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#few basic scarves
milkweedman · 1 year
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fiber arts really is such an insane category of Things in how it can draw you in. like, 6 or 7 years ago i learnt to crochet and made a few terrible hats and scarves. then i learnt to knit because i wanted to knit a scarf for my friend (now fiance :D). then i realized it should be a woven scarf so i picked up weaving instead, but i still really liked knitting so now i was doing 3 crafts. somewhere along the way i started dyeing yarn as part of my kitchen experiments, and then i was like fuck it i wanna make my own yarn ! and that is where the problems happened. in the span of like 5 years ive acquired like $2000 of various tools (spinning wheel, combs, cards, blending board, several looms, etc), bought dozens of fleeces, and now my bedroom is basically a craft room with a bed, i have wool covering every flat surface in there as well as a huge dresser full of wool and several large drawers full of wool, i meticulously scrape every last bit of avocado out of the peel so i can use it to dye fleece, and i don’t go anywhere (including in my own house) without at least 2 knitting projects and a spindle.
im not complaining or anything, but the rapid shift from ‘guy who does stuff, idk’ to ‘guy who is worryingly obsessed with wool and will infodump at length about medieval sheep husbandry and the history of nettle as a textile if you give him half a chance’ is like. extremely funny to me.
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feyascorner · 2 months
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Astarion is such a girl dad nobody can tell me otherwise.
Would he be a responsible parent? Maybe. It depends on which act we’re looking at. He’d give her a doll and then a pretty knife for her birthday. But gods if he doesn’t absolutely wreak havoc with a little version of himself…
You would walk in on him having a tea party with his daughter, makeup messily smeared on his face and parts of his hair tied with pink rubber bands. He looks ridiculous crouched on a tiny chair, but he takes this tea party very seriously. Your daughter does too, it seems, as they chat about some imaginary society of stuffed animals and gossip about which stuffy was rude to another.
He’d also let her play dentist on his fangs, lying on the sofa while feigning a toothache so his daughter can “treat” him with random tools around the house. If you weren’t terrified she might accidentally cut herself on how sharp his teeth are, you’d think it’s adorable.
And when I say this man dresses her, I am not over exaggerating. He teaches her early on how to do basic sewing and adjustments to her clothes, but he’s also loves to buy her little frilly bows and such that he knows she’ll like. Dresses, scarves, gloves, you name it. He loves putting on a show, so why should his own daughter walk around in dreadfully boring clothing?
On one of the occasions you join in on their tea parties, he steps out of the room for a few minutes to grab something. When he returns, your daughter is fast sleep in your lap, and you smile down softly at her. The sight makes his chest swell.
“I think she has your nose, darling,” he says as he sits down beside you.
“Has your sass, though. I caught her staring at herself in the mirror the other day too.”
He snorts and you finally lift your head to look at him. His eyes flit back and forth between you and your daughter, his features gentle. “Do you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to take after all this?”
You stifle a laugh, careful to keep from waking her. Brushing the hair out of your face, he plants his lips to your forehead while soft snores come from down at your lap.
“I fear I’ll mess up with her,” he whispers against your cheek.
You shake your head, leaning it against his shoulder. “You won’t.”
Somehow, he feels himself trusting your words. He’s always found it easy to do so when it came to you.
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ichorai · 8 months
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hell, yeah ; roman roy ; part two (m).
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pairing ; roman roy x f!reader
synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you.
words ; 32.0k
themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers
warnings / includes ; depictions of mental and physical abuse, talks of sexual misconduct (cruises incidents), mentions of death, a lot of sexual/suicidal jokes and general foul language, a lot of business talk, phone sex & a handjob, degradation, roman’s implied demisexuality, reader's got a tooth motif bcs all the other roy sibs have their own motifs, a lot of morally grey shit
series masterlist. main masterlist.
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The Roy’s summer home in the Hamptons was nothing short of grand. That was always the bare minimum for the family, after all. Though you had been preoccupied with work, having a lot piled up because of your time off for Shiv’s wedding—you had dropped quite a few important meetings to come at Logan’s behest. He called for you, and for all his children, to come to the Hamptons and discuss his plans to sell the company.
You stepped into the home, hands buried within your pockets. Immediately, you were hit by an overwhelmingly foul stench. It smelled an awful lot like rotten meat and, strangely, the piss-sodden alleyways in New York. Your face twisted into a grimace as you strode in, finding Kendall wandering aimlessly downstairs.
“Hey, uh, hi,” he said, awkwardly reaching for a hug when you stuck your arm out for a handshake. The both of you gingerly stepped away from each other.
“What’s that smell?” you asked, knowing full and well that Roman and Shiv were still quite angry with him for basically stabbing them in the back.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know. I think they’re trying to figure that out,” he replied, waving his hands around to gesture to the milling workers. “You, uhm, you’ll get used to it. Listen, Y/N, I know you and Rome are close, so I just wanted to ask if you could… talk to him. For me.”
Arching a brow, you tilted your head. “You can’t talk to him yourself?”
“He’s not… he’s being difficult right now.”
“Understandably so.”
There was a melancholic look to his eyes. “I know. Can you just tell him I’m sorry? I want… I want us to be okay.”
Pursing your lips, you gave him a firm nod. “Okay, yeah, sure. No promises that it’d change anything, though. You know where he is?”
“By the beach. With Shiv.”
With a hum of farewell, you started backing off, making your way to the sandy shores not too far from the house. You spotted their figures in the distance, bundled in dark coats and long scarves. When they spotted you approaching, the both of them waved.
“Hey, guys,” you greeted, smiling brightly.
“Hey, fuck-face,” said Roman, giving you a quick hug, before stepping back to allow Shiv to do the same. “We were all waiting for you.”
“Sorry I’m late—work has been kicking my ass lately.” 
Snorting, Roman quipped, “You know you can take a couple days to relax, right? I’m literally your boss.”
“I’m a general manager, Rome. If I stop, that’s a large chunk of Waystar down. I’m trying to keep the company from sinking further into the depths of hell,” you said lightly, crossing your arms. “But it seems like Logan wants to sell it away. What’s our viewpoint?”
The both of them struggled for words.
“If the selling isn’t actually real… like some kind of fucked-up loyalty test, we were just talking about how dad’s going to kill Kendall,” said Shiv, looking none too upset about the prospect. “How that would mean it could be Rome who takes up the mantle.”
That made sense. Connor was not an option, not in Logan’s eyes. He was barely a son to the man, much less the heir to his legacy.
“It could,” you said, careful. “It could also mean you, though.”
 Both you and Roman stared Shiv down. 
Finally, she caved and shook her head with a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Yes, it could be me.”
Sensing that the two of them were on the verge of another catfight, you quickly intercepted, “I bumped into Kendall in the house just now. He wanted me to, uhm, tell you that he’s sorry.”
