#we're in the home stretch now folks! ;>

[mewtwoandme]

Let's hope that Jeo's brotherly reassurance was what she needed to hear to lessen some of her doubts X3

[solalunar-eclipse]

Sonic Boom - S3E15

Chapter title: Schrödinger's Hedgehog, Part 4

Summary: Mighton and Bolts appear with grave news: their sensors have picked up an incredibly dangerous weapon nearby. However, the one thing they fail to make clear is that their idea of "weapon" and Team Sonic's are…very different, to say the least.

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Sonic sped through the forest, springing over roots and bushes with ease, the speed bringing a big smile to his face. Running without a care in the world was one of his favorite things to do. It always brought him joy, and in this moment, he felt as though nothing could possibly sour his mood—

—and then he slammed directly into someone, sending both himself and the stranger tumbling across the forest floor.

Once the world had (mostly) stopped spinning, Sonic righted himself, only to be met with an equally disoriented Sticks.

“I found you! Finally!” they cried, jumping to their feet. “You’re almost as difficult to get hold of as me, you know that?”

Sonic frowned. “Uh, I really doubt that, but anyway…why were you looking for me, exactly?”

“Oh! Right! Those two robots with the weird accents landed near my house and said they were ‘on a mission of the utmost importance’. I couldn’t get them to tell me what it was, though, but I figured you’d be able to. I woulda gotten Tails, but he’s cooped up in his lab with Shadow.”

“That sounds exactly like Tails.” Sonic snickered. “Alright, let’s get back to your house and see what Mighton and Bolts are up to this time.”

He grabbed Sticks’s arm and pulled them alongside him all the way back to their house, where his Roboken friends’ ship sat. Just outside it, Bolts was fiddling with a device that had a long antenna sticking out of it, while Mighton hovered beside him and offered mostly unhelpful advice. 

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Sonic asked, strolling over with his hands laced behind his head. “Not another robot overlord, right?”

“Sonic.” Mighton stood at attention at the sight of the hero. “Thankfully, this is not to do with a robot overlord. However, we are currently on an extremely dangerous mission to secure a machine that we believe has been discovered somewhere near your village. Its signal appeared only a couple of days ago, but this technology is unspeakably deadly and could threaten the lives of everyone on the island if it is allowed to remain out in the open and unguarded.”

The hedgehog’s eyes widened at that. “Geez, that sounds…bad. Really bad. Uh, you guys wouldn’t happen to know where exactly this machine of yours is? Like, somewhere more specific than ‘this area’?”

With a completely straight face, Mighton replied, “We don’t have a single clue.”

Sonic let out a long, tired sigh.

[The intro sequence is back to normal again! This time, Shadow actively participates in it along with everyone else, albeit with much rolling of eyes and smirking.]

[There is no villain reveal in this episode, once again, and so Dr. Eggman is introduced like an ordinary character (and yes, he would like everyone to know that he is still one of the main characters of the show, whether or not he appears in this specific episode).]

[The intro then continues on, before ending with the title of this week’s episode.]

Once Bolts had fixed his machine, the four set off towards the general area of the village. Sonic darted ahead of everyone else on occasion and then tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for them to catch up, clearly wanting to resolve the danger so that he could go back to his usual fun activities. As they drew closer to the town, however, Bolts frowned at the device and let out a hum that made everyone else stop.

“Oh, this thing better not be broken again!” Sonic complained, visibly drooping at the thought.

“No, it’s not that.” the smaller robot explained gravely. “I have simply pinpointed a more precise area for the signal, and it does not appear to be in the village after all.”

“That’s good, ain’t it? So why’re you looking so serious?” Sticks asked.

“Because it is located in the lab of his younger brother.” Bolts said, looking directly at Sonic.

Moments later, the four of them had vanished in a flash of blue as Sonic dragged them all along to Tails’s workshop. Bursting through the doors, he yelled, “Tails! Hold up!”

The young engineer, who had just been about to take a wrench to…some unidentifiable pile of scrap metal…paused and glanced over at the doorway. “Hey Sonic, what’s up?” he asked casually.

“Is something wrong?” Shadow asked, studying the hero curiously from his seat on the edge of the table.

“Guys, Mighton and Bolts are here, and—”

“—you are in possession of some extremely dangerous technology, old friend.” Mighton proclaimed, stepping alongside Sonic. “Please back away from the table immediately. It must be neutralized at once.”

Immediately, Tails skittered away from the table, eyeing it nervously. “Oh no! I-I swear, I didn’t know!”

Bolts gave him a kind look. “Don’t worry, that was never in any doubt. It is very difficult to spot unless you know what you’re looking for, after all.”

Mighton walked towards the table where Shadow still sat, the latter frowning down at the materials (and steadfastly avoiding the eyes of the two robots). “I’m sure there’s nothing dangerous in here…I checked very carefully.” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly, the taller of the two robots gave him a hard stare. “Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” he asked.

“What?” Shadow asked, bewildered.

“Hang on, what are you—” Sonic began, but he didn’t even get to finish his sentence before—

—Mighton smacked something onto the side of Shadow’s neck and the android fell lifelessly to the floor.

“Whoa, wait!” Tails cried, jumping back against the wall. But even that was nothing compared to Sonic’s reaction.

“What did you just do?” the hedgehog barked, his eyes narrowing.

Bolts darted over to Mighton’s side uneasily. “We…we neutralized the threat, just like we told you.”

“And now, it will be put into storage so that it cannot cause any further harm.” Mighton finished, pressing a button on his wrist. Suddenly, Shadow was encased in an oblong green container, which began to float next to the two conscious robots.

“It?!” Sonic growled. “What the heck, guys? Shadow’s our friend!”

“I understand how you might have thought that,” Bolts began, nervously tapping some keys on his device, “but it is not what it seems. It is actually an android, designed to mimic—”

“But we already know that!” Tails interjected, glancing worriedly over at his incensed brother. “He’s not a danger to us!”

“You know of its true nature, and yet you did not deactivate it?” Mighton asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. “I thought you were a person of logic.”

“We can discuss this later,” Bolts reminded his companion. “Right now, we need to get the weapon into storage.”

And before anyone could respond, the two robots rocketed out the door with Shadow in tow. Moments later, the sound of an ascending airship reached their ears, and Sonic and Tails dashed outside to see Mighton and Bolts’s ship flying off towards Roboken. 

“We’ve gotta go after them, Tails!” Sonic cried, his hands curled tightly into fists.

“You’re right, we do.” Tails said, steel beginning to enter the young engineer’s voice. “But first, we need to call up our friends.”

[Scene cuts to all five heroes riding on Tails’s plane. Knuckles is in the back seat, Amy and Sticks have each taken a wing, and Sonic is standing on the struts at the bottom.] 

“What I don’t get is, why did Mighton and Bolts only come for Shadow now?” Knuckles asked.

“I dunno…they said something about his signal only appearing a couple days ago, which is weird, because he’s been around for years!” Sonic frowned, clearly struggling with that himself.

Tails thought for a moment, before snapping his fingers suddenly (and yes, that did mean he was flying the plane one-handed for a moment). “That’s when the wiring on Shadow’s crystal was dislodged! Maybe it has something to do with that? It could’ve changed his energy signature enough to catch the attention of Mighton and Bolts!”

“We can talk about this later—right now, we’ve got something else to deal with!” Amy exclaimed, pointing off in the distance to where Roboken floated. She squinted at the city for a moment, eyeing the various airships that patrolled its borders. “The question is, how are five of us on a bright yellow plane going to get into a city that’s notorious for its security?”

“Last time, we used one of their own ships, but I don’t know if we can get them to come after us again.” Sonic called up to her.

“Plus, this plane can’t take the kind of fancy flying we’d need with all five of us on board!” Tails added.

“If you’re on a hunt, always go for the soft underbelly!” Sticks yelled, shaking a fist in the general direction of Roboken.

“I’m sorry, what?” Amy said, slightly taken aback.

“Wait…wait, that’s actually not a bad idea!” Tails exclaimed. “The underside is the only part of the city that isn’t transparent, and they don’t have ships down there, so they won’t be able to see us coming!”

The engineer frowned, adjusting a few dials on his plane as he shifted into position. “Okay, just warning you guys now, my scanner’s picking up a few cameras on the metal plating. I’m gonna send out a quick localized EMP to knock them out, then we’re going to have to fly straight up so nobody notices us. Hang on tight!” 

The other four barely had any time to adjust their grip before the plane shot into a dive, using the clouds as cover to keep from being spotted. Once Tails’s GPS informed him that he was in the correct position, he slammed the EMP button and pulled back on the yoke, dragging his beloved aircraft completely vertical as they blasted towards the city. 

…but they’d forgotten that there was no opening on the underside.

[cue a close-up of all five’s eyes widening, before Sonic suddenly seems to think of something.]

“Amy! Hit me with your hammer!” Sonic yelled, flipping himself onto the top of the biplane’s wing. As he revved up a spindash, the pink hedgehog pulled out her signature hammer and whacked him as hard as she could, sending him flying into the bottom of Roboken. 

He smashed straight through a piece of metal paneling, knocking it entirely loose and leaving a hole just wide enough for Tails to zip into the maze of pipes underneath the city and grapple his plane onto the nearest surface. Carefully, the entire team climbed out of the aircraft, taking care not to let each other slip. They weren’t about to have more than one friend in peril today.

Once they’d all gotten their feet on solid ground, Tails began to fiddle with one of his many devices, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Shadow’s energy crystal has a very specific frequency. That’s how Mighton and Bolts found him…but we can use it to track him down as well! If I can just pinpoint the location of that frequency, then we should be able to find him and make sure he’s okay!”

“Sonic and I will keep watch.” Amy said, a determined set to her face. “You just focus on finding him, okay?”

Immediately, the engineer got to work, while Knuckles and Sticks guarded him. Meanwhile, the two hedgehogs went to stand a little farther down the hall, ostensibly keeping an eye out for any robots that might be approaching.

Sonic shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with one of the bandages on his wrist. The silence felt so heavy he could hardly stand it, and so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“They’d better not have hurt him.” It was an embarrassing thing to say, but true nonetheless. 

To his surprise, instead of making a comment that sounded more like a motivational quote than anything, Amy simply nodded in agreement. “If anyone has, they’d better hope their metal’s stronger than my hammer.” 

Sonic looked away briefly, not at all to hide the small smile he most definitely didn’t have on his face. “Man, if I went back in time and told myself I’d be trying to help my broodiest rival, I never would’ve believed it.”

“I definitely wouldn’t have believed it either. You, helping people? Never!” she shot back, smirking at him. “Sonic the Hedgehog, local hero, rescuing someone from danger? It’s unimaginable!”

“Hey! You know what I meant!” he complained, rolling his eyes.

“Would you two quit with the banter already?” Sticks called out to them both, making the two hedgehogs’ quills spike up in surprise. “Tails just found where they’re keeping Shadow!”

Sonic was back with the group in an instant, Amy not far behind. “Really? Great job, bud!” he said, giving Tails a quick pat on the back. “So, where’re we headed?”

The engineer studied his device for a moment, before pointing off to his left. “That way. I have a pretty good idea of how to get there, but my maps are a little patchy this deep into Roboken, so I can’t be a hundred percent sure.”

“Eh, ninety percent’s good enough for me.” Sonic shrugged and began to walk off, spurring the rest of the team into action. Carefully, the five of them crept through the halls, for once actually not stepping on any conveniently creaky paneling or running into anything. It was almost impressive how well they were doing, really…

…until they ran into a giant chasm where the path should’ve been.

Tails glared at his device. “Come on! I thought it might be a little inaccurate, but this is just ridiculous!”

“And this is why GPS is evil and paper maps are better.” Sticks commented sagely, glancing towards the camera.

“Can’t you just fly us all across, Tails?” Amy asked him.

“Uh, well…I can definitely try…” he said, utterly lacking any kind of confidence whatsoever.

“What my dear buddy pal friend Tails here is trying to say,” Sonic cut in abruptly, “is that he gets tired if he has to carry too many people at once. Or really quickly one after the other. Or even if it’s just one person but it takes a while—”

“I think we get it, thanks, Sonic!” Tails cried, trying unsuccessfully to push the (incredibly self-satisfied) hero out of the way.

“Well then, how many of us can you carry, Tails?” Amy said gently.

“I could probably get you and Sticks across fast enough if I really tried, and I might be able to do Sonic, too, but…Knuckles…”

“Yeah?” the echidna asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“You’re just too strong! Muscle mass—it’s really dense, and you’re already the tallest person here. I won’t be able to do it!” Tails exclaimed, real distress on his face.

“Oh, that’s okay! I know how to glide across.” Knuckles said encouragingly. “Don’t worry about me!”

Everybody stared at him, speechless. 

“You know how to what?” Amy cried.

“Since when?” Sonic added. 

Tails managed to scrape his jaw off the floor enough to ask, “And why didn’t you say anything before?”

Knuckles shrugged. “It never came up.”

The entire team stared at him in silence for a moment, wearing identical expressions of disbelief, no less.

“Okay…I guess that means we’re all set?” Sticks asked, once they’d finally recovered.

“I think Tails just has to get Amy and Sticks across.” Sonic said. “I can run on walls—which was established previously, by the way.” he finished quickly, just in case his team decided to round on him next.

The fox looked much more relieved at that, smiling. “Well, if that’s all I have to do, then this shouldn’t take long at all!” 

He was absolutely right. While Sticks did flail around a little the first time they were picked up, they eventually managed to get used to flight just enough to get across (although they made it clear that they would not like to repeat the experience if at all possible). Amy, on the other hand, was a very good passenger, and Tails wound up being rather glad he’d taken her across second. 

Meanwhile, Sonic had, of course, zipped across the wall in ten seconds flat. Then, he did it a few times more just for the fun of it, until Amy told him off lightly for distracting Tails while he was flying. And Knuckles? He climbed up one wall, then leapt off it and glided diagonally across to the other wall, repeating the process in a sort of zigzag pattern until he made it to the other side of the chasm.

“How do you even glide?” Tails asked once he’d set Amy down, seeming more bewildered if anything now that Knuckles had demonstrated his skills.

The echidna, however, simply shrugged. “I don’t know, nobody taught me! I just sort of…learned how, I guess?”

“Oh man, now I have two friends to study! This is great!” The engineer beamed, clearly delighted at the prospect of more projects to fill up his spare time. 

“Yes, but maybe let’s focus on finding Shadow first?” Amy prompted, at which point Tails whipped out his device again. 

“Oh yeah, right!” he exclaimed. “Shadow should be…about four doors down on the left. We’re almost there!”

The five heroes rushed down the hallway, and it took Tails less than a minute to unlock the door. As it slid open, everyone held their breath, waiting to see what state Shadow might be in.

Inside the room, an array of weapons lined the walls—everything from guns to swords (and even a few gun-swords), as well as several unrecognizable pieces of technology were present. There were even parts of a mech like the one Sonic owned stored on some shelves. The heroes snuck past it all warily, everybody seeming far too overwhelmed by the circumstances to start any of their usual snappy banter.

And then, at the very back, there was Shadow. He was held inside a large tank, slumped at the bottom. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t moving in the slightest. All of the little involuntary movements that marked something as being alive…none of them were there.

Before any of them could react, Sonic had spin-dashed the tank once, then twice, then a third time, until it finally shattered under the force of his whirling quills. Moments later, he’d pulled Shadow’s lifeless body out of the way of the shattered glass, settling him carefully in front of Tails.

“You can fix him, right?” the hero asked, his face turned carefully away from the camera and his voice oddly flat.

Tails fiddled with the gadget in his hands. “I’ll do my best.” he said quietly, already kneeling down next to his friend and connecting his tablet to Shadow’s systems.

“We’ll keep an eye out for you, Tails!” Knuckles punched his fists together, and then set about barricading the door to the room so that nobody else could get in. Sticks soon pitched in, while Amy watched over Tails’s progress nervously and Sonic zipped around the room in an effort to keep from going completely stir-crazy.

After a few tense minutes, where the team went absolutely silent anytime they heard footsteps in the halls, Tails finally sighed, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’ve done everything I can do…now we just have to start him up and see what happens.”

As he pressed a few buttons on his touchscreen, Amy silently stood up and walked over to Sonic, taking his hand. For once, he took it back. Sticks moved to Amy’s other side and put a hand on her shoulder, and Knuckles did the same thing with Sonic, both of them supporting their friends with their presence.

Slowly, Shadow’s fingers twitched. His face shifted slightly.

And then he shot bolt upright, his eyes glazed and distant. As he glanced around, his eyes slid directly over the team, not seeming to register their presence at all. “No…not here! I—I escaped!” he muttered to himself, and Sonic jumped into action.

“Shadow! Hey, Shadow, it’s me!” he cried, stepping into his friend’s field of vision and waving his arms over his head. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“…Sonic?” Shadow hesitated, his eyes beginning to focus, and looked around. “Everyone? What are you…how did you get here? Why are you here? Wait—where is here?”

“Got here on Tails’s plane, here to save you from the Roboken jerks who think they can keep you in some dumb storage room,” Sonic explained, his energy fading in favor of venom on the last two words. “And ‘here’ is a room somewhere in the underground of Roboken.”

Shadow stared at him. “You…you all…came here to free me? From—from—”

“What did I tell you?” Amy interrupted, giving him a kind smile. “We’re not letting anyone mistreat you or lock you away ever again.”

The android hesitated, looking around the room once more. He shrank in on himself slightly, eyes flickering at the sight of the impenetrable metal walls…and then he looked over at his friends, who had risked their longer-standing friendships with the people of Roboken just to save him.

…his friends. 

“Thank you.” he said softly, giving them a small, but genuine smile. 

Sonic threw an arm around his shoulders, and Knuckles did the same from the other side. “We’re just glad you’re okay.” the echidna said, nodding sagely.

The other three looked like they were about to crowd in as well—when the door suddenly shook as someone tried to open it from the other side. The barricades held, but that just made the robot on the other side of the door yell for help, making everyone freeze.

Tails looked around on his device for a moment, before grimacing at what he saw. “There’s a lot of robots headed this way…including Mighton and Bolts.”

Shadow bared his teeth slightly, making Sonic and Knuckles step protectively in front of him. “We’re not gonna make the same mistake twice, Shads.” Sonic said firmly.

The door rattled once. Then again. But before the robots could try anything else, Amy shoved all of the barricades to one side and then opened the door, hammer in hand. Standing outside it were Mighton, Bolts, the five robot clones, and several other citizens of Roboken.

“…I feel like I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.” Bolts said, sounding rather startled anyway. 

“Heroes.” Mighton began, stepping closer to the room. “You have saved Roboken, and for that, you are always welcome here. But while we do not have many laws, stealing is absolutely prohibited.”

“You can’t steal a person!” Sonic barked. “That’s not how that works!”

“Wait, hang on, you were keeping a person in here?” Robot!Sonic asked. “Mighton, I thought you said you were going on a mission to find a weapon!”

“That’s what they told our Sonic and Tails, too—and then they knocked Shadow here out and kidnapped him.” Sticks explained, her eyes narrowed.

“What?! Not cool, man!” Robot!Knuckles cried.

“You must understand, Project: Shadow was designed primarily to be a fighting machine, not a person.” Bolts cut in, attempting to explain. “It is a relic from a long-finished war that is no longer necessary.”

“Yeah, and you’re all relics from a dead civilization!” Tails snapped suddenly, making everyone jump. “The people who made you have been gone for ages—are you saying that every single one of you is doing exactly the same things as you were back then?”

All of the non-clone robots shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unwilling to meet the heroes’ eyes. “Not…as such…” Mighton admitted.

“Exactly! And neither is Shadow!” Amy insisted, stepping forward. “He was made with the same mental matrix as all of you, so it doesn’t matter what he was meant to do, what matters is what he wants to do!”

“What does he want to do, then?” Bolts asked genuinely.

Shadow looked up at that, looking the smaller robot in the eyes. The android flinched, but refused to break his stare. “I want to live with my…my friends. I want to help them protect their ridiculous village, and watch their stupid shenanigans, and I don’t want to have to watch my back nonstop thinking that you all are planning to abduct me again and lock me up.” he said. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke, but the presence of his five friends seemed to ground him.

Mighton and Bolts glanced at each other for a moment, and then the former nodded. “Spoken like a true hero, and a true friend of these five too. Very well, you may leave…but we will require permission to come and check in every once in a while to see how you are faring, living among the villagers.”

Shadow sighed. “If that is the price I must pay for my freedom, then I suppose I can pay it. But rest assured, you will only find your trips to be for nothing.”

Sonic put his hand on the android’s shoulder reassuringly. “C’mon, Shadow, don’t worry about them for now. Let’s get you outta here first, and we’ll deal with this later, okay?”

The six heroes left the room, and thankfully, nobody made a move to stop them. As they went, Robot!Tails called out. “Do you guys mind if we visit sometime? Just to, you know, get to know your cool robot friend…” He grinned sheepishly.

Shadow glanced back, the faintest, tiniest hint of a smile on his face at the clone’s familiar enthusiasm. “Yes, I suppose you may. Sometime.”

And with that, the six headed back to Tails’s plane, and flew away from Roboken. It was only once they’d touched down outside the engineer’s workshop that Shadow seemed to truly relax, his shoulders slumping. 

He stared off into space for long enough that Amy called out to him, worried. “Shadow? What’s wrong?”

“I could have been trapped in there forever…again…” he said softly, wrapping his arms around himself.

“But you weren’t!” Sonic interjected loudly, shaking Shadow out of his reverie. “That’s what matters, and now Tails can build you something that’ll keep them from using that weird gadget on you again—right, Tails?”

“I’ll get on it A-S-A-P!” the fox promised.

Shadow smiled again, but it was still faint. “I appreciate it. Before you do that, though…I still have yet to try that new game you told me about. Tomatopotomus Borders, was it?”

“They just released a new DLC for that!” Sonic exclaimed, suddenly beaming with genuine excitement. “You’ve gotta play it!”

“I think…I think I would like that.” Shadow said.

And with that, the six friends walked inside together.

[merlindotpdf]

1 HOUR AND 30 SOMETHING MINUTES LEFT. WE CAN DO THIS. WE CAN MAKE IT TO THE FINAL ROUND. CECIL CAN GET THERE I BELIEVE IN US

[dinoberrypress]

As you may have heard, we're hard at work preparing for the crowdfunding launch of Little Wolves, a folk-tale TTRPG about shapeshifter werewolves in The Enchanted Forest.

With the project launching on May 14th, our focus has been on creating a playable free demo and getting some awesome art done. 

And speaking of that awesome art, here's a work-in-progress peek at a piece depicting all four of the fae queens by the wonderful Grendel Menz!

