m not going to kill you,” a familiar growl called out.

There was Roy, hands in his pockets, standing under the light of the parking structure. He wore the same black suit he’d worn at the gala; if he was a serial killer, he was the most attractive one in history. He smiled and waved me over.

Click, click, click went my heels on the sidewalk as I approached him. He reached out and took my hand before planting a firm kiss on my lips.

“Roy, where are we-”

“Just watch,” he chuckled as he led the way. The street was shockingly empty, considering this was Paris of all places.

Before I could ask Roy any more questions, we turned a corner and my heart jumped into my throat. “Roy, is that-”

“Yeah, that’s the fucking Louvre.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What’re we doing at the Louvre?” I asked incredulously.

Roy rolled his eyes and tugged me onwards towards the lit-up pyramid. “Stealing the Mona Lisa.”

“Roy.”

A smile graced his face. “Having dinner. Happy?”

I shook my head, my mind spinning. “How… I mean what… Holy shit…”

“Sometimes being a retired footballer comes in handy,” he joked. “I called a guy, wrote a check, and they closed the most famous museum in the world for us.” He shrugged. “No big deal.” The sparkle in his eye told me that no, he wanted me to think that this was a big deal.

Which it absolutely fucking was.

We made our way into the museum, with the security guard tipping his hat to us and greeting “Mr. Kent”. Our steps echoed on the marble floor as we walked from room to room, Roy never letting to of my hand. He pointed out a few paintings as we walked, softly sharing the names of artists he particularly liked.

Roy Kent likes art, I thought to myself. Every new thing I learned about the man made my heart fall a little bit further in… No, don’t say that yet, I scolded myself, trying to focus on the name Roy was whispering to me now.

We finally arrived in the room that held the most recognizable painting in history: the Mona Lisa. But my eyes were drawn away from her and to the table that had been set up and the waiter who stood beside it. I looked at Roy.

“We’re having dinner with the Mona Lisa?” I hissed.

He shrugged and led me to the table, pulling my chair out for me. “Hope that’s okay.”

It was more than okay. It was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard of, probably the most grand gesture I’d ever seen.

“When’d you set this up?” I asked as the waiter poured two glasses of champagne.

Roy cleared his throat and bobbed his head a bit, a nervous habit I now knew well. “Late last night,” he mumbled.

I narrowed my eyes at him, a smirk on my lips. “Before or after Bridget Jones?”

“After,” he growled, pink tinting his cheeks. “Satisfied?”

My smile grew. “So, after we watched Bridget Jones and you asked me what I thought of grand gestures, you went and planned the grandest gesture of all time?”

A laugh escaped his lips. “I take it this is more impressive than Pemberly?”

“Much more impressive,” I confirmed, taking a sip of champagne. “Thank you, Roy.”

He leaned forward and laid a hand on top of mine. “Well, I figured we should celebrate.”

Now it was my turn to blush. “What’re we celebrating? Not today’s win, I assume.”

“Fuck no.” He took a deep breath and gave my hand a squeeze. “I just figured that the longest relationship I’ve ever been in is worth celebrating.”

Numbers flew in my head as I quickly did the math. “But Roy, we’ve only been-”

He shook his head. “It has been four months and six days since your dad’s birthday. I know it’s not the official day we got together or anything, but I figured it's…” He shrugged, trailing off. His eyes were begging me not to laugh at him or tell him he was wrong.

As if I could.

“Something worth celebrating,” I repeated, lifting my champagne.

Roy smiled and lifted his own glass, tapping it to mine with a clink. “To really fucking liking each other.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “To really fucking liking each other.”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

One in the Chamber

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Titans, Justice League

Summary: AU where Jason dies under different circumstances, changing Bruce's life forever.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Barbara Gordon, Grant Emerson, Eddie Bloomberg, Danny Chase

Relationship(s): TBA

Additional Tags: Jason Todd Dies, Bruce Wayne Hallucinates, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson Have a Complicated Relationship, Bruce Wayne's POV

Chapter One: Fluorescent Lights

“Sixteen months after Ethiopia. That’s when it happened. That’s when my heart broke for the final time. But I’m not ready to talk about that… Not yet. There are other things I have to say. Other ways to remember. So, I’ll start where I feel most comfortable. 

Arguing with Jason was never the problem. We never really argued. We had discussions. That was the difference between Jason and Dick. 

“Dick and I were too stubborn to have a decent conversation, but Jason would bend until he broke if we couldn’t find common ground. I should’ve been better to him in that regard. For all his brash impulsivity, he was just a boy… A boy with a big heart and even bigger pain. We didn’t fight because he never insisted. 

“It hurts me to think that I imposed more than I yielded. Maybe that’s what he needed most. Anyway… Arguing with Jason was never the problem. It was the silence,” I whispered. 

“Mr. Wayne, you didn’t answer the question… What happened last night?” the detective questioned. Detective O’Halloran. She was a straight shooter and did everything by the book. 

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about it. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed at discordant paces as I caught a glimpse of Jason in the one-way mirror. He cocked his head to the left, extending his neck forward, as he squinted sympathetically. “Bruce, answer the question… It’s not like you did anything wrong,” Jason whispered. I rubbed my eyes and when I looked at the mirror Jason disappeared. 

“Mr. Wayne?”Detective O’Halloran questioned. The lights flickered and buzzed again. It was a violent assault on my already overloaded senses. I’d never felt anything like it. I was nauseous and itchy—. The chair’s legs were uneven and squeaky. My back ached and my head pounded. A loose string inside my trousers tickled my right thigh. The room smelled like musk and vomit, the tables had a thick layer of greasy grime—. And the buzzing of those damn lights!

“Can we—? Can we—? Can you turn off some of those lights? Please… Detective, I can’t think straight. Please,” I mumbled. Sweat trickled down my temple and the center of my chest. I wanted to vomit. 

Bzz bzz bzzzzz . I covered my eyes. “Bruce… Tell her. Tell her what happened… It’s alright. You’re not hurting me. I’m not ashamed of how things played out. Tell her—.” 

“I’m sorry… I feel—. I’m going to be sick,” I groaned. She let me leave to use the restroom. I retched over the toilet, clutching my stomach. My fingers grazed fabric where the buttons should’ve been. Buttons ripped from my shirt. Pearls ripped from Mother’s neck. I heaved, tasting metal and acid as it came up through my mouth and nose. It burned. Then I remembered… They took the shirt into evidence and gave me a police-issued sweatsuit. 

“You’re losing your grip, Bruce. What is it? It’s not your fault. You can’t possibly believe—.” 

I pushed past the image of him and splashed my face. “Where does that leave us if I speak?” I whispered. 

“Oh, what a world is this when what is comely/ Envenoms him that bears it!” Jason shouted. I turned toward the door and shook my head. The memory of the previous night eluded me. 

“Mr. Wayne?” Detective O’Halloran whispered. She touched my shoulder. I turned away. “Maybe we can try again later… Call me if you remember something.” She gave me her card and the bag of our belongings. I nodded, stumbling down the hall into the cacophony of clattering, pen clicking, and phones ringing. Dick rushed in with tears in his eyes. Swollen and puffy from his cheeks to his eyebrows, 

“I saw him… Did he—?” Dick covered his mouth. “Oh god, Bruce. What happened?” Dick asked. 

I walked past him, “Don’t do it, Bruce. You lost one son. Don’t lose two,” Jason warned me. I shook my head as soon as I breathed in the outdoor air. It wasn’t fresh… But it was enough to bring me to my senses. 

“Dick, it’s all fuzzy. Are you staying the night?” I asked. Jason appeared behind Dick, giving me a thumbs-up. 

Dick nodded, wiping his tears away. “Are you alright?” Dick questioned. 

“He… He um—.” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t remember it clearly. 

I remembered flashes of it. His eyes were wide and wavering as his fingers looped inside my buttoned shirt, gripping as hard as he could through the pain. He pulled the buttons from my shirt. I remember Jason sweating and trembling. He went white and sort of blue-ish. But he whispered—. No, he gasped it… Rasped it. “It’s okay… It’s okay,” Jason rasped. It was almost convincing. He managed to stay awake until they put him in the ambulance. I heard them talking, but it all seemed dull. Jason’s eyes shut, and they shouted but I wasn’t listening. 

“Bruce?” Dick questioned as we sat in his car. I looked up as if I’d been asleep and cradled the back of Dick’s head. 

“You were a good kid… I gave you a hard time, but—. You—.” I looked out the window at the police station. It was hot outside, and Dick turned the AC on in the car. 

“Do you remember calling me?” Dick questioned. I shook my head. I covered my face, trying to remember something concrete, something useful. “You said you needed me. You’ve never once—. I’ll stay as long as you need me.” 

“He’s not going to be home when I get there,” I said. I don’t know why I said it. 

Dick nodded solemnly. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being asleep, walking through dreams with a cloudy head stuffed with cotton. Being underwater would’ve felt more comfortable. 

Dick hit a pothole and startled me out of it for a moment as he cursed. “Sorry… I didn’t—.” I opened the bag and pulled out Jason’s cell phone. A groan rose from the pit of my stomach as I stared at the dark green leather case with his little initials burned into it. He’d carved a ‘W’ into it for Wayne. The groan rattled through my body until something wet hit my hands like rain. That’s when I realized… I was crying.

“Bruce?” Dick whimpered. I couldn’t breathe through it. I couldn’t take it. Every piece of him from that night condensed to a little plastic bag. How could I stomach that? 

It wrecked my whole body. I trembled and wheezed as tears poured from my eyes. “I know.” 

He didn’t know. Dick had no idea how painful it was. The sun rose on the horizon, but I wished it would’ve stayed dark forever. I shielded my eyes, and Dick took a pair of my sunglasses out of the glove box. I couldn’t put them on because the tears kept coming and they wouldn’t stop. They smudged the lenses blurring everything more. My head spun around and around looking for something sensible to grasp onto. Dick was reeling in his own space. In his mind, he was struggling. They’d gotten close before things—. They’d gotten close since Ethiopia. 

“When you sent him to stay with me for a little bit, he used to wake me up in the middle of the night. He’d sit at the foot of my bed on the floor and talk. I used to pretend to be irritated, but I was interested. Always,” Dick whispered. I didn’t have the heart to ask him about it. I couldn’t stop crying. “That’s how I see him. I imagine the back of his head… His silhouette in the dark. I hear his hands clasping together. I think of the distance between us, wondering if Jason was—. God, Bruce. What if he wanted me to invite him up? Why didn’t I?” Dick pulled over, and we sobbed together.

[risingchaos]

THAT ALL-CONSUMING COTTON FEELING

-

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Whumptober 2024, Panic Attacks, Hurt No Comfort, If you squint there’s a little at the end, Angst, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, vivid imagery, no beta we die like jason todd

Language: English

Words: 1,837

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: A long day catches up to Dick Grayson and he has a not great time. Written for Whumptober 2024 - Day One: Panic Attacks

-

It had been a long, long day.