Roman’s features twisted. “Well, tell him he can stick his apologies up his ass.”
“I’m not a fucking messenger! Tell him that yourself.”
Rolling her eyes, Shiv jerked her head back to the house. “We should probably get back inside. Dad’s gonna be here any minute by now.”
It was on your trek back that the three of you bumped into Kendall, who was wearing sunglasses even though the sky wasn’t all that visible through the gloomy clouds. Both Shiv and Roman didn’t hesitate to duke out their frustrations on him, asking why he changed his mind on the takeover so quickly. 
“You do realize how fucked you’re going to be once you’re no longer of any use to him, right?” asked Roman to his older brother. “He’s got you eating fuckin’ humiliation gumbo on TV, and then what? Nothing.”
Snickering, Shiv added in, “Dad’s gonna play a merry tune on you and then throw you out the fucking window. You know that, right?”
“He’s like a sex robot for dad to fuck,” said Rome.
“He’s like a beaten dog.”
“He’s both of those things—and also a piece of shit.”
To your surprise, Kendall stood by and took all the insults his siblings lobbied at him, expression permanently fixed into one of unadulterated misery. A part of you felt bad for him, but another part of you knew he’d brought this upon himself.
Shiv stepped closer to him, each one of her words saturated in venom. “He’s a fucking narcissist who repeatedly puts his self-interest above everything else, and then tries to justify it with half-assed appeals of the rigors of the fucking market.”
“You’re a fucking prick,” Roman finally tacked on after Shiv’s mini-monologue. He glanced over at you. “Y/N, you wanna throw a punch?”
“What were you thinking, Kendall?” you quietly asked. “In what world did you see yourself winning against your father? And even if you did win, it’d be at the cost of your siblings. Would you kill them for your own personal gain? And not to mention that you relapsed and you’re not getting the help you need. You didn’t even thank Roman and I for picking you up from that addict’s shithole. We got you out of there because we were worried for you. We care about you. And you threw that right back in his face.”
Your words lingered heavily between the four of you. 
When Kendall remained as silent as a statue, Roman let out a loud groan, rolling his eyes to the side. “Come on! Fight back, you fuck-bag.”
“Guys, I just… I…” Kendall paused to look off into the waters. “I can’t get into it.”
“Oh, you can’t get into it? Shucks,” Roman mocked. “Fuck you. Come on, man. Treat us! Why did you actually back out?”
Shame flooded his features. He completely disregarded Roman’s question by telling his little sister, “I’m sorry, Shiv. About the wedding.”
There were tears in her eyes. Her father had made her cry after ruining family therapy, and now her older brother was making her cry after ruining her wedding. 
“How dare you apologize to me?” she asked, a sharp edge to her tone. With that, she rotated on her heel and strode off. 
You and Roman followed after her, your arm linked with his.
“You look like shit, by the way,” Roman murmured to his brother as he brushed past him.
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By the time you got back to the house, you caught sight of the cooks dumping the expensive food they’d been preparing and laboring over for hours straight into the trash. When you wondered aloud what was going on, one of them quietly answered that they’d found the source of the smell—a dead raccoon covered in maggots, rotting in the chimney. Logan demanded all the food be removed because it’d been sitting around in the stench, calling for pizza to be ordered instead. 
When lunch rolled around, you sat between Roman and Kendall, feeling incredibly tense. The atmosphere between the siblings had yet to clear, and you weren’t quite sure if it ever would. The chatter died away when Logan cleared his throat sharply to quell the commotion and greet the family.
He began with a blunt address of the bear hug situation, which you noticed made Kendall’s foot tap against the floor in agitation.
“I guess the question is… do we really want this fight?” he asked. “Or is now the moment to cash in and fuck off out of the casino?”
Silence. He was met with dead silence.
“If we do fight, I need to tell the board who I want to take over,” said Logan. “So, please—I want you to speak freely.”
His words made Shiv tip her head back and scoff-laugh. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law?”
“Come on! We’re pals here. Let’s fuckin’ have it out!” gruffed Logan as he surveyed the table.
As if to purposefully push her father’s buttons, Shiv crossed her arms and pointedly kept her mouth shut. 
Tentative, Kendall spoke, “I think you should fight, but, uh… you’re the one who built it all. The man, the myth, the legend.”
In a condescending tone, Roman crooned, “Aw. That’s adorable. You’re always lookin’ out for Pops, aren’t you?”
“But is he saying Dad should stay on because that’s what Sandy and Stewy would want?” asked Connor with a frown, ever the conspiracist. “How do we know he’s not a double agent?”
“Nice to see you, too, Con,” mumbled Kendall.
Shaking his head, the older brother said, “Hey, Ken, I’m just saying what others are thinking.”
“It’s possible,” Shiv added, narrowing her eyes.
“Should we frisk him for a wire? Burn him? See if he’s a witch?” joked Roman, scratching at the back of his head.
Interrupting the banter, Logan said, “He’s taken his medicine.”
“Taken his medicine?” Shiv parroted in an affronted manner. “Is that it? Dad—you beat Roman with a fucking slipper in Gustav until he cried for ordering lobster, remember? And Kendall tries to kill you and he’s only five minutes out in the cold?”
You remembered that day. When you’d casually told Roman that you preferred lobster over crab. How he tried to order it for you instead of what was already on the table, and how an already ticked-off Logan was tipped over the edge and lost his shit, taking his frustrations out on Roman. The memory of the actual beating itself was hazy—all you could recall were thuds and muffled whimpers, fearful tears on your cheeks. The purple bruises on his face didn’t fade away for a long while. He would try to joke about it, but you never found it funny. You had apologized over and over again, until Roman told you to shut up and forget about it, nonchalantly adding that he wanted the lobster, too. That it wasn’t just for you.
But it was. It was all yours, had Roman been successful in acquiring the crustacean for you. You didn’t need to know that, though.
Trying his best to shrug off Shiv’s words, Roman tilted his head to the side and quipped, “Well, it’s not polite to order the most expensive item on the menu when you’re not paying, Siobhan.”
Logan could dump a billion dollars into an incinerator and that would barely even make a dent on how much wealth he was hoarding, you wanted to say. You kept your mouth firmly shut, biting down on your tongue.
As per typical Logan fashion, he brushed off the call-out of his abuse to his son. “We’re not doing memory lane here. Come on, spit it out. What do you all think? Stick or sell?”
“Well, I think you’re in the prime of your life,” chimed Tom. “I think another decade is just what the doctor ordered.”
From beside you, Roman’s knee nudged into yours as he began miming choking on a dick. You smiled, almost laughing out loud, but caught yourself before you did. 
“I, uhm, I think selling seems cool…” began Willa.
“Hey, Dad, Willa thinks selling seems cool!” snorted Roman, which made Willa fall uncomfortably silent.
With a disapproving stare, Connor bit out, “Asshole.”