The Queens & Courts of The Forest

A WIP piece of art by @grendel-menz depicting the four queens.

The Enchanted Forest is home to the fae courts, with 4 of them being the focus in Little Wolves. Lead by their communities and named for their queens, the courts of the Witch, Pumpkin, Troll and Mermaid each tend to The Forest in their own way, and have found harmony among each other and their respective elements of Wind, Fire, Earth and Water.

Each character has ties to one of these courts that affect the elements they’re strong and weak in, and each court and element grants a different kind of Mark when you perform favors or overcome Elemental Trials.

Grendel’s depictions of the 4 queens are phenomenal, and soon enough we’ll be telling you more about each of the individual courts, their queens, and the many denizens you’ll meet on your adventures! 

For now, we'll leave you with a look at two of the work-in-progress designs of the four queens themselves! If we hit our "more art" stretch goal, Grendel will be doing full-page pieces of each queen to be paired with their bio and information about their court!

Selene the Witch Queen and Nayeli the Mermaid Queen.

That's all about the Queens and Courts for now~

In the coming weeks, we'll be talking more about the courts, the elements, and every other aspect of Little Wolves leading up to the crowdfunding launch on May 14th. Stay tuned, and follow the project for more!

Want to see Little Wolves in action?

Nevyn will be running a session of Little Wolves on the Plus One EXP Twitch channel tomorrow night, February 28th, starting at 7pm central! Be there, and be ready to howl~ 

Click here to learn more & follow the project on BackerKit!

[that-basic-simp]

Dance

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: N/A WC: 1.6k+

Sticking my finger in between the collar and my neck, I tried stretching the fabric out so I could have some breathing room. I let out a sigh as it was futile. Trying to blend in in London was a lot harder than it was in Japan. Maybe it was because I had to wear completely different clothing and still pretend to be a man as well, since women were treated practically the same as in Japan. Not to mention I was also half Japanese and raven black hair wasn't really common among the white folk. Brown was, but not black like mine. Not to mention I had to wear it down and not in my normal bun. I still stood out like a sore thumb, but at least my eyes kind of matched theirs.

Sighing, I looked at myself in the mirror that was in front of me. This ball, this dance I was attending apparently was where Skeffington was going to be. Fowler made sure of it. I still don't trust him. But if I am able to get to both Skeffington and Routely through Fowler, I might as well keep him alive. If I can get all three of them in a room together, that'll be even better. Three birds with one sword. Getting ready, I made sure I had my sword on me before giving myself one more glance in the mirror, catching something from the corner of my eye.

"Who's there?" I turned, my hand on the hilt of my sword.

Scanning the shadows, someone came out. They were wearing a poofy and long dress, similar to the ones I've seen the ladies wear here.

"Y/N?"

"Mizu," she smiled.

"W-What are you doing here? I thought you left Edo and went back with Ringo."

"Nope. I followed you."

"Why on Earth would you follow me?"

"You need someone to watch your back."

"I am more than capable of watching my own back, thank you very much."

"Mizu, this isn't Japan. You're in London."

"I am well aware of that."

"They have guns. You have a sword. They're technologically more advanced than you are right now. And right now," she pulled the dress back a bit, revealing a gun strapped to her thigh. "You're going to need all the firearms you can get. You will never raise a gun, I know that much."

"I did back at Edo when fighting Fowler."

"But did you shoot it?"

"No."

"Exactly. You use your sword and I will use the gun. Understood?"

I sighed. It's not like she can go back to Japan. I can't ensure her safety getting there either. So she had to stay with me. No. She has to stay with me. I can't afford to lose her.

"You stay beside me no matter what. Is that understood, Y/N?"

"Yes, Mizu."

"Good. I don't want you wandering anywhere without me."

She nodded her head. Letting out a sigh, I extended my arm out for her. Locking her one arm around mine, we walked out of the room and towards the ball down the street. It took a lot of negotiating and talking, but Fowler was able to ensure we got in without any trouble. This was definitely going to be an interesting night. I just hope it doesn't go to shit and one of ends up injured. If anyone was going to be injured, I was going to ensure it would be me. No one lays a hand on Y/N.

Stepping into the giant castle that held the dance, I found Y/N gasping from the corner of my eye. I couldn't deny it, this place was a sight to behold. A wonder in and of itself. It made the palaces and castles back in Japan look like a house. No wonder the white people wanted to have ballroom dances every so often. They had to get use out of it. Or else there would be nothing to fill this much empty space. There were people going around with trays in their hands, some drinks on them. Y/N was about to reach for one, but I stopped her.

"You're not going to like it."

"What do you mean?"

"We're not from around here. We need to blend in. And we won't blend in if we drink their drinks and be sick all night because of it. They don't drink sake. They drink some other form of alcohol that I am not familiar with."

"Come on, Mizu. We can't indulge ourselves every once in a while?"

"Back at home, yes. But we're not at home, are we, Y/N?"

"We'll be fine," she said, removing her arm from around mine and disappearing into the crowd.

"Y/N? Y/N?! Fuck!" I darted off into the crowd, trying to find her. It should be easy, since she wasn't anywhere near as tall as the people here.

Making my way through the crowd, I still kept an eye out for Skeffington. He was tall, so that was one thing that was going for me. Everyone here was tall, which didn't help. Almost bumping into everyone there, I eventually bumped into the right person. Well, one of them.

"Pardon me," a tall man said, smoothing out his suit.

Narrowing my eyes, it was him. It was Skeffington. Fowler described him perfectly and he matched every detail. The only thing that we had in common was our height, as Fowler stated back in Japan. Standing straight up, I stuck my hand out. Peering down, Skeffington shook it.

"Pleasure," I said.

"Night is wonderful, is it not?"

"I guess you could say that," I said, turning towards the crowd of people. He did the same.

"Who wouldn't love a dance tonight? It's a perfect night to do so," he chuckled, holding a glass of something that looked to be a yellow color.

"I'm sure there are other perfect nights," I said, trying to go along with him.

"There are, but tonight is especially perfect."

"What makes you say that? I think all nights are perfect."

"Well, there are reasons to celebrate."

"Celebrate what exactly?" I slowly turned towards him.

"Does there need to be a specific reason to celebrate? We're in London!" he turned towards me.

His breath reeked of alcohol and it made me want to gag. It wasn't the best smelling alcohol, I mean, what alcohol smells good?

"Go, my friend! Dance! Celebrate!"

He shoved me towards the dance floor, which I stumbled slightly. Getting my footing, since I was not used to my entire feet being covered, I slowly started to make my way around the crowd again, trying to find Y/N. Walking through the people on the dance floor, the live band playing started to get into a slower song, one that was obviously meant for couples. Even though I didn't take it to be that kind of ball. But again, this is London. Briskly walking off the floor, someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me back on. I thought it was Y/N, but it was someone else.

"Well, aren't you a dashing young man," the woman smiled.

"I-I--uhm," I struggled to find the right words.

"Come now, don't be shy," she said. "Come take a dance with me."

"I-I must decline," I respectfully pushed her away. "I am looking for someone."

"They can wait, dear. Have a drink! Dance. Stay a while."

"I-I really must be looking for my--"

"Hey!"

Marching over was Y/N. I let out a sigh of relief as she stood in between me and the other woman.

"Well, look who came barreling in," the woman smirked, trying to be funny.

"Step away from him," she slurred.

How many drinks did she have?

"You're too drunk, hon. You should probably head home, where it's safe. You don't want anyone taking advantage of you."

"You better back the fuck up," she swayed here and there.

"Y/N," I reached over and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her towards me. "Let's get going. You need to rest."

"Hold on, Mizu. I gotta teach this bitch a lesson."

"Excuse me?" the woman gasped.

I couldn't help but smile. Who knew Y/N was a protective drunk. I just hope she doesn't pull out the gun on this woman.

"Yeah. You heard me. You're a bitch. But not like those big ones that are scary. More like those little ones that are yappy. Annoying to listen and look at."

The woman scoffed, "I'll have you know--"

"'i'Ll HaVe YoU kNoW'," Y/N said in a mocking tone.

I placed my hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh at the situation.

"What are you laughing at?" the woman pointed a finger at me.

"I-I'm sorry," I said.

"Hey, don't point your finger at him. Only I can do that."

"What? You order around this stick of a man?"

"I'll have you know, Mizu is not a stick of a man. He's quite athletic."

"Oh, now why don't we have a look see," the woman stepped closer to Mizu.

"Hey, back off. No one touches him other than me."

"And does he like touching you when you're drunk?"

"Fuck yeah. We get down and dirty," she started to thrust her hips and some blush started to crawl onto my cheeks.

The woman was disgusted and walked off. Y/N turned to face me, perking up and smiling at me.

"Were you drunk?"

"No," she said.

"So you acted drunk?"

"Yep," she flashed a proud smile. "No one touches my Mizu."

A soft smile appeared as I took her hand, "And no one touches my Y/N."

The music started to slow down to a soft melody, one where someone could fall asleep to, or dance to. Still holding her hand, I bowed to her.

"May I have this dance, Y/N?"

"Of course, Mizu."

We walked out onto the dance floor and danced with the other people there. My one arm wrapped around her waist while her one arm wrapped around my neck, the tips of her fingers digging into the back of my hairline. Our other hands intertwined with one another's and we started to spin and sway with the music. She leaned her body into me, the side of her head nuzzling against mine. I smiled, closing my eyes, enjoying this moment together. It was rare for us to get any semblance of peace. Tonight was going to be that night where we relished it in. In each other.

[ikkosu]

REWIND / CHROMEDOME

(adopting gn!human reader)

a/n : been wanting a cute fluffy request I hope I wrote them uh satisfactorily 😭😭 I actually enjoyed writing about baby and cdrw maybe I’ll write more scenarios with this little family ughhh so cute

"Alright folks, we're leaving in thirty minutes!" Rodimus's voice echoed through the speaker.

"It's either you get on or get off the ship forever— Er, ah...oh what's that? We're not allowed to leave when— Damn it. Apologies, there's been a restatement by Ultra Magnus declaring it's illegal, you guessed it, for whatever reasons I'm not bothered enough to care. Blah, blah blah. Oh, shut it drift. Anyways, latecomers are welcomed in the brig. Buckle up in thirty! Rodimus out."

Rewind swivelled his gaze from the rock nestled on the grass, then to the ship, hovering not too far from where he's crouching. "Huh, guess I'm taking a detour." Then, his camera skims over the verdant fields of rolling hills. Red lights, blinking. "Won't hurt, would it?"

The LL had a short break stopping on Earth, mostly for refuelling, fresh air, stretching limbs,,,totally not because Brainstorm blew up the left wing again and The Science Team had to patch things up discreetly

Seriously, where is HR when you need it?

And, obviously, the Archivist is not missing the opportunity to explore, of course. It's earth! Home to,,,well,,,,the most complex (derogatory) kinds in the cosmos. And, this rock he's been examining? It's an extraterrestrial mineral. Figments of rocks from asteroids, comets, and the like originating outside of the Earth. Crazy, huh.

Better keep that for safekeeping.

Aside from, ah, well wandering where he's able to film stuff, occasionally animals and cows of the like, it's more like a need, at the moment, for a bit of (lets put this gently) space away from his conjunx — since, he's been acting like an ass of late.

Ahem, going behind his, ahem back to doing ahem Mnemosurgery....again.

It's not even an 'again' anymore, it's just borderline often

Why does he even bother to listen? You can't break old habits, as Ratchet would say. They'd break themselves before they could ever stop.

"So that's it? You're just going to ignore me like that?" Footsteps pattered behind him

Rewind huffs, walking faster. "Took you long enough to figure it out, genius."

He groans. "Oh for— Primus sake, Rewind, come on. Don't do this. We can talk."

"Oh sure, sure! Talk." He threw his hands up, whirling around to face his conjux. "That's what you always say, promising me like you're going to get your eyes gorged out if you didn't. What else, tell Red Alert to stop being paranoid and Whirl, a psychopathic ass?"

Chromedome palms his face. Primus, this apology isn't going well as he expected it to. "Look, I messed up. I breached a trust you had in me. I shouldn't have done it. That was very... inconsiderate....of me..."

"What is this, eight grade? Spelling bee on who's responsible?"

"That's not the point! You can't just—"

And, so it begins. The bickering. The blaming. Hand pointing. Arguments ablaze, never listening. Voice raising — just the tip of the iceberg, not even close to it's full potential.

"I bet my words doesn't mean anything to you now, does it?"

"It's does, Rewind. It does!"

"Hey! Stay there! Don't even come any closer or I swear to Primus I'll—"

A cry gurgled out amidst the bushes.

The Mnemosurgeon stiffens. He looking around for the source of the cry when he notices conjux was staring at him. "What?"

"Wow. Wow. Low blow, Chrome dome." Rewind puffs and presses his fists on his hips. " Low blow. I didn't think you'd do this. You're gonna resort to mocking me, now?"

He sputters. " You think that was me?"

"Yeah, blame it on the cows. Blame it on 'em like you do when avoid all responsibility."

"What's even a cow? Oh, for—" Then suddenly he lets out a surprised sound, dropping to crouch next to a bush. Rewind doesn't bother to look. Why would he? He's busy sulking and he wants that Mnemo-no-to-the-o to see it. Though, his audials tuned into a rustle of leaves when—

"There! Primus, Rewind look at this."

Said Archivist was still sulking, arms crossed, looking away. "Nuh, uh."

"Don't you nuh uh me." CD chuffs and figured actions were bigger than words so he scooped up the bundle of blankets and shoved it up his face. "Well? Still got film for this?"

Rewind takes a moment to register the visage.It was, if he knew his terms correctly, a human child. No, wait. A baby. It's the size of a sparkling but....smaller. And, significantly softer.

Most of all, it's crying. Coolant— er, tears streaming down the side of it's cheek. Gently, his servos curled around the scoop, nestling it softly against his chassis. He felt a kind of pull in is spark. Something fond pulsing. Chromedome loosened, looking away. What's the point? The mask already hid his smile.

"Seems pretty far from it's residential zone." Chromedome peers across the horizon searching for even the most recognizable specks of rooftops.

Nope, nothing.

Just rolls and rolls of green foliage.

"Hey there little fella." The Archivist coos, digit caressing the cheek to soothe it. The baby sniffled then blink, lifting up it's tiny fingers to bap his index. "What's a baby doing here of all places?Aren't human, uh, carrier, sires are very protective of their offsprings?"

Chromedome doesn't know what to say, he's not Ratchet or Percy, but he's sure as hell relieved their argument took a turn into park. "Misplacement, maybe."

"...How do you misplace a baby in a bush?"

"Things like that can happen, you know."

"If anything, it seemed like it's deliberately thrown in there. Look! It's even wrapped in a blanket."

He held it up for the Mnemosurgeon to see who, in turn, simply shrugged.

"Yeah. To keep it warm."

"Until someone finds them."

Chromedome narrows his optics. He's got a bad feeling about this. "Rewind. What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is that this child is deliberately left here to be found. We can't just leave it out here—"

"Are you saying we should steal it?''

"I'm not saying we should- ugh yes! I'm saying we should steal it—"

"You're kidnapping children now?"

Ratchet cuts through both of their comms, immediately barraging them, "Are you two idiots done squabbling with whatever stupid problem you have or are we gonna have to wait another fraggin' hour until you both make up and kiss?"

They had to take the baby, much to CD's dismay.

Ultra Magnus was losing his mind. What do you mean you found a baby in a ditch, in a bush, in a field of all places?! Even worse, literally miles and miles away from the nearest habitual region!

Purely, coincidental. He'll have to look in his files for crimes like this lest another is let loose for havoc. The young are the future for society! Something Cybertron is severely lacking in

Unacceptable. Simply unacceptable. Oh, and by the way, you're both going in the brig. You're late.

"Chromedome stalled me."

"Here, we go again."

Everyone is busy cooing and taking turns prodding the bab, and can someone please keep whirl away from the child he's armed, (with the exception of Megatron, the medics and UM) who didn't, mostly for the fear of passing diseases to it, mostly stood far with unimpressed looks on their faces.

First Aid, though, eventually took matters into his own hand,,, by taking it into his own hands and putting it in a glass box (shut up Brainstorm we're not using your stupid Polyhex Quadrilateral Box or whatever) to scan it's vitals and conditions

Everyone was outside, peering through the glass, prodding, helms jut at odd angles to see through the crowd — while the medics delicately assessed its condition.

Ratchet had to explain poor Rewind that not everyone wants children and not every parents are deserving of it so. He's seen this a lot in human culture.

"So they abandon babies just for the fun of it?!"

Well, he's got a point. Most of it at least. "Rewind.... no."

When they were done ensuring the baby is in optimal condition, Ratchet comes up to the, er couple, if he had to put it that way and crossed his arms, a brow raised.

"Do you trust yourselves enough to look after the child?"

"Might as well." CD sighs. ".... I've got enough responsibility on my plate, already."

"Nobody forced you to go back and take it." Rewind mutters.

Ratchet held up a servo to cut off another argument brewing. " I'm going to put this out clear."

A digit points to them. Ratchet grits his dentas and every word that spooled out of his vocalizer, more intense.

"You both are going to have to put your differences aside. You're going to resolve that problem of yours, and resolve it clean — not in front of the child, but behind. Go hide in a broom closet for all i care. Mutilate or incapacitate each other's limbs, if it helps. Fight all you want, kill each other if you have to. But this baby? This baby? You're going to give this child the most loving, caring family it can have. You hear?"

Shenanigans ensue.

Obviously, given they're Cybertronians, human anatomy isnt a topic they're very well versed with. Rewind does know a thing or two. But consulting videos are not really the best way to go when neither of them have the tools to feed the baby

Percy and Nautica (because he doesnt trust brainstorm) are tasked with concocting the milk formula. They're seen tinkering away in the lab, barring the other scientist against a let-me-in charade. Lab doors are locked and padlocked with a specific colde — suck it BS.

All elements, minerals and resources as such are to be provided Rodimus (begrudingly), then fact-checked by the medics, very, very carefully.

They're like guts deep in space and very far from earth. A quantum jump to said planet, in case of an emergency, can affect the only organic living onboard.

Moreover, Ratchet doesn't trust CDRW to learn the stuff themselves, so he holds five hour long sessions daily on how to provide sufficient needs for the baby. You know, handling them, playing with them, learning their gestures, mannerisms,,,etc

CD loves holding baby by the armpit, and especially loves it when he does that, baby tries to bap his face, squealing and babbling, trying to reach him— he finds that his chassis always melts a little.

Rewind, on the other hands, adores cradling baby in a blanket. He likes how warm and soft it is against his arms. And how easily it his to nestle baby under his chin as he walks.

He is the most affectionate from the two. And definitely records everything. Soccer mom-esque, cheering loud whenever baby does something' monumental, for instance, blabbering dada coherently. But also the most rigid. Like, lattice structured rigid.

''Rewind you watch snuff films you hypocrite, a Sunday cartoon getting a liiiiittle violent is nothing compared to the archives you go through." Rodimus wags the CD in front of the Archivist, an upturned pleading pout, pulling his features. He looked comical hunching to regard the smaller Archivist with baby nestled under his chin.

It was an obvious ploy to fiddle with the baby. Everyone's trying to get a nab of their little squeals, these days. Why wouldn't they?

Those adorable fats for cheeks, soft and cuddly, crawling around the habsuite like a cretin, gumming on everything they could find.

Skids managed dodging through the vents after a successful glimpse of peek-a-boo (Rewind forbids physical touch. He's not risking any disease that can be transferred.)

He slinked down and baby immediately latched onto his pedes, babbling for an upsie. It took him a while, and much restraint, not to take it through the vents

Swerve almost poisoned baby with the engex again because, in his own words, what's a little harm in trying new things?

He's now locked up in the brig, banned from touching baby ever .

This entire crew is a hazard and Rewind wasn't having it.

"Is this the same captain known for illegal conduct of meteor surfing?"

"....Oh, shut it."

Chromedome's not very affectionate but is less-rigid when it comes to baby. He's the type to cave in when they want something. Sweets? Oh, you want sweets? He doesn't care if the Lost Light is miles away from the nearest planet. He's going there and he's going now.

Stop him and he'll plunge those long, needle-like nails into mecha's skull, their ancestors could see Primus's aft whole again.

Hoards like,,,,around fifty satchels of sweets. It was only until Ambulon had a private chat with the Mnemosurgeon, that, yes, the baby is going to die eating that much.

So, he offered safer alternatives if baby wanted something sweet. Boiled potatoes, ripe avocados and fruits could help. (They'll have to frequent the nearest planets)

CD is like the most cynical ass ever to exist so Rewind find himself with an existential crises, staring off into a wall, when baby would scrunch up their face, the way CD does when he's displeased.

"That mask stays on."

"But I didn't even—"

"It stays on."

But he also finds, a little begrudingly, that CD is a lot more understandable these days. Mostly always cradling baby and humoring the little cretin . Arguments are close to nill. He barely has to raise his voice

Cybertronians naturally have harsh edges, given they're metal (duh), so their rooms would be congruent in terms of features as well. Not exactly a pleasant thought when an organic is dawdling about.

So to be safe, in their habsuite, Chromedome installed padded cushions everywhere. Even the ceiling is padded, mecha's kibbles are also padded (much to Rodimus's chagrin)

And, every inch and crevice of that room is filled with scribbles. (Scribbles only Swerve can decipher, but he's busy lounging in the brig so there's that.)

Red Alert, during a habsuite check, once blacked out inside the room because he didn't recognize the new change. It was so pastel-ish, bright and soft, he justs goes away

Chromedome finds the poor mech on the ground, baby on top with their crayons, assaulting said mecha's face while squealing at the teal green against stark red paint

"A new paint job, huh."

"Chromedome, get the poor guy up for Primus's sake!"

Baby is limited to the Library and Med-bay (as per Rewind's request). Library because Megatron is there and they know for a fact he's more trustworthy with the baby than anyone. And, Med-bay because, well, medics

But obviously, baby is like, a little cretin who thinks rules are a no-go and said social construct a danger to society. And, by who's declaration? Rodimus. It's Rodimus.

Rewind is going to murder that speedster of a captain

So , it's a given mech's will see CD scampering across the halls upon spotting baby dangling off a goddamn beam. Or, hanging off someone's shoulder, (said bot doesn't know, because baby is so small, the sensors didn't pick up), then sees the mnemosurgeon slumping onto the ground in relief, passed out for a minute

What's baby doing there?!

Rip CD's spark rate.