Dick blew out a long breath as he came into his apartment, tapping his forehead against the door a few times for good measure as he just stood there, silently doing up the locks and taking a step back.

He looked over at his kitchen, rubbing absently at his temple to try and remove the tension making his whole scalp tender all day. Rent was due, envelope on the side table with his other mail. He’d have to go by his bank two streets over tomorrow to get it, of course he forgot today. Money would be a little tight, he wasn’t getting paid until next Tuesday, but he’d be fine. Obviously it would be fine.

His shoulders clicked as he rolled them back, cringing at the cracking in his spine accompanying straightening his posture. He wasn’t that old already, was he? He had just gotten home from the hospital, visiting Babs where she was stuck for a while with pneumonia. He’d have to check on her again tomorrow, give everyone updates, but god, right now he couldn’t think. Like his head was just filled with cotton and melted brain, all soaked up and stuffed full.

He needed a distraction, something to pull away from the post-it on the fridge telling him to call Roy. The lingering knowledge that Wally had gotten his leg broken last week, and he was fine now, but he hasn’t been able to make the trip down yet to see him and it made him feel like a shitty friend. He looked around his annoyingly clean apartment, cursing himself for having the foresight to pick up before going. He tossed his phone on to the countertop, holding on to the edges and taking a deep breath. God, it was cold in here. He wanted something to do, something to work towards, something to heat himself up. His bones felt jittery and trapped inside instead of tired like he expected, like he wanted. Was it the phone call from Tim telling him Damian wasn’t sleeping at night that caused this? The plain email with a case from Bruce who needed it done by Sunday without so much of a please?

He shook his head a few times to clear it, probably more aggressively than needed and all it did was aggravate the pounding in his head that was in time with his heart. A rhythm he could feel in his eyes, angry and loud. Good going there.

It was like trying to think through a puzzle box made of steel. Trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube with the stickers rearranged. Actually that would make for a solid joke at Tim next time he saw him, he’d have to try that.

Food? Maybe. Nope, nevermind. The mere thought of having to eat made him feel sicker than the nausea he already had building from hunger. Painkillers, maybe? When was the last time he took them? It seemed like long enough. He opened his eyes he didn’t realize he had closed and tried to focus on the clock. It looked wrong, the numbers shifting in a blurry, headache fueled mess. Huh. Maybe he had been drugged, gone out on patrol and hadn’t realized it until now. He felt himself grabbing lamely at his chest, trying to feel for the insignia underneath, for the rough Kevlar and only meeting the cotton of t-shirt instead.

Very suddenly he found himself trying to catch his breath in the kitchen. Not the worst place to have a panic attack, not the best. Right down the middle. Damn, where was Babs when you needed her? The thought of her in his comm, talking him through a breathing exercise almost helped until he remembered that oh yeah, she’s not here, she’s in the hospital. With real problems. Actual person problems, not just his stupid brain deciding it had enough that day.

Okay. Okay, baby steps. Fuck, his head hurt. One thing at a time. The counter was so cold under his hands. Why was it so cold? He should turn on the heat, though his legs turned to clay underneath him. Nevermind, stay where you are. Won’t do you much good to fall over, crack your skull on the hardwood and bleed out before anyone could know. Breathe, Dick. Breathe. Fucking breathe. In and out, you know how it works. Why wasn’t he? Why wasn’t it working? The hand on his chest migrated up, away from the familiar fork twist trying to turn his ribs into spaghetti and up to his collar, fitting two fingers on the edge and pulling away from his neck. Maybe sitting down would help, would get rid of the horrid kettle sound that he realized with a start was his breathing. He would sit down if he could, if the clay hadn’t hardened already.

Oh God, oh God he was dying. This was how he died. Not heroically in battle. Not falling, decorating Gotham with his blood a final time. Not with any significance, no fanfare, just cold and alone, panic ridden in the dark in his kitchen.

The hand on his collar suddenly released, running through his hair and tugging to find a grounding. He was loose electrons, waiting to find something to cling to. His knuckles were so white against the dark fake stone of his countertop, it was almost laughable if he wasn’t dying. Had he been poisoned? Was Scarecrow waiting for him in the hallway, expecting Nightwing and getting this pathetic excuse of a hero? Fuck, if B could see him now.

His kettle sounds shifted, turning to wet gasps that clogged in his throat with the soaked paper of a dying poet’s words. Like a car trying to start but it was too cold cold cold in here. Out there. Wherever he was. He was marble, then glass, then clay again, molded to whatever worked best for what they wanted. It was selfish to even think it, to think they even knew he changed for them. Was he any better than their rogues?

He could feel the tears in his eyes, joining the sting of asphyxia and his hand tugged harder at his hair, the other shooting to his collar to pull harder to get everything away from his neck, lest he be beheaded by his own clothing. Multitasking. He was good at that. C’mon, Grayson. Just fucking breathe. In two three four, hold two three four, out two three four. Like music. He knew music. If his tongue wasn’t lead in his mouth he’d ask his phone to play something, anything at all.

Maybe the lead was causing the head cotton fog dying clay melted brain feeling. He wasn’t a detective for nothing.

Breathing was working now. His lungs weren’t filled with the same stuffing as his skull. Was it always this difficult to make out shapes? Maybe too many years of too many head blows was catching up to him. He took a step forward, a strangled sound finally escaping at the realization that he wasn’t stuck anymore. His body was back. He wasn’t frozen anymore. He stumbled, hands scrambling to hold onto the freezing counter again. Jesus, he needed to turn on the heat. His teeth were chattering. Though maybe that was the anxiety. No no, cold counter. Breathing. Focus, fucking focus. Breathing. It was working, keep going. The world returned to color again, Wizard of Oz style. Kind of. Metaphors were hard when you were drowning on land.

Slowly but surely, feeling returned to each of Dick’s limbs. The room stopped spinning, ha, more Wizard of Oz jokes. He was killing it. He took another unsteady step. Water. Goddamn he was thirsty. Sea legs swayed with the beat of his heart and his headache, spilling some water over the edges of the cup that he filled in the sink, hands shaking in time with the rattle of his lungs. He knew he shouldn’t drink Blüdhaven tap, it probably would actually kill him. He drank it anyway.

The cotton feeling was back, though with a new twist. Like a Build-A-Bear (he’d have to take Jason and Tim and Damian sometime, the looks on their faces), poked and prodded and chalk full of some stringy mess. His eyes still wouldn’t focus fully, hands unsteady and the glass slipping between dust to the sink basin, clattering loud enough to make Dick jerk away.

He fell, or collapsed, or whatever, he didn’t know, but he ended up on the floor this time, back pressed against his cabinets and the clay feeling back. This time it packed his throat, no air holes to prevent explosion as he gasped and gasped to just breathe again. He didn’t care how he got there, horrid whines he didn’t recognize filling the stinging silence of the room. His legs kicked uselessly for purchase against the hardwood. What for? He didn’t know, but he needed the movement. He needed the heat. He didn’t know if it would bake the clay and he’d choke pitifully right there or if it would melt it, and he’d get to see another day.

When the world started to get speckled with yellows and purples and black feathering, he suspected the former.

Dick felt warm again, as he came back into his body. He didn’t have control yet, all systems offline. Static had joined into the sensations, ringing across his body and filtering through until he felt clear again. He was wheezing softly, but he could breathe. Finally, he could breathe.

He just sat there on the floor for a while. His mind blank, fully bluescreening for the moment, spinny wheel of death, loading and buffering back up. One hand gently touched his face where he could feel the tear tracks cutting down his face, and he shook.

Dick stayed right where he was, and cried. He covered his mouth at first, but all it did was bring back the cotton clay melting static feeling and he dropped it. Instead he sobbed, quiet as he could into the stale air of his tomb, head dropping down to meet his chest where the collar of his shirt was stretched out. Here he was, the pinnacle of independence, refusing to take daddy’s money to pay rent he could barely afford, unable to stop his friends from getting hurt, barely even able to take care of himself. He was so, so tired of it.

He stayed, right there, until the blackbirds came back and coated him in a sleep he hadn’t had in a while.

His back would hurt like a bitch in the morning, hunched up in the corner against the cabinets like this.

He would dream of his friends that night. His family. Fleeting thoughts of happier times and a focus on the past. His history of mistakes, of accidents, of failures and victories. For now though, Dick Grayson slept on the cold floor of his kitchen and rest.

He never did turn the heater on.

[jamiesfootball]

Curious what you’d do with ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

If it's not the first thing he hears coming off anesthesia, it's the first thing that cuts through the fog, though Roy has a sneaking suspicion his sister's been at it for a while.

Roy wakes to lingering nausea, clammy shivers that prick against his skin, and his sister glaring at him from the foot of his bed.

It's weird, seeing Sarah out of scrubs; it's even weirder seeing her with a child held up against her hip. He's still not used to it.

From her perch, his niece watches him intently. Only age two and she's fucking huge, all her soft baby features spilling out into a toddler mould. The bigger she gets, the easier it gets to be to tell what she's thinking. Right now, she may as well be hiding her distress behind a pane of glass.

She waves at him. He waves back. Her arms tighten around her mum as she buries her face in her neck.

Roy's heart thump thump thumps on the monitor.

His hand falls back to the bed. Squinting against the light, he fights against the hot dampness building behind his eyes.

His throat croaks, "Is it bad?"

Sarah sighs. "As bad as the last one? No. But you can't keep tearing your knee up, or pretty soon you won't have a knee!"

She punctuates her statement with a thunderous frown; her eyebrows, similar to his own but just a tad neater, cut across her forehead like bushy lightning bolts.

Still under some sort of drugs, he shrugs off her concern and says, "Eh. I'll buy a new one."

Sarah's eyes narrow dangerously, but Phoebe giggles into her hiding spot. It's almost cheating, that - Phoebe's at the age where she thinks everything Roy says deserves a hearty round of laughter. Already she's wriggling and giggling, simply delighted that Roy's there to string together words, even if they aren't for her.

Can't understand him; thinks he hung the moon.

It tugs at his chest, threatening to unstuck the zipper and unravel him at the seams.

He stretches his arms out. "Can I hold her?"

Sarah thaws. In record time, and in spite of his callousness, he's being gifted a bundle of Phoebe. Curling up against his side, she flings her chubby little arm across his chest and digs her baby fingers into his shirt with an impressively strong grip. She's so big. She weighs nothing. She's so little. She fills up his entire world. Just having her near soothes the thing that lives agitated inside his chest.

She is no danger of accidently knocking his leg about, tiny as she is. As far as he's concerned, she can stay where she is for as long as she likes.

Sarah slides a chair closer to his bed. Sitting down on Phoebe's other side, she strokes her daughter's hair back. Roy gets the impression that she's doing it for herself too. Showing affection doesn't come naturally to either of them. Best to start as small as they come.