“You,” said Logan. It took you a moment to realize that he was staring directly at you. Heat prickled at the back of your neck. “What do you think?”
You sat up straighter in your chair. “You’ll be rich enough to live a thousand lives if you sell. You’ll still be rich enough to do so if you stay in the game. The only difference is, you lose your legacy if you go with the former.”
Scrutinizing you, Logan dipped his head and took a sip of champagne. “Mmh, wise words, sure. Not your opinion, though. Not what I asked for. Those are just facts we all fuckin’ know. Bah—don’t waste my time. Fucking useless. Leeching off of me while your parents are parading in a nameless exotic country, drinking their brains into toxic liquid that leaks out of their ears.”
Shame curled within your stomach, and a blistering flush spidered through your skin. You could feel all eyes on you, including Roman’s. You were no stranger to Logan’s verbal abuse, but it’d been a long time since he brought up your parents' and their neglectful nature. The wounds were reopened, and stung much worse than you remembered.
Drumming her fingers against the table, Shiv said, “Dad, I think it’s possible that you’ve somewhat chilled the atmosphere of free-flowing debate here.”
“You know, Kodak was trading at about a hundred dollars a share back in ‘97. Yesterday, you could pick it up for about three bucks. That could be us. If we cash out, we could walk away with ten billion.” Logan glanced at his youngest son, noticing how he’d shuffled his chair closer to you. “Roman. What do you think?”
Swallowing, Roman shrugged. “I dunno, Dad. I fuckin’ love money, but I’m really scared of you, so…” He made a high-pitched noise, barely passable as a laugh. “Yeah, uhm, honestly—I’m not sure I’m willing to give my strategic advice in a public forum when I could just be a, uh, a player in any future moves.”
There was obvious exasperation in Logan’s eyes. Disappointments, the lot of you were in his eyes. Without another word, Logan stood up and began to hobble out of the dining room, pizza left untouched. 
“Uhm, Dad?” Roman called out after him, confused. 
He didn’t respond.
Roman patted your back twice before getting up as well, following after his father. Shiv was hot on his heels.
One by one, Logan had told them through the door he had closed behind him. He wanted his kids to come in one by one, alone, so that he could have their unfiltered opinion.
Roman went in first, but not before squeezing your hand, and slipping through. When he emerged only ten minutes later, his face was despondent. But his lips were twitching upwards, and you could immediately tell that he was just faking it.
“He’s dying,” he joked with faux anguish. “Riddled with cancer.”
The way Shiv’s brows kinked told him that she didn’t find it all that funny. “Rome.”
“What? It’s a joke. It’s funny. Dad’s got cancer. What’s not funny about that?” You patted his back and nudged him over to the couches, where Connor and Willa were sitting.
The eldest son rolled his eyes. “Sick puppy,” he called Roman.
“No, but seriously, he asked me to run the company.” Dead silence. “I’m kidding. Or am I?”
It was then that Logan called for Shiv to go in. You took Roman’s arm, leading him off into another room, where it was quieter.
“Hope you’re not planning on molesting me back here,” Roman languidly commented, but didn’t fight off your grip. “Nobody would believe me after what I said about Dad—I’d be like the boy who cried wolf.”
“Rome,” you said, partially exasperated, partially somber. “What did he say back there?”
The man across from you scratched at the back of his head. “Honestly? Nothing.”
“Hm?”
“I mean—I explained to him that it’d be smart to sell some shit, keep some shit. Financialize the company. I don’t know. Couldn’t really gauge his reaction—then he just said okay and told me I could go.” Your friend rested his hands on his hips. “Do you think that was smart? Do you, uhm, think he thinks that was stupid?”
It took you another moment to shake your head tentatively. “I think you did the best you could, given the ultimatum. Besides—you wouldn’t really want to run this shitshow, would you?”
He stepped back in an affronted manner. “What do you mean? You don’t think I can do it?”
“It’s not a matter of whether or not you can do it, Ro. It’s about if you want to or not. And I know you wouldn’t. It’s not… it’s not you. You’ve always said the company was like a cage for you.”
The way Roman squared his shoulders told you that he was growing defensive. “Yeah, well, it’s like a fuckin’—a good fuckin’ golden cage. An amazing cage. A cage where I can roll around and throw shit at people. I’d like to stay here for the rest of my life.”
“Do you? Really?”
“What, is this some kind of reverse psychology bullshit Dad put you up to? Just—” He stepped back when you reached out for him. “Fuck off.”
With a huff, you shook your head. “Roman, you need to pull your head out of your fucking ass and realize that I’m the only friend you have. If you can’t trust me, you’re fucked.”
There was a tense beat of silence between you.
Then, he narrowed his eyes on you. “If you stab my back, I’m going to kill you, then throw myself off the highest building I can find. It’ll be like a Shakespearean tragedy.”
“Okay, Rome.”
“I’ll put your head on a spike. Keep it as decoration.”
Slowly, he let you wrap your arms around him. “Okay, Romeo.”
“I’ll pluck your teeth out and wear them around my neck like a string of pearls.”
“Love you, too, Ro,” you said, hugging him tight.
“Yeah, whatever, fuck-face.” He buried his nose into your neck, inhaling sharply. “I knew you were going to molest me.”
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The family reconvened later that night, where Logan announced that he decided he was going to keep the company, claiming his ambitions to be the last man standing. Then, he pronounced Roman and Kendall as co-chief operating officers, much to everyone’s dismay.
“We need to stick tight—tighter than ever now,” Logan defended when Roman began to protest. 
“But he—no. No, I’m sorry. Excuse me? He… he tried to help your oldest enemy to take over and now he’s getting a fucking promotion? Is that what’s happening?” Rome asked from beside you, arms crossed over his chest. 
The old man nodded. “That’s my decision.”
“Well, it’s bullshit,” Roman declared.
Quiet settled over the group. 
Like a dog being kicked, Roman withered away beneath his father’s contemptuous stare. You put a hand on his shoulder. 
“And you’re going to name a successor?” Connor asked.
“After some consideration, I think we just need a name to flag privately to big investors for now. I mean, it could be anyone. I’m not going anywhere. Could be a stuffed fuckin’ shirt. Could be Y/N, for all I know.”
Did he just compare you to a stuffed shirt—?
“Gerri,” said Logan. “It could be Gerri. We might as well say it’s Gerri.”
With a quirked brow, Shiv said, “Congratulations.”
Her godmother tilted her head and shifted in her seat. “Wow. Okay. Thank you.”
“It won’t be Gerri,” Logan rudely clarified. “But Gerri’s fine. Just so we’re clear.”
She was an expert at hiding her disdain, clearing her throat slightly. “No, yeah, I think we’re very clear.”
With that, Logan dismissed himself, calling for Kendall to follow after him. His number one boy.
It was clear that Roman was still upset. He pulled away from you to go sulk about to his sister.