And, since they've got to play the part of a happy family, Rewind has to sleep in the same berth as his conjux. Not that they didn't ever

After the reveal (CD going behind his back doing unethical things w/ his fingers) Rewind was obviously displeased so they sported separate berths. Now? They'll manage squeezing in the same bed.

Rewind tried to act all huffy about it, glancing to one side, as though he doesn't want to be there. He does. He's just sulking.

Chromedome silently stares at the ceiling. Baby is between them, chewing on a miniature Rung figure (that Rung gave because, somehow, it calms the little thing)

Baby notices the silence and wants attention, so they bap their hands on the surface when both mechs weren't listening. And does it again for the fifth time. CD sighs and decides to humor baby, a little.

"It's past bed-time." He says quietly, patting their head

With a squeal, baby plays with CD's servo and curls it over their head. He scoops the little bundle up into his arms and loosened up a little.

Rewind swivels to find baby nuzzling his conjux, both deeply asleep. Something soft thrums in his spark, and while he’d rather bash his conjux’s a skull with a hammer, he can’t deny the lovely visage of him cuddling their child. So, he scoots over a little, resting his helm on CD's shoulder. He doesn't flinch when a servo lands on his shoulder plate, pulling him close.

Maybe, it wasn’t so bad.

[pmoczine]

🌙 COVER SHOWCASE 🌙

Hey folks! We're at the home stretch for the release of the zine! We are all so thankful for each and every artist and participant that has been with us throughout this adventure. Without you all this wouldn't had been possible, thank you, from the bottom of our hearts for all the passion and support you brought forth to this zine. We would also like to give a special thanks to the host, Minerva, for starting the zine in the first place! You have given so many artists, writers, and artisans alike a chance to showcase what they are most passionate about, and we cannot thank you enough for that! <3

And now, for our last promotion before final release, we would like to show you all the cover for the zine. Each slice was made by a different artist with their own unique Project Moon ocs to showcase the creativity within the zine! Likewise, stay tuned for September 3rd, which will be the ZINE RELASE!

[discokicks]

THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

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

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

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

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fine. Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

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

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You easily score on him not a second later.

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

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

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

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not true—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

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

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

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

You blink at it. “What is that?”

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

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

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

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

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

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

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

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

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp. 

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more. 

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington

[carolmunson]

what're you doing new years?

(bigmoney!steve x f!thick!reader)

recommended reading: peanut butter vibe once bitten, twice shy recommended listening: what're you doing new years eve? by ella fitzgerald brought to you in part by carol's christmas song blitz, and readers like you.

cw: minors dni. 18+. drinking, smoking (cigarettes), casual dominance, references to cocaine, bathroom smut, p in v, fingering (f!receiving), literal IDIOTS in love, fake dating trope, discussions of class relations, gambling, mild daddy kink

a/n: we made it, folks! dividers by @newlips

December 31st, 1996 - NYC The apartment smelled like fresh paint and saw dust. Sprawling and sunsoaked, a lot of open space. You assumed all the apartments in Tribeca looked like this, gorgeous inside and out. Expensive and old money, beautiful brick outsides with stunning interiors. Windows with ornate arches that went from floor to ceiling with deep sills for books or antiques that cost more than your mom's life insurance.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"It's really nice," you say, stepping into the open concept livingroom - Barcelona chairs and a sleek black couch sit on a plush carpet. It looked like a show room. The heels of your leather boots click and echo on the redone hardwood. Boxes and boxes of his life in Indiana are stacked in the room against the wall, trailing all the way to a full chef's kitchen. New appliances gleam with the film still on them, untouched.

"You wanna see my room? It's almost fully done," he smiles. Steve offers his hand to you but you're hesitant. He falters when he catches the gears turning in your head and puts his hand in his pocket, leading you with a cock of his head to the left. "Down that hallway s'a guest room, laundry, full bath," he rattles off pointing down one hallway while he leads you down another, tapping on closed doors, "A couple other rooms I haven't figured out yet. Broker said they'd make great nurseries. I had to laugh." He's trying to joke with you, but you know it hurts him to say that. He's always offhandedly mentioned how much he wants to be a dad.

"And here's my room, master bath, full dressing room -- you know, sort of just like home," he smiles, clicking open the door and guiding you inside. It's set up very much like his old room in Indiana, big kingsize bed with triple fluffed pillows and hotel style linens. Crisp white this time, slight navy accents, light wood. It was bright and airy, the gauzy curtains fluttered gently against the central heating vent.

"Very you," you smile, "It's like you never left."

"Some things never change," he shrugs, opening the double doors to the dressing room, "Come see."

The room is a little smaller than his bedroom, which means it's still bigger than your apartment. The way his clothes are hung in the cubbies and his shoes are oragnized on the shelves can only be described as sterile.

"It's not done, obviously, but, we're getting somewhere," he smiles.

"Oh good, right now it's a little serial killer-y," you laugh, noticing that the other side of the room is completely empty, "Lot of vacancy here. Planning on getting a whole new wardrobe? Bored of the Saint Laurent you already have?"

He rolls his neck slowly to stretch it out, looking over at you and the vacant side of the dressing room with heavy lids through his specs. He lets out of a soft chuckle, "Nah, wanted to keep it empty so you can fit all your clothes in there, too."

You swallow. A tight smile freezes your face when he says it and you remember the conversation you had outside of his office building in Indiana the week before. His hurt features when you left him abandoned back in the lobby while he called another cab home. You came home in tears, your mom and sister consoling you and your tipsy dramatics. 'Never thought you'd be the heartbreaker, honey.'

You know she didn't mean it like that, but it still stung. Who were you to give up someone like Steve Harrington? Steve Harrington who, after he went home and cried in his shower and called his best friend about it, still wanted you to put your clothes in his closet. Still wanted to watch you wake up in the morning and rush to get ready for work. Still wanted you to come up behind him while he made you both coffee on Sunday mornings. Still wanted you take you out to dinner every Friday night so you could both sleep in on Saturday mornings.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks when you don't reply to his half truth of a joke. You jolt out of your trance when he asks, looking over to see him cleaning his glasses with the cloth he always keeps in his back pocket. A gentle flush of pink has made itself to his cheeks and nose, your shoulders sulk a bit. You want to give into his little fantasy, but that's all it is. It's his little fantasy that doesn't need to be a reality, he'll have it with someone else -- anyone else.

You clear your throat, "Uh, yeah, actually. Um, the head of marketing, she always invites the department to her uncle's fancy New Year's Eve party so I finally made the cut. Some ridiculous theme this year -- casino or something? Just so they can all throw their money around." Steve starts to laugh, tutting while he puts his glasses back on, hands on his hips. "What's so funny?" you ask, arms crossing against your chest.

"The party's in midtown, right? At the Plaza?" he asks, matching your posture.

"Technically it's more midtown east, but yes," you reply with more attitude than you were expecting. You don't like hearing him talk like he knows his way around New York when he's been here all of ten seconds. "Yeah, your department head's uncle is Carl. CEO of Slate Insurance, s'my boss. Why do you think I came out here a little early?" he smirks. Fuck.

"Don't look so disappointed," he says, walking towards you slowly, dropping his hands to meet your hips, "You wanna just go together?"

You step out of his hold and catch his shoulders drop in his sweater, a pang of guilt drives through your chest at his disappointment, "I can get there myself, it's no problem."

"I mean, it's not the kind of party you roll up to in a cab," he says matter of factly, like it's obvious, "You have to like, make an entrance."

"I wasn't going to take a cab," you glower. A rejected Steve was sometimes not a very kind Steve, all showboating and no substance -- he just wanted to be a jerk. "What were you planning to take?" he asks, brows raised over his frames in faux curiosity, "The subway?" "Better than showing up in that tacky green Porsche," you retort, cheeks burning at his meanhearted teasing. He grins and shakes his head. "I left the Porsche with my dad. I'll probably take the new Benz," he shrugs, cocking his head while he looks at you, "Well -- my driver'll take the new Benz, but you know what I mean." Your face sours, he was reaching the border of ugly cockiness. "Looks like you’re not into a Mercedes," he frowns, a faux apologetic look washing over his face, "You wanna ride in the Bentley instead?"

"You sound like such an asshole," you confess, walking out of the dressing room and back into his bedroom. "What? I can’t congratulate myself for getting a new job?" he bites back, following you, “I’m just tryna catch up to what my life is gonna look like here, Nat.”

“Not all of us have that life, Steve.”

He softens while looking at your back, he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder to turn you around, “M’not trying to be an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, “I just—you know you can still be 'Hawkins Steve', Harrington. You don't have to be like these Wall Street guys.”

“I know,” he nods, both hands meeting your shoulders, “You wanna come with me tonight? Be my date? Carl’s sort of a traditional guy, it’ll be nice to make him think I’m some family man with a girl at home waiting for me.”

"Steve," you started, "We talked about this. This is your Christmas Party all over again." His eyes cast downward for a moment as the evening replays in his head at record speed. The day you left him, the day he realized he planned your whole future in his head but you didn't want that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn--" you start before he comes back to himself in time to interrupt.

"You can be my fake date," he nearly whines, lips pouting.

"I dunno," you shrug, his hands slide from your shoulders to the dip of your waist.

"You don't want me spoiling you all night? C'mon. I gotta show off to these assholes," he asks, voice warm and soothing. His cologne ghosts your nose and your knees get weak, "And you're a great way to start showing off."

Your heart thrums when he speaks, it's so frustrating to be around someone so handsome, "Don't be stupid, Harrington."

"It's not stupid, Manhattan. It'll be fun, we're just playing pretend," he takes a step closer to you and you can see his stubble, the plushness of his lips.

You consider it, he fights off a smile because he knows you're about to say yes. Steve Harrington always gets what he wants. Steve Harrington always gets the girl.

"Just playing pretend, huh?" you challenge.

"Just playing pretend," he smiles, wrapping you in a gentle hug -- friendly, chaste, sweet, "I'll pick you up at seven."

The hug is soft -- but you can feel his heart beating hard against his chest.

Bbbrrrriiiinggg!

You run to your front door, pressing and holding the button on the intercom to buzz him in. You click the lock before escaping back into the bathroom to finish your face, makeup bag torn open in your sink. As you finish your lipstick you hear a soft knock echo down the hall.

"It's open!" you call, and the loud squeak of your front door screeches through your apartment.

"Y'know this could really use some WD-40," Steve says while he shuts the door behind him, "Do you have some? I can --"

You peek around the door frame, patting your lipstick into your lips with your finger. His eyes glint behind his glasses.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing some of the snow off of his coat.

"Hey," you smile back.

"You look pretty."

"So do you," you tease before escaping back into the mirror. He meets you at the frame of the bathroom door, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

"Should I start telling you I'm picking you up earlier so you'll be ready on time?" he asks, dipping his glasses down his nose to peer at you over the rims, "Or are you wearing pajamas?"

You roll your eyes mid-mascara application, throwing everything back in the bag when you finish, "I just have to put my dress on and then we can go, I promise."

You hurry to your bedroom, only mere steps away, pulling your dress out of it's bag hanging on your closet door, "Give me five minutes!"

You shut your door in his face, slipping the navy satin over your head. It wasn't anything too special -- vintage cut fit and flare. The curves of your body made it look more expensive than it was. Your tailor did wonders on it after you snagged it from a sad looking rack of sale dresses at Saks. You pulled on a pair of nude, gloss finish stockings -- silicone on the bands snapping around your thighs with a loud smack, before slipping on a pair of heels.

While grabbing a small purse to keep your effects in, you open the door to reveal Steve resting against the wall of the hallway. He looks inside, giving it a once over with one turn of his head.

"This is uh...cozy," he says, his smile is unethusiastic.

"Fuck off, Harrington," you groan, spritzing your ever declining bottle of Angel by Mugler across your chest and wrists.

"Let me look at you, hm?" he asks, stepping all the way into the room. You turn toward him, skirt of your dress swaying with the turn of your hips. His eyes unfocus for a moment, you hold back a chuckle -- men are so easy.

“So let me wrap my head around this real quick,” he puffs his chest a bit while he walks toward you. You giggle while walking backward, tripping on your heels, “You were gonna go to this party alone —”

“Wearing this?” he asks, catching you by the waist to steady you. He lets a finger drag from the halter strap of your dress, following the curves of your body downward, “That’s just not fair, Manhattan.”

“You’re Manhattan now, too, Steve,” you correct. His light touch sends a shiver through you and he lets out a satisfied hum. He smells like spice and evergreen, your mouth runs dry when his eyes linger on you for a little too long.

"C'mon, can't let Vinny wait too long for me down there. You're makin' me look bad," he says gently, taking you by the hand to your front door. He pulls your camel coat off the hook and holds it open for you, gliding it onto your arms with the finesse of a man who knows exactly how to treat a woman. Betrayal is the only emotion running through your chest as your body warms up against his touch.

Naturally, the Bently is the nicest car you've ever fucking seen.

He was right, you couldn't have shown up in a cab. There were paps everywhere and you couldn't understand why. It's not like there was any famous people here, just people with a shit ton of money. Were they famous by proxy? Would this show up on Page Six? If your networth had seven zeros, did you get welcomed into a hall of fame or something? Did everyone want to read about your life?

You squinted into the flashes of people taking pictures, Steve's hand immediately lacing with yours as you walked towards the entrance of the hotel.

"Careful, careful," he says, while you inch up the short icy stairway. Your heels clicking on the stone as you reach the doors, "Go slow."

"I'm okay, Steve," you assure, he looks back at you with doting eyes when you get inside.

"Just don't want you to hurt yourself, baby," he softly scolds before locking eyes with an usher for the party.

Oh, we're starting this now, you think to yourself. He walks with his hand still laced with yours while the usher leads you both to the Grand Ballroom, framed signs letting patrons know that the casino is in the Terrace Room down stairs. You immediately feel too broke to be here.

"Let me get your coat."

He undoes the button at your waist, smoothing your coat over your shoulders before removing his own. He checks them both and your eyes widen at the amount of cash you see in his wallet as he goes to pay. Gulping hard while he fingers through the bills -- hundred after hundred gleaming back at you.

He turns when he's done, running a hand through is hair, and gives you a very Harrington smile, "You ready?"

Your words catch in your throat while you look at him. His suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt patterned, but silk and neatly pressed. His leather banded watch sits perched on his wrist -- you can tell it's new. His pants hugged his thighs, streamlined in a straight line down to his ankles -- shoes freshly shined. Being handsome like this had to be a crime in some counties, there was no way he was just allowed to look like this and be rich.

"You ready, baby?" he asks again, offering his hand, "Come on."

Something about being called baby by him feels so natural. Like you forgot your own name and that's the only one that could get your attention. Baby, angel, princess, honey. You'd look up immediately and search for him at the sound of his voice. You'd know he meant you.

But he's not your boyfriend. This is just pretend. This is not what you want.

When the doors open, you can't breathe. The ballroom is completely transformed in gold and silver. The lights and chandeliers catch the decorations in a show of shimmer. Like the whole room was waiting to start glittering until you got there.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

"Yeah we're definitely not in Indiana anymore," he mutters to you. You feel his hold tighten on your hand in a show of something you hardly see from Steve. He's nervous.

You look up at him, eyes riding up from his jaw, cheek bone, to his eyes behind his glasses. His gaze roves over the party and he licks his lips, brow quirking before he makes a decision.

"You okay?" you ask, he looks down at you with a soft look in his eyes.

"I'm perfect," he says with a nod. The room is sprawling with tables and he's able to finesse a way to get you both to sit together even though the seating chart had you woefully distanced. It doesn't surprise you how easily he's able to assimilate to making things work for him here. You see his performance again and again: with the waiters, with how he orders drinks, how he checks his watch, how he smiles at people walking by.

You're both at the bar when you see it in full force, his arm protectively around your waist, thumb grazing the smooth fabric to keep him grounded.

"Steven?"

You both look over, an old man with a thick, white walrus mustache in a stunning black suit comes close to approach you. His wedding band is a shining platinum to match the watch on his wrist -- sapphires sit in the face of the metal backing. You wonder briefly how much it costs.

"Oh, Carl!" Steve beams, letting go of your waist for a moment to shake the man's hand, "How are you? Beautiful event -- really stunning."

"Thanks, thank you, but you ought to tell that to my wife. She's the one who plans these things, I just foot the bill," he laughs. His light eyes linger on you and you flush.

"And who's this? She looks like she just walk right out of Old Hollywood."

You introduce yourself, hand reaching out to shake his but he takes it to his lips to press a kiss to your hand. If he wasn't Steve's boss you wouldn't have smiled at the gesture -- but ah well.

"This is my girl, Carl. The one I was telling you about," Steve says with a blush.

"Just your girl?" he asks, eyes noting to your empty ring finger, "Hope she's your fiancé soon, Harrington."

"Sooner than she thinks. I promise, sir," they both laugh. Steve's hand returns to your waist and it feels like a leash. They talk for a moment, Steve passing you a drink while he does. It's business and you don't care, the drink is liquor forward and your face sours at the first sip.

"Sorry baby, that's whiskey. That's mine," he switches your drinks seamlessly while still in conversation. "We're just so happy to have you, Harrington -- my son Chuck, he's y'know, he's got no fuckin' clue what he's doin'. I blame myself, me and Muffy let him do whatever he wanted," Carl complains, "So I think havin' someone who just gets the business will be really helpful. I know you'll start guiding him in the right direction."

"I mean Carl, I was the same when I was twenty-six, he'll get there," it was like Steve had known him his whole life. He keeps his hands on you while the talk continues, two more men joining in. C-Suites. Big money. Important people. You're just a piece of art hanging on his arm.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

As if the heavens heard your plea, a call of your name takes you out of your bored trance.

"Over here!"

You sigh with relief at the sight of your coworker, also head to toe in shimmering Saks ready to wear in a sea of authentic Dior and Chanel.

"S'cuse me," you say gently, tugging out of Steve's grasp. He looks down at you a little sternly, you frown.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry. A friend of mine is looking for me, it was great to meet you all," you smile at the group of men, stepping away delicately on your heels until they aren't paying attention. As they continue talking your run on the balls of your feet into your friend's arms.

"Rob, oh my god, what the fuck are we doing here?" you laugh. Robin Buckley looks like a million bucks, but you know she only makes $49k a year because you do, too.

"We do not belong here," she laughs with you, "Do you wanna go lose some money with me downstairs?"

"Yes, yes, one hundred percent," you not, "Get me away from these stiffs."

"So that's Steve?" Robin asks, passing you a glass of champagne while you finish the last sip of the margarita Steve got you a little earlier.

"That's Steve," you murmur, immediately letting the bubbles slide past your lips.

"He's really something," she grins, "You're complaining about being smothered by that?"

"Stop Rob, you don't even like guys," you tease, nudging her knee with the tip of your heeled toe.

"I don't have to like guys to know when a guy is hot," Rob says through a sip of her drink, "And he's fucking hot. Like, Tom Cruise hot. Top Gun hot."

"Oh, stop."

"Jerry Maguire hot -- and like, super fucking rich, obviously. That's a Prada suit. Are you kidding? Talk about 'show me the money,' he's showing you, babe."

"Yeah, but like," you frown a little, "You know how all the guys in finance always talk about how much they hate their wives? And all their wives are Tribeca moms who keep going on retreats to 'work on themselves' after they get cheated on?"

"Of course, that's like, the Tribeca mom rite of passage," she agrees, crossing her thin legs, her sequin dress shimmered in the low, warm, light.

"So, Steve just moved to Tribeca -- it's like...like I'm staring my future right in the face," you exclaim, another sip meeting your lips, "And it's not like I look like any of those women either. I'll be going on my first retreat in three months tops."

"Okay, well one, you have no idea what you're talking about," Robin shakes her head, "You're a smokeshow."

"And two, isn't Steve from Kansas or something?"

"Indiana."

"Same thing," she waves you off, "Steve's from Arkansas. He doesn't have the same mindset as the guys who came here when they were teenagers to jerk off at frat parties at NYU."

"They'll get to him," you shake your head, looking at her with a knowing glance, "They always do."

You both make your way over to the slot machines, weaving through crowds at roulette and craps tables, snaking by chairs sat at poker games. The piles of chips make you sweat. There was a lot of money down here.

"This is all I can handle, cards are so boring," Robin sits down on the plush leather of the seat across from the machine while you take the one next to her. You both play a few rounds in silence before she looks over at you again.

"Do you know what I think?" she asks, champagne glass empty in her hand.

"What do you think, Buckley?" you ask, finishing the last sip of yours.

"I think Andy fucked you up a little and you can't believe someone like Steve wants to be with you, so you're pushing him away," she says with a shrug, "You're trying to hurt him before he can hurt you."

"You sound ridiculous."

"I sound ridiculous or I sound right on the money?" she asks, pulling the lever on the machine. It runs and stops, she doesn't win.

"Sounds like you're not on the money at all," you shrug.

"Shut up," she laughs, "I'm just saying, I think you're really convinced he's settling when I think it's pretty clear he likes you a lot."

"You don't even know him!" you exclaim, running the machine over again.

"Looks like I might get to know him," she smirks. You turn toward the entrance and there he is, frowning while peering through the room. He's squinting behind his glasses trying to find you in the low light, hands in his pockets. For a moment you think about letting him not find you, maybe he'd pick someone else up at the party. Hell, women were gawking at him from the moment he walked in -- he had plenty to pick from.

But the desperation on his face made your heart ache -- this really was your world. Maybe he really did need you to help show him around.

Against your own judgement, you wave, hoping he'd catch you in the sea of people. You don't have to wait long to see his smile when he catches you, waving back and disappearing in the crowd.

"Hey, there you are," he breathes with a small jog towards you, "Thought I lost you."

"No, no, just out here draining my Christmas bonus," you laugh, tugging on the lever again. Robin looks over and smirks at you when he rests his hand on the back of your neck under your hair, thumb grazing the skin under the hinge of your jaw.

"This is Robin, she's my friend from work," pointing your thumb at her. Always the business man, he leans over you to shake her hand.

"Steve -- nice to meet you," he grins.

"Oh, I know who you are," she teases. You shoot her a look, but it falters. The way his hand leaves your neck to stroke over your head, gently enough to not ruin your hair, makes you melt. It had to be the booze. The haze of cigarette smoke making you woozy.

The lights of the machine infront of you flash wildly, the music sounding, screen glowing - WINNER! JACKPOT! WINNER!

"Oh, fuck yes!" you cheer while the chips fall into into the opening at the bottom.

"Come on!" Robin huffs, "I've put in at least twenty more dollars than you have."

"Didn't pick the lucky machine, Rob," you joke, collecting the chips in a stack in your hand. "How much did you win?" he asks, trying to count them while you clumsily try to keep them together.