They're not that close, him and Sarah, but sometimes it feels like they might be one day.

After a while, Sarah breaks the silence.

"You can't scare her like that," Sarah says, in a tone more serious than he's ever heard from his baby sister -- she doesn't even need to curse to get her point across. Oh, she can swear like the worst of them, but she's better than that. She better than the brother who only knows football and fame and broken teeth. Better than someone who only knows the best ways to break themselves down and still be useful.

She's better than Roy and she's right.

The problem is Roy.

"I'll try," he says, as close to a promise as he can make. His card's already punched; all that's left is to stave off the inevitable for as long as he can until his debt finally gets called up. Until then-

"I'll try."

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — square one #27

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: recapture, failed escape attempt, whumpee referred to as “kid” but they’re an adult, minor character death, gun violence, blood, vomiting, passing out, punishments, manhandling, violence, broken fingers (with a hammer)

Leo tried to use the phone, but his hands had been so weak, and the pain had started swelling in his wrist to the point where it made it eyes water. He sucked in a deep breath, pushing down the nauseating pain in his body as he forced himself to get it together.

He punched 911 into the phone, his breathing shaking as he stared hopefully at the screen. He heard the dreaded sound of the automated message, his heart picking up in disbelief.

“No, no, no, no,” he frantically whispered under his breath, hanging up the call and instantly trying again. It did the same thing, and he bumped his head against the headrest in frustration.

The stranger, Michael, was glancing at him briefly, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

“I-It’s okay, kid. Here, wait—” He leaned over, eyes flicking to the road occasionally. He pulled out a packet of wet wipes, crinkling softly under his fingers. The car slowed slightly while he was concentrating. He hadn’t been going that fast, since Leo thought he might throw up if they speeded down a bumpy dirt track. “Wipe yourself down with these.”

Leo tugged a wet wipe out with trembling fingers, before pulling down the sun visor. He saw a picture of Michael, smiling with a red headed woman. He felt bad about getting dirt and blood in his car, but it didn’t last long. He began gently smoothing the wipe over his skin, hissing.

Michael sighed heavily. “We’ll call the cops when we get a signal, okay? We’re on our way to a town now, so...so it’s all—”

The car suddenly jerked, throwing Leo forward. He threw his arms out to brace himself against the headboard, a small cry escaping his lips. Michael tugged the steering straight with a small curse.

“What was that?” He cried fearfully.

“I-I don’t know, it just...” The car stayed straight, and Leo’s beating heart calmed down in his chest. He released a shuddering breath, continuing to wipe the grime from his pale face. He moved to his neck, his brows furrowing slightly when he noticed something distinct.

Michael cleared his throat awkwardly. “Car’s just acting up. It’s a bit slow, but...it’s fine. We’re gonna get you back, okay?”

Leo felt his hairs prick on edge. It was a pen line. Starting from his neck and disappearing under his shirt. Hot dread pooled into his stomach. This wasn’t here before. Leo didn’t remember having pen on his skin when he escaped, which meant the only time was—

He frantically lifted up his shirt, watching the line descend down his ribs and link up to little hearts drawn on his stomach. A sob choked in his throat.

When he was unconscious. He must have been out for hours because of that tranquilizer dart, lying haphazardly in the dirt — Roy must have found him. He must have done this, but why did—? Why wasn’t Leo—?

His terrified eyes slid over to Michael.

The man was glancing at him uneasily. “Are you feeling okay, kid?”

But by then it was too late.

Something high impact smacked into the glass behind them, and Michael’s body jerked forward, splayed limply across the steering wheel in a fraction of a second. The car screeched, violently jerking to one side towards the treeline.

Leo barely even bad time to brace himself before it was barreling straight into the trees, sending him flying forward into the headboard with a loud smack. The front of the car crumbled, smoke gathering from under the bent bonnet.

The secretary momentarily lost his breath. Everything began spinning, a horrible, high pitched ringing throbbing in his ears. He could feel fresh blood streaming down the side of his face, squinting away the blurriness in his vision.

God, Leo couldn’t think.

The impact had rocked his skull, wrangling his thoughts into nothing. He sucked in a wheezing breath, eyes flicking swiftly over to Michael.

His stomach churned in nausea.

The man was draped haphazardly over the steering wheel, bloodshot eyes blown wide and back of his head dripping with blood. Leo retched, flinging the door open and smacking onto the ground with a gasped wheeze. A sob caught in his throat as he weakly crawled away from the wreckage, fingers digging into the dirt.

He doubled over, unceremoniously emptying his guts. Tears stung his eyes, bile burning the back of his throat like acid. He tried screwing his eyes shut, begging his mind to rid itself of the horrifying image of Michael’s dead body.

Guilt and shame rose in chest, a horrified sob tearing from his throat. The phone. He needed to get the phone.

His shaking legs curled underneath him, his hands gripping onto the leather seat. He twisted himself back into the car, a gag rising in his throat as he caught a glimpse of the lifeless body in the driver’s seat.

His fingers scrambled for the phone. It was cold against his fingers, flipping it over to make sure it wasn’t broken.

Leo’s body sagged.

The screen was shattered. His thumb shakily jabbed at the button on the side, but it wasn’t turning on. A harrowing sob escaped him. He collapsed against the side of the car, a wave of despair crashing into him all at once. Something inside of him seemed to break, and he found he didn’t have the strength to move anymore.

It felt like any little thing that appeared to help him, an inkling of hope, was crushed mercilessly underneath a sadistic foot. What did he do to deserve this?

Leo spat out a glob of blood from his lip, stuttering on choked breaths. He was going to get his father killed. He killed Michael, and now his father was going to be next.

A pair of legs appeared in front of him.

He blearily looked up, barley able to meet Roy’s cold eyes for more than a few seconds before his head hung limply against his knees. He heard shuffling, Roy slinging his rifle behind his back, before he leaned down to grab Leo’s wrist.

He was jerked onto his feet, knees wobbling under the weight of his own body. He went slack when the man tucked him close to his chest, arm hooking under his knees to lift him bridal style. Leo’s vision swam, his head falling limply against his shoulder with a soft sniffle.

His wheezing breaths stuttered at the warmth seeping into his cold, clammy skin, barely able to muster up anymore strength.

Roy seemed to tag something on the boot of the car, before beginning his journey back down the dirt path, Leo in arms.

He drifted off into uncomfortable unconsciousness minutes in.

. . .

The faint sound of a door clattering open drew Leo from his uncomfortable state of unconsciousness. It was difficult to find the energy to crack his eyelids open, head still limp against Roy’s shoulder and arms tucked under his knees and shoulders. He briefly saw a flash of familiar paintings, before it became somewhat clear in his jumbled mind that he was back at the house. 

A slurred groan escaped his lips. 

Everything hurt. 

Down to each tip of his fingers and toes, he was caked in sweat, blood and grime, soaking uncomfortably into his ripped clothes and battered skin. He could feel his hair twisted and knotted around leaves and little twigs. It was warmer in the house. Leo managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see Roy move past the stairs instead of up them, his brows pinching softly in confusion. 

But then he began approaching that sordid set of descending steps past the bathroom instead. His heart elevated rapidly in his chest, stirring slightly in his arms in defiance. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered shakily, panic gripping him. “No, no, please.” 

Roy descended down the steps to the basement, unbothered. “Be quiet.” 

The horrible screeching from the metal lock grated uncomfortably on his ears as it was tugged open, Roy shoving the door with his shoulder. Leo squirmed weakly as a dry sob ached in his sore throat, shaking his head frantically. He hated the basement. He hated it with a passion, and he didn’t think he could spend a single night down here again like last time. 

Isn’t this your own fault? His mind hissed venomously. Shouldn’t you have been expecting this? 

Roy’s arm uncurled from around his legs, but he barely even had time to place his battered feet on the ground before the mercenary was shoving him forward abruptly. He felt his body slam onto the hard concrete, landing awkwardly on his hip with a pained cry. He tried to gather his shaking limbs in an attempt to crawl away, but he felt like he could barely even move. 

Roy slammed the metal door shut with a bang that caused Leo’s skull to throb. He approached the alignment of tools with a hardened expression, before plucking off the hammer without a care. He shrugged off his rifle, setting it down on the table, and then proceeded to strip himself of his jacket and the belt holding an array of thick pouches. They clattered onto the table, before he turned to face him. 

“Lie on your stomach, lion,” he ordered, stepping around the chair as he drew closer. Leo felt himself getting hysterical, his mind focused on all the awful things he could do to him with that tool. Tears tracked down his cheeks, frantically shaking his head. 

“Roy, please,” he begged, shrinking under his terrifying figure. “P-Please, I’m sorry…” 

“Lion,” the man murmured threateningly. “Be quiet.” 

Leo didn’t care what he looked like. Shaking, desperate, practically throwing himself at the man. It was painful with his already scraped and bruised knees digging into the rough concrete, but he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms tightly around his leg, pressing his head against his thigh. 

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, scrunching his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry, please, please don’t…” 

The man made a curt scoffing noise. He lifted his leg up and kicked Leo away, falling onto his backside with a pained bang. 

“Don’t touch me,” Roy demanded, but his words were more lilted like a question. He was shaking his head, hammer tight in his hand. “Do you think you deserve that, lion?” 

Leo deteriorated into sobs as the man descended on him once more, twisting his arm uncomfortably behind his back and shoving him onto his stomach. Leo knocked his chin against the concrete. Roy tore Michael’s coat off his small frame with an annoyed tut. The mattress was gone. He didn’t know where it was. A crushing pressure settled on top of him as the man dug his knee into his back, leaning forward to grab his free wrist. 

He pinned it above his head, palm down with his fingers splayed out. Roy wasn’t pulling any punches. He didn’t even give Leo time to adjust to the horrible pain winding his shoulder blade, before he was bringing the hammer down on his finger with a powerful crack. Leo’s vision sparked white, and a gut wrenching scream tore from his throat. He thrashed under his hold, but the bigger, and much stronger man wasn’t letting up. 

The hammer came down on a second finger, and then a third, then the fourth, until Leo was thrown into hysterics, and the agony overwhelmed him. He begged for Roy to stop through his harrowing sobs, but the man didn’t say a word. He soon moved on to do the same to the other hand, on all four fingers. Leo’s vision was spinning with stars by the end of it, each crack of the hammer worse than the last.

Roy stood up, leaving him to curl in on himself pathetically through horrible sobs. He moved over to the table and set the hammer down with a curt sigh. He ran a gloved hand through his messy hair, before the sound of the lock being opened caused Leo to lift his head weakly. 

“Wait, Roy, please,” he sobbed, his voice cracking. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Roy raised a brow, throwing a brief glance over his shoulder. 

“You know the rules, lion,” he drawled, shaking his head. “You break them, and I punish you.” 

He sucked in a ragged, wet breath. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered fearfully, fingers twitching and trembling as he drew them close into his chest. “Don’t leave me alone, I’m begging you…” 

Roy offered him a pitiful smile. 