That night, when the moon shone brighter in the Roy’s summer home than it ever did in the city, and you were buried under a thick blanket, you felt the mattress dip beneath another person’s weight. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know it was Roman.
“Shut up,” he gruffed when you smiled ever so slightly, even though you hadn’t said anything.
You hummed pleasantly when he curled his arms around your form like a koala would a tree. The two of you fell asleep that way, breathing each other in and dreaming of necklaces made of teeth.
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The acquisition to take on PGM was a bad fucking idea. One of the worst you’ve heard, in fact. When Logan brought it up to you and a few other managers during a meeting, you didn’t hesitate to go bee-lining for Roman’s office, demanding him to tell you every single detail.
“So, you think this is, like, not good?” he asked, voice high-pitched and unstable. Just earlier today, he’d been telling his dad and Shiv what a great idea this was.
“No, Roman. It’s not fucking good. I’m sorry, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the most trustworthy news source in America right now to be adopted into a fuckin’... fascist, right-wing, conservative dick jerking fest!” You drummed your fingers against his table. “Ro, this can’t happen. It could very well tank Waystar, and news media outlets in general. Reliability goes down, money goes down, our rivals go up. The political climate couldn’t handle such a change like this—”
Pulling at his face, Roman shook his head. “Fuckin’ political climate. Everything’s about the political climate these days. Fuck!”
“Roman, I’m being serious,” you said, brows furrowing. 
He sucked in a deep breath. “Fuck. Ugh—fuck! You are… you’re so…” He made an unintelligible noise while shaking his fists at you, nose wrinkling. “You’re right. God. I hate saying that. Feels like I just took a bite out of a rock. But even if you are, I can’t just stab dad in the back like that.”
Shoulders loosening, you nodded in understanding. “What’re you gonna do?”
“Tabitha is friends with Naomi Pierce. I’ll ask her to get me in touch,” Roman said, lips pursed to the side. It didn’t go past your notice that his stance on the Pierce situation was still left ambiguous. 
Your eyebrows raised a fraction. “Tabitha? You guys still going steady?”
“Uh-huh. Yup. Never better,” he replied, a tad too quickly.
“Really?” you asked. To none of his surprise, you read him like an open book. “You must really like her.”
“Mhm.”
“But not like-like her?”
Roman clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth in distaste. “What are you, nine?”
“You didn’t say yes,” you said in a sing-song voice. Then, you sobered up to seriously tell him, “Oh, Ro, she’s a great catch, sure, but if you don’t have romantic feelings for her, then don’t string her along like that.”
Rolling his eyes to the side, Roman tried his best to sidestep the topic. “It’s none of your beeswax, you prick. Anyways—you’re coming to Hungary, right? Corporate retreat and all that jazz.”
You didn’t feel like the conversation about Tabitha was quite over, but you let it slide for now. “Yes, Roman. Not really looking forward to it, now that I have to deal with an entire acquisition worth billions hovering over me.”
“Just relax for now—it’s not concrete, even if dad says it is.” Roman stood up from his desk to go pour himself a drink. “I’ll save you a spot on the plane. Next to me, if I’m feeling nice. Next to Greg if I want to be entertained by watching you kill yourself in front of him.”
“Thanks, Romeo,” you dryly said.
“You’re welcome. Okay, you can go away now. I wanna jerk off in front of the window without you watching this time. If you stay, I’ll fuck you against it, and that’d be my one-way ticket to a stern finger-wagging by HR.”
With a snort, you got up from your chair, heading for the door. You couldn’t help the way your cheeks burst aflame at his words, even though you knew it was just light-hearted banter. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, you fuckin’ slut.”
“Bitch,” he shot back, just as you stepped foot out of his office. 
“Whore!” you yelled over your shoulder, loud enough to have a few employees turn their head curiously. 
Roman watched you go through the glass windows, shaking his head with fond amusement.
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The estate in Hungary was surrounded by forests and clean air—a stark contrast to New York. You were walking alongside Roman down to the hunting grounds, hands shoved into the pockets of your jacket. The rifle slung across his shoulder kept bumping into you, and you would push him away with a mild grin each time it did. He wasn’t very good at walking straight, eventually colliding into you mere minutes later.
The amicable atmosphere was effectively killed when Kendall approached the two of you, solemn-faced as ever. 
“Hey, guys,” he greeted in a monotone voice. “Listen, I have a question.”
Both of you stared at him, waiting for him to go on.
After an awfully lengthy pause he continued, “So, uh, did you guys get a call from that biographer?”
Right. You’d been in the middle of discussing with Tom how he’d landed a top position at ATN when your phone began to ring. You politely excused yourself to take the call, surprised to hear a woman claiming to write an unauthorized biography on your godfather—and she wanted you as a source. Though you had many opinions on a man, you knew that voicing them would be nothing but trouble for you.
Roman rolled his eyes. “I mean, yeah, obviously. I’m the interesting one, after all.”
When you laughed, Roman grinned along with you. 
“I got a call, too,” you admitted. “Did you?”
Tilting his head into a nod, Kendall mumbled, “Yeah. I did.”
“Well? Are you thinking of talking to her?” asked Roman.
“I don’t know,” Kendall said. “Maybe. You guys?”
“No… but if you’re going to talk to her, then I guess I have to talk to her, too. Just to correct your bullshit,” Roman responded.
Two seconds of silence before you huffed out a sigh. “It's a messy business that I don’t want to involve myself in. If Logan finds out, which I’m sure he will, I’m not going to let myself be killed because of it.”
The two started talking about Pierce. Both of them sounded so awfully fake about the entire ordeal that you wanted to bash their heads together and force them not to speak through a brown nosing filter. Their conversation came to a halt when Roman’s phone began to ring, and he stepped away to answer privately, much to Kendall’s chagrin.
“Hey, Kendall,” you broached, rocking your weight back and forth on your heels. “If you talk to that writer, Logan won’t be as forgiving to you this time. He’ll slit your throat in front of everyone to see.”
The man who you onced looked up to as an older brother stared at you with a dead expression. “I know,” was all he said. 
Once Roman came ambling back, Kendall began to interrogate him about the call. Defensive, Roman lied—you knew he was. He had an obvious tell: the way his nose would twitch and his left eye went all squinty. The older brother told him he was full of shit.
Before they could break out in another argument, a Hungarian hunter came up to the three of you, claiming that the truck was ready to take them out into the wilderness. 
“Let’s go murder a terrified mammal,” quipped Roman, taking your hand and leading you away from Kendall.
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The hunting party returned to the estate with four boars. You took no part in the killings, having stayed in the truck to speak to Gerri on the phone. Apparently, she had very strong doubts about adopting PGM, and wanted to know if you felt the same. You were Logan’s family, she had said, and he listened to family more than his own general counsel. 