"I think just a hundred bucks, so -- eighty dollar profit!"

"Ugh don't say profit, we're at a party," Robin groans, pulling the lever down on her machine hastily.

"Let me take those," Steve says, collecting the chips and putting them in his suit pocket, "I have to go get some anyway."

He pulls out his wallet, thumbing through bills and plucks an $100 out. He folds it, handing it to you, "Now you don't have to cash them."

"Steve..." you scold softly. He takes your hand and presses the bill into it, closing your fingers over the paper. He smiles, thumbing through his wallet again while you put the money in your purse. He plucks out another bill and holds it out in front of Robin. Her mouth hangs open at the gesture.

"Steve!" you raise your voice but he thinks the reproachful look on your face is just too cute.

"Sorry Rob, I think he's drunk," you apologize, embarrassed beyond measure.

"What? I think she deserves a consolation prize," he smiles. Robin plucks the bill from his fingers, putting it in her wristlet.

"I think he should be drunk around me way more often if this is how he acts," she rasps. Steve throws her a wink, arm snaking around you once you get up from the slot machine stool.

"S'it okay if I steal her from you?" he asks. You swallow thickly, both hating and loving how he pulls you around this party like you're his property.

"Steal her, take her home, take her kidneys, I don't care," she laughs, "Do whatever you want, consider me paid off."

"I'll see you later, Rob!" you smile, reaching out and squeezing her hand. As Steve turns around with you, you look back at her. She gives you an exasperated look -- 'What the fuck is wrong with you? He's great.'

He is great. That's what makes it so hard.

He leads you over to the chip exchange, fingers grazing your back while he lets go of your waist. His hand sneaks into suit jacket where he pulls out a wad of cash secured by a shining gold money clip.

"Can I get four grand in hundreds?" he asks.

"Steve that's -- stop," you huff, "Who're you trying to impress?"

"Impress?" he scoffs, "The buy in for blackjack is five hundred dollars, baby. This is just fuck around money."

"Here," he says, plucking a glass of champagne off of a waiter's tray as he offers them. Steve passes it to you, "Have a drink, stop pouting. It's a holiday."

You sip it bitterly while you wait and he sighs at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reaching back into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a cigarette and a silver lighter, embers glowing while he inhales, lighter escaping back to its hiding place.

"Hey," he says, blowing the smoke out away from you, "Wanna smile for me?"

You smile, it's fake and exaggerated, he laughs into his next drag, "I'll take it."

The attendant passes Steve a rack of chips, neatly rowed but as he's about to take them his name is called. Yet another group of stiffs asking for his attention.

"Will you hold this for me, honey? Thank you," he asks softly, passing you the rack. You nod while you take it, desperately hoping this conversation goes quicker than the last one. He introduces you like you brought you on a leash and they all shake your hand like you're a show pony that got gussied up to leave the stable. You're not a person, just an accessory -- and you know they're surprised at his choice, but he doesn't need the extra social currency.

You keep sipping your champagne and shutting up, but your ears perk up when you hear him mention you, "You know she just put together this wild campaign for their lipstick line with the creative team, she might as well have produced it. And now their quarterly has that lipstick up fourteen percent and growing. And here we are with just -- what? Claims? How do we even market that? She swears what she does is boring."

You blush at his praise. So he does listen when you complain about work.

The conversation changes and you're bored again, eyes surveying the crowd of long elegant women and handsome stuffy men. Cheers roaring from tables, the sounds from the slot machines, it seemed less overwhelming with a few drinks in you. You guessed upstairs was for the boring people.

"Have you ever even seen four grand before?" you hear sneering your way. You look up and there he is -- the heartbreaker whose heart you barely broke by breaking up with him. The boy who hardly cared.

“Andy?” you ask, brows pulling inward in disgusted shock, “What’re you doing here?”

Andy had gotten a new attitude after he got a new job, suddenly too good for you and your old group of friends. Suddenly telling everyone he broke up with you. Telling everyone he shouldn't settle for less. The glasses of champagne you’ve had finally meet your brain, making you woozy and nervous. The glittering decorations on the ceilings marry the lights and cross over your vision. Andy sparkles in front of you, his friends faded out behind him. A scene in slow motion.

You feel Steve’s hand on your waist, giving you little squeezes so you don’t feel like he’s ignoring you while he talks to his new colleagues about stocks and sales. Boring metrics that you’d care about if it mattered.

“I was invited. Perks of Chuck being my boss,” he gives you a smarmy smile, knowing you’re only here by proxy. Not because you’re important, not in the same way that—

“Whose this asshole?” Andy scoffed, giving Steve a once over. You hear Steve’s pleasant, ‘Sorry fellas, if you’d excuse me…’ to his group as he turns toward Andy and his friends. He flashes a charming Harrington smile.

“Andy! Nice to see you again, man,” he raises his champagne flute toward him cheerily. Andy looks at Steve with a furrowed brow, confused but sly.

“Sorry, guy. Not sure we’ve met,” he laughs — covered in new money sleaziness, his friends laugh with him, “Nat must’ve told you all about me, I guess.”

You feel Steve’s posture change — confident and cocky. His head tilts the way it does when you know he’s about to say something mean. Your body heats up when he places his empty glass on the platter of a near by server, putting the free hand in his pocket.

“We met in Indiana,” he corrects, confidence unfaltering, “You don’t remember?”

“Indiana?” Andy scoffs again. Your face twists into something Steve doesn’t like, a mix of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Well, since you’re at a loss let me reintroduce myself,” he smirks. He puts his hand out shake your ex’s, Andy loosely shakes it back.

“Name’s Steve,” he introduces himself with a warm genuine quality that people learn from years of sales work, clapping his other hand over Andy’s, “Steve Harrington. I’m Natalie’s boyfriend.”

He says it so casually that you immediately flush, it sounds too natural.

“Oh,” Andy says, surprised. He gives you a once over, offering you a pathetic glace, “You're dating her? You're her boyfriend?”

“Her boyfriend,” he lilts, taking his hand away. He slinks an arm back around your waist, tucking his shoulder behind yours, “And sorry, couldn't help but over hearing -- You said Chuck’s your boss? Chuck at Slate Insurance?”

“Yeah, and?” Andy asked, annoyed. Steve let out a gentle chuckle, the kind that sounds rich. The kind that sounds like a trust fund with seven figures.

“Oh, that’s—hoo!— that’s funny,” he teases, but it comes out cool and uncaring. He bites his lip to keep from laughing more, giving Andy a judgmental once over.

“What’s so funny about it?” he asks, arms crossing in a huff causing his cheap suit to crease.

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s funny because I’m Chuck’s boss,” he gestures toward him before tucking his hand back in his pocket, “So I guess I’ll see ya Monday, champ.”

Andy chokes on his sip of champagne, you bite back a mean giggle that bubbles in the seat of your chest.

“Now, hate to be rude but, my woman and I are gonna head over to the roulette table,” Steve starts, beginning to move you over to the next room with him, “Unless — you know, unless you’d care to join us. You feelin’ lucky?”

Andy’s face has gone red, eyebrows sloped down, a prominent wrinkle forming on his forehead. His friends look into their drinks, coughing and shifting awkwardly while they watch the exchange.

“No?” Steve asks, a slight taunt to his voice. Andy shakes his head no, “Ah well, suit yourself, I guess. Say bye, angel.”

Steve nudges you with his shoulder and you burn under the instruction, lifting your gaze to Andy who looks like he could maul Steve at any second, “Bye, Andy,” you mutter, your voice trailing higher than normal.

“See you around, man. Next time I catch ya, I'll give you the number to my tailor,” Steve's eyes linger on the hem of Andy's trousers -- sloppy and too long for him. He let's out a soft 'hm' before meeting Andy's gaze and shooting him a wink with a steely grin. Steve leads you out of the chip exchange by the small of your back, passing you another glass of champagne.

“Drink that before you say whatever smart thing you wanna say,” he says, hand dropping from your back to clasp with yours while he leads you through the throngs of people to the roulette table.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you lie.

“Pfft, okay,” he shakes his head in front of you, but you don’t need to see him to know that he’s rolling his eyes. You arrive at the edge of the table, oak wood bumping into your hip.

“I’m not much of a gambler,” you confess, taking your places around the table closer to the wheel. He kisses your cheek before taking your chin between his fingers gently.

“You thought I’d have you dropping your own cash here? That’s cute,” he teases with his voice low enough so the other players couldn't hear, “Daddy’s gonna gamble, baby. You’re just gonna watch.”

“Steve,” you blush, “Don’t say that.”

“I don't know,” he shrugs coolly while placing his chips, turning back to you when he's done, "I think you like when I say that."

He wins big at roulette, of course he does. He's Steve Harrington.

Now he has you nestled on his lap while he plays black jack, your hips and thighs spilling over the leg you're perched on. Everyone's drunk so no one cares that you're not supposed to do that, as long as your hands are in view of the dealer. It's not a real casino anyway.

His breath hits that spot between your neck and shoulder that makes you squirmy, hips rolling achingly slow on his thigh when he does it. You have half a mind to think he's doing it on purpose.

"Watch yourself, angel," he mumurs, placing a hand firmly on your hip to steady you, "Don't want you to fall."

You watch him play, him and his colleagues, some men he doesn't know -- they're betting real big. Big enough that you had the pleasure of holding two more racks of chips for him while the other two were stacked on the table in front of you.

The three other men have either had too many or are sitting between 12 and 16 in their cards. He has fourteen in front of him, a jack, a three of hearts, and an ace. You watch him tap the table to hit and then double down, you gulp. A fourteen thousand dollar bet, and it's just chump change to most of the guys down here.

The dealer hits, a seven of clubs slapping down on the table. "Blackjack."

He smirks and the table claps while the dealer expertly slides over $35,000 in chips which you load dutifully onto the empty racks on the table next to you.

"Really got lady luck on your side tonight, huh Harrington?" the older man next to him asks. You feel Steve's hand clap your thigh.

"Actually, she's on my lap," he smiles and you flush at his teasing, listening to them talk while the dealer shuffles for the next round. His hand slides over your thigh and he talks to the guys at the table like he's not driving you insane when he toys when the hem of your dress.

"Can I get anyone a drink?" a waitress asks the table. You turn to Steve while the men start to order, some glasses of wine, some full bottles of liquor.

"Get whatever you want, honey," he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. The waitress looks to you expectantly and you smile. It's probably the first non-horny smile she's gotten all night.

"Can I get a bottle of Dom for the table, please?" you ask, "The earliest vintage you have."

You were pushing your luck -- but you were at a blackjack table. He squeezes your thigh and you squeal under his touch while the dealer starts the game.

"Didn't know my girl was so greedy," he teases in your ear. Your lip quirks.

"M'not really your girl, Stevie," you whisper back.

"No?" he murmurs back to you, hand skimming your dress up the side of your thigh, "Spending my money like you are."

You blush hard, he loves how easy it is to fluster you once you've had a few. Still lucid, less tightly wound. He liked when you loosened up for him, when you relaxed into his touch with all these people around.

The Dom comes and the waitress starts pouring glasses, Steve gets the bill and shoots you a look when you go to peer over the leather.

"Don't be rude, baby," he tuts, tilting it away from you. There were way too many numbers in the total for a bottle of champagne.

"Sorry, Steve," you mumble while he passes the waitress his credit card with the bill. The champagne is dry and heavenly and your smile when you take the first sip makes all the money he paid worth it.

"You like it?" he asks, attention going back to the game.

"Mhmm," you nod into your next sip.

"Good," he smiles, "Have another bottle at home we can break into later."

Home. Oh. He wants you to go home with him. Was that the plan? Were you following through with the fake date thing the whole time? All night?

"Hm," is all you reply. He keeps winning big -- but you're really the only thing he's betting on.

It's starting to get a little late and the party is picking up. All the screens in the casino have Dick Clark on, the big party on the other side of town is ramped up to eleven.

Steve holds your hand at the chip exchange, the manager and two security guards stand by while they stack bundles of cash for Steve. You know the short set of bands is more money than you've ever seen in your life, it almost makes you nervous.

"This isn't gonna fit in my money clip, angel, can I borrow your purse?" he asks sweetly. Your purse isn't huge, but it can fit the money in it.

"Uh, um, yeah," you say, you mouth running dry while he puts at least forty grand in your bag.

"Thank you, baby," he smiles, the booze affecting his grin. You let him lead, taking you out of the casino and back upstairs to the ball room. There are people everywhere, but more importantly, there is food.

You both don't even think about it, manuevering to the buffet in silence, giggling while you load up plates with obscure hors d'oeuvres and different types of bread and dessert. You sit at the table, barely talking while you eat, but stealing glances at each other.

"I think this is octopus, try it for me and tell me," he says, holding out a small sauteed tentacle on a cracker with avocado.

"I'm not trying it for you!" you laugh, "Try it for yourself. Don't be such a wimp."

"C'mon, just try it for me, tell me if it's good," he smiles, leaning his chin on his other hand to watch you. He pushes the cracker further towards your mouth and you give in, lettling him pop the bite sized morsel into your tongue. His fingertips brush your lips and he swallows, adams apple bobbing slowly against his collar.

"Definitely octopus," you nod.

"You're so brave," he says dreamily, fingertip booping against your nose.

"Okay weirdos, enough with your fake date, let's go dance," Robin's voice booms from a couple tables over while she walks towards you. She grabs both of your hands to lead you to the crowded dance floor. The live band plays fast jazz and the three of you make up what you can to it. Robin really taking the prize for most creative dance moves.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, giving you a little spin. You look at her and back at him, nodding.

"Yeah, she'll sleep good tonight," you let him lead, arm wrapped around your waist. The music slows and he hums to himself, pulling you closer.

"This is nice," his voice is warm and low, "This is what I wanted all night."

"To dance with me?" you ask softly. He nods, a bashful smile curling up his lips, glasses slipping a little down the slope of his nose. You push them up gently, putting your arms back around his neck.

"I really like dancing with you," he whispers, noses close to brushing each other.

"Thanks."

His bashful smile turns to a tight one, "Look, I'm sorry about the fiance and boyfriend stuff with Carl and Andy. That was outta line, I shouldn't have said all that shit."

"It's okay," you assure, but he's not done talking.

"I'm sorry if I've been laying it on too thick all night," he says apologetically, "Got too committed to the part, I guess."

"S'fine Steve," you say, looking up at him, "It's just pretend."

Hurt flashes in his eyes, brows softening when you say it.

"Yeah...it's just pretend," he mutters. He loosens his hold on your waist and you can tell he's embarrassed. You can feel his hands become clammy over the fabric of your dress, skidding against the satin while they move.

A woman gets to the center of the stage, a beautiful 40s gown clinging tight to her curves while she grips the microphone. The opening words of Ella Fitzgerald's, 'What're you Doing New Years Eve' , starts with the band.

"Aw, you don't hear this song a lot," you smile, "My dad loved this song."

"Yeah?" he asks. He takes a deep breath, looking at the other couples getting close, nuzzling, kissing. Diamond rings dazzling in the light, wedding bands glinting in his eyes.

"C'mere," he says, reinvigorated to keep up the charade. His arm snakes all the way around you, chest to chest, his other hand holding yours. He rests his forehead against yours, moving slow with you to the music, the instrumental lulling you both into the fantasy you both created.

Steve had such a way of making it feel like it was just the both of you.

'Maybe it's much too early in the game, Ah, but I thought I'd ask you just the same, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's eve?'

"It's a pretty song," he says.

"Yeah," you agree, lost in how he looks at you.

'Maybe I'm crazy to suppose, I'd ever be the one you chose, Out of the thousand invitations you received.'

You rest your head on his chest while the horns solo, the hand on your waist trailing up to brush your hair and cup your face.

"Hey, look at me," his voice is quiet, "Wanna see your pretty face, Manhattan."

"I look tired," you complain, looking back up at him with a scrunch of your nose. His thumb slides over your cheek bone.

"You look perfect," he confesses.

'Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, Here comes the jackpot question in advance, What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?'

"Hey Nat," he starts.

"Mhm?"

"What if it --" he lets out a breath through his nose, "What if it wasn't pretend?"

"What?"

10!

"What if we didn't have to pretend?" he asks, "What if we just...what if we just were each other's real dates? Cause like --"

"Steve, come on."

9!

"You can't pretend like this doesn't feel right," he pleads, "Like this doesn't feel real."

"Steven, I told you this morning--"

8!

"Baby, I haven't stopped thinking about you since you left me at the office," he confesses, "Thinking about how to change your mind. I want you so bad, Nat. You have no fucking idea."

"I'm just the only person to tell you no," you assure, "That's the only reason you want me."

7!

"No, I promise that's not it," he urges, both of his hands cupping your cheeks while he talks. The cheering getting louder around you at the clock ticks closer to midnight.

6!

"You're not gonna want this after a month of you being here. Look at everyone around you Steve -- I don't fit in here," you say, "Don't you want a trophy wife? Someone who everyone gawks over?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he asks, eyes wild, "Had to walk behind you all night so all these guys would stop staring at you."

5!

"Steve you're just...settling," you finally say it and it feels like a weight has floated off your chest, "This was the opposite of what you came to New York for."

"Settling? Are you stupid?"

4!

"You wanted to do something new and exciting," you counter.

"You are new and exciting," he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth, "You are why I wanted to be here. I wanted to do something new with you."

3!

"I've been sitting in Hawkins for the last five years thinking about how much fun you're having out here. Thinkin' about how much fun we could have together -- haven't stopped fucking thinking about you since the night I met you in Porter's."

"You're just saying that," you argue, lump growing in your throat, "You're just drunk."

2!

"I'm not just saying that, please just listen to me" he pleads, "Fuck Nat, I --"

1!

"I love you."

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Silver and gold metallic confetti pours from the ceiling, your breath hitches while it glitters on it's way down.

"I love you so much, it hurts," he confesses, eyes shining behind his frames, "I just -- I think I loved you the whole time."

Your mouth falls open against his hold on your cheeks.

"You don't have to say it back, I--"

You stop his sentence with your lips against his. The kiss he wanted to give you all night. It feels like an old movie kiss with with way his arms wrap tight around your back and waist and your hands meet his face.

He breaks away from you for a moment, locking his eyes with yours.

"I really mean it," he murmurs, "I love you."

"I --," his eyes linger on yours, your cheeks heat up, "Steve."

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

He knew it. God, he fucking knew it.

The lock clicks and he checks it once, twice, three times before caging you in against the wall. There weren't any families here so it's not like anyone was looking to use the bathroom with a changing table. Everyone was using the lounge bathroom for coke anyway.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he gasped into your mouth, "You're so fucking pretty."

"Thanks," you breath against his kiss. His lips trail from your mouth down your jaw, lips sliding down your neck to your chest. His tongue is warm and wet on your skin and you sigh up to the ceiling at the feel of it.

He manhandles you at the sound, arms overtaking you to shove the complimentary products on the sink's counter and throw you onto it. You look at him with swollen lips from his kiss, eyes begging. He grabs your hand to press it firmly up against his erection, staring down at you down the slope of his nose, “That’s how you got me all night, lookin' at me like that. Wearin' this dress -- what's wrong with you, hm?”

"S'wrong with me?" you slur, dragging your hand back over his cock without his guidance, "S'wrong with you? This suit fitting you so nice, that stupid fancy watch?"

"Stupid? My Patek?" he laughs, "It was nine grand, don't call it stupid."

"You're disgusting," you spit, but it doesn't have the bite you can normally dish. The way he lingers over you makes you lose your edge.

"Mmm, love when you're a little mean," he groans while he buries his face in your neck, reaching for the hair at the nape of it, tugging just enough to make your thighs twitch, "Get to watch you get so nice for me."

You feel his lips drag over your sensitive skin, pulling it in between his teeth to bite down. He takes in your scent, grunting into your jaw while the perfume he likes rules his senses. He's rough, hungry. He's a little drunk, but so are you.

You thighs part to make room for him, ass nearly hanging off the counter while his hips press into you. You run a hand through his silky hear while he assaults your neck, eyes reeling when he hits that spot right past the base.

"You all wet?" he asks in your ear, gravelly voice booming in your chest. His hand skates up your fleshy inner thigh, heat greeting him like an old friend.

"I'm so wet, Steve," you whine back, pushing your hips against his fingertips while he strokes over your satin covered clit.

"Yeah, you're so wet for me?" he mocks, "I got you all worked up out there?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper while his fingers toy with your panty line, inching inward. He's smug when he feels what's waiting for him behind the fabric.

"Showing you off all night? Throwin' all my cash around?" he growls, a finger sliding in between your legs, "Givin' it all to you to hold on to? That got you all hot and bothered?"

"Y-yes, yeah," you nod, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"Oh-ho baby, they can't hear you out there -- party's gettin' a little rowdy," he teases, "Go ahead an' moan for me."

A second finger follows his first and you start whimpering with every thrust, every flick of his wrist. You grip the counter, skirt of your dress falling back as your thighs lift up and out involuntarily.

"Steve," you moan it like a prayer, it echos back at you, "Shit, fuck, just like that."

"Good girl, baby," he grins, more so when your hips rock in time with his fingers, "Oh, you showin' off now?"

"Sh-shut up, Steve," you chuckle between gasps, face crumpling again while he grazes your g-spot with his fingers. Your walls grip him, gushing over his knuckles. A lazy smile falls onto your face while your hips pick it's rhythm with his fingers.

"Love when you smile like that for me," he says softly, pressing a kiss against your lips -- the facade of your rich, sexy, big money fuck toy falling away, back to his Hawkins beginnings, "You look so beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you tease against his lips, but you know the answer.

"Don't think it, I know it," he whispers between pecks.

He takes out his wallet with his free hand, flipping it open, using his nimble fingers to pull out the condom he'd kept in there tonight just in case. His other fingers ease out of you slowly, tossing you a stern look when you whine.

"Be patient, pl-- Jesus, baby," he melts when you take his fingers, still shining with your slick, directly into your mouth. You make a big show of letting them leave your mouth with a wet pop, his mouth hanging open, eyes unfocused.

"Just wanted to clean up my mess," you say with an innocent shrug.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathes out, sliding the condom on and tossing the wrapper to his feet. Your legs part immediately, skirt of your dress falling way with your thighs, the roll of your tummy poking out to the cool air as you hold your legs up close to your chest.

"You're okay? You want this?" he asks, "I know you had a few."

"I want this," you nod, "I want it."

"Good, cause it's yours," he grins, gliding the tip down from your clit to your entrance, "S'all yours."

"All mine," you whine, sighing high and breathy while the tip breaches inside. Your hips roll instinctively to feel more of him and he obliges, pushing in a third of the way to feel you make room for him. The moan you let out makes him bite his lip. You feel so good around him.