“We have to deal with the mess you made,” he tutted, voice laced with disappointment. “Until then, how about you be a good boy and stay here for a bit until I get back, hm?” 

He didn’t give him a chance to reply. The door was being slammed and bolted shut not a second later, leaving him to curl up against the wall miserably.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235 @whumpasaurus101 @mj-or-say10 @professional-idiocy @seaweed-is-cool @theelvishcowgirl @atomicsandwichprince

[obvious-captain-rogers]

WIP Wednesday

I'm writing an RJK baby fic- it'll be full of mayhem and shenanigans, y'all will love it- and I just wrote a cute little snippet about them finding out the sex of the baby (shoutout to the TIP squad for furthering my Jame and Roy as girldads agenda)

Jamie’s leg bounced erratically as they all three waited for the sonogram tech to come into the room. He’d been nervous and restless for days leading up to it but without any explanation aside from a stilted shrug and brushing off whatever questions Keeley and Roy tried to ask him.

But it was the scan where they were going to find out the sex of the baby and as it got closer and closer, they all felt the weight of the moment.

Not because it really mattered, but it was one more piece to make it all seem more real than it had felt in the beginning.

The tech came in with a bright smile on her face. “My name is Steph and I’ll be doing your scan today,” she introduced herself and then they went through the familiar routine of Keeley lifting her shirt and then getting the gel applied to her skin. Jamie’s nervous bouncing intensified and he lifted his hand to his mouth to chew at his nails as the tech moved the wand about.

“Nervous, Dad?” Steph asked teasingly as she glanced over at Jamie’s fidgeting.

“Erm, maybe a little, yeah,” he said around his thumbnail. Roy gently tapped his wrist with two fingers and offered to hold Jamie’s hand instead so that he didn’t chew them straight down to the skin. Jamie let out a short sigh and held onto Roy’s hand tightly.

“That’s okay, lots of parents are nervous for this,” Steph said calmly and shot Jamie a reassuring smile. “Now, if the little one will just cooperate…” She trailed off and a small furrow of concentration formed between her brows. Jamie’s hand twitched in Roy’s. “Ah, there it is.” She turned the screen towards them. “Right there,” she said and tapped part of the screen, “you can see the legs.”

Jamie, Roy, and Keeley all squinted a little at the slightly blurred blob on the screen.

“We’ll double-check the blood test to confirm it, but it looks like you’re having a girl,” Steph said and smiled at them. “Congratulations.” Keeley sucked in a sharp breath and Roy’s hand tightened slightly around Jamie’s.

“A girl,” Keeley said and she turned to beam over at the both of them. “Seems like we’re evening things out here, boys,” Keeley teased and Roy let out a rough sort of laugh. Jamie let out a shaky breath and he felt relief flood his body. “Oh, Jamie, babe, you alright?”

“Jamie?” Roy was looking at him funny but Jamie just felt a little lightheaded from the rush of adrenaline leaving his body.

“Don’t usually have fainters at this stage,” Steph said and she tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of her before turning her chair around to look at Jamie. “Head down between your knees, alright? And be sure to take some slow, deep breaths.” Jamie nodded and dropped Roy’s hand so he could prop his forearms on his thighs and hang his head down a little. Not quite between his knees but good enough. “There we are. I’ll just step out and give you all a minute.”

“Thank you,” Roy murmured and there was a quick shuffle before the heavy door to the exam room swung shut. Jamie focused on getting air in and out before slowly lifting his head to see Roy and Keeley both looking at him with concern.

“You’re not… disappointed, are you?” Keeley asked, her voice sounding small and nervous as she fidgeted with the little towel-thing the tech must have given her to wipe the gel off her skin.

“Fuck no,” Jamie choked out and shook his head. “’M dead relieved. Was fuckin’ outta me head terrified that it would be a boy.” Jamie shook his head and raked a hand back through his hair. “Not that I’d’ve been disappointed if it- she- where a boy, I just-” Jamie bit his lip. “I didn’t want to be me dad and I were worried that if the baby were a boy that I’d…” Jamie closed his mouth and hated how his cheeks and eyes burned as he ducked his head again.

This was supposed to be happy. It was a good moment and Jamie was ruining it by being an idiot. Keeley made a soft sound and then Roy’s hand was underneath his chin, forcing it up to look them both.

“You’re going to be a better dad than he was no matter what, yeah?” Roy said and he smoothed his thumb over Jamie’s chin softly. “You are so good, Jamie. And you already love this fucking kid so much.” Jamie let out a strangled laugh and nodded as a tear rolled down his cheek. “You’re going to be great.”

“And it’s not like you’re going to be on your own, yeah?” Keeley pointed out. “Roy and I are gonna be there. And not that I think you could ever be like that-” Keeley said fiercely, “but we’ll protect her. Just like I have no doubt whatsoever that you will too.” Keeley held out a hand and Jamie stood and walked over to hold onto her. She tilted her face up and Jamie pressed as close as the exam table would allow to kiss her. Keeley pulled back and gave him a quick peck before reaching up to thumb away the tear from his cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Jamie murmured and buried his face into her temple.

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Ch2, (Ch3 on ao3), Ch4

Chapter 3: Roy Kent Fucks Up

All 23 year olds are all cunts, mind games are played, and Roy is an arsehole.

Roy is at Jamie’s door because unfortunately the prick held up his end of the deal and Roy was fucked if he himself wasn’t going to stick to his own.

Roy is at Jamie’s door at 4 in the morning because Roy is also, from time to time, a prick.

He rings the doorbell and waits.

And waits.

He rings again.

Nothing.

He rings the doorbell again, and again, and again, pounding on the door with his other hand until finally he can see the hallway light come on through the window. He sees Jamie’s face peer out through the glass, squinting at him for a second before the door swings open, revealing Jamie in nothing but a t-shirt, balls and dick out, dangling freely.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Jamie asks, stifling a yawn, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Training.”

“It’s 4 a.m..”

“Yes, and?”

“Who the fuck trains at 4 a.m.?”

“Us two as soon as you put some fucking trousers. What kind of fucking twat answers the door naked?”

“First of all, I’m only ‘alf naked. Get your facts straight. Secondly, it’s my house; I can be ‘alf-naked in my own house if I want to. And thirdly, it’s fucking 4 a.m.; who the fuck is wearing trousers at 4 a.m. expect for apparently you?”

Before Roy can speak, a feminine voice calls down from the stairs

“Are you getting murdered down there?” Roy recognises Keeley’s voice.

“It's alright, Keeley,” Jamie says, trying and failing to stifle another yawn as he does so, “Just some grumpy old twat.”

“What?” She shouts back down.

Jamie rubs his face with his hands, before turning his head to shout over his shoulder, “It’s Roy!”

“Roy? What the fuck is Roy doing here? Does he know what time it is? It’s 4 a.m.!”

“He knows!”

“Well, tell Roy to fuck off until the sun’s come up!”

Jamie turns back to Roy, “The lady would like you to return at a more reasonable hour,” he says at a much more appropriate volume.

“For fuck’s sake,” Roy mutters to himself, looks up at the dark starless sky—fucking light pollution—and wonders if this is some karma bullshit, before remembering he brought this on himself. Past-Roy was a fucking idiot.

Roy looks back down to Jamie—sleepy, unguarded, hair allover the place, no product to hold it down, probably the softest Roy’s ever seen him, even with his fucking knob out in the open air.

“Look, do you want to fucking train together or not?” Roy asks.

Jamie thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it, or it could just be that his brain—what little of it he has—hasn’t fully powered up yet.

“Does it have to be 4 a.m.?” The muppet asks.

Roy’s unimpressed look is answer enough.

“Well, how are we going to see?” The muppet continues, “It’s dark out.”

Roy puts his headlight on, and because he’s feeling like an arsehole today, switches it on and shines it directly in the muppet’s face.

“Fucking hell.” Jamie turns his head, shying away from the light. “Wait, so you’re telling me that, as well as having to play fucking nice, I also have to get up at the crack of dawn for extra training?”

“Do you want to be the best of the best?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says reluctantly, squinting into Roy’s headlight.

“This is how you do it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jamie mutters before turning and walking away, leaving his door wide open for anyone to see his arse cheeks bouncing away. Though at this hour, Roy and Keeley were the only audience.

The first five minutes of their run had been almost peaceful, the only sound being of their feet hitting the pavement. But, after the five minute mark, Jamie was finally awake enough to open his mouth, and then proceeded to not shut it.

With every step, as the chatter becomes more and more incessant, Roy has to remind himself that he is doing this because he’s trying to be a good captain, he is doing this for the team.

For the team.

He wonders if it’s not too late to go back to that plan involving the small remote village in South America where no one’s ever heard of him.

Roy picks up the pace. Jamie follows with ease, mouth moving faster than his legs.

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation that’s causing all the chatter.

Roy runs faster and faster until it was closer to sprinting than jogging, hoping to tire the fucker out, to make Jamie so breathless he can’t talk.

No luck; Jamie keeps talking and talking as Roy comes closer and closer to collapsing, unable to keep up with fucking 23 year old fit pricks.

(That thought stings so much, he considers taking Jamie’s water bottle and shoving it down Jamie’s throat, making him choke on it, on the words that just won’t stop pouring out.)

(Was waterboarding still against the Geneva convention?)

Roy runs so fast he no longer has the breath to tell Jamie to shut up.

Roy’s about ready to keel over, and the pick’s barely even winded. Every single 23 year old can go fuck themselves.

It’s when Jamie starts on the pros and cons of their away kit—it’s fucking orange; there are no pros—that Roy gives up.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can pull it off,” the pillock continues, “I can pull anything off, me. It’s all about confidence, you know. But Colin does look a bit washed out in them, right? It’s not his fault though; he didn’t have a say in the kits. Some people just can’t pull off orange. Just genetics and shit. Unlucky genes.”

"I need a fucking break,” Roy says (wheezes) as they reach the park. He needs a break from running. From Jamie. From the fucking existential dread of getting older. All of the above.

Roy drops onto the first bench he sees and successfully doesn't groan as he finally rests his legs. Quite the achievement considering the state of him.

"Finally”, Jamie stops running and bounces over to the bench.

"What the fuck are you doing?” Roy asks.

“Taking a break” Jamie says like the answer was obvious.

“You don’t get a break," Roy says.

“But you just said—”

“I said I was taking a break. Never said anything about you.”

“How the fuck is that fair?" Jamie whines. Honest to god whines.

“You’re fifteen years younger than me. Are you saying that you can’t do more exercise than me? The person you insist on calling grandad?”

"You’re a very unpleasant person to work with." Jamie observes.

Roy makes him do jumping jacks.

Jamie still has enough energy to open his mouth, “So, when do you want to go on our 10,000 pound date?”

“Fucking never,” Roy says immediately, “Do your think I honestly want to spend more of my valuable time in your fucking company?”