You told her you would if you could, but Logan was adamant on taking on PGM. No amount of needless peddling would sway his mind. 
Hours later, when the sky was dark and the table was laid out with all sorts of fruits and glasses of spiced wines, everybody was seated for dinner. You sat between Roman and Gerri, speaking to both of them in hushed whispers about nothing quite important.
The amicable atmosphere was shattered when Logan stood up to address everybody. 
“Someone has spoken to Michelle Pantsil.” The biographer. 
Both you and Roman glanced at each other, knowing that it was neither of you. Was it possibly Kendall? Had he been lying to the both of you again? Or had it been someone else? Tom? Greg? Gerri? Frank?
“We’ve got rats on this ship,” continued your godfather, rounding behind people’s chairs in a menacing, domineering manner. “And Pierce—who’s got my back, hm? Who’s really behind me? Anyone wanna own up? Hm? Anyone want to rat out a rat?”
Ah. So it seemed Pierce knew of Logan’s moves now. You didn’t dare chance a glance at Roman, knowing it was him who had told Naomi.
Logan began to sharply question a few people at the table, demanding to know if they had anything they wanted to say to him. It shocked you even further when he barked out an order for everyone to put their phones on the table—both company and private.
“Is that really necessary?” asked Gerri. “I’m not even sure if that’s legal to demand people to—”
“Yeah, well, we’re getting down to brass fucking tacks,” spat Logan, eyeing everybody darkly. You did as he said, placing both of your devices onto the table—you had nothing to hide. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Roman slipping his phone beneath his leg.
When he caught your gaze, his head dipped forward a bit and his eyebrows pulled together. Shut up, his eyes seemed to tell you. Even without verbalizing it, he still somehow managed to be rude to you.
You narrowed them back at him, wordlessly telling him not to worry.
“Karl, do you like the Pierce deal?” Logan queried.
“I do. Yes, I do. Yes, yeah.”
With a dry chuckle, Logan shook his head. “Bullshit. Boar on the floor.”
The two men began their back and forth—Logan commanding Karl to stand in the corner whilst the former sputtered out indignant protests. It was embarrassing and humiliating, and he was going to do it all anyway.
“Tom.”
“Me? Uh, Pierce?”
“Yes,” said an exasperated Logan.
Clearing his throat, Tom hesitantly said, “Well, there’s a lot of factors, but uhm, yes. Personally, I like it. I do.”
“Boar on the fucking floor, over there,” gruffed your godfather, pointing over to where Karl stood. 
With no protest, Tom pushed away from the table and slunk off. 
“Gerri! Stand up! Tell me about Pierce.” 
Her gaze stayed on her untouched plate as she got onto her feet. “Well, to be perfectly honest with you… I’ve, uhm, I’ve had a few doubts.”
“Honesty,” Logan finally said. “You see, everybody? Do you see? Honesty. Greg, stand up! Did you get any orders from my brother? The fucking Conscience of the Prairies?”
Everybody watched as Greg stammered out a near incoherent response. He was sent off to stand next to Tom and Karl, as well. This seemed to be Roman’s breaking point, because he burst into a fit of giggles.
“Roman!” barked his father. 
This brought him back to sobriety. “I like it, Dad, for real—”
“Stand the fuck up!”
With a bitter murmur beneath his breath, Roman got up to his feet. With discreet motions, you silently swiped the phone from his chair and placed it beneath your leg so it wouldn’t be seen by his father. 
Desperate to divert the attention away from him, Roman said, “Kendall took a call from the biographer.”
Logan rested his hands upon Kendall’s shoulders, which made Roman bristle even harder. His older brother droned out, “We all got a call, Rome. Y/N, too.”
“Okay, yes, but you—you seemed like you actually wanted to talk to her.”
“To smoke you out for Dad.”
Roman’s nose wrinkled. “What? Fuck you! Why’d you get to smoke me out? I was smokin’ you out!”
As you watched Logan’s fingers curl into Kendall’s shirt, you couldn’t help but think of him as a meat puppet of sorts. So damaged and broken and directionless, ready to heed every single one of his father’s words. 
“Why don’t you tell us about your mystery call?” 
“Oh, the phone call?” Roman propped a hand on his hip, risking a glance at you. Then, he violently began to scratch at the back of his head. “Yeah, sure, it was Frank. He meant to call you, he wants to know if the plan to overthrow Dad is still happening. ”
Finally pulling away from Kendall, Logan’s voice rang out across the room like a slap to the face. “Someone spiked Pierce. Which one of you boars did it?”
He yelled for the three men in the corner to get down on their knees, claiming it was a game. Your godfather, now more of a monster than a man, called for everyone to get up and cheer, “Boar on the floor!” as Tom, Greg, and Karl scrambled about to eat a sausage that was tossed to them in order to prove their loyalty. He demanded they oink and squeal like real piggies would.
It was cruel and animalistic. And Roman was filming with his personal phone, a sadistic smile on his face. 
You would’ve berated him for it, if not for Kendall cornering you against the wall when everybody else was distracted by the Boar on the Floor spectacle. 
“I know you took Roman’s phone. I saw you,” he said, eyes flickering down to your pockets, where you had hidden away the mobile.
“Fuck off, Kendall,” you responded with a daggered edge. “You touch me, and I’ll bite your fucking head off.”
“I thought you were smarter than this,” he told you. “Defending my brother—do you know how many times he’s fucked you over? How many times he’ll keep fucking you over?”
Curling your upper lip in contempt, you spat out, “Get the fuck away from me, Kendall. What’s wrong with you?”
Suddenly, his hand shot out to grab Roman’s company phone from your pocket, prompting you to shove at him, trying to grab the phone back. The commotion caught the attention of everyone else, Roman included. 
He was quick to step forward, pulling you away from his brother so he could try to yank the device away himself. 
“What the fuck? Give me my fucking phone back, asshole!”
“What are you hiding? What’s the code?”
“Are you fucking serious? My code is, uhm, fuck you—”
The two of them began to tussle, arguing indistinctly as they pulled at each other’s hair and limbs. You stepped back, burying your face in your hands in utter exhaustion. 
When Kendall locked Roman in a chokehold, Roman finally keyed in his PIN, shoving his older brother away with a labored breath. 
“Okay, you got it! You fuckin’ happy? There’s nothing in there. Now give it back—give me my fucking phone!” When he began advancing on his brother again, Colin stepped in to keep him at bay. “What, are you going to touch me, too? Grab my fucking balls—I will drop you, you cocksucker!”
Finally, Kendall opened up Roman’s call history, not at all to see Naomi Pierce at the very top. He didn’t hesitate to tell his father.
“Dad, it was Roman. Roman talked to Pierce.”
Panic weaving through his tone, Roman shook his head. “Dad—I didn’t… I didn’t betray you.”
“Then what’s this call from today?” asked Kendall, holding up the phone. “Why are you talking to her?”