"Who fills you up like me, huh?" he pants while he pulls out and pushes back in, gripping the fat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. "No one, Steve," you moan back, while he rocks against you, "P-please more, please." His lips fall open when you ask, "More, huh? You want all of it?"

You nod feverishly, gripping his shoulders, nails nearly ripping the fabric of his dress shirt as you pull him by the hips. He laughs, locking his hips in place where only half of him was snugly inside you. He adjusts his glasses, peering at your through them, "Say please again, angel." "Please, Stevie," you beg, hips shimmying. He tutts at you, pushing a little farther in and a whine peals through you.

"Like that?" he asks, "You want a little more?"

"Please, please, please," you huff, the stretch of him slowly moving in driving your eyes to the back of your head. The bulbous tip creeping past your g-spot unbearably slow -- juices seeped out of you over him.

"Please, please, please. All that whining, think this is all you can handle angel," he mocks gently, hand cupping your cheek. His thumb grazes over your lip while he starts his thrusts again -- half way to all the way out.

"No, no, all of it, please," you grovel, "Please. It's mine."

You bite your lip, eyes watering while the pleasure builds below your belly -- you're aching for the fullness of him.

Your eyes round in neediness, overtaken by the wetness between your legs, the way he touches you, "Please, daddy." "Fuck, baby," he groans while he pushes in to the hilt, lips finding yours while he readjusts. His arm reaches around your back to angle you differently, caging you in against the mirror on the wall. His other hand snakes up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss, all deep breaths and tongue. Steve's hips roll against yours, shallow thrusts to keep himself as buried inside of you as possible, "See what happens when you — mmm — ask me nicely?" You roll your eyes but he thrusts again and your head lolls back against the mirror, “Sh-shut up, you’re so— you’re so — ah! oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m so what? We’re you gonna say ‘I’m so annoying’?" he grins into another kiss. You can feel his tip pushing against your cervix with every short thrust. Your body stretched around him with ease, making you gasp with every thrust of his hips, “M’so deep you can’t even talk right.”

He presses his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight while sweat builds on his forehead, "Oh shit, shit you feel so good."

"Harder, please," you whisper. He nods against you, picking up the pace of his thrusts and he has to cover your mouth to drown own the sounds coming out of you.

"Shh, shh, not too loud baby," he giggles, "Don't wanna lose my job."

You take a deep breath through your nose, trying to maintain your composure while you pulse tighter and tighter around him.

"Steve you...oh my god, yes, yes, like that," you slur out while he holds you steady on the counter, watching you come undone around him. "Say you're mine," he says, grunting between thrusts, "Say you're all mine."

"M'all yours Steve, all yours," you nod, eyes pooling with tears as each thrust sends you closer to seeing white, "Oh fuck, fuck -- I'm gonna cum, ohmygod m'gonna cum."

"Cum for me angel," he says through gritted teeth, getting close himself, "Cum for me."

Your legs vibrate when he pulls your hair to bare your neck to him, final thrusts sending blinding pleasure through your body. You shake and spasm beneath him, whining and mewling at the come down.

"That's it, baby," he coos while you gasp back to reality, "That's my girl." He buries his face in your neck when his hips stutter, groaning, gripping your legs so hard you know you'll bruise.

"Mmm, god," he grunts, "Oh fuck, I'm gonna -- oh, baby --"

You both rest against eachother, breathing heavy, hands roaming. He pulls out slowly while he softens, discarding the used condom in the trash. You go to move but he stops you, pulling up his briefs and pants and cleaning you up gently.

"You okay?" he asks, "That felt good?"

You nod, "Was it good for you?"

"Bathroom sex with my girlfriend? Oh, amazing," he smiles, helping you down off the counter.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"Do you wanna be called something else? I'll call you anything you want," he bushes, "S'long as you're my girl, Manhattan."

"You're girl," you muse, "Steve Harrington's girl."

"Sounds really good, doesn't it?" he tosses you a cool look, "Lot's a girls would beg for that title."

"You're annoying," you huff, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking outside to check for people. The coast was clear and he leads you out to the hallway by the hand, heading over to the coat check.

"We're going home?" you ask.

"We're going to yours," he says.

"Why?"

"So we can start packing up your shit to bring to mine tomorrow morning."

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Six

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: It's still Sad hours folks, Mentions of Grief, Mild Anxiety, Some Self Deprecation / Negative Self Talk, AND THEN some Fluff, Cute Banter, Dry Humor, and the biggest warning of all: Pirate Facts (don't forget who we're talking to here)

Word Count : 3.5k

Summary : Charlotte is still processing the prior day's events and struggling to deal with her grief coupled with the fact she let a "stranger" see her upset. Unfortunately, things have to get worse before they get better, but she is well on her way to better.

Author's Note: HEHE ANOTHER ONE. Okay really though, I know we've been having sad chapters and I want you to get to good stuff so I figured since this is the last sad chapter for a bit AND she's a little shorter than the next handful, I may as well let you have her early. We start off a bit rough, but it only gets better as you read! PROMISE.

Honest - Joseph "There's always two thoughts, One after the other, I'm alone, No, you're not."

I’ve been sitting in bed since I got home last night, recounting everything. A full-blown meltdown, Charlotte? You really couldn’t choke it back for a little longer? I have never been good at letting people in. I tend to keep everybody at arms’ reach, which is why I now have… basically, no friends.  

I don’t know how I got here; that’s a lie. I am too intense. I work too much. I care too much about my work. I could stand to relax a little more. Okay, let’s not talk ourselves into a spiral now; it’s too early in the morning. 

It’s 7 a.m., and I’ve barely slept. I force myself out of bed. I just need coffee. Stretching as I walk into my kitchen, I set up my coffee pot and lean against the counter, rubbing my eyes to rid the sleep left on them. He was so sweet about it, too. He didn’t even hesitate. Taking a deep breath , I shake my head as if that would get rid of the thoughts. 

I pour some coffee into my favorite mug, take the first sip, and feel the warmth go through my body. ‘Oh, Honey’ rings in my head. Does he just give everybody pet names?  Finding myself on my couch, my laptop sitting next to me, taunting me with the option to work. I know I should take the day off with how little sleep I got, but I would also rather stay busy. 

I could just check my emails. 

Maybe I’ll just work for a few hours.  

It couldn’t hurt to just clock in. 

I’m pushing open my laptop, frustrated because I know I’ve lost the battle with myself again. I immediately pull up my emails, seeing a handful from the last few days that I haven’t answered. 

It’s a lot of easy work, which is good because, well, I shouldn’t be working right now. I spend a while replying to everything in my inbox, including an email to my boss. I sip my coffee between emails, trying to stay focused on work but finding my mind wandering. 

I would have been fine if he didn’t acknowledge that I looked sad. I could have gotten through that situation so much better. Why did he have to notice? I pause my thoughts, realizing how insensitive they seem. You’re grieving, Charlotte. Jesus Christ, give yourself some grace. You’re GOING to be sad. He was just good at handling that. I still can’t wrap my head around how quickly he reacted. Most men I’ve met probably wouldn’t have even realized something was wrong, let alone make sure I could privately have a moment. 

My throat starts to tighten again, and my chest feels heavy; I wish I could tell her about this. She would have been so shocked to hear that I let someone help me. My eyes start to get blurry. Oh, not again. I sit there, letting the tears fall down my face. 

“Fuck,” I mutter to my empty apartment. 

I rub my eyes, probably harder than I should, before making a second cup of coffee. Breathing shakily as I pour, text him. No. You need a friend, Charlotte. I don’t even know him, aside from his business. He said to let him know if you need anything, and you do kind of need something right now. I do not, I’m fine. Then why are you still crying? 

Sitting on my couch, I grab my phone and pull up his messages. Just text him. 

I struggle to type anything out for a moment, wiping my face a few times before finally settling on something simple. 

Charlotte: hi goodmorning 

I lock my screen quickly, setting my phone next to me, face down. Why did I do that? It’ll be fine. Just let him respond.  

Back to work, I open an email from my boss; 

‘Charlotte,  Why are you working today? I thought you took the day off? Regardless, how did everything go in Portland? Did you get the paperwork handled with Caravel Tavern? I’m hoping for your sake that the owner was pleasant and just filled it out for you.  It’s an unfortunate situation that you had to go there, but much appreciated that you were able to stop by and get that taken care of.’ 

My boss and I have been working together for a while, so I’d like to think that he isn’t being disingenuous with that email, but the fact he knows the ultimate reason I went to Portland and only seemingly touched on the work part is making my stomach hurt. Does everybody think that I’m emotionless? I went there to mourn my friend, and he was worried about how my work went. I feel the tears pricking at my eyes again. This time, I don’t fight them. Setting my laptop to the side, I take a few sips of coffee, wiping my eyes in between. 

My phone vibrates beneath my leg. Is it.. Grabbing it nervously, I flip it over, letting the screen turn on. There, his name sits on my lock screen. 

Jacob: Well goodmorning, how are you feeling? 

Not great. My stomach turns reading the question over and over. Why does he care? 

Charlotte: I’ve been better, honestly. How are you?

Why did you say that? He literally saw me cry yesterday. I think he’d be more shocked if I said I was feeling great.  

Jacob: oh i’m sorry, can I do anything to help? 

No. Just tell him you need a friend, especially right now. We have worked together, I can’t do that. I’m above him, technically. Charlotte, chill out. You’re not co-workers. You can be friends with him. 

Charlotte: I don’t know. I’m just having a rough morning  and I didn’t know who else to text. 

You don’t have anybody you would text anyway. This happens when you don’t keep in touch with your friends. 

Jacob: Do you want to talk about whats wrong or I can just try to distract you?

He’s so.. Don’t tell him. 

Charlotte: I think a distraction is needed 

I’m immediately curious how he’s going to be distracting through text. He’s distracting enough in person. Charlotte. I’m sorry, but it’s no secret. 

Jacob: In that case, how much do you know about the golden age of piracy? 

Charlotte: lol I do actually know a little bit, but go on. 

Jacob: Do you?? Well then, my personal favorites are Anne Bonny and Blackbeard is an obvious choice but.. I dont even care haha hes great. 

A smile crept onto my face when I read his reply. Why is it so wholesome that one of his favorites is a woman pirate? He’s probably just saying it.

Charlotte: You like Anne Bonny?

It’s marked as read immediately, and the typing bubbles pop up almost instantly.

Jacob: She was incredible! And she never was found?? That’s insane. You have to respect it. 

Charlotte: She really was incredible. I know a little about Blackbeard but, you can tell me about him.

Charlotte: If you want obviously, you don’t have to. 

Phone in hand, I walk into my bathroom and turn the shower on before facing the mirror. My eyes are puffy, and my hair is everywhere. God, Charlotte, get it together, girl. I set my phone on the counter, leaning in to look at myself closer. Seeing how dark my under eyes are and how irritated my waterline is from rubbing at them. I look down at the counter, feeling the tears coming back. Softly shutting my eyes to force the tears out. 

“For the love of god,” I whisper to myself. 

Undressing myself and stepping into the shower, I stand with my face in the water. Feeling the warmth surrounding me, it feels safe. Once the water has completely soaked my hair, I sit on the tub floor, holding my knees close to me, letting the hot water beat against my back. You’re allowed to be sad, Charlotte. Tears freely fall down my face. I hate this. 

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Carefully squeezing the water out of my hair and clipping it out of my way, I pull on a comfortable sweatshirt and leggings. I quickly rub some moisturizer into my face, grab my phone, and head back to the couch. I sink back into my spot, pull my throw blanket back over me, and slouch down into the corner. 

I pull my phone out and see a handful of texts from Jacob sitting there. 

Jacob: Welllll.. Supposedly his actual name was Edward Teach .. or Thatch.. Nobody really has confirmation because Pirates didn’t always use their real surnames to not spoil the family name. 

Jacob: He obviously was the owner of Queen Anne’s Revenge, but it was originally a French Slave ship named La Concorde that he managed to capture. 

Jacob: When he died, they beheaded him and put his head on a STAKE at the entrance to Chesapeake Bay!

Jacob: Are you okay? Is this annoying?

Why do I want to cry? Well, nobody else is checking on you.  

Charlotte: No, you’re not annoying me. I showered, I should have let you know. I’m sorry. 

Rubbing my eyes until I see TV static and taking long breaths seem to be the only thing calming me down. Nobody taught me how to handle waves of grief. My stomach turns at the thought. 

Jacob: dont be sorry, its okay. 

Charlotte: Are you actually working right now.. by any chance? 

What are you doing? I don’t want to be alone right now. 

Letting out a deep breath, trying to unclench my jaw, it’s hard to relax.

Jacob: I don’t have to be. 

My hands tremble as I click on his name and promptly click on the ‘call’ button. Please pick up. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, “what’s going on?” 

“Hi,” I whisper. My throat immediately gets tight, and my lips shake.” Um,” I say, taking another long breath. 

“Oh,” he whispers, “hang on.” I can hear the music from the bar slowly fade before the click of the door shut. 

“Are you okay?” 

“No,” I whimper softly, “I can’t stop crying, and I’m nauseous, and I just don’t want to feel alone.” 

Oh, that was a lot. 

“Hey, hey, slow down,” his voice is calm. “I’ll stay on the phone with you; just take a little breath for me, okay?”

In through your nose, out through the mouth. 

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to, but I hate that you’re so upset,” his voice getting a bit softer. 

“I don’t think I can say it out loud yet,” I confess, “It’s just- I’m sorry, it’s too much, and I-”

My breathing picks up again, and I can feel my heart pounding. This was a good idea, wasn’t it? 

“Honey, it’s okay,” he says, there’s that name again. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. We can talk about anything else.” 

Breathe Charlotte. Closing my eyes, more tears fall, but my breathing slows. 

“What have you done today?” he asks.

“Um, I took a shower and answered some emails,” my voice still struggling to stabilize.

“You were working?” 

“I thought it would help distract me, but it sort of made everything worse,” I said, sounding defeated. 

His soft laugh is almost enough to make me smile, “Have you eaten today?” he continues the light interrogation. 

“No, I’ve only had coffee,” I tell him. 

“Why don’t you make yourself something to eat?” His tone is still very calm; he really is good at this, “Maybe sleep a little if you can.”

He’s right. I probably should eat something, at least.

“I definitely feel like I could use a nap,” I let out a sad giggle, wiping my eyes for the millionth time. 

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you for a little bit?” 

My chest feels weird when he asks that. 

“If you don’t mind..” my voice was small, not wanting to be a pain. 

“I don’t mind one bit.” 

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I stroll into my kitchen, open the cabinets, and stare into them. 

“What should I eat?” I question out loud.

“Food is probably your best bet,” he answers dryly, and I swear I can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Incredibly helpful, thank you.” 

His giggle rings through my ears, and I can feel the tug on the corners of my mouth. His laugh is cute. Reaching into the cabinet and pulling out my bag of pretzel crisps. 

“What’s the verdict?”

“Just some pretzels,” I mumble, knowing it’s not much. But I’m also not starving. 

“Lunch of Olympians, Charlotte.” 

This time, it’s my laugh radiating through the phone. Oh. I bring my hand up to cover my mouth once I realize it. 

“That might be the first time I’ve done anything other than cry today.” 

“Happy to help, m’lady.” 

I giggle at the mild English accent that snuck out, “I think if you learn much more, you’re gonna become a pirate.” 

“That isn’t a threat to me like you probably think it is,” he says. 

“Have to start calling you Captain Jake Sparrow,” 

He clears his throat before letting out a weak “Yeah,” followed by an uncomfortable laugh. 

“Um, so,” he starts, “what’s something that you enjoy too much? Since you’re so graciously laughing about mine.” 

Working. You like other things, Charlotte. But working is the most satisfying. Baking.. Reading.. Hello? 

“I read a lot,” I blurt out, realizing I was in my head, “and I like to bake.”  My hand covers my face as I tell him because I definitely sounded like I just pulled it out of my ass. 

“Oh! I read a fair bit myself; what are you reading?” 

Fuck. Yeah, go ahead and tell him what you read. 

I scan the book on my coffee table; it’s just another contemporary romance novel. I like to alternate more non-fiction things with some romance because I’m not a robot. I have a soft spot for sweet stories. Something about effortlessly falling in love or watching two characters pine over each other for a good majority of the book before allowing themselves to act on it. 

“Uhhh…” I stammer over myself. “I don’t know if you’d know it.”  I can feel the heat rise into my cheeks as he breathes through the phone, waiting for me to elaborate. Slumping down into the corner of the couch.

“What genre?”

“It’s uh.. a contemporary romance..” I whisper quickly. Look, there’s nothing wrong with romance novels, but with how I have learned to present myself while I’m working, it feels a bit silly to admit. 

“Ooohhhhh,” he taunts. “Are you secretly a little hopeless romantic, Red?”

“I am just a girl, Jacob. You asked the question.” I giggle at the nickname and the fact he’s calling me out so quickly. Scooting myself down further, so I’m practically lying down.

“Alright, alright, fair enough,” he laughs, “I read a lot of historical things, as you can imagine. So, consider me boring.” 

“You are far from boring,” I tell him, not meaning to have it come off like it probably did.

“I think my brothers would beg to differ,” he sighs.

“I’m almost positive that’s just a sibling thing that they’re required to do,” I readjust my arm underneath my pillow, switching my phone to speaker and setting it next to me, “But also, maybe I just don’t think pirates are boring. Who’s to say?”

“Hey Jake, can I bother you?” I hear faintly in the background, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Hang on for a second?” he asks quietly. 

“I’ll be here.” 

I close my eyes, just listening to the random sounds that pick up from his phone. God, I’m so tired. A yawn sneaks up on me, releasing a deep breath, and I can feel my body relax even more. I can feel my breathing change a bit, and my head feels heavier as I lie here. 

“Hi, I’m sorry,” he says. A small “oop” falling from my lips involuntarily. 

“Did I scare you?” he whispers this time.

“A little,” I mumble, my eyes still sewn shut, “I think I fell asleep.”

“Get some rest,” I swear I can hear the smile on his face, “we can talk later.” 

All I manage is an ‘mhm’ before I feel myself drifting back into my slumber. 

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 My phone vibrates against my face, jolting me from my nap. Holy shit. Swiping away the unknown caller, tucking my arms back into my blanket, and closing my eyes. I don’t want to be awake yet. Deciding to lay there for a few more minutes before becoming a human again. 

Finally, I caved and opened my phone. Jacob’s messages were still pulled up, but I noticed new ones sitting at the bottom. 

Jacob: i hope you feel a little better when you wake up. It was really nice getting to talk to you. I mostly talk to my brothers at this point so it was refreshing

Jacob: not the you being sad part, just the rest of it obviously 

I audibly laugh at the second text. He’s so uncomfortable. 

I scroll through our messages for a moment with a small smile.  You’ve been grinning at these messages… Well, he is charming. I mean, he basically talked you down until you were relaxed enough to sleep. I can still hear his voice in my head, ‘Take a breath for me.’ The way he looked at me as he wiped the tears from my face, I don’t know what happened at that moment. I hear Cass in my head, “Stop thinking yourself out of happiness.” 

I set my phone down, quickly sat up, and grabbed my laptop from my coffee table. I opened it, pulled up my emails again, and scrolled for the email from my boss. Hitting reply, I quickly start typing;

‘Good evening,  Actually,- I may need to work remotely. After spending a few days checking in, it seems like some assistance may be required-’

Actually what? My hands are typing faster than I can coherently think, but it’s not entirely a lie; he does seem like he needs a little bit of help getting things in order, and with having to train Melody and get her certified, he’s going to be juggling a lot of things. 

‘I believe that Mr. Kiszka-’

 I giggle to myself, fully able to hear him from the first day I walked in saying, ‘Mr. Kiszka is my father.’ 

 ‘-has the capabilities to succeed, but he is still fairly new at this and is just trying to get caught up. He also has a new hire that he will be getting certified, and I will be assisting him with that process to ensure everything goes smoothly.’

Charlotte, you’re still emotional. Maybe you should just hold off on sending this. What do you mean by ‘you will be assisting him’? He’s fine! The words are flowing out from my fingertips, and I’m choosing to ignore the voices in my head this time. Okay, wow.

‘That said, I’ll be located within 30 minutes of Portland. If there are any other businesses you’d like me to check on while I’m there, please let me know. Have a great weekend,  Charlotte Rhodes’

I hit send with no second thought. 

Okay, so that was a dumb choice. You were much more assertive than you usually are, and that isn’t going to fair well. You weren’t that bad, but not giving an option for working remotely was definitely a choice. 

Shutting my laptop abruptly and setting it back on the coffee table, my heart is racing. Never done that before. Typically, I’m not someone who acts on emotions, but for some reason, today is different.

Charlotte: I knew what you meant, lol. I feel much more educated on pirates now. 

Jacob:  oh i have so much more i could tell you 

Charlotte: Well, I’m done working so.. I have time. 

Staring at our texts, I don’t know what I’m doing. My hands timidly scroll up, rereading our conversation. Why do I feel nervous? Noting that he’s been nothing but nice and helpful, my phone gently vibrates and automatically scrolls to the bottom as he replies. 

Jacob: be careful what you wish for dear

Charlotte: I’m already on board, it’s too late. 

I sink into the couch again, wondering if this is a mistake. I did kind of make an irrational decision.. Mmm… feels silly now, doesn’t it? But immediately remembering that, I promised my best friend that I would live a little. ‘It’s just a job, babe,’ plays in my head, and she’s right. It is just a job, and I’m still going to do my job, but  from Portland. Where we can talk to this nice boy, who seems like he’s just happy to have someone to talk to. But you also need to not lose your job for a-

Jacob: I hope you already have your sea legs then

Jacob: there were a million pirates in that era so we have a lot to go over

The nerves are nowhere to be seen, swallowed by my quiet laughter as I read his texts. I can only imagine how excited he probably is to talk to someone about this who isn’t going to groan or fake sleep during it. I will gladly take any distraction I can get tonight. The nice voice in my brain is just telling me, maybe we could be friends. 

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Chapter Five

Chapter Seven

FDOG Masterpost | Masterlist | FDOG Playlist

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Lovers' Crest | Epilogue

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: It's the epilogue.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, home on Navarro, Reader is described having worn heels, foot rubs, Mandalorian lore nonsense, she flies the Crest, smut: oral sex (f!receiving), face-sitting, cockpit smut ❤️

A/N: Annnnd we're done. Oh my god, thank you. I mean it more every time I type it. I can't believe such lovely folks enjoyed this story and took the time to tell me so. It's watered my crops etc. and motivated me to work on new stuff, which is a joy. So yeah, x.