“You're literally doing extra training with me right now.”

“This is different. This is for work.”

For the team.

Jamie sighs. Drops it. Goes on to talk about the virtues of every colour of the fucking rainbow.

“Do you never shut up?” Roy asks, interrupting Jamie’s speech about what pairs best with mauve. Because Roy desperately needs to know. Because, though it’s not too early for training, it is definitely too early to put up with Jamie’s inane, unending babbling.

“Only under special circumstances,” Jamie says and does something obscene with his tongue.

Roy makes him switch to burpees.

It doesn't shut him up. Not at first. Not until the puking starts at least. Then he's much more reticent about talking.

It's after the second time that Jamie dry heaves, no longer having anything to puke up, that Roy takes pity on him and says he can stop.

"Oh, thank fuck." Jamie crumples to the ground from the push-up position, his arms finally allowed to give up on him.

It takes him about two minutes to come up with the energy to crawl to the bench, and then an extra minute to climb up next to Roy.

Roy doesn't offer a hand.

But once Jamie's seated, Roy does give him a sports drink. Jamie drinks it all and then doesn’t get up. Roy doesn’t get up either.

They’re both quiet. Roy doesn't talk as a general rule and Jamie's too tired to even try (Roy's not sure he wants to be here when Jamie finally regains the ability to form words).

The quiet’s not bad, not awkward somehow. It could almost be called relaxing.

It's still early enough that the park is mostly empty except for the odd dog walker. The only sounds from the birds chirping in the fucking trees and Jamie's heavy breathing, and even when his breathing calms down, still Jamie doesn’t speak.

It’s almost pleasant.

And that freaks Roy the fuck out, makes him more uncomfortable than if the silence had been awkward.

Not wanting to deal with the implications of having an almost pleasant time with Jamie Fucking Tartt, Roy stands.

“See you at training.” And before Jamie can even say goodbye, Roy walks away. Not fast enough though to avoiding hearing the long-suffering sigh from the bench. Fucker.

Training at the club isn’t completely shit. Everyone at Richmond’s in a good mood for once, still ecstatic from the win. All cheerful and happy. Also really fucking loud which is fucking annoying.

It only gets louder when Jamie comes in, everyone falling over themselves to say hi to him. Fucking pathetic. One good game, and suddenly they’re all buddy-buddy. Even Sam goes up to pat Jamie on the shoulder and offer him a sincere good morning that Jamie doesn’t deserve. Jamie still doesn’t know what to do with Sam’s attention, offers Sam the most awkward smile Roy has ever seen on Jamie’s face. Fuck, being nice must be costing Jamie so much.

That thought causes no small amount of sadistic glee. Roy tries not to let it show on his face, though he probably doesn’t do a very good job, because Jamie sends him a quick glare when Sam’s back is turned.

Roy looks straight at Jamie, letting the corners of his mouth lift up just enough that only Jamie notices. Because Jamie struggling is always fun to watch.

Jamie’s glare intensifies, before he looks away to get changed into his kit.

This is going to be very fun.

Then Dani Rojas makes his grand entrance, and training becomes so much more entertaining.

Rojas comes onto the pitch like a freight train, the happiest, most golden retriever freight train Roy has ever seen, running up to and greeting everyone with a big chipper smile on his face. His joy is infectious; barely a minute with the team and already everyone is copying Dani’s smile. Well, expect for Roy because he has an image to uphold. And also the Prince Prick himself because he’s a colossal dickhead.

When Dani tries to high five said colossal dickhead, Jamie predictably flinches away with a frown, no doubt concerned that kindness might be contagious.

The highlight of training is watching Jamie’s sour lemon face every time Dani does something good. Dani does a lot of good things. Incredible fucking passes, incredible footwork, and incredible goals.

When Dani scores, Roy just can't help himself. He sidles up to Jamie, bumps his shoulder against Jamie’s.

“Did you see that?” Roy asks. “I can’t really tell, but it seems like he’s very good." He watches as the sour expression on Jamie’s face becomes downright acidic.

He pats Jamie on the back for good measure, says cheers, and runs off with an extra spring in his step.

Jamie, unwilling to be outshone, throws himself into training with more fervour than Roy’s ever seen in him. This does nothing to deter Rojas’ happiness, if anything, it makes the smile grow even bigger as Dani easily keeps up with Jamie.

Jamie scores an absolutely stellar goal. Swept up in the moment, Dani jumps on to him and holds on like a fucking Koala while decreeing that ‘fútbol is life’. Jamie just stands there, looking all constipated, Dani’s arms tightly wrapped around him.

Training is very good.

They’re having a break, most of the lads horsing around in the locker room before it’s time to head to the gym. Roy’s on the bench, ignoring everyone as he’s trying to discretely stretch out his shit knee. It’s not quite bad enough to ice, but he’s going to have to go easy for the rest of the day.

Through all the hubbub, he hears Lasso call Tartt into his office.

Roy’s focus immediately zeroes in on them. He watches as Jamie reluctantly follows Lasso into the office, like a kid dragging his feet to the principal’s office. Lasso closes the door behind them.

He can't hear what's being said, can't see Jamie's face with his back facing Roy. Roy can only see Lasso's ever present placidly earnest expression through the window. Lasso really is a chump.

But he can see Jamie's bewildered expression when he walks out. Bewildered and confused.

Quite a funny look on the dolt’s face, really.

That expression stays on as Jamie heads towards the gym because of course the prick is too good to spend his break in the locker room with everyone else

Roy’s curious, despite himself (since when is he curious about Jamie Fucking Tartt?), so he gets up, pretends that his knee is fine and follows.

“Oi,” Roy calls after Jamie.

They’re alone in the gym. Jamie’s already got some weights out. Roy almost decides against this talk because he’s been having way too many conversations with Jamie in this gym; he’s starting to notice a pattern.

“What was all that about?” Roy asks anyway.

“Hmm?” The prick looks his way, bewildered expression still in place.

“What did Lasso want?”

“Don’t know.” That bewildered expression becomes all the stronger as he lifts and lowers the dumbbells.

“Don’t know?” Roy was dealing with a fucking idiot. “You were part of the conversation, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t get it.” Jamie drops the weights down to his side, turning fully to face Roy.

“What did he say?”

“Said he was proud of me. For, like, passing and shit. Fucking mind games, innit.”

What.

“Mind games?”

“Yeah, why else would he say he’s proud of me?” Jamie lifts his arms up in frustration, the dumbbells rising with ease like they weighed fucking nothing.

What.

“Have you considered,” Roy says slowly and clearly, “that maybe the gaffer is actually proud of you?”

Dead silence.

If anything, Jamie looks even more confused.

Roy snorts because really, what kind of moron was he dealing with? Of course Tartt would be wary of human decency. Probably allergic to it. Probably breaks out in hives whenever someone says please and thank-you to him.

“I mean, with your fucking attitude, no wonder you’re not used to people saying they’re proud of you,” Roy says, only half-jokingly. Jamie doesn't say anything at all. “What? Were you prickish to mummy and daddy too? Is that why they didn’t hug you enough as a child?”

Roy knows he’s gone too far the moment Tartt’s face shuts down. The bewildered expression that Roy found so funny moments ago is replaced by a blank wall so smooth, there are no cracks for anything to slip through.

But then that blank wall disappears to be replaced by one of those fucking irritating smirks, the type that was mean and biting, almost a sneer, the same one that appeared whenever Roy and Jamie butted heads a little too hard.

Roy hadn’t realised he hadn't seen that particular smirk for a few days.

But it was here now.

He hadn’t missed it.

“At least I've still got something to be proud of,” Jamie says, voice oozing derision, “How's the inevitable end of your career looking?”

Roy would usually bristle at those words, but he’s too busy feeling something that’s uncomfortably close to regret. Because unlike all the other times they got into a tiff, Jamie doesn’t get in his face, can’t even make direct fucking eye contact.

“I don’t have time for this,” Jamie scoffs, starring right over Roy’s shoulder as he speaks, “So fuck you and fuck your fucking deal.”

Jamie doesn’t storm off, doesn’t leave in an overly dramatic huff. He does something far worse; he carefully places the weights back where they belong, and walks out the gym at an even pace, quietly closing the door behind him.

Roy may have just fucked up a little.

Okay, a lot.

[forlornmelody]

Outlaws, Chapter 2: Bad Things

Rating: Explicit (Smut, violence, drug addiction.)

Fandom: DC Comics, Titans (2018-2023) to be specific.

Ship: Jason Todd/Rose Wilson. Rose Wilson/Roy Harper. Jason Todd/Roy Harper, Rose Wilson/Artemis of Bana-Mighdall,

Summary:  The road to redemption is fraught with twists and turns, especially when one has been to hell and back. Jason Todd swore he’d never work with a team again, but when a familiar foe shows up in Gotham, A.R.G.U.S. leaves him little choice.

Note: chapter titles are named for songs from my Outlaws playlist. This one is named for "Bad Things" by K.Flay

Link: here

--

It’s a terse day at Gotham National Bank. Their rival, Gotham Financial, got hit the week before. Their safes cleared out, their executives and security guards dead. It was only luck that the bank was closed for the day when the robbers hit. The customers don’t seem to notice, or care. Maybe it’s just Gotham. Risking your life running errands is the price of dirt-cheap rent, after all.

It’s a hot day at Gotham National Bank. The tellers sweat as they handle transactions, and the bankers wipe their foreheads as they instruct their clients to sign on the electronic pads. Somewhere on the roof, HVAC techs grumble as they work on the broken system, cruising the engineers who cut corners, again. Honestly, some Joker gas funneling through the fans would be a blessing in this weather, wouldn’t it?

But it’s not Joker gas that gets them this time.

BANG.

The heavy gold-plated doors slam open, and she enters shadowed by the blazing sun behind her. Her crimson hair glows as if on fire, and her green eyes simmer with fury. One teller hits the panic button with his toe, and another next to him watches as half a dozen security guards train their sights on her like a small army.

And an army is exactly what Poison Ivy wants.

She holds up her hands in mock surrender but keeps walking forward. A green mist, visible only for the sun shimmering in its wake, flies from her fingers.

At first, nothing happens.

But the security guard closest to the door, one week from his retirement party, has witnessed a Gotham bank robbery before. And he’s heard the stories of what that woman can do. He’s more disappointed that there’s not a kiss involved. He aims his gun at the guard next to him. That guard aims at the guard across the room–next to the vault. And then they all fire on each other.

The bank manager walks toward the vault, unperturbed by the screams of the customers and employees. “Right this way, Ivy.”

Her eyes flash. “Queen Ivy.”

—

Breathe in…2…3….4…out…2….3….4…5…6…and in…2..3…4

Jericho swears by this exercise. Says it gets him to sleep every night without a problem. Good for him.

Breathe in…2..3….4….ou–

There’s a knock at the door. Rose squints at her phone. Who the fuck knocks at 1 in the morning?