For a moment, Roman’s eyes flickered over to you. “Come on, man. I wasn’t trying to fuck the deal. I was trying to land the deal. I was trying to help—I thought it would be a… a nice surprise.”
His words struck you across the face like a slap. Roman had told you that you were right—that acquiring PGM was a terrible idea. You’d thought he was on your side. And now—it seemed like he was doing it all for his father’s favor. The best of both worlds, blew right up in his face.
“Roman,” began Logan, “you’re a moron.”
Crackling silence.
Kendall cleared his throat. “Boar on the floor?”
Having enough of him, you snapped, “Shut the fuck up, Kendall.”
“Y/N was helping him,” said Kendall. “Tried hiding his phone from the table.”
Logan swung his heated, intense gaze onto you. It took all you had within you not to flinch away. 
“I didn’t know what Roman was doing. I just didn’t want to get him in trouble.”
Your godfather shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “How sweet,” he spat. “The two of you are perfect for each other. Fucking morons!”
“Dad,” said Roman, voice warbling. “I am not a moron. She isn’t, either. Y/N, tell him—tell him why you thought PGM was a bad idea.”
Everybody’s eyes were on you. Suddenly, your throat went dry, and all words flew out of your vocabulary. You shook your head, a defeated sigh falling from your lips. Roman’s shoulders drooped with the weight of shame and loss.
“How much is a gallon of milk?” Logan suddenly asked his youngest son, advancing on him until he withered beneath his father’s glare. 
“What?”
“How much is a gallon of fucking milk?”
Confused beyond his mind, Roman said, “I don’t know. I mean, who the fuck knows, Dad? Literally nobody knows! Who gives a shit?”
“Greg! How much is a gallon of milk?”
The lanky man stammered out, “Uh, I mean, like, regular milk, or—?”
Burying his face into his hands, not unlike you had done earlier, Logan sighed out, “I am surrounded by snakes and fucking morons! You’re a bunch of silk-stocking fucks! Who backs me on Pierce, huh? Who?”
When he was met by silence, Kendall answered in everyone’s stead.
“None of them do, Dad. They’re all against it. Karl’s lying, Tom’s lying, Gerri’s playing both sides, Y/N is very clearly against what you’re doing.”
Hot shame curled within your gut. Though you were steadfast in your beliefs against taking PGM, disappointing your father figure was never a pleasant sensation, no matter how terrible he was.
“Uncle Logan, I’m sorry—” you began, but he was quick to shut you down.
“Don’t go sucking my dick now, girl. It’s too fucking late. You’re lucky your brainless parents are major shareholders, or I would’ve fired you a dozen times by now. Do you know that? How fucking worthless you are?”
Tears pricked the corner of your eyes. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, training your gaze onto the ground. 
“Here’s the news,” Logan said, addressing the entire group now. “We are going after it. And what’s more… I will win.”
With that, he stormed off, disappearing somewhere in the vast house. 
“Hey,” Roman tried to speak to you, but you maneuvered away, disappearing up some stairs, where your room was waiting for you.
It took a lot of indecisive thought, but you left the door unlocked.
To none of your surprise, Roman came crawling into your room when everybody was asleep. He slipped into the empty spot beside you, slurring out a litany of nonsensical apologies mixed in with how much of an asshole Kendall was.
“You’re drunk,” you whispered, pushing his face away. You hadn’t the heart to be angry at him. Not this late at night. Not when he was just as upset as you were about what had transpired during dinner. “Go to sleep, Rome.”
“Give me a kiss g’night. And tell me you forgive me.”
“Ro—”
“Just—just fucking do it! Don’t ask me stupid questions.”
Shifting in the bed, you leaned forward to press light kisses to both his fluttering eyelids. “We’re good, Romeo. I don’t know. I’m mad at you, but not as much as I’m mad at Kendall and your dad. I’m your only friend, remember? I love you, asshole.”
“Yeah. Shut up.” His hands curled over your waist and pulled you close. “Say that again.”
There was a laugh in your voice. “What? That I’m your only friend?”
He prodded your side with a stiff finger. “The fuckin’... the love thing.”
A part of you contemplated telling him to fuck off. But the wide, warbling brown of his irises told you that he was desperate to hear it. Desperate for any crumb of affection he was offered. “Mhm. I love you, Ro. I do. Now go to sleep.”
He lazily blinked at you, as if he was a cat. “Don’t be mad if I puke all over you.”
“I won’t be mad.”
“I’d be mad if you puked all over me. Why wouldn’t you be mad at me?”
“Go to sleep, Rome.”
“Night. You smell good, you know? Like if a unicorn had sex with a bouquet of flowers.” Without warning, he sank his teeth into your neck, and you had to physically pry his teeth from your skin to keep him from using you like a chew toy.
Muffling a yawn, you murmured, “Go to sleep before I euthanize you.”
It took him another hour to finally drift off, but when he did, the two of you slept better than you had in months.
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Roman was terribly hungover the next morning. Headaches and droopy lids, barely registering your voice telling him to get up. When he finally rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he noticed that you were already dressed for the day, having gotten ready while he was passed out. 
“Everyone’s waiting for you, Ro,” you gently told him, brushing his hair out of his face and then taking his hands to tug him off the bed. “Go wash up. Come on, stinker.”
He let you push him around, handing him the toothbrush and a cup of water to drink once he was done washing up. You turned to give him some privacy to change, but his fingers just couldn’t seem to button his buttons right.
“These fuckin’ things—like they’re made of soap or something—”
With a light sigh, you rotated back around. “Come here, you big baby.” You straightened out his collar before slipping the buttons through their respective holes with ease. 
“Dad’s killing me. He’s cutting my fucking balls off.”
You watched him with a sympathetic gaze. “He won’t do that. He doesn’t see you as a threat.”
“That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
“I wasn’t trying to compliment you.”
Roman watched as you fastened together the last button for him, but you didn’t step away, staying close by him.
“If I was capable of any sudden movement, I would totally pounce on you right now. I like your shirt—is that a new shirt?”
“I’ve had it for four years,” you deadpanned.
“Hm. Old shirt. You should throw it out.” To his relief, you smiled at him.
Patting his cheek once, you asked, “Are you okay? How are you holding up?”
“I don’t know. I’m fucking terrible. But I should be asking you the same. Dad took a beating on the both of us.”
Memories of last night made your nose wrinkle in distaste. 
“I think everyone was just… caught up in the heat of the moment. I don’t think your dad meant everything he said.” He did, you knew he did.
Shaking his head, Roman slunk away to go put on his shoes. “He thinks I’m a moron. The worst of his seed, or whatever the fuck. How am I supposed to get him to take me seriously? Grow a mustache and read the Journal? I’ll fucking do it.”