And with heartfelt thanks to the gif creators. Ya'll the MVPs.

--

Some months later...

Your feet are killing you. 

Last night’s mission had gone so smoothly and Din had loved your ensemble so… feverishly, you’d worn those cursed stilettos for the rest of the evening. Walking the bounty in and then strolling over to Greef’s to collect Grogu before searching for some place to eat.

And even later, once you were home, with Din insisting the heels stayed on until he was done taking you apart.

Now, lounging outside the villa door, you’ve got each foot propped on the warm piping in front of you, flexing and pressing the soles into the metal, willing away the soreness.

Grogu wanders back and forth in the little patch of grass out across the yard, hunting a weird bug-like thing. You stare hard at him for a moment, but don’t sense anything off. He doesn’t seem at all nervous about what the day is bringing him, content to just wave his arms and burble into the air.

Your arch-focused ministrations hit a sore spot and you suck in a hiss. Din appears in the doorway. Cocks an eyebrow.

‘You okay?’ he asks.

‘Ugh, feet. Kill,’ you groan. You cross an ankle over your knee to massage at the tender bit of muscle.

He chuckles as he sits across from you, taking up the offending foot and working a large thumb across its underside. The other hand wraps around the top of your toes to flex them back and forth. You hum with appreciation. 

‘You didn’t have to stay in those all night,’ he says, unconvincingly. 

‘Liar,’ you smirk, raise your brows back at him. ‘You loved them.’ 

Din puts his palm flat to your sole and pushes, stretching your ankle and calf. It’s delicious. He leans down to press a kiss to your shin, then takes up the other foot. Begins anew.

‘True, but,’ the hand working your inner arch slides quickly up your leg and gives your thigh a squeeze before returning to its task. It took only a second but you feel breathless. ‘I’d happily have you limit your wear of those things to just our bedroom.’

He lifts your foot and plants it against his chest, leans in so your leg bends back toward you. The hand returns to your thigh and you have to suppress the urge to gasp.

‘Din,’ you whisper, eyes hooded. ‘Kid’s right there.’

He releases your foot but keeps leaning in, rising off the pipe to take you in a kiss. He twists around to drop into the seat next to you, then looks out into the light at his son.

‘Not long now,�� he says with pride, and more than a little sadness.

The ship glides into the empty field behind the house to park a little ways off from the Razor Crest. Din, now fully armoured, and you, now with sensible footwear, follow Grogu. The three of you approach the craft as it settles on its landing axel.

You’re holding back tears, wondering if the dark and stoic statue beside you is doing the same. Grogu isn’t helping, standing in front of you looking so calm and attentive.

He just looks so brave.  

As you think that, the child – the apprentice – turns his head to look over his ear at you. You give him your brightest, most reassuring smile – forcing it to reach every part of your face.

He’ll be fine, you're telling yourself. Every apprentice does this.

The hydraulics of the ship engage and begin to drop the ramp. The way it dwarfs the tiny trainee in waiting batters hard at your resolve to put on a brave face.

The ramp settles and Ari Wren steps down from the ship. She nods to Din, and to you, but focuses her helm on Grogu.

She’s here for him.

Din had explained it to you and you’d just been forced to face facts, no matter how terrifying it sounded to your non-Mandalorian sensibilities.

Every apprentice, after a certain period of training, must join two other students to navigate a set journey from a remote asteroid cluster back to Mandalore itself. The pilgrimage takes several moon turns. When the students arrive, they are celebrated and graduated to a journeyman of sorts. A new status of pedagogy – the next step on their path. 

You and Din will meet Grogu there when it’s time. It’s not that long. You’ll keep yourselves busy. He’ll be fine. They all have to do it. Din had decided Grogu was ready. He’ll be fine.

‘Din Grogu,’ Wren says, all formal and accentuating. ‘You have been tasked by your mentor and father with undertaking the Pilgrimage of the Warrior. Are you ready?’

Grogu doesn’t hesitate. He gives one resolute nod.

That does it. You clap your hands to your mouth to keep back a sob, tears stinging and blurring. You hear Din’s heavy exhale beside you – that same emotional mix of pride and sadness.

‘Very well,’ she says. ‘You may say your goodbyes, then join me and I will take you to the source point to begin your journey.’

As Grogu turns and moves back to you, you do your best to make your buckling knees look like a natural descent to the ground, where you sit cross-legged and open your arms to the child. He hops into your lap and lets you fawn over him, purring in appreciation. 

‘You go trek those stars, kid,’ you say, voice quivering only a little. ‘Show ‘em what your dad taught ya.’

‘Ah!’ he replies, squeezing your hand and sending a wash of warm, affectionate light across your consciousness. You let the love sweep over you and feel your tears drying and heart soaring.

Holding onto him, you stand and turn to his father. Din has removed his helmet and you gingerly swap – cradling the beskar in the crook of an elbow as he takes Grogu in his arms. Feeling the need to give the two of them some privacy, you step away and approach Wren.

‘Hey,’ you say. She nods, greets you by name. You dither about whether to ask, whether you’re overstepping or not honouring the traditions or whatever, but you can’t help yourself. ‘He’ll be okay, right? You’ll look out for him?’

You needn’t have worried.

She replies with a smile in her voice. ‘It is my solemn duty to ensure his safety. The same goes for the other apprentices. They are the future.’

You nod with a relieved sigh, look over your shoulder at father and son murmuring to each other. Grogu has a claw pressed to Din’s chin. The Mandalorian’s eyes are closed tight while a smile plays on his lips.

‘They’re the future,’ you say.

Wren banks and her ship sails over the rocky landscape. Just as it begins its climb to atmo, you give in. Turning to Din, you press yourself into his form. Large arms encircle you and pull you close. You hug his helmet between you and try to let his warm solid presence bring calm.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs into your hair. ‘Let it out.’

You’re crying before he finishes the sentence – a quiet, despondent cry that tugs at a grief you’ve felt all too much, not that long ago. 

‘I just—’ you huff on a hard, reluctant sigh. Be open with him. ‘I just know how badly I’m gonna miss him.’

‘Mm, I know. I know. But you’re not alone this time, remember? You have me,’ he says, rubbing your shoulders. He leans into your ear, lips just brushing the delicate shell. ‘And ‘m not going anywhere.’

That drags a full-bodied sob out of you – it’s a battle of emotions. Deep gratitude and an overwhelming love warring away with facing the prospect of time apart from your little green wonder child. With how impossibly lucky you are to have the two of them. 

Din just holds you tight, sways with you a little until you can get your breathing under control. When you release a hefty sigh, he tilts your face up to look at him and swipes the tears from your cheeks with each thumb. You stare into his warm gaze and try to hold your composure. When he leans down to plant a gentle, soft kiss on your lips, you let it wash through you, right down to your feet, where you start to feel a little grounded. 

But still, you just know you’re gonna be a weepy mess for hours, wrangling with a storm of feelings. Din, on the other hand, has a different idea.

‘Ready for another flying lesson?’ he asks.

You sniff, huff out an incredulous sigh. Drop your head to speak into his chest, ‘Just tryin’ t’distract me, aren’t you.’ 

‘Mmhm,’ he murmurs. ‘How ‘bout it? It’ll distract me too.’

That small acknowledgement that he’s feeling it as well piques you. Settles you a bit more. But you’re still upset.

‘S’not gonna work…’ you mumble.

‘Well let’s see okay?’ he says, turning you into his side and starting to walk you back in the direction of the Razor Crest.

Still uncertain, you acquiesce. ‘Okay…’

‘It can’t be done!’ You’re on the verge of yelling. The Crest groans in protest as you tug the control back and climb again, away from the tiny outcropping where you’ve been trying to land it for over an hour.

‘Yes, it can,’ Din tries to assure you. You shoot him an annoyed look. He’s maddeningly calm – a small smile and sparkling eyes telling you he’s enjoying this. He’d pointed out the spot as you’d cruised by. You were dubious to begin with, but now you’re furious. ‘Just bring it in a little sharper.’ 

You bite back the urge to mock his directions and steer the craft over the high ridge, tilt the control’s grips just a touch more to the side for a tighter approach. But the rocky little ledge is coming up too fast, the Crest is going to collide with the overhang, you’re sure of it.

At the last second, you reef it back once more. 

‘Fuck!’ You smack your head into the back of the chair as the ground shrinks away again. You know you’re tilting, each attempt getting sloppier and more rushed as your exasperation grows. Why is Din messing with you like this?

You’d asked Din to continue teaching you to fly. Your brief solo escapades still haunt your dreams as you wonder how you didn’t make a slip and meet your demise is some spectacular crash. You had so much more to learn from him, you’d said.

So why is he messing with you?

‘You can do this,’ he says. 

‘No, that verge is too narrow,’ you insist. ‘It’s gonna fuck the landing gears if I set down there.’

‘It’s not going to—'

‘Are you really going to sacrifice your ship just to make a point?’

‘I’m not sacrificing—’

‘What even is your p--?’

‘Alright, scoot,’ he nudges your shoulder and slides into the pilot chair as you stand. Frustrated, you flop into your passenger seat and watch him even out the boat. His cool demeanor is almost as irritating as him setting you up to fail. He won’t be able to do it either, you’re certain.

Especially, hmmm, especially if you throw him off his game.

‘Din Djarin,’ you announce, with a hostile smirk. ‘If you land it on the first pass… I’ll sit on your face.’

His head whips around and you get a singular second to enjoy his look of shock. But then his features settle into an intense focus and he turns back to the controls, pulling back and maneuvering the ship to an angle with the yaw just slanted into the vertical rise of the ridge. His huge hands on the grips move with a minute precision. He cruises toward the rock-strewn shelf with ease, there is no hesitation at all.

The slant of the boat allows the Crest to clear the overhang and he brings the thrusters over power with gradual intent, slowing it all down so it feels like the ship floats onto the spot. 

At the very last moment, he adds a flourish by giving one quick turn so the ship settles with a perfect view back over toward the distant city and an approaching sunset.

You gawk. All annoyance gone. That was simply stunning.

Smugness cascades off his shoulders. He tips the controls into standby, locks the gears, braces a forearm on a knee and looks back up at you.

‘Think we’re done for the day?’ he asks.

You’ve risen from your chair and are taking little steps back, making to edge out of the cockpit. A playful grin tugs at your mouth.

‘Now Din,’ you start, but in one swift movement he’s out of the flight seat and advancing on you. You laugh and make a break for the door, but there’s no hope. He’s got arms wrapped around your waist before you take a step and you’re hauled into him. Back flush to his front, the beskar armour isn’t the only rock hard thing you feel digging into your flesh.

‘Here?’ you yelp as you’re pulled to the floor.

‘Mmhm,’ he murmurs into your ear, giving it a gentle suck. ‘Right here. Now.’

He lays back on the cool flooring and begins to work at your clothes, yanking the garments of your top half off first and giving your breasts open-mouthed attentions as he urges your pants down. You have to flip off him for a second to kick them free and, the second they clear your ankles, he’s pulling your body back onto him and guiding you up.

He arranges his cloak up around his head and shoulders so your knees are more cushioned, and wraps two strong hands around your thighs to push your already dripping cunt to his face. 

‘Gods, perfect,’ he mutters. ‘So fucking perfect. So good for me.’

Your knees slide on the fabric and you can’t get any purchase on your toes to try to hold yourself up, but he doesn’t seem to care as he urges you to sink down, down.

He starts strong, and stays that way. Tastes and teases and takes. Dragging his tongue through every millimetre of you. Hands wrap right around your legs to open you wider, reach down to spread your slippery folds apart, giving himself all of you.

When you tilt your hips forward to grant him deeper access, your clit grazes his nose and the sensation has you arching and jerking upwards. Like a hot spark making you jump. He lifts his head to follow your movement, never breaking contact and squeezing your thighs again to encourage you to grind down. To rock and ride against him.

Gods, how is he even breathing?

You look down to find him locked onto you, pupils blown out and gaze intent. The sight makes your clit throb and causes a gushing release of juices from within you. His eyes roll back as he tastes it. His tongue delves into you to draw it out, swallowing and moaning.

And that’s fucking it. You plant a hand in his hair and the other behind you on his abs and gasp and whimper as you feel the pleasure intensifying, rising up to meet its peak. It sends you soaring into a symphony of wet bliss, singing from your quivering cunt up through your chest. 

Din plants his feet to prop his knees up behind you. You gratefully collapse back against them, staying completely open and exposed to him. You think dimly about rolling off his face and straddling his hips to give him a show, but you can’t move. And you don’t think he’s going to let you just yet anyway.

So you just close your eyes and revel in the feeling of the light little bites he’s leaving on your inner thighs. He moans softly.

‘Gods, I love you,’ he murmurs against you.

You huff a light laugh. Eyes still closed and head back, ‘You talking to me or just my pussy?’

‘Hah, both, mesh’la,’ he says, licking a delicious path through your soaking folds again. ‘Both.’

‘Ss, hah, hahh. Love, love you t— ah!’ You yelp as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks. 

He doesn’t let up as you buck and cry with abandon – hips jerking of their own volition. It shifts into overstimulation when his tongue sets up a relentless circling on your pulsating bud.

‘Nuh, huh-- too much, too muh!’ You try to make a break, but he’s having none of it, a vice-like grip keeping you in the thrall of a buzzing pleasure that rises again, keeps rising, finds new impossible heights. You’re senseless save for the firebomb in your lower belly about to detonate.  

The scream rips its way out of you and makes itself known to every corner of the cockpit, the rest of the ship, the rocky ridge outside. It makes your own damn ears ring. Or maybe that’s just the blood coursing heavy with your climax. 

Once time and space return to you, you’re a quivering mess. Panting heavy, thinking of all the ways you’re going to get him back for this, when you get the chance. But he’s shifting you gently off him and reaching for your clothes. 

‘Wanna make you cum, Din,’ you whimper. You flop forward to kiss him, tasting yourself with a lick across his lips, his beard, the bridge of his nose. He lets you devour him for a moment but then pulls back.

‘Later, cyar’ika,’ he whispers, pulling your pants across the floor to you. ‘There’s a sunset I want to watch with you, and it will become cold soon.’

In the golden light, you sit together facing out onto the shimmering landscape of home. Mirages form and fade as Navarro’s sun sinks into the horizon. A swirl of breezy air makes its way into the entrance of the Crest.

You do shiver a little in the evening air, but you don’t need to move anywhere. Din shifts and the cloak tightens around you, as do his arms. You never want out of this moment. Neither does he.

The last slivers of daylight are just golden shards piercing the encroaching night, which you’ll spend here – perched on this high outcropping, warm and safe inside the Razor Crest.

You smile. The growing darkness encloses your little patch of light as you and your companion hold onto each other.

--

Prev | Next

And that’s the story of how Din Djarin caused a seismic shift in his religious doctrine just so he could smooch you, among other things.

So I thought for a long time about how to end things for these two and decided this was a good stopping point. I think, ultimately, it’s for you to decide where they go from here. Whether Reader takes a vow or they go on like this, whether they wed, give Grogu siblings, or stay rowdy bounty hunters for years to come. Or all of the above. Or none of it. It’s all valid. The whole overarching theme here is the importance of choice and agency in life, so it’s only fitting to me that the reader – you! – gets to make those choices and hold that agency. The future is yours.

Just know that they will continue to have adventures and grow together, they’ll raise Grogu (and any other little warriors you may wish to add in), and – if one thing is absolutely certain – they will be happy.

[doomspaniels]

The Lady of the Hour, Guinevere! Gwyn has had her long-awaited evaluation at the big teaching hospital. And folks, we have GOOD HELP, a PLAN, and NEW MEDS!

The internal medicine vet thinks we're looking at painful stretching of the bowel to cope with delayed gastric motility of some kind (he said, something similar to IBS-C but that's not diagnosable in dogs), and so going to improve gastric motility (meds similar to metoclopramide, but stronger) and soften the poop in the bowel with lactulose.

Getting there, however, took a looooong wait. To our astonishment, Tristan stepped up and worked hard on setting a good example for Gwyn. He booped her frequently, then would ostentatiously settle near her, inviting her to settle with him, and it kept working. (though she would jump up any time her Short-Attention-Spaniel was tickled by sounds or sights around us)

Eventually, of course, they "took Gwyn back" for tests, at which point Tristan became distressed and kept trying to go around to where she disappeared. He strongly disapproved of these strangers taking his baby sister. He did finally settle and snooze a little (and we played with some adorable cavaliers in the waiting room!)

LOOK AT THE PRECIOUS BOY.

At last my baby was returned to me, we got the aforementioned advice, and now we're home to implement the new meds. Awright!

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Click My Heels But I Am Stuck Here - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Work Summary:

Rolan is battered, beaten and exhausted. After everything he’s been through to get to Baldur’s Gate, he still has no reprieve from violence and prejudice.

But wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

AU where Tav is Lorroakan’s wife.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3686

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

we're in the home stretch, folks. I think it'll be one more chapter and then an epilogue <3

warnings for violence, blood and injury, domestic abuse, mentions of kidnapping (Dame Aylin), jealousy

---

Tav was pulling Rolan along with strength that he hadn’t known she’d possessed. With one arm around his waist, she let him lean on her as she guided him deeper into the library.

As soon as Lorroakan was out of sight, she pressed him back against a bookcase.

“Hold on,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

“Tav!” he whispered back, but she was already gone.

His heart was thudding in his ears. Lorroakan knew about them. There was no going back now. He would kill Rolan for this. He would probably kill Tav too if he could, but Rolan wouldn’t let that happen.

Strong words for someone whose ribs hurt so much that he could barely breathe. He couldn’t even stand unassisted. How could he protect Tav from Lorroakan like this?

He closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he could manage. It was only pain. He’d dealt with pain before. Distantly, but fast approaching, he heard the sounds of glass bottles clinking together.

“Rolan!” Tav whisper-shouted. He opened his eyes. She was in front of him again, looking winded. She had Myshka under one arm and a satchel in her other hand. She produced a large healing potion from the satchel and passed it to him.

“I’m fine-” he started, but she quieted him with a look. Wordlessly he uncorked the bottle and drank deeply.

The effect was immediate. The tightness in his chest loosened. The pain in his ribs ebbed. He no longer needed to hold onto the bookcase to stand.

“Better?” asked Tav.

“Much. Thank you. Now it’s your turn.”

Tav’s face was bruised from Lorroakan’s blows. She shook her head. “No time. I’m not badly hurt. I can heal when we get out of here. Come on.” She slung the satchel over her shoulder and held out her spare hand to him. He noticed then that her violin case was strapped across her back.

“Let me carry the bag,” he insisted. She passed it to him hurriedly and then grabbed his hand as soon as it was free. Her fingers were soft and cool against his. It was a grounding feeling.

“It’s mostly potions,” she said. “I didn’t have time to get personal effects. We need to go, right now. Here.”

She handed him a tiny vial. He recognised it as a potion of invisibility. She was holding one of her own.

“We only have about a minute once we drink these, so we need to make it count. It doesn’t disguise the sound of footsteps, so be careful. And don’t let go of my hand.”

“Never,” he agreed. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him once more.

“I love you,” she murmured. “Whatever happens, don’t forget that.”

“I love you too.”

And he knew in that moment that he’d do anything for her. Even if it meant throwing his own life away. Even if it meant never seeing his siblings again.

He loved them more than anything but they were safe. They were alive. It pained him to admit it but they didn’t need him anymore. Tav needed him. And he would throw himself upon Lorroakan’s sword if it meant that she could get away.

They had to drop each other’s hands to unstopper their potions, but as soon as they’d done so, their hands found each other again. They made eye contact and then both drank deeply from their bottles.

Tav flickered out of view. It was unnerving, but her hand was holding onto his, reassuring. Taking light, careful steps, they made their way out from behind the bookcases.

The sight that met them stopped Rolan in his tracks. He saw Aradin, a man he recognised from the Emerald Grove. He had detested him from the moment he’d met him. He was an arrogant, small-minded mercenary who treated tieflings like dirt.

His impression of Aradin was not improved by what he was seeing now. Aradin and his crew had brought with them a woman, bound in heavy, enchanted chains.

She was tall, with white-blonde hair and wings bound behind her back. She looked badly injured. Blood stained her heavy armour. Her face had the quality of porcelain that had been cracked and repaired with gold. With a start, Rolan realised that she was an aasimar.

Lorroakan seemed alarmingly calm.

As it all clicked into place, Rolan felt his stomach drop.

“That’s the Nightsong,” he whispered to Tav. “Gods, the Nightsong is a person.”

Tav’s hand tightened its grip on his. “We have to help her.”

“I…”

Shamefully, Rolan was sure that if Tav hadn’t have been with him, he would’ve taken the opportunity to run. He was no hero, no saviour. He had never cared to protect anyone except himself, his siblings, and now, his lover.

Part of him still wanted to run. He wanted to throw Tav over his shoulder and flee before the invisibility wore off. But he couldn’t do that.

Tav had shown him love and kindness. He had to prove that he deserved her.

“Do you think you can handle the mercenaries?” Tav whispered.

Rolan almost scoffed. “Of course.” Aradin and his crew were nothing to him.

“Okay. Wait for my signal.”

And then she was letting go of his hand. He reached for the space where she’d just been, but she was gone.

He resisted the urge to call out to her. It was too late now.

And she was right. This woman – the Nightsong – was trapped and at Lorroakan’s mercy. Who knew what would happen to her if they didn’t intervene?

Rolan moved closer to Aradin, readying himself to attack. His eyes were drawn to the chains binding the woman. They were enchanted, that much was clear, but he wondered if he could dispel the magic holding her in place.

Could it really be that simple? It was clearly a powerful spell, but it was designed to keep her from breaking out, not to stop others from tampering with it from the outside.

He took a deep breath, readying the strongest Dispel Magic he could muster. If it failed, then he would fight the old-fashioned way, but it would certainly help to have an angry aasimar on his side.

Perhaps freeing her would be enough, and then he and Tav could flee, free of guilt at leaving her to her fate.

Rolan’s eyes scanned the room. He really wished that he’d cast See Invisibility before drinking the potion. It was concerning to not be able to see Tav.

He stood there, breath bated, arms raised. He didn’t have to wait long.

Lorroakan had a predatory grin on his face. From what Rolan gathered, he’d been trying to talk the aasimar – Dame Aylin – into coming into his service voluntarily. Aylin, unsurprisingly, refused whole-heartedly. Bound as she was, her refusals meant little.

“Ah Aylin,” said Lorroakan, “I look forward to getting to know you for the next eternity.” He opened his mouth to say more, but suddenly let out a cry of pain.

Tav had rematerialised behind him, plunging a dagger between his ribs.

“You treacherous whore!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you for that!”