Yanking the door open, Rose says “Whatever it is, Roy. I’m not fucking–Jason??”

He smiles at her as if nothing has changed between them–that gentle smile that he seemed to save just for her–that soft smile that twists her gut into a knot. “Hey,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Can I come in?”

Rose–who always exists five seconds in the future, who always has a quip or a comeback at the ready–can’t find the words. She just opens the door and lets Jason Peter Todd just waltz right in. Like nothing ever happened. Like they never broke up. Like she never broke his nose. She should say something. Not just stare at him.

Jason’s taller now. He’s stopped putting gel in his hair–letting his curls have free reign. He’s still got that scar on his left temple–strange how the Lazarus Pit didn’t take it away. Rose starts thinking about the scars he’s got under his shirt…and below his belt before she can stop herself–focus. His eyes watch hers, and his soft smile turns into the slightest grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” The words fall from her lips before she can stop them. Fucking hell, Rose.

He closes in, one hand cupping her face and the other winding through her hair as he kisses her. Rose kisses back, her hands roaming across his shoulders, his back, his hips–only half-convinced he’s really there. She should come up for air, but she drowns in him instead.

“Did you?” Jason says playfully, tumbling into bed with her. “Did you miss this?” He murmurs, kissing her neck in that spot that makes her melt. “Or this?” Her tank flies off, and his. Planting gentle kisses on the tops of her breasts, he bats her hands away from his sweats. “Or this?”

Rose swallows, watching him trail kisses down her abs, to her shorts. Jason glances up at her mischievously, edging them down, letting his breath ghost across the wet spot on her panties. “Oh, you have.”

“Fuck you.”

“Mm, you first.” He snickers against the fabric, planting a few lingering kisses, peeling the soaked fabric off her skin. Jason breathes her in. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

All she can do is whimper his name as he tastes her, slowly, gently worshiping the feel of her melting at his touch. Her fingers grip those soft curls as Jason picks up the pace, watching her with a knowing look in his eyes. Jason adds one finger, then another, easing them in and out, curling them just at the right spot. Rose arcs off the mattress, swearing. She’s so close–so close–

Just as she’s about to cum, Jason leans down to whisper in her ear. “Miss me?”

Rose shoots awake, panting for air, with every nerve on fire. The empty space next to her in the bed is as cold as ever. She almost reaches down to finish what her dream started but thinks better of it. Jason’s her teammate, again–she can’t be thinking about him like this. Not when he probably hates the air she breathes. And rightfully so. Cold shower it is.

Throwing on a hoodie, Rose stumbles out of her room. She turns to head down the hall towards the bathroom, only to collide someone’s hard chest. Rose recognizes the scent–Armani–musk with a barrage of tea-like flavors that just screams money–she used to give Jason so much shit for it. You’ve any idea how much I sweat in that fucking uniform? he’d snap back. In the end, Rose used to sleep next to the t-shirt she stole from his luggage, long after he left.

“Uh–” Rose grunts, looking up at his wide green eyes. Those same eyes that looked at her with desire just minutes before. The same eyes that glared at her with disgust when blood poured from his nose.

Jason staggers back. “Rose,” he whispers.

“Good night,” she mutters, darting around him before he can say anything else.

—----

“Another nightmare?” Artemis doesn’t look directly at Rose, just smirking at their reflections in the gym mirror.

“Shut up.” Rose wraps up her wrists, glowering right back at that smirk, wanting to wipe it right off.

“Make me.” She doesn’t even bother to turn around.

Rose doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, and she’s more than okay with that. Fuck the future. She charges at Artemis, swinging for her head.

Artemis doesn’t duck. She just turns, sweeping Rose off her feet with a well-aimed kick. Rose falls to her back on the mat. Okay, maybe she’s off her game. Get up, her dead father’s voice yells in her head. Tilting her hips up, Rose launches her legs, wrapping them around Artemis’s legs, bringing her down on top. Some of that fiery red hair falls from her bun, fanning around Rose’s head as they breathe each other’s air. “Answer the question, Rose.”

It’s Rose’s turn to smirk. “Make me.”

Artemis’s mouth crashes into hers. It’s all lips and teeth until Rose hooks her leg over hers, flipping them over so she’s on top. She grins down at her, digging her fingers into that red hair, biting down her neck in a fashion that’s sure to leave a mark. Shoving her hand up Rose’s sports bra, Artemis murmurs “What was it this time? Falling off a cliff? Murder chase?”

Goddammit. Rose bites her neck harder in reply, pressing the heel of her hand into Artemis’s shorts. “Fuck you.”

“That’s the idea.” Artemis rolls them over. “But maybe we should take this to my room?”

Gym. Right.

Rose answers by pulling Artemis up by a fistful of her crop top, dragging them both into the hallway, and into her room. The amazon locks the door behind her, smirking at Rose as she takes in the sight of her. “You are a mess, Wilson.”

Fuck, it feels good to be looked at like that. “And whose fault is that?”

“And I plan to make it worse.” Artemis presses forward, running her hands up and down Rose’s sides.

This time, Rose doesn’t have a comeback. Not a verbal one anyway. She slips her fingers underneath Artemis’s top, grinning at the goosebumps that rise across the amazon’s skin. Rose presses a kiss against her neck, tasting the salt her workout left behind, melting at the soft sound she makes.

Artemis pushes her to arm’s length, with one hand on Rose’s shoulder. She can’t help but admire the way it makes the amazon’s muscles flex. “What do you want from me?”

Rose shrugs her off and starts to kneel down, but that same arm catches her and holds her in place.

“Rose. What do you want from me?”

The question stops her short. To get Jason out of my head. But Rose has a feeling that answer won’t get her what she wants. She swallows, whispering. “I want you to use me.” Same difference.

Artemis’s eyes darken with want, and her fingers grip Rose’s chin, drinking in the sight of her. “As you wish.” She tugs Rose toward the bed, pushing her down with one arm against her shoulder. Rose falls onto the bed without fighting back, goosebumps traveling up her spine as she sees the amazon fish around in her bedside drawer. Kneeling on the bed, Artemis slings one muscular thigh on each side of Rose’s hips, her sweaty breasts right above Rose’s face as she ties her wrists to the headrest with silk scarves. “So you want to be used,” she says as she shimmies out of her gym shorts, and her boyshorts. “Why don’t I start with that smart mouth of yours, no?”

Rose wets her lips, her gut twisting as Artemis grabs the headrest behind her head and shifts forward so that her thighs straddle either side of Rose’s face. The musk of her cunt overwhelms her senses, and Rose drinks her in, licking wide circles around her already soaking lips.

“Stop teasing, Rose.”

“Mm,” Rose hums against her clit, catching the amazon off guard. Finally. She sucks on her clit, her own cunt throbbing as Artemis grinds against her mouth. Rose rubs her thighs, trying to relieve that itch, but the motion brings Artemis to a halt.

“Ah-ah. I didn’t say you could pleasure yourself.”

Rose swears under her breath, but she doesn’t beg, even when Artemis pulls back.

“You get to come when I say so. Not a moment sooner.” She unties the restraints from the bed, but not from Rose’s wrists. “Now turn over.” After Rose flips over onto her belly, Artemis leans over her, flush against her back, tying her wrists together. “But since you’re so desperate…”

Her heart quickens when she hears Artemis digging through the drawer again. And she watches with flushed cheeks as she pulls out a familiar leather harness and steps into it. “On your knees.” Artemis shifts on the bed, clicking the dildo into place. “Get it wet, won’t you?”

Oh, fuck. This isn’t helping. Well, it is helping Rose get wetter in her shorts, but her mind keeps wandering to another familiar cock, and how much she wants to suck it. Focus. Rose keeps her eyes open as she licks up and down the strap.

“I knew you were hungry.” Artemis gazes down at her with her own hunger in her eyes. Rose could get lost in those green eyes…which are almost the same shade of green as Jason’s. Not again. Rose takes the cock into her throat, relishing in the way Artemis swallows with want. She pushes Rose off hastily. She usually uses her words in scenarios like this one, but apparently Rose has her in a hurry, because her big strong arms maneuver Rose into position. “There,” she manages, grabbing Rose by the hips.

The strap-on slides so easily inside her, filling her in all the right places. “Mm.”

“Shh.” Artemis says, but a moan slips out to match hers.

Rose bites her lip, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from begging when the amazon slowly pulls out, only to dive back in. She sees stars as she sets a brutal pace, hitting the angle just right. “Art–”

She growls. “I told you nn, not to talk.”

Rose does beg when she pulls out for good this time, rules be damned. Artemis grips her chin, meeting her eyes with furry and hunger. “Ah-ah.” She undoes her bindings. “You have to, mm, earn it.”

Without wasting any time, Rose dives in, adding a finger, then another, circling Artemis’s clit with her thumb. Her own cunt throbs, especially when Artemis starts swearing in Greek. Or is it Arabic? All Rose knows is she wants to hear more. The Amazon’s words dissolve into moans, then groans, and finally she buries her face into Rose’s shoulder as she trembles around her fingers with a breathy fuck.

Following a bead of sweat as it slips down Artemis’s tan shoulders, Rose sucks in a breath as the amazon’s fingers find her swollen clit. “Nng.”

“Mm.” Artemis barely brushes her, making Rose tremble. “How many more times are we going to do this, Rose?”

“Dunno, mm, what you’re talking about.”

Artemis leans over her, another finger circling the edge of her cunt. “Tearing each other apart at night. Ignoring each other during the day.”

Damnit. Rose is willing to say anything at this point for release. “Art–”

“Answer the question, Rose.”

“What do you want?”

“Tell me who has you flushed as red as my hair.” A finger slips inside her, and Rose’s hips buck off the bed. “Who has your heart.” She slips another in, and pumps Rose mercilessly, until she comes with a cry. “I know it isn’t me.”

When Rose comes to, Artemis is already in the shower next door. She grabs her clothes, worming into them in a hurry before the water stops.

—---

“Looking for beer?” Jason jumps out of his skin. Roy’s sitting on the counter on the other side of the fridge, munching on some chips and guac–freshly made guac by the look of it.

Looking back at what’s inside the fridge, Jason mutters. “Looks like you don’t have any.”

Roy flips a coin. Jason catches it by reflex. “Two years sober. Adeline keeps this place clean of the stuff.” Also by reflex, Jason flips over the sobriety coin to check for scratch marks. Not that Two-Face would ever use such a coin.

Closing the fridge, Jason levels with Roy as he folds his arms. “Do you?”

The ginger’s eyes look him over as he also folds his arms. “Do I what?” he says neutrally.

Jason’s not above flirting to get what he wants. Doesn’t matter who he’s flirting with. Hero. Villain. Girl. Guy. He closes in, leaning against the counter with one hand and jamming the other in his pocket. Jason almost sticks his hand in Roy’s back pocket but he thinks better of it–he could totally be misreading the situation here. Better keep his distance in case he gets punched. “C’mon. You gotta have your own stash somewhere,” he whispers, “right? Beer? Your own custom brew?”