“Don’t grow a mustache. You’ll look like you came straight out of a shitty European porno.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Ignoring him, you sat down beside the disorderly man, pulling on your own dress shoes and knotting together the laces, before helping him tie his, because his fingers suddenly decided not to work this morning. “Gerri told me I should convince you to go to management training. Because, you know—tada. Your only friend is one of the company’s head managers. Lucky you.”
“What, she and Dad want you to be my teacher? Sounds like a sexual fantasy to me.”
“It probably won’t be me. Might be a lower-level manager. But I’d come to visit! Get you in the spirit of things.”
Roman snorted. “Ugh. I don’t want to go back to classes. I’ll kill myself.”
“Don’t be dramatic. Let’s at least have some breakfast first.”
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A week later, Roman was enrolled into the management training program, much to Gerri’s relief. She’d thanked you for convincing him, and you told her that it barely took any effort at all. Really, he just wanted to become better in his Dad’s eyes.
You were swamped with work as usual, occasionally checking your phone to see a long strings of texts from Roman, complaining and whining about the torture they were putting him through (they made him watch a video about ethical conduct in a workplace). 
When Roman called you the first time, you declined because you were in a meeting. You declined the second time as well, because you really had to concentrate on filling out important documents. By the time your phone rang again, you were in between tasks, and picked up with a grouchy, “What, Roman?”
“Yowza, who put that stick up your ass?” his voice came through. His high pitched laughter followed. “It’s fucking hell here. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Sorry,” you replied, pinching your brows. “It’s been terrible up here, too. I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate. This acquisition really isn’t helping.”
“Are you coming?” he asked.
Blinking, you shifted the phone in your palm. “Coming where? To your training?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Mmh, I’m sorry, Ro. I really would, but I’m just up to my head with work. But I’m proud of you! Really, I am.”
“Oh, you are? Fuck you,” he snapped.
You took no offense to his bitterness. “Fuck you back. This is good, what you’re doing, Romeo.”
“Yeah, I know—I’m gonna grow up to be a real little boy and learn the price of an egg, and do… phone sex with my girlfriend like a normo.”
Laughing, you knocked your head back with a grin. “Y’know, phone sex is more kinky than anything. If you wanna be normal, you look her in the eyes during missionary sex and tell her you love her.”
“Pfft. Yeah, right. Do people actually do that? That sounds disgusting.”
“Yes, people actually do that. Have you ever considered that you’re the disgusting one?”
“Don’t be mean, this is my first day of training, you bitch.”
From his tone, you could tell he was smiling, too.
“Seems like you’ve been complaining to me more than actually paying attention.”
“I can’t help it. The videos are too fucking long. It’s like trying to teach Beethoven how to play hot cross buns on the piano.”
You laughed, and Roman felt a certain warmth pool in his chest.
“You can do it, Ro. I believe in you.”
“Thanks, mommy,” he teasingly replied. 
Your phone began to buzz with another call. “Ah—sorry, Rome, I gotta go. See you later, okay?”
Before he could say his grumpy goodbyes, you’d already hung up. To your surprise, your screen displayed the called ID of your godfather. Your palms suddenly grew clammy.
When you answered, his voice was soft and amicable—a stark contrast to what it was like in Hungary.
“Hello, dear. Hope you’re well.”
The rest of the call went surprisingly fine. Logan wanted you to go over to his office to run through some analytics and, apparently, he wanted to apologize to you in person. Mend the broken bridges, he had said. You weren’t entirely sure if there was another game he was playing at, but you couldn’t say no to him. He was your top boss, after all.
Just as you slipped through the glass doors with a hesitant smile, a loud bang sounded from somewhere on the floor. You flinched, eyes widening. 
A gunshot.
Terror wrapped its dark hands around you when security guards quickly took you by the arm, guiding you around bends and corners, before finally leading you into a panic room. Logan came in behind you, looking mildly distraught.
“Are you okay?” you asked, helping him sit down and giving him a loose hug. 
“Fine, fine. Where’s Siobhan? Kendall?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
When you felt down your pants for your phone, you let out a frustrated sigh when you couldn’t find it anywhere on you. You must’ve dropped it during all the commotion to get to the safe room. You settled into a seat across from Logan, watching the news on the television, your leg bouncing up and down with agitation. 
A few minutes later, Shiv showed up, embracing her dad with a chaste kiss. She gave you a hug as well, cheek pressing against yours. 
“Do you know what’s going on?”
“No, I don’t. Where’s Tom?”
She pulled away to call her husband, and you slumped back into your chair. 
Down on ground level, Roman was still in his training class, watching his partner begin to present his idea for a new ride, when a man burst through the doors, calling out Mr. Roy!
Well, there goes his chance to pretend to be a normo.
“Just in case you get a news alert on your phone, there’s been an incident at ATN.”
Roman’s brows quirked downwards. “Is my dad okay?”
“It’s been suggested that it could be a concerted attack against the family. Do you want us to take you to a more secure location?”
“Yeah, of course I want that—get me the fuck out of here!” The guard began ushering him out of the class, down the hall to a more ‘secure’ space, which was clearly just an inventory room. “So, uh, does an attack against the family include, like, godchildren, too? Or just, uh, direct blood-related shit?”
“I don’t know yet, sir. All we know so far is that there was a gunshot in the building.”
Panic began to settle in Roman’s chest. He fished out his phone from his pants and called you. No answer.
He texted you, over and over again.
Hey Fuckface You heard about this shooting bullshit? I thought they only went for schools nowadays. Answer me Bitch Right fucking now Can you pick up? Hello  Helloooooooooo 🖕 Hahaha funny joke! Now fucking pick up
It didn’t quite occur to Roman that he should probably call his siblings just yet. He was far too caught up with the idea of you lying on the ground somewhere, bleeding out to death. Certainly not a pleasant thought.
He called you again, and nearly threw his phone across the inventory—safe room when you didn’t pick up.
What the fuck Please answer me it’s not funny anymore If you’re dead I’ll kill you I’m being serious Hello? Please answer You can’t be dead it’s literally not possible
He called a third time, and there was no response. Growing increasingly worried, Roman finally called his twin sister, who responded after the second ring.
“Hey, Rome. You okay?”
“Yeah, whatever. Is Y/N okay?” he hurriedly asked, itching at the back of his neck.
“She’s fine. Here with me in the safe room. I’m fine too, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
“Fuck off, just put me on the phone with her!” 
A second later, your voice came through, and Roman nearly melted onto the floor in relief.
“Hello? Rome? Are you okay?”
“You fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought you were fucking dead! Why didn’t you answer any of my texts?”
If not for the situation at hand, you would’ve laughed at how worked up he sounded. “I lost my phone when the gunshot sounded out. Sorry, Ro. It happened so quickly. They’re saying it was a suicide. But I’m not really sure—Gerri’s filling me in.”