Rolan fought to keep his anger down. Losing his temper wouldn’t help him or Tav right now. He focused instead on casting Dispel Magic. Steadily, he unwound the magic from the chains that bound Dame Aylin, not allowing his focus to waver.

He knew that his invisibility had been broken by casting his spell. There was a shout from Aradin. He must’ve been seen, but this would all be for nought if he didn’t free Aylin right now.

Something hit him hard in the shoulder, and pain lanced through him. He gritted his teeth. If there was one thing that being Lorroakan’s apprentice had taught him, it was how to handle pain.

He breathed out, and the enchantment on Aylin’s chains dissipated. Her eyes met his for the briefest moment, and she smiled a triumphant smile, before tearing the chains apart as if they were made of paper.

Now that he was no longer focusing on the spell, he found the source of his pain. An arrow was buried in his shoulder, cutting right through his robes to the flesh underneath. Before he could second guess himself, he grasped the shaft of the arrow and yanked it out.

His shoulder throbbed. Blood was pouring freely from the wound now. He pressed a hand against it, hissing with pain.

A shriek brought his attention back to his surroundings. Tav was struggling against Lorroakan, her feet barely brushing the floor as he lifted her up, hands around her neck.

Lorroakan had conjured several Myrmidons, and they, combined with the mercenaries who had brought her here, were keeping Dame Aylin busy.

The three of them were hopelessly outnumbered. If Rolan were a military strategist, he might’ve considered the most sensible move to be fighting alongside Aylin to take down the mercenaries and Myrmidons.

But Rolan didn’t care about winning the fight. He just needed Tav safe.

Lorroakan lifted her up higher. As he moved to throw her down the stairs onto the hard floor below, Rolan misty stepped over just in time to catch her.

She landed in his arms hard, struggling to catch her breath. Over her shoulder, Rolan saw Lorroakan’s face contort into anger as he realised what had just happened.

“You little-”

Rolan didn’t hear the rest of the insult, because he had already cast Dimension Door, carrying Tav up to one of the balconies above, out of Lorroakan’s reach.

From here, the situation on the ground seemed even worse. Dame Aylin may have been powerful, but now she was alone, and taking heavy damage. She’d been hurt before the fight even started. Still, every hit she took seemed to make her angrier.

“We need to-” Tav started, but was cut off by more people bursting forth from the portal. Rolan didn’t recognise them, until Tav cried out, “Jaheira!”

The High Harper of Baldur’s Gate was leading a group of Harpers into battle against Lorroakan and his hired thugs.

Tav jumped to her feet excitedly, and then almost lost her balance, her hands flying to her bruised neck.

“Drink this,” Rolan urged, passing her a healing potion from the satchel slung over his shoulder.

For a moment, he thought she might protest, but she didn’t. She drank the potion down and three quick gulps, and then grabbed the satchel from him and thrust a potion into his hand.

“You too,” she said. “I saw you get hit with that arrow.”

“Fine.” He drained the bottle quickly. Below them, they could hear swords clashing. The fight was more evenly matched now, but he still wasn’t confident in their victory.

“We need to help them,” said Tav.

“You can help them from up here,” he said, touching her violin case. “I really don’t want to see you hurt.”

He expected her to argue, but she didn’t. Right now, she looked more tired than anything.

She unslung the case from her back and withdrew her instrument.

“I’m going back down,” he said.

“Be careful. Don’t get shot again.”

“I’ll do my best.” He kissed her cheek and then misty-stepped back down into the fray.

The battlefield was more chaotic now, and he found himself surrounded by both enemies and allies. He cast Thunderwave, knocking several mercenaries off their feet, before turning his attention to the Myrmidons.

The tide of battle was turning. High above him, he heard the sounds of Tav’s violin, and it bolstered him, her bardic spells working their magic.

One of the mercenaries tried to flee back through the portal, but was caught in the back by an arrow from one of the Harpers. Rolan watched as Jaheira cut down Aradin with a ruthlessness that made him very glad they were on the same side.

Soon, they were down to just Lorroakan and one of his Myrmidons. Rolan’s heart was beating out of his chest. This was what they’d been waiting for.

The Myrmidon had cast Stoneskin on Lorroakan, making him harder to hurt, but Rolan’s righteous anger propelled him forward anyway.

It was Aylin who laid the final blow on the Myrmidon. Gone was Lorroakan’s haughty, arrogant expression. Now he just looked frightened.

Good, thought Rolan. It’s his turn to be afraid.

Aylin advanced on Lorroakan, a threatening smile playing across her lips. Lorroakan’s eyes darted around, looking for an exit, but he never found one, because the next moment, Tav had appeared at his side again, burying another knife into his stomach.

He howled with pain as she stabbed him again, his blood splattering all over the wooden floor that Rolan had spent so many hours of his life polishing.

“Tavya,” Lorroakan groaned, falling to his knees. “How could you do this to me?” His words grew more garbled as his lungs filled with blood.  

She let out a startled laugh. “After everything you’ve put me through, you still have the gall to ask me that? Fuck you, Lorroakan,” she hissed, and then plunged her knife into his heart.

He fell to the side, his lifeless body slumping in a heap. Rolan stared at his face. His eyes were open, unblinking.

“Is it over?” It took Rolan a moment to realise that he himself had said the words. He looked over at Jaheira, at Aylin, at the Harpers whose names he didn’t know. They were all looking at him and Tav. Some wore expressions of respect, others of pity.

“It’s over,” said Tav, and then she took a deep, shuddering breath, and collapsed to her knees.

Rolan was by her side in an instant. He didn’t even know how he’d got there, but he was pulling her away from Lorroakan, kissing her hair and rocking her gently in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing.

Everything was a blur. Myshka, who had sensibly found a place to hide during the fight, crawled into Tav’s lap and nuzzled her chest. She scooped him up into her arms, pressing her tear-stained face into his fur.

Rolan knelt beside her, his arm around her shoulder. It was only when she turned towards him and rested her head on his chest that he realised that he was crying too.

Aylin, who was initially very effusive in her gratitude towards Rolan and Tav, grew more subdued now. There was a sombreness in her expression. She made her excuses and left quickly.

The Harpers disposed of Lorroakan’s body. Rolan didn’t know what they did with it. He didn’t want to know. All he wanted was to crawl into bed with Tav and hold her while they both slept. Surely they had earnt that much, after everything they’d been through.

But there were things to attend to first. Rolan found himself in the kitchen, making tea for Tav and Jaheira. Tav was still trembling.

“If I’d have known what he was doing to you, you know I would’ve helped you sooner, cub,” said Jaheira. “I knew the man was a wretch, but I had no idea how cruel he really was.”

Tav wiped her eyes. “It’s not your job to save me, Jaheira.”

“Still. I thought you had chosen this life. I should’ve checked in on you. I must admit, I was otherwise occupied.”

As Rolan brought over the cups of tea, Jaheira launched into the story of what she’d been up to for the past few years. She had spent much of her time in the shadow cursed lands, trying to break the curse that had choked the land.

She joined up with Halsin, the archdruid of the Emerald Grove, who Rolan had known in his brief time there. Rolan hadn’t been one for socialising, but apparently Halsin had a particular interest in ending the shadow curse.

Jaheira, along with Halsin, her Harpers and a Selunite cleric named Isobel, had finally managed to break the curse by freeing Dame Aylin from bondage and killing Ketheric Thorm, who had had the lands in a chokehold.

It was after the battle with Ketheric Thorm, when Aylin was wounded and depleted, that Aradin and his cronies had managed to catch up with her. Rolan couldn’t imagine that they’d have been able to stand up to her at her full strength, so they’d had to get her when she was vulnerable.

“But that is all the past, now,” said Jaheira. “Aylin is free. Aradin and Lorroakan are both dead. Now we must discuss the future of Ramazith’s tower. By all rights, it is yours, Tav.”

“But I killed Lorroakan,” she said. “Surely they wouldn’t let me keep the tower after that.”

“Lorroakan may have had political sway when he was alive, but he’s dead now, with no one to advocate for him. I’m sure it won’t shock you to know that his so-called friends are already turning their backs on him. I think you’ll find that the Harpers have a lot of sway in this city.”

“This is a wizard’s tower,” said Tav. “I’m not a wizard.” She looked at Rolan then, her gaze piercing right through him. He found that he was holding his breath. “The tower should belong to Rolan. He was Lorroakan’s apprentice but he was a far more skilled wizard than Lorroakan ever was.”

“I have no legitimate claim on the tower,” said Rolan. “I couldn’t-”

“Why not?” asked Jaheira.

“Others would seek to challenge my claim, I’m sure.”

“So? You are a wizard. Do what wizards do. Defend your tower and your home. Besides. I don’t think you will have much trouble.  You are a friend of the Harpers after all. I’m sure we could help you secure your claim. So long as you help us in return, of course.”

“I…” He looked at Tav. She was looking at him expectantly. “I still think that tower should belong to Tav.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to do with half of the artifacts here!” she said. “But if you insist, I suppose we could always do it together.” She offered him a shy smile. He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Together,” he agreed, taking her hand.

Jaheira took a sip of her tea and then set her cup back down on the table. “That is settled then. Come, the rest of the Harpers will be back soon.”

She certainly had a commanding presence. It was a skill to be able to boss people around in their own home, but Jaheira managed it. They returned to the library, just in time to see some familiar faces coming through the portal.

“Rolan!” cried Cal, launching himself at his brother. Rolan caught him in a surprised hug. Lia was close behind, throwing her arms around him too. He laughed shakily, breath caught in his throat.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked as soon as they gave him space to breathe.

“Jaheira sent for us,” said Cal. “Geraldus escorted us here.”

Rolan glanced over Cal’s shoulder at Geraldus, who was looking at Cal. When he noticed Rolan looking at him, he turned away, embarrassed. Rolan exchanged a look with Lia, who just grinned.

“We hear you’re the new master of Ramazith’s tower,” she said. “All hail master Rolan.”

“Stop that,” he said, batting her hands away from where they were attempting to pinch his cheeks, although he couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not the sole master, anyway, Tav and I are-”

He glanced around to see where Tav had gotten to, and found her talking to one of the Harpers who had fought in the battle. She laughed at something that he said, and Rolan felt his heart squeeze. The man was handsome. More handsome than Rolan, certainly.

Of course, Tav had never been fully his. She may have hated Lorroakan but she had shared his bed and known him in ways that she didn’t yet know Rolan. He knew it was foolish to feel jealous of a dead man, especially one that Tav herself had killed, but was it so foolish to feel jealous of this handsome Harper?

“Rolan?” Cal’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

He looked at his siblings. They were both watching Tav too, curious. Rolan’s stomach was roiling. Tav stood up on tiptoes and gave the Harper a hug. When she pulled away, she was smiling.

Her gaze found Rolan then, and her smile broadened, lighting up her whole face. That settled his stomach a little. Her smile – when it was genuine, at least – always soothed him. She made her way over to him and his siblings, a spring in her step.

“Cal! Lia! I’m so glad you’re here!” she said, her arms outstretched. They both hugged her in turn without hesitation, which surprised Rolan. He thought that Lia, at least, would be a little more trepidatious, but he supposed the joy of the day made her more friendly than usual.

After greeting his siblings, she went back to Rolan himself, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Hi,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

“Hi,” he replied. “Who was that you were talking to?”

“That’s Anton. Remember when I told you about the night I fought alongside Jaheira when I was a child? He was there that night too.”

“Ah, I see.”

He had tried to keep his tone neutral, but something must’ve clued Tav in to his discomfort, because she pulled back to look him in the eyes, a shrewd expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

“Are you jealous?” Her voice was far too loud. He heard Cal and Lia snickering. “I assure you, I’m not interested in him. And I’m pretty sure he still sees me as a child, anyhow. You have nothing to be jealous about. I chose you, remember?”

“I know,” he said, feeling foolish.

She stretched up to peck him on the lips, and when she pulled back, he could see that his siblings were watching the entire encounter with raised eyebrows.

“Not a word out of either of you,” he warned. “Now, let me show you to your new rooms.”

Next Chapter

[sneakyparsnipslicer]

Bodysnatchers II

[The continuation to 'Bodysnatchers', had to cut a lot of characters to fit this into a post. Enjoy]

Gavin awoke, it was daylight. He rolled over to check his phone; 7 in the morning. He put his phone down and turned to look at his sleeping boyfriend. He kissed Chris and he awoke, looking back into Gavin's eyes.

'Morning' whispered Gavin.

'Morning' replied Chris.

'Sleep well?' Gavin asked. Chris stretched and groaned.

'Yeah, I think we got a lot of mileage out of this body didn't we?' Chris chuckled. Gavin laid down.

'Oh I'll say!' Gavin chuckled, moving his hand under the sheets to massage Chris's crotch. 'Jimmy was a good pick for you'.

Chris nodded.

'Oh, did you cover that up?' Chris asked.

'Yep, I logged into his Twitter last night' said Gavin, reaching to the drawer, he pulled out Jimmy's phone and began scrolling through it.

'Tweeted just after we got back' said Gavin. He showed the screen for Chris to read.

'Hi folks, sorry to say I've had to dip this weekend, family emergency. Have yourselves the best weekend, ResidentJimmy'

'Ah, ok' said Chris, looking away from the screen. Gavin put the phone back in the drawer.

'I'll get rid of his phone in a bit, we should get breakfast' Gavin suggested, looking back to Chris, who was looking at the ceiling. 'What's up?'

'I can't help wondering if this was right. Jimmy seemed a decent bloke' said Chris. Gavin rolled his eyes and shook his head.

'He was a prude, he had all THAT going for him. We couldn't let him go to waste' said Gavin.

'Jimmy had friends, family, there'll be investigations!' worried Chris. Gavin stroked his hair.

'Once I get a new body, we can to do whatever we like. Go where we like. We'll get a fresh start' replied Gavin. These words put Chris at ease. He pulled off his sheets and got out of bed, giving Gavin a clear view of his back and ass.

'Fuck, I'm never gonna get tired of that!' laughed Gavin, deciding he had time for a quick tug.

The two headed to the lobby restaurant to get breakfast. Finding a table near a window overlooking the street, the two began to tuck into their food. Event-goers on the surrounding tables were wrapped in their own conversations, there was a great spirit of excitement about the day ahead.

'Oh Em Gee! Is that GaValentine?!' asked a voice. Gavin turned to see a face he recognised from last year.

'Oh, morning, how are you? Sorry I've forgotten your name!' said Gavin. The man chuckled.

'It's Umbrelliam, or Liam. It's been a while!' exclaimed Liam, smiling all rosy-cheeked. Liam was a porky guy, flamboyant as hell but sweet. He turned to Chris and his eyes widened, jaw dropping.

'And who's this gorgeous guy?' asked Liam, filling a seat at the table, looking Chris up and down. Chris finished his mouthful.

'I'm Chris. Gavin's boyfriend' smiled Chris, waving.

'Oh you lucky bitch! Why didn't bring him last year?' demanded Liam, looking to Gavin.

'Oh he was working last year, but we're here now' said Gavin. Liam looked between both of them.

'Must be a model or something, honey you can Chris my Redfield any day' said Liam, winking at Chris.

'What's that mean? Boulder-punching you in the fucking face?' asked Chris. Liam was taken aback, but burst out laughing.

'Gosh he's fiery too! Honestly Gavin, you've gotta find me a guy like him' said Liam, turning to look at Gavin. He took a sip of his drink and a thought struck him.

'Did you hear about Jimmy?' asked Liam. Gavin caught a nervous look from Chris.

'You mean ResidentJimmy? Yeah I think so, didn't he Tweet last night he had to go home?' asked Gavin, Liam nodded.

'Yeah, vanished. I spoke to some friends earlier, he didn't text to let them know he had to go or anything, everyone's talking about it' Liam said, looking into his glass. Gavin and Chris locked eyes for a moment, a look of worry passed between them.

'I'm sure he had his reasons, he'll update everyone soon enough' suggested Chris. Liam looked to Chris and smiled.

'Yeah, I'm sure he will!' Liam replied.

'Anyway, let's focus on the event today, got quite the lineup haven't we?' asked Gavin, eager to change the subject. Liam snapped out of his trance.

'Oh my gosh yes! I can't believe they actually got Julia Voth to come here today, her as Jill is just Mother' exclaimed Liam, grinning from ear to ear.

'Well, I'm sure I'll see you cuties there, just gotta get a couple of things from my room. See you soon!' said Liam, getting up from his chair.

'Hey Liam, do you have any plans after the event?' asked Gavin, Liam spun back around.

'Not really, why?' asked Liam, his eyebrows furrowed.

'Well, Chris and I were thinking of having some fun later if you're game' whispered Gavin, winking. Chris glared at Gavin. Liam looked around.

'Wait, seriously?' asked Liam quietly, grinning again. Gavin nodded.

'Abso-fucking-lutely!' Liam said, looking to Chris.

'Cool, we'll see you later!' said Gavin, giving Liam a thumbs up. Liam walked off. Chris leaned in.

'What the absolute FUCK was that?!' he hissed, glaring at Gavin. Gavin leaned in.

'Liam's a bit of a convention slut, he's practically gagging for any action he can get' whispered Gavin, smirking.

'Oh really? You're gonna settle for that?' Chris asked, looking the way Liam went. Gavin followed the direction Chris was looking.

'I'll see what I can do with him. Might take a bit of compressing but it could result in something nice' said Gavin. Chris leaned back in his chair and heaved an exaggerated sigh.

'Honestly hearing what he was saying, I'm worried taking over Jimmy was a risky move' said Chris. Gavin shook his head.

'Nah babe, once his body's mine, there'll be one less gossipy bitch around to risk anyone putting two and two together. I'll take him over, then we leave tonight. Sound good?' asked Gavin. Chris reluctantly nodded.

'We'd better get rid of Jimmy's phone quick, there's only so much radio silence these people can take before they suspect something's off' said Chris. They both nodded and finished their breakfast.

Liam waited in the lobby for Gavin and Chris to return, fantasizing about the night after the event. Soon enough they showed up.

'Hey besties! Shall we get going to the Centre then?' called Liam, waving to them. They both looked at eachother, then Chris shrugged.

'Yeah sure, let's do that' said Chris, and the three of them headed out with Liam and Gavin in front, Chris following. As they made their way across the city, they were approached by a homeless man.

'Scuse me Sirs, you wouldn't happen to have a tenner you could give us would ya?' the man asked. Gavin and Chris continued on like they hadn't seen him, but Liam stopped.

'Oh of course lovey! Just give me a second' smiled Liam, pulling out his wallet to find a £10 note for the man.

'Oh thank you, thank you so much!' said the man graciously.

'It's alright, times are tough darling, I understand' said Liam, patting him on the shoulder. The man looked towards Chris and Gavin and lowered his voice.

'You uh, you know those two then?' asked the man, pointing to Chris and Gavin. Liam nodded.

'Watch yourself with them, something's not right about them' said the man. Liam looked puzzled.

'How d'you mean?' he asked. The man looked nervously at them again.

'I knows a demon when I sees one. That tall one ain't right' he said.

'I think you might've hit the Meth a little hard today honey' chuckled Liam. The man shook his head.

'No Sir, I ain't about that life! Swear to me bones, you be careful!' he warned. He hurried back to his sleeping bag in a nearby doorway and returned with a flask, he pushed it into Liam's hands.

'Trust me, take that with ya, it's holy water it is, I always keeps some from the Cathedral. Please be safe' he said. He shook Liam's hand and hobbled off. Liam looked at the flask and shrugged. He put it in his backpack and hurried off after the two, who were waiting by a bin.

'Ah heck Liam, why'd you stop for that guy?' asked Gavin, smirking at him.

'Sorry, it's just I couldn't not spot him that tenner, poor fella's down on his luck. It's only decent' said Liam. Gavin looked to Chris.

'You're a good man Liam, if people were more like you the world would be a nicer place, and bankrupt!' said Chris, smiling at Liam.

'You've sure got a weird sense of humour Chris. Not sure if I like that about you' said Liam giving Chris a stern look.

'Oh never mind. Anyway we're nearly at the Centre. Did you play the RE4 Remake yet Liam?' asked Gavin.

'Oh yeah, kinda prefer the original honestly' said Liam absent-mindedly. He thought about the man's warning. Maybe something really was off about Chris.

Liam, Gavin and Chris spent the next hours mingling with other fans, meeting voice actors and developers from the Resident Evil franchise's past, attending panels and getting photos and merchandise signed. Eventually in the afternoon everyone began to make plans for the night. Liam had been hanging around a friend of his, Hannah during breaks.

'Seriously Liam, he hasn't called, he's not answering his phone, listen!' said Hannah, holding her phone to Liam's ear.

'I'm sorry, the phone you are trying to reach has been switched off. Please try again later' came the automated voice. Hannah was a friend of Jimmy's and his disappearance had been on her mind all day.

'Looks like he's put nothing on Twitter, not since last night' said Liam.

'He was fine last night when we saw him, I just can't work it out' said Hannah, shaking her head and trembling. Liam noticed this and swept her into a hug.

'Hey! It's alright Darling. We'll get to the bottom of this!' said Liam reassuringly. Hannah sighed.

'Thanks Liam' Hannah smiled. Just then Gavin and Chris showed up.

'Hey Liam, we're heading back to the hotel, you coming?' asked Gavin.

'Just a few minutes please guys, catching up' smiled Liam. Chris and Gavin looked to eachother.

'We're in Room 402, don't keep us waiting too long' whispered Chris, winking, and the two headed off.

'Got plans have you?' asked Hannah chuckling, looking at them walking off.

'Yeah, probably shouldn't keep them waiting too long' laughed Liam. Hannah turned back to look at him, a look of concern on her face.

'Say, who's the tall one?' asked Hannah.

'Chris, why?' asked Liam.

'Jimmy was talking to the one with glasses last night, but he was with another guy, not him' said Hannah.

'Might've been a friend of his?' suggested Liam, shrugging.

'Maybe. I don't think I've seen that other guy since last night either. I know there's about 200 people here today, but I've only seen him hanging around the big guy' said Hannah. Liam thought about this and remembered the homeless man's warning. Something was definitely up.

'Liam, if you're going to be hanging around those two tonight please be careful!' she warned. Liam nodded.

'Of course Hannah, I promise' said Liam, giving Hannah one final hug and hurrying off.

Liam hurried back to his hotel room. He took off his backpack and pulled out the flask the homeless man had given him. He hesitated and then began to drink from it. The water was pretty much room temperature, but he chugged it down, finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

'Let's see, Room 402' said Liam to himself, pulling out his phone. He sent a DM to Gavin's account on Twitter.