Roy doesn’t look angry as he pulls away, just disappointed. “No, man. I don’t do that anymore.”

—-

Jericho’s paintings curves with blank paint when he hears a soft knock at his door. He sets the brush down but leaves Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girls” blaring in the background. Opening the door, he comes face to face with Donna’s bemusement.

“Realy, Jer?”

Shrugging, Jericho lets her in, doing his best to wipe the paint off his hands.

“What’ch’ya working on?”

Looking at the canvas with her, Jericho takes it in for the first time. He turns his body, waiting until she’s looking at him again before he signs. “I’m not really sure.”

Donna sits at his drawing table, clearing her throat. “I brought us some ginger beers. You like those, right?”

Jericho nods, taking one off her hands. He takes a gulp, then sets it aside. “Something wrong?”

She rolls the bottle between her hands as she picks her words. “We haven’t really talked since…”

“Since my father ran me through with a sword.”

Donna coughs. “Yeah.” It’s convenient that Jericho has so much art for her to look at it–she has trouble looking at him. She never saw his body–only took Dick’s word for what happened. As if Dick had ever been a reliable source of information–Donna tries to shake the thought off. That’s not what she’s here for.  This room is more art studio than bedroom. The bed itself is neat and tidy, but it does nothing to draw attention to itself. The walls, however, disappear behind canvas after canvas, and the shelves holding his prolific music collection. The vintage turntable sits beneath them.

It’s only when Jericho switches brushes that Donna remembers herself. “So, you were trapped in his body for five years?”

“His mind, yeah.” His hands move in a flurry, Donna struggles to keep up as he describes Dick and Slade fighting–Rose stabbing him in poetic fashion–jumping from his father’s body to his sister’s.

Donna swallows hard. “That must have been hell.”

Jericho’s hands twitch as he stares at one painting in the corner. It’s splashes of orange, blue, and black, with a single red line spearing through the middle. “Worse than dying,” he signs finally.

“Sucks getting stuck, doesn’t it?” Donna worries her lip, thinking back to that train. How exhausted she always felt, but cold never sleep with the constant chugging along the never-ending rail, and the blare of the train horn. Watching so many people get to disembark, but never her. Not until Tim showed up.

A gentle hand shakes her shoulder. “You okay?” Jericho mouths when he finally has her attention.

“Yeah,” she smiles softly, sadly. “I am now.”

—-

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea.” Barbara Gordon, nonetheless, rolls her wheelchair down through the halls of Arkham Asylum.

“As bad as selling me out?” Jason shoots her a pointed look.

She barely spares him a glance. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“Bullshit.”

“She’s telling the truth. I pinged your location when you lured Shimmer’s goons to your hideout.”

That stops Jason short. He swears under his breath. “Didn’t realize you were tracking me.”

“We track everybody.” Jericho signs, stepping right through the security gate like he lives here. Roy is about to follow when he gets stopped by the guard.

“Sorry, no weapons.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” Donna hands over her lasso reluctantly. Roy sets down his bow and quiver. Rose shrugs, handing over her swords with a yawn.

Jason clears his throat. “You guys go on ahead. Gonna take me a moment.”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me you have one in your pants.”

“Wanna stick around and find out?”

Shaking her head, Barbara rolls on. “Whatever. Don’t take too long.”

They find her sprawled across her cot, her jumpsuit wrinkled and her red hair a frizzy mess. Her skin, clear of makeup, looks a little dry and pale.

Rose’s nose twitches. “You sure this is the right cell?”

“Yessirree–that’s Pamela Lillian Isley, as sure as I got mugged last Thursday.”

“You need to move out of Gotham, Gary.” Donna stops next to her, folding her arms. They still don’t talk, and Rose can’t blame her. And honestly? She didn’t mind until Jason showed up. The silence was peaceful before. Now it’s deafening.

Pamela Isley turns another page, and Roy clears his throat. She shifts out of her reclining position, her eyes registering them all for the first time. Her gaze lingers on Donna’s lasso. “Wasn’t me.” And then she goes back to her book.

“Pamela Isley, we don’t have all day.”

She snaps her book shut. “Doctor Pamela Isley. And like I said, it wasn’t me.”

Barbara fans out a handful of snapshots of the crime scene, leveling her with an icy stare. “Alright, Doctor. Explain these.”

Pamela quirks an eyebrow, slowly leaning forward to peruse the grisly crime scene. Corpses with fungi growing out of each pore, and any exposed skin. Decomposed as if they had been sitting out in the woods for months, not hours. “You came all the way down here to talk to a botanist?” She laughs. “Surely Gotham U. has replaced me five times over by now.” Turning away, Pamela picks up her book again. “Go bother one of them.”

Artemis looks ready to knock it right out of her hands. Roy pushes her back. Artemis swats him off. Barbara rubs her forehead like she needs more scotch in her coffee.

And that’s when Jason finally shows up.

“Where’s your helmet?” Jericho signs.

“Oh, that?” Jason shrugs, wearing his old domino mask in its place. “It has a bomb inside, so they made me leave it behind.”

“You have a bomb in your helmet?” Donna stares at him incredulously.

“In case someone tries to take it off.”

Pamela freezes in the middle of turning a page. Her head turns slowly, taking him in for the first time. Eyes widening, she whispers “Kid!?”

 Jason’s head whips around to face her. “Ivy! How’s it going? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sitting up again, Pamela stares at him. “Maybe I have.” She sucks on her teeth. “Heard you were dead.”

“I got better.” He brushes past Donna to get closer to the bars. “Whatchya readin’ there?”

“Nothing. Just a book I got from the–hey!”

Jason pulls the book back through the bars, opening the front cover. “To my prettiest Daffodil, love Harls. XO.” He turns the book sideways. “Actually, there are a lot of XOs.” Enough to fill up the rest of the page and the next.

Ivy looks ready to strangle him.

He smiles disarmingly. “How’s Harley doing, by the way?”

Barbara grimaces, motioning for him to drop it. Jericho pales.

She snarls. “That supposed to be funny?” For once, Jason has nothing to say. “She’s been gone for months.”

Jason softens, pulling up a chair across from her. “What happened?”

Chewing her lip, Ivy answers, “Don’t know, really. Except that some feds waltzed in that day and waltzed back with her.”

“Feds? Like the FBI?”

Roy stiffens. Jericho exchanges a glance with him.

“No. Something else. Had a weird symbol on their shoulder pads.” Ivy narrows her eyes as she searches her brain. “Kind of looked like an A.”

“A.R.G.U.S.,” Barbara whispers.

Ivy’s head whips to face her. “Argus? What the hell is Argus?”

Jason grins, leaning his elbows on Ivy’s table. “Tell me what’s in these pictures, and I’ll tell you.” Leaning closer, he murmurs. “I’ll even tell you where she is.”

“You don’t kn–” Donna starts to say incredulously, only to have Rose cut her off with a hand on her mouth.

“Uh-uh. “I want coordinates, a date, and time.” Ivy folds her arms. “For all I know you could be feeding me old information.”

“Done,” Jason says without hesitating.

Jericho tugs on Rose’s sleeve. “Can he do that?” he signs.

Rose would kill for her precog to start working again. But something in her gut trusts what Jason’s doing.

Leaning toward Jason, Ivy smiles salaciously. “When are we leaving?” She chuckles at Bab’s glare. “These could be any number of species. To know what they really are, I have to see them in person.”

[wingsofescape]

Manuscript Search Game

I was tagged by the lovely @stellucis and my words were Stun, Flight, Welcome and Warning! Thank you friend!

These are all snippets from in the cracks of light, (i dreamed of you), my 03/CoS Edwin fix-it brainrot baby. Small warning for out of context spoilers!

Stun

(I didn't have "stun" so I hope "stunned" is okay!)

A sob escaped Winry as the tears overflowed. She’d been found out. There was nowhere to hide, now. Rose had figured out the truth. “Can I tell you a secret?” Winry looked at Rose, stunned.

Flight

The massaging hands pried her from her dream of flight and mysterious wonders in the skies. Winry groaned, trying to cling to the last remnants of sleep before consciousness dragged her out of her reverie kicking and screaming.

Welcome

Roy couldn’t hold Sig’s hostile welcome against him. The man had had nothing but rancid encounters with the military who’d ultimately played a role in the loss of Edward, and his tense back, closed features and squinting eyes suggested he at best tolerated them.

Warning

She closed her eyes and fisted Jake’s shirt. Could she have been wrong? Had she turned a blind eye to the warning signs and seen the red flags as the burning fire of passion? Had she trapped herself in a golden cage with no way out?

Tagging with no pressure @imagenderbitches @darkpersonapeace @woahpip @elvenstar146 @curligurl0896 @isabelbriceno and whoever wants to that I forget!

Your words are: love, forget, hold, and twisted!

Enjoy!

[beforeyoucall]

Fanfic: Burning Alive Frim The Inside Out

TRIGGER WARNING/ CONTENT WARNING: Drugs, Hallucinations, Blood, Non Graphic Non-Con/Rape, Mentions of Death, Flashback to Past Torture, Mistaken Identity

Read At Your Own Risk

Summary: His veins filled with poison. He was dying.

...

Then his body felt heavy. Way too heavy.

...

Everything blurred together for a moment.

...

When he was able to register what was happening, there was nothing he could do but wish that he had just been knocked out or strangled to death. That would have been better than this.

...

Anything would have been better than this.

or Jason is drugged and mistakes his captor as somebody else.

Notes: So I started this with no plan, no plot, all I knew was that I wanted to do something with Jason and Steph. So yes the end kinda hints at a ship between them if you squint hard enough. I also started writing and let the story make itself. I hope that it’s enjoyable. Also, no I didn’t plan for the non graphic rape it sorta just happened. Oh Well.

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Fuck it burned. The feeling in his chest burned. As if he was aflame. Sweating profusely, his hair sticking to his forehead. His shirt was soaked and clinging to his back. Shivers wracking his body. His lungs were screaming for air despite his heavy gasps. His mind was hazy. His vision fluctuated in and out of focus. His veins filled with poison. He was dying. He knew he was. He was dying and he couldn’t even will himself to get up off the cold concrete. He let out a pathetic wheeze as he tried to catch his breath.

Get up! His eyes blinked as he tried to concentrate on his surroundings, making his eyes open as wide as he could. So wide he could actually feel the muscles straining. Dull gray, either from the dusk sky, maybe there was fog, or maybe he was in a room. He wasn’t sure. He swallowed thickly before gagging. His hand instinctively covering his mouth as if it would help the sudden wave of nausea he was hit with. He had been hit with a ton of toxins, spells, chemicals, and gasses before. None of them compared to what he was feeling now. He couldn’t even think straight enough to remember what happened. How he ended up in so much pain.