'Hey, just changing, be up in 5 x'

He changed out of his clothes into something a little fancier and sprayed some cologne, combing his hair in the mirror telling himself 'If it gets weird, get the fuck out of there!'. With a shaky breath he steeled himself and proceeded to leave his room. He was two floors below the 4th floor, so he got in the lift, it didn't take long to find the door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

Gavin answered the door, smiling.

'Liam! Good to see you!' cried Gavin, hugging him.

'Sorry I kept you waiting lovey, Hannah was having some issues bless her' replied Liam.

'Well, never mind her. Now it's about us big guy!' said Gavin, ushering Liam into the room. Chris sat on the bed, shirt open exposing his chest.

'Hubba hubba!' cried Liam rushing over to hug him, which Liam reluctantly did.

'So how're we doing this?' asked Liam, looking between them. Chris moved to lie down on the bed.

'You guys can get started, I'll watch and hop in when I'm ready' smiled Gavin. Liam raised his eyebrows.

'Oh, you like to watch do you Mister? I won't complain!' said Liam, turning his attention to Chris, who was smirking at him.

'So how do you want to start?' asked Liam seductively, biting his lip, crawling onto the bed, moving over to Chris. Chris pulled Liam on top of him and began to kiss him, much to Liam's surprise, but he went along with it, beginning to tongue the hunk of a man. Liam could feel himself getting hard as they pulled away. Chris began to undo his belt and pull his shorts down, alongside his boxers, where his monster cock sprang free. Liam's jaw dropped at the sight of it.

'Go on Liam, get to work!' chuckled Chris, shifting himself. Liam nodded and kissed Chris on the lips again, then kissing his neck and kissing his pecs and abs as he made his way down to the groin. Chris began to feel a bit sweaty, but he put it down to the hormones. He began to squirm as Liam took his dick in his hand and began to pump it, licking it's tip with his tongue. Gavin had already unzipped his own trousers, getting his own dick ready for entry.

'God it's getting stuffy! Give me a moment' laughed Liam, pulling his own shirt off and throwing it away, returning to giving Chris a blowjob. Chris scrunched his eyes closed and began gasping. What should be pleasure was starting to feel a lot like pain.

'Are you biting my cock Liam?' asked Chris, looking down at him. Liam stopped sucking and furrowed his eyebrows.

'No?' he insisted. Then it occurred to him Chris was squirming and groaning in pain.

'Oh shit! Are you ok?' asked Liam, looking in horror as the black in Chris's hair was beginning to drain, becoming blonde.

'The fuck have you done to me you prick?!' demanded Chris as his body began to convulse and his stomach grew. Just then Gavin lunged at Liam, trying to shove his hand into his mouth. Liam elbowed him in the ribs.

'Excuse me? What the fuck are you trying to do?!' asked Liam, turning to Gavin in fury, but Gavin looked on at Chris. Looking back Liam yelped and jumped off the bed. Chris's stomach had become huge and the mass was moving downwards.

'Someone tell me what the fuck's going on here?!' asked Liam, standing frozen against the wall as Chris was yelling in pain. Just then, the mass that was making it's way down Chris's shaft bloated it to an impossible size and Liam and Gavin could only look on slack-jawed as a pair of legs were forced out of the tip, then a body, arms and head. A whole man was ejected out of Chris's dick. He groaned in pain as he hit the floor. Liam looked to Chris on the bed, who was now blonde and had less muscle. No, it wasn't Chris, it was Jimmy!

'Jimmy!' cried out Liam rushing to him, but the new man elbowed him out the way and tried to stick his hand down Jimmy's throat.

'Oi! Get off him! What're you even trying to do?' asked Liam, forcing the man off Jimmy.

'Shit! We can't get in!' yelled Tiernan panicking, breathing frantically. Gavin looked at the sight, there was nothing they could do now but run.

'Let's get out of here!' Gavin said, grabbing Tiernan and pulling him to his feet.

Jimmy began to stir, groaning and opening his eyes. He began to register the room.

'What the fuck?' Jimmy asked, feeling pain in his body. He saw Liam standing over him shirtless and groaned.

'Oh shit, not you Liam!' chuckled Jimmy, laying his head back down.

'Jimmy are you alright?' asked Liam.

'I feel like I've been hit by a fucking truck!' replied Jimmy. He realised he wasn't in his hotel room.

'What happened? Where are Gavin and Tiernan?' asked Jimmy. Liam sat down on the bed.

'I'm not sure what the hell's happened but I think you just shot him out of your penis Darling' laughed Liam despite looking terrified. Jimmy began to piece it all together in his head.

'Where are they?' asked Jimmy, sitting up. Liam jumped.

'They said about getting out of here' started Liam. At that, Jimmy lunged off the bed, staggering to the door. Holding his breath and fighting the pain he wrenched the door open, hurrying into the hallway outside.

'Jimmy they've probably reached the lobby by now!' called Liam, but Jimmy wasn't listening. He ran past the lifts and hurtled himself down the stairs, flying in his fury down the steps. He ran into the lobby in time to see a small crowd gathered near the entrance doors.

'Where the fuck are they?!' demanded Jimmy angrily. Everyone looked to him shocked. Hannah hurried over to him and hugged him.

'Jimmy?! Oh my god where have you been?!' yelled Hannah. Jimmy looked to Hannah, suddenly the anger he felt dissolved into fear, tears began to well in his eyes.

'Oh Hannah, I don't even know what the hell's happening, but I'm glad you're here!' said Jimmy, hugging her tight. Liam arrived panting, hanging onto the doorframe to catch his breath. He looked at everyone, then at Jimmy and Hannah. Looking down he cleared his throat.

'Pardon me Jim, but if we don't get your bum covered up I'm going to start getting cravings!' chuckled Liam. Jimmy looked down, he hadn't even realised his lower clothing had fallen off. Hannah turned bright red and Jimmy began laughing, the three of them headed back to the lifts so Jimmy could get changed.

The next day everyone gathered around Jimmy and Liam as they attempted to explain what had happened the previous day and the night before. A somewhat coherent story was formed of how Jimmy had been taken over by Tiernan somehow and that Gavin had tried to cover the tracks up and how Liam had been able to undo what they'd done to Jimmy thanks to the holy water the homeless man had given him.

'Best 10 quid I ever donated!' laughed Liam. Jimmy smiled and looked thoughtfully outside.

'Whatever happened, those two are still out there. Unless Tiernan got arrested for streaking, they could be anywhere now' pondered Jimmy. Hannah massaged Jimmy's right shoulder reassuringly.

'If they show up again, they're dead!' she warned. Jimmy smiled, thankful for his friends' rescue.

'Liam, could you take me to that homeless guy please? I'd like to thank him' Jimmy requested. Liam finished his drink and nodded. Leaving everyone to talk among themselves, Liam and Jimmy headed out. They found the man and approached him. He recognised Liam.

'Sir! Good to see you. You slept safely I hope?' he smiled, looking to Jimmy.

'Hello again Ducky. Yes you were right about those two. They actually took over my friend here' Liam said, clapping a hand on Jimmy's shoulder.

'Hi, I just wanted to thank you. If you hadn't given my friend the holy water I might not be here now. Thanks' smiled Jimmy nodding his head. The man smiled happily at Jimmy.

'It's alright Sir! I could tell something weren't right about them two. Oh! While you're here' said the man, turning his attention to his sleeping bag. He pulled out a phone.

'Is this is yours?' beamed the man. Jimmy took it from him in shock, it was indeed his phone.

'How did you get this?' Jimmy asked.

'Your demon friends thought they were clever. I noticed them chuck summat in the bin over there when I was speaking to your friend yesterday. After you all left I came over to see what it was. Felt I should hold onto it just incase' the man explained. Jimmy pocketed his phone and breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled out his wallet and found a £20 for the man, that he graciously accepted. Liam also handed the flask back and the two began to head back to the Premier Inn.

'Funny isn't it? Today's the last day and we all go back home tonight, and yet this place just got a whole lot more interesting. Tomorrow it'll be work as usual!' remarked Jimmy.

'I'm still trying to process what I saw last night, not gonna lie it was kinda hot. Not every day you see a man cum out another man!' chuckled Liam. Jimmy smiled but looked at Liam concerned.

'Man, shut the fuck up!' Jimmy laughed.

'Reckon you're up for cuddles then?' asked Liam hopefully. Jimmy sighed and shook his head.

'You know what, fine. I guess I owe you mate' winked Jimmy. 'Just promise me you won't do whatever the fuck they did to me!'.

'Oh I love having men in me, but not THAT deep!' retorted Liam, and they both walked off laughing.

[mollywall-e]

WIP Chapter 3 of Take Me Home (RDR2 AU)

As the hazy orange light of the flaming fields fades, the moonlight shimmering across the water providing just enough light for visibility, the ever-present buzz of adrenaline begins to settle. Imogen rows, and rows, and rows, finding comfort in the repetitive motion, clinging closer to the coastline the further north they travel.

The stretch of land between Braithwaite Manor and the Temult homestead is quiet, the roads too dark to be deemed safe at this hour. Most folks have long been tucked away in bed, preparing for the next day's work. There’s bound to be a few drunken stragglers livening up the old saloon in town. If they haven't passed out already, that is. But from the boat, the town of Rhodes is a mere speck on the horizon, too far from shore to pose any real threat.

They're alone. For now.

As if on cue, the dim light of a poorly tended campfire comes into view along the cragged shoreline. Imogen slows her rowing, scanning the campsite. To her relief, she finds it empty. No signs of movement, no one keeping watch. Just a handful of empty canvas tents and a campfire that's more ember than flame.

Raiders, likely out on their nightly “patrol” of the roads. They've been set up in the pasture west of the Temult homestead for years now. The law is too lazy to do anything about it, but Imogen's managed so far. She knows their routine, knows to keep her distance. She also knows to sleep with her daddy's old shotgun on the nightstand. She hasn't had to use it so far, but it's a comfort nonetheless.

“We’re basically there now, Laudna,” Imogen announces, steering the boat towards the shore. The girl startles a bit at the sound, shaking herself from the silent stupor she'd fallen into. Imogen continues, quieter. “My house, it's just past that camp there.”

Laudna says nothing, wide eyes reflecting the reddish orange glow of the dying campfire, growing larger as they rapidly approach the shoreline.

“Don't worry, no one's there.” Imogen rushes to reassure. “We're safe.”

Laudna nods, barely perceptible, and mutters. “Safe. We're safe.”

The water grows shallow as they approach the shore. Once they're within a handful of yards, Imogen sets down the oars and climbs out of the boat. Her boots squelch in the muck as she steps into the knee-deep water, pleasantly warm despite the late hour. Grabbing the back of the boat with both hands, Imogen pulls it ashore, the worn wood of the bottom scraping against the shale-laden soil.

“Alright, Laudna,” Imogen holds one hand aloft, the other remaining to hold the boat in place. “C'mon out.”

Laudna shuffles to the back of the boat, stumbling a few times before righting herself. She hesitates for a moment, eyeing the water lapping at the shoreline with a thinly veiled fear.

“It's just a little water, it's not gonna hurt ya,” Imogen assures her, voice soft and certain.

It’s strange how easily the words flow while still feeling alien in her mouth. The quiet comfort, the careful cadence. It's so far removed from the barking of orders, strained attempts at small talk, and outright hostility she's surrounded by every day. She's not sure where it comes from, this inexplicable need to comfort and protect a stranger, but it’s consumed her since she first heard that humming. Like the natural instinct to soothe a frightened child, or to tend to a wounded animal.

She's not sure how effective it is, but her clumsy attempt at comfort is enough to get Laudna's attention. Those eyes, wide, dark, and terribly frightened, glance away from the water. They lock onto Imogen, searching for something. Whatever she finds in the lavender irises is enough to dissuade her previous doubts, quickly clutching onto Imogen's offered hand and clambering out of the boat.

“S'alright, you're alright” Imogen's eyes smart with the sudden flash of pain as long, jagged nails dig into her palm, but she breathes through it. “It’s alright, I gotcha.”

Imogen can't help but sigh in relief as Laudna lets go of her hand to scramble further inland, beyond the water's reach. Imogen discreetly shakes out her hand, palm ridden with freshly carved, crescent-shaped divots, before shoving the boat back out into the open water. She watches it drift for a moment, desperately hoping the gentle breeze and residual current from the river will carry the boat far enough away to clear them of any suspicion.

“That should do it,” Imogen mutters more to herself than her new companion. “Right, this way.”

Imogen guides Laudna through the rolling fields, giving the campsite a wide berth, until the Temult homestead comes into view, delicately perched atop a sloping hill.

If the fence surrounding the property had seen better days, Imogen wasn't around for it. It's been rundown and haphazard for as long as she can remember. Nearly half the pickets are missing, rendering the fence almost entirely useless. Imogen had taken to using some of the remaining wooden panels for repairs, so it was good for something, at least.

The rest of the exterior was in a similar state of neglect: overgrown grasses, rusted hinges, and boarded up windows. Though covered in a persistent ivy that Imogen had long since given up on clearing, the house itself was well-crafted and structurally sound. Except for the goddamn stairs, that is.

“Here we are…home, sweet home.” Imogen announces, doing her utmost to ignore the white-hot sting of shame simmering in her stomach. As the pair slows to a stop at the base of the stairs, Imogen scratches at the back of her neck, turning to face a wide-eyed Laudna. “Just…watch your step, alright?”

Imogen leads the way up, holding her breath as the remaining wooden stairs groan underfoot. She stretches across the freshly created gap, huffing a sigh of relief as her feet safely reach the infinitely more stable porch. She turns to help Laudna along, only to find her already standing beside her. Poor thing's so emaciated the wood didn't so much as squeak under her weight.

“C'mon, let's get you inside.” Imogen fumbles with the knob for a moment, before the door opens with a familiar creak.

The interior of the Temult home is entirely dark, to be expected well past sundown. Ushering Laudna through the doorway, Imogen quickly settles into her normal nightly routine, kicking off her muddied boots and locking the door behind them. She checks it again just to be certain.

“Just one sec, lemme get some light goin' for ya.” Imogen comments under her breath, grabbing her matchbook from her pocket once more.

Flitting about in the shadows through sheer muscle memory, Imogen lights the oil lamp she keeps on the table and the handful of candles she keeps across the mantel, dancing around table corners and errant chairs with a practiced ease. The flickering orange and yellow light quickly floods the interior, revealing it to be exactly as she left it this morning: a bit cluttered and covered in a thin layer of dust, but cozy all the same.

“That's better,” Imogen announces, turning back towards her new house guest.

Laudna hasn't moved an inch since being let in, hovering in the entryway with gangly arms wrapped around her sickly frame. Like she's trying to take up as little space as possible. Like she's trying to hold herself together. Maybe both. Imogen goes to step towards her, but stops herself. Instead, she busies herself straightening the picture frames scattered atop the mantel, drifting over to one of the two armchairs in the main room and fluffing the pillows.

“Come on, have a seat while I find you something to eat.” Imogen punctuates her sentence with a few pats on the long-flattened cushions, hoping it looks at least a little inviting.

Laudna eyes her for a moment, eyes the chair, and takes a small, shuffling step forward. Then another. And another.

“That's it, there you go,” Imogen coaxes, smiling a bit to herself as she watches Laudna collapse into the seat. She takes a few steps back, so as not to crowd the girl. “Comfortable?”

Laudna nods, though she doesn't look up at Imogen. Her gaze is drawn to the threadbare cushions, fingers idly twirling the stray bits of string.

Imogen watches her for a second, before turning on her heels to head back towards the kitchen.

“I'm afraid I don't have too many options,” Imogen calls over her shoulder, reaching up to open the kitchen cupboard. The cabinet is pitifully empty, save for a couple of cans, some cobwebs, and a particularly robust cockroach. She vows to go to the general store in the morning. “We got kidney beans, sweetcorn…” Imogen rotates the cans so she can read the label. “...or corned beef. Any preference?”

“...beans, please.”

Plucking the can from the cabinet, Imogen pulls open one of the drawers, grabs a knife, and pries the can open, careful to leave smooth edges. She grabs a spoon, plops it into the can, and shuts the drawer.

“Alright, now. I got a deal for ya,” Imogen drawls, walking her way back towards Laudna. She waits until the girl looks up to continue her offer. “This can's all yours. I can even get you another one, if you want it. But once you're done eating, we've gotta talk, alright?”

Laudna tenses a bit, eyes bouncing from the can, to Imogen, and back to the can. “Alright.”

Imogen sighs and holds out the can, quickly snatched by spindly fingers.

Rather than using the spoon, Laudna raises the can to her lips, tilting it as if drinking from a glass. She hesitates, growing sheepish as she catches Imogen staring.

“Go on, then. drink up,” Imogen encourages, nodding towards the beans. “Manners don't matter too much to me. Especially not with you starving the way you are.”

Laudna wastes no time in delving in after that.

[imtrashraccoon]

I've been looking forward to this one for so long! We're in the home stretch now folks! The following drabbles may be long as there's quite a bit of plot to wrap up, but my offer for bonus chapters still stands. Feel free to message me if you want to see something expanded on!

@scrambledmeggys

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Day 25: Proposal

Time seemed to pass quickly, despite how little your routine varied from day to day. Things had been good though over the past couple months. You could confidently say you were now friends with Undyne and Alphys, as you'd become rather desperate to socialize with other people besides the brothers and Frisk.

Both girls had been working to find an alternative way to break the barrier, well Alphys was doing most of the technical bits, but Undyne was assisting where she could and helping to support her. While they hadn't come up with anything concrete yet, you had discovered the interesting tidbit of information that it would take a thousand monster souls to equal the power of one human soul.

To say your mind was blown was an understatement. You'd had no idea the power difference was that great and frankly, you'd been under the impression that Monsters were far stronger than humans because of their magic. Then again, you didn't know of any humans who could use magic so you had no scale to measure the power difference to. Well, Frisk was an outlier as far as you could tell and they couldn't explain why they were different either.

Speaking of Frisk, Sans had started bringing them out to his sentry station for short periods of time to hang out or just get some fresh air, much to their delight and your dismay. While you knew it wasn't fair to keep them indoors forever, you still worried someone or something could happen to them. Still, you trusted Sans would keep them safe and you knew that they wouldn't give up easily if something bad did happen.

Papyrus had been more willing to take you outside on small errands, at first it was only on rare occasions, but with Frisk being more occupied as a result of hanging out with Sans, you had been more than willing to go with him. You still had to disguise your appearance but no one seemed to question your presence when Papyrus was around at least. You felt like you were almost becoming a regular part of the community, almost.

It seemed like Frisk had gone with Sans again today as neither were around the house. Papyrus had left early as well, leaving you home alone, something you weren't used to.

Frankly, the thought of living alone was terrifying to you as even after moving away from home for college, you'd had Terrence as a roommate. After what had happened, you didn't think it would be healthy for you, especially with how you'd been trying to deal with the grief.

When you entered the kitchen this morning, you found something interesting. On the kitchen table was a small ceramic pot with a large glowing blue flower planted in it.

For a moment you stood there in the entryway to the kitchen, just staring at the mysterious blossom. You'd never seen any plant like this before and for a moment you wondered if it was glowing because it was magical or because it was bioluminescent.

You examined it curiously, checking it out from all angles, but couldn't determine if it really was magical. Carefully, you touched it's petals but in doing so, you accidentally disturbed the center of the blossom. As soon as you had, a slightly distorted but undeniably familiar voice echoed from within.

Precious, I Cannot Picture A Future Without You As It Just Feels Right In My Soul. So I Have One Thing To Ask...

You were awestruck, both by the talking flower and the message it had contained. Hearing footsteps from behind, you turned to find Papyrus had apparently been home all along. He looked so happy and there seemed to be a hopeful glimmer in his scarlet eyelights that you hadn't really seen before.

As soon as you made eye contact, he paused a few feet away from you. "Would You Be Willing To Bind Our Souls Together?" he asked softly.

You blinked as your mind scrambled to decipher what he meant by this. It certainly felt like a marriage proposal but it was also different from any human proposals you'd ever heard of. What even did he mean by binding your souls together? Was it literal? Or was it more of a figurative bond?

Papyrus seemed to take your hesitation as a negative response and you watched him visibly deflate. He couldn't tell how confused you were and that you still weren't familiar with most Monster traditions.

You waved your hands desperately and quickly tried to reassure him. "Sweetie, no, it's okay... I'm not... Sorry, I'm not saying no, okay?" Feeling rather embarrassed, you added, "I just don't know what it means..."

He seemed to have a sudden realization and ran a hand down his face. "I Am So Sorry, I Completely Forgot You Would Not Know," he groaned.

You chuckled and moved closer to him. Putting your hand on his arm, you smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright, really. I've heard of a Soul Bond before, but it was always in fiction, and I never knew it was actually a thing until now."

"Well, It Is Fairly Self-explanatory. Monsters Who Decide They Want To Be Together For The Rest Of Their Lives Form A Bond Or Tether Between Their Souls."

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, "So, from what you're saying, soul bonding seems similar to human marriage."

"I Would Not Know," Papyrus chuckled. "But Humans Cannot Use Magic Anymore, Right?"

"Not to my knowledge at least."

"Then I Should Also Tell You That Completing A Soul Bond Comes With Quite A Few Benefits To Both Partners," he said, seemingly back to his usual smug self now that the awkward atmosphere had disappeared.

"Besides A Boost To Magic, You Will Be Able To Sense My Emotional State And Strong Emotions When We Are Apart. This Means We Will Be Able To Tell If The Other Is Hurt Or In Danger." Papyrus smiled and added, "There Are A Few Others, But They Are Not As Relevant And I Will Tell You About Them Later If You Still Want To Accept."

"I'm assuming it's a bad idea to break the Soul Bond, right?"

He nodded seriously and frowned. "Very, Most Cases Of Doing So Result In Death For Both Individuals. It Really Depends How The Bond Was Broken Though."

You nodded thoughtfully and considered all this new information. While you were a bit nervous about what this could mean, especially in the future, you knew in your soul that you wanted this. The prospect of spending the rest of your life with the person you'd connected with the most made you feel overjoyed.

You looked up at him and grinned. "Yes, Papyrus, I am willing to Soul Bond with you."

You'd never seen him so happy before and you swear his eyelights morphed into tiny hearts. He practically swept you off your feet and gave you a tight hug. You couldn't help but laugh and hug him back as tightly as you could.

"I Want To Make It Special For You, But When The Time Comes And If You Still Feel The Same, I Want You To Know That You Have Just Made Me The Happiest Monster In The Underground," Papyrus murmured softly.

"If you're the happiest monster, than I'm the happiest human," you chuckled. "I'm really looking forward to this."