Hot, fiery sensations encasing his body. Burning alive. He felt like he was burning alive. Which wasn’t too far off what was happening. He wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but he became aware of it as he lifted his heavy eye-lids open. He was so fucking exhausted. How long had he been wasting away under the effects of whatever had gotten him? He didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure of his own name at the moment. He let his gaze go down his body, taking in his condition.

Clothes were his civies and torn up in various places. He could see a couple deep gashes under some of the tears in his pants. His light gray sweatpants that he had stolen from Dick or Bruce, he wasn’t sure. It could’ve been Roy’s for all he fucking knew. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t going to be able to return them now. His feet were bare, no socks, no shoes. Weird. He never left home without at the very least sneakers. He did wear his boots more often than not though. His left foot was a dark purple, almost dark enough to be mistaken as black, he had to have broken it or something. His right foot was a little pale and swollen, his eyes trailed to his ankle. He swallowed down the bile that tried to make its way out of his mouth. The bone wasn’t pierced through the skin, but the break was evident. How did he break both of his feet?

He finally let his eyes go to his torso and chest, there was a big gaping hole in his stomach. Not a clean through and through either. He could see the blood seeping out, the way his organs all seemed to be rotting inside of him. His breath hitched and his eyes widened. Oh god. How was he still alive? His exhaustion was getting to him again. He let his eyes close and then when he opened them again, his body was no longer littered in the gut wrenching wounds. He still had a bunch of cuts and gashes but his feet were just pale and a little beat up from having walked barefoot. His stomach wasn’t gaping at him, exposing his vital organs to the world. He had imagined it.

Strange…

Another shiver encompassed him. He struggled to move his dead limbs so he could curl in on himself. Hugging his knees to his chest. He let his head fall forward, his forehead sitting on his knees. He was so cold. The fire in his veins still present if not more so now than before. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive whatever this was. What was this? Where was he? He choked on a sob as he tried to think.

Nothing was making sense. What was happening? A whine escaped his lips as he tried to sort through the swirling pool of memories in his head. Flashes of the past haunting him like the ghost of who he once was. The boy he used to be still refusing to be forgotten. Despite the way he died. The way he had been so desperate to save his mother. The way he crawled his battered and broken body to her to free her. His useless race against the clock as she tried to lead him out of the god forsaken warehouse. The way that the second the time bomb went off he threw himself between the woman who had betrayed him and the blast of the explosion. The way that he hadn’t even gotten the luxury of dying to the initial blast.

No. He had to be awake until the pain, heat, and lack of oxygen was too much for his still rather malnourished body to handle. Even now he had nights when he could feel it all. Nights when he could taste the bitterness of the smoke that was slowly suffocating him. Nights when the heartbreak from the betrayal had him second guessing every relationship he has ever had. The aches in his bones that put him back under the hard smacks of the crowbar. The reverberating sounds of metal cracking his bones, the sickening crunches of his own skull as the harsh beating of the crowbar hit him over and over and over again.

Maybe that was all this was. One of those painful relivings of his torturous death. No, this burning was way too real. Way too debilitating. The sound of a metal lock sliding open caught his attention. He would’ve lifted his head up to look towards the noise but his head was so heavy. He was so weak. He couldn’t even manage to open his eyes again. He sat where he was wedged in a corner to keep him upright as he cradled his own cold body. He barely registered the footsteps moving towards him. Barely registered the fingers in his hair.

He grunted when his head was yanked up by his hair. His mouth opened as he heaved for air through the pain. Cold, wet, liquid fell on his face. There were drops landing on his eyelids and then a couple driblets rolled down his cheeks into his mouth. The cold shock from the liquid had his eyes snapping open, the gnarly taste on his tongue had his face contorting in disgust. It was then when his eyes focused on the man in front of him. The familiarity of the man before him was not mistaken.

This was him.

Bruce.

Bruce did this to him?

Why?

“Good, you’re still with us. I was beginning to worry that you’d finally crashed out.” Bruce said with this sadistic smirk.

The words got stuck on Jason’s lips. What was Bruce doing? What was his dad doing? Why was he feeling more hazy than before? He stared at his dad Bruce in shock. Then the burning in his veins got worse, like adding kerosene to a wildfire. A choked out scream broke out of his throat. Searing pain that made it hard to breathe. So hot. So ouch, ouch, ouchie. As the author often says to describe her chronic pain. He finally swallowed thickly, trying to stop the reaction to the scorching sensation.

Bruce just laughs at his misery. He laughs and he gets in close to Jason’s face. His breath warm against his lips. It makes him sick. He didn’t like how little space was between them. It wasn’t even like he had the strength to move away. His breathing picked up a little, something about this was sending alarms blaring in his head. Get away. Get away right now. Escape.

“Now, now, don’t act like you’re disappointed in seeing me.” Bruce tsked, his free hand, well the hand that wasn’t in his hair, dropping whatever it was he was holding before gripping Jason’s chin.

Jason gasped a little at the harshness. The tight hold on his chin was actually painful, especially with the dig of fingernails accompanying the bruising grip. With strength he didn’t have, Jason managed a glare and a spit at his father figure. It only pissed Bruce off. How does he know that, well the hands gripping him both let go, the one from his chin moving to his neck before grasping. He choked for air as the hand squeezed. Then the free hand reached back, Jason couldn’t see much, before it came back into view with a syringe. It caused a sense of panic to rise in his chest.

Bruce made sure to slam his head back against the wall while choking him. The tight grip was definitely going to leave a mark if it didn’t end up killing him. The older male had this unreadable expression for a second before it broke into a smile. Too eerily similar to the Joker’s. Then the hold on his neck moved back to his chin. It gave Jason the opportunity to gasp for air, despite how his entire body screamed in agony. The burning still in his veins. Then his head was pulled to the side, exposing his neck. The only sound he allowed himself to let out was a small groan.

Panic was starting to overtake him. Making it hard to focus, not that he was really able to before. Then a sharp prick in his neck had him gasping in shock. The icy cold feeling that rushed through his veins, that didn’t even negate the burning, causing a shriek to burst from his chest. Then his body felt heavy. Way too heavy. As if he wasn’t struggling before, now he really couldn’t move. His limbs all falling limp, his head only being held up by the tight hold on his chin. Everything blurred together for a moment.

“That’s much better. All things considered, you really did grow into a beauty. What a shame you’re so violent.” Bruce spoke, his words were far away, echoing in Jason’s ears.

Jason was vaguely aware of the lips on his. Vaguely aware of how his body was being manhandled into a lying position. He couldn’t move his arms to try and push him away. Couldn’t kick in desperation. He was barely able to register what was happening. He felt cold and warm at the same time. He felt hands roaming his body. Lips on his neck, kissing and biting. When he was able to register what was happening, there was nothing he could do but wish that he had just been knocked out or strangled to death. That would have been better than this.

Anything would have been better than this. His body being used like he was just a toy for others' pleasure. He couldn’t even scream for help, his mouth barely worked. He was aware of a distant cry. The sound of somebody bawling, heavy gasps, broken sobs. Then he realized it was him. His tears were spilling from his eyes, rolling down the sides of his face into his ears. This wasn’t real. Why was Bruce doing this to him? Did he manage to piss off the old man that badly? He hadn’t meant to kill anybody, if he did. He wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t sure when he had passed out, but he was now waking up. He wasn’t as cold as he felt during the ordeal. He once again used the strength he didn’t have to move his hand from his side to his chest. He could feel his bare chest, it made him frown. His eyes were so heavy. His body was so heavy. He was really starting to wish he was just with that clown again. It would be better than this. He hated that he was stuck on his back but there was nothing in him to get him to roll over. Whatever he did was bad enough for Bruce to keep him so weak and disoriented.

The sound of the door opening caused an involuntary flinch from Jason. He whimpered in pain. His veins still felt like they were on fire, worse than before. How was it only getting worse? The sound of light footsteps running towards him was the only thing that made him sure it wasn’t Bruce. He felt two hands on him, smaller than Bruce’s. The hands gently held his face and turned his head so he was facing whoever it was. It was upon looking at his mystery savior that he realized just how blurry his vision was. He was able to catch the color purple after a few blinks.

Purple? Only one person wore purple, at least that he knew of in Gotham. Stephanie. He couldn’t help but relax at the realization. Nobody else was in on this. It was just Bruce. It took another few blinks before he realized she was speaking to him.

“-son? Jason? Are you with me? Come on Jason. Please be with me.” Her voice was so angelic.

He opened his mouth to speak but he just wheezed and coughed harshly. Steph sighed a little and she gently moved his head off the cold hard floor onto her lap. Her fingers ran through his hair. It was so soothing. He could just take a nap…Just for a moment…

Jason awoke with a jolt, a broken shriek of agony, his veins still burning. If he could attest to anything it was that it felt worse again. He thrashed a little until he felt familiar hands on his face again. The same way they had when he was found. He gasped for air as his eyes flung open. Leaning over him was Steph again. She didn’t say anything before she put an oxygen mask over his lips. He huffed in as much air as he could, it felt so good. To breathe. Steph then kissed his forehead.

“You’re safe now Jay. Just breathe, the drugs are still working their way out of your system.” Her voice was soft, a hint of commiseration.

“S-safe…” He repeated, almost not believing it.

“Everyone else has been worried about you. I’ve managed to get Cass and Alfred to help keep them all away.” She informed him as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Everyone?” Jason choked out in confusion. Did that mean everyone as in EVERYONE or everyone as in his siblings?

Steph opened her mouth to say something but she paused. She helped him sit up a little before she sat on the edge of the cot. She gently grasped his much larger hands into her own and rubbed small circles into the back of his hands.

“Jason…Look I’ve got to tell you something. I know I don’t know everything that you went through but- but I have a good idea. With that in mind and knowing who had you, it’s only fair that I’m honest with you.” Steph started, taking a shaky breath. “Bruce didn’t have you.”

“Wha-” To say he was in disbelief was an understatement.

“It wasn’t Bruce. It was Hush. He pretended to be Bruce to break you. To break Bruce. I felt it was best that Bruce was kept out of the medbay, for your sake. I saw the marks…I can only imagine he hadn’t given you the privilege of concealing his face.” She explained and she was sincere.

She was telling the truth. Jason still wasn’t sure if he could face Bruce. He doubted it. He watched Steph’s face. Searching for…something. He wasn’t sure what anymore. The oxygen mask had fallen off his face, he hadn’t even registered it until Steph was putting it back on him but actually using the strap to help keep it on. She then moved to be pressed up against his side. He just blinked at her. What was happening?

“Just get some rest Jason, I’ll be here the entire time.” Steph said gently pulling him so he rested his head on her shoulder.

“Promise?” Jason found himself asking, scared that he’d end up alone, scared that he’d have to face Bruce.

“I promise Jase.”

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Notes: This is posted on my a03 account under the name BeforeYouCall.