“So you’re, like, okay? Actually okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Ugh, fuck you. Go to hell!” he barked into the phone, right before hanging up. 
You stood, still stunned, handing Shiv’s phone back to her with a quiet word of thanks. 
Curled up in the corner of the inventory room, Roman found out that he and Brian had won for best pitch for a ride in the class. He smiled a little, then followed out after his partner to make sure that he wasn’t fibbing.
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“I slaughtered them, you know? Everyone in that fucking training class grovels at my feet now,” Roman told Tabitha on the phone. “They’re jealous! And that’s all there is to it. Anyways, um, how are you?”
“Good!” she told him. “I’m about to get in the bath.”
“Oh, yeah?” Roman took a long pause. “Uh, y’know, Y/N told me that phone sex is kinda… kinky. You wanna…?”
On the other side of the line, Tabitha smiled, putting her phone on speaker. “Mmh, alright. I’m making the bath real sudsy.”
“Is that because you’re dirty?”
“I am. I’m a dirty, dirty girl.”
“Yeah, you are. And I would love to fuck you.”
She laughed, light and airy. “I’m so wet for you right now.”
A long pause. Roman winced. “Uh, that’s not… well, you don’t have to be so specific.”
“I’m… being sexy?”
“Yeah, it’s just—could you not do that thing? With your voice? It’s, like, breathy and unnatural.”
Sucking in a frustrated lungful of air, Tabitha shook her head. “That’s what I sound like when I’m turned on, Roman.”
“I know, I just… I don’t like it, so—” He made his way to the bed and laid down. “Let’s just be normal. Let’s be normal. Casual.”
“Normal? Okay, I was just trying to get into it but…”
“No, I’m sorry, yeah, you’re right.” He cleared his throat, trying to lower his voice. “Um, I’m fucking you in the pussy. I’m fucking you hard.”
Tabitha pursed her lips. “Amazing. What are you gonna do next, change your water filter cartridge?”
Rolling his eyes, Roman sighed out, exasperated, “Jesus fucking Christ—oh, look at that, I’m coming! I’m coming! Ah, wow, I came! Thank you! Hooray! Bye.”
Abruptly, he hung up, not unsimilar to what he did to you earlier to you in the day. Guilt suddenly flushed through him—he probably should give you a call. Say he’s sorry.
It only took one ring for you to pick up, and he could tell that you were smiling on the other end. “Hey, Romeo. Didn’t think you had the emotional capacity to talk to me after thinking I was dead.”
Roman rubbed his left eye. “Fuck you. So are you, uh, okay?”
“You already asked me that, Rome.”
“No, like—mentally or whatever. Must’ve been scary. Ooh.” He made a ghost-esque noise, but cringed upon realizing that that probably wasn’t appropriate.
Nonetheless, you scoffed through the phone. “It was jarring, but I’ll be okay. How’d training go?”
“I mean, it’s fuckin’ bullshit but I won the stupid ride pitch thing. They should have it built.”
There was some rustling of sheets. Roman wondered if you were clambering into bed. He wondered what you were wearing. 
“You really think they’ll build you the ride after your first day in management training? Don’t be stupid.”
“I’ve got money. They’ll build whatever I want them to fuckin’ build.”
“You know who you sound like? Like Joffrey Baratheon, from that show I made you watch. The one you never paid attention to unless there was a pair of tits on screen. Spoiled little shits, the both of you.” 
With an affronted gasp, he said, “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m technically your boss.”
You giggled. “Don’t pull the boss card on me, Roman. You’ve slept in my bed more times than in your own. That’s fucking… that’s like power play, right there.”
“Yeah?” Roman could feel a rush of blood go straight to his dick, which began to strain against his pants. “D’you think we’d get in trouble if we ever…”
There was a long moment of silence. Static filled in Roman’s ears.
“If we what, Roman?” you asked, voice quiet. 
Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Roman blurted out, “I tried the fuckin’ normie phone sex with Tabitha.”
“And?”
“She got turned on.”
“Uh, congratulations?”
“I didn’t like it.”
“Oh. Why not? You like your sex dirtier? Wrong?” You began to chuckle, but it tapered away when Roman went silent on the other end of the phone. More rustling blankets. “Oh, fuck, Roman. You’re an idiot, you know that?”
You could hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. 
“What else am I?” His voice was breathy. Whiny, almost.
“This is wrong, Romeo. I can’t… you’re dating Tabitha, remember?”
“Just keep—keep talking.” When his hand wrapped around his hard dick, weeping with pearly precum, Roman wondered if he’d bust his nut right then and there.
After a few seconds of silence, you tentatively continued, “You’re disgusting, Rome. What’s wrong with you? Touching yourself to my voice when your girlfriend was left high and dry for you.”
He began to stroke himself, eyes fluttering shut. A strained moan fell from his lips. Neither of you had ever ventured this into this territory in your relationship before. Sure, sexual jokes were always passed back and forth between the two of you but this was—this was real. Wasn’t it?
“Mmh, I don’t want you to cum yet, Ro.” You clutched the phone close to your ear. 
A choked noise emitted from his throat. “I can’t—I can’t hold it—”
“Hold it.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to cum with you.” More rustling on the other end as you kicked your pants and underwear down, dragging your finger around your clit. 
This seemed to send Roman into another fit of whines—the thought of you fucking yourself on your own fingers to him made his mind go all hazy. 
“Romey, tell me,” you whispered. “Out of all those times we slept in the same bed together—did you ever imagine fucking me while I was asleep? Like a sick little pervert?”
A groan climbed up the back of Roman’s throat. His pace slowed down, trying his best not to cum prematurely. “Yes, all the fucking time. Yes—” His words died on his tongue as he moaned again, and again, and again—
“God, Ro.” You stifled a gasp when you plunged two fingers into your throbbing cunt. It’d been a long while since you’d had the time to touch yourself—it was no surprise that you were already on the brink of an orgasm. “Have you touched yourself to me before? I’m sure you have. You sick fuck.”
The vein in Roman’s forehead popped as he bucked his hips into his fist. “Fuck, yes! Yes, please, Y/N, please—”
“Please, what?” You moaned yourself, grinding into your palm. “You wanna cum, baby? I wanna hear you make a mess of yourself. Like the dirty fucking pervert you are.”
With those words, Roman toppled off the edge, spurts of warm cum dribbling from his throbbing cock, soaking his fist with its sticky mess. He fucked himself through his high, whining with overstimulation at the sound of your own choked sighs.
Breathily, he whimpered, “What else? Please, what else? What would you do if you were here with me?”
“Mmh, if I was there, I’d make you lick your cum off of me. I’d ride your face until you pass out—oh!”
A creak of the bed as you arched your back, crying out his name, cresting over the peak yourself. 
More silence. Labored breaths.
You swallowed heavily, skin glowing with a faint sheen of sweat. The haze of your orgasm was beginning to dissipate, and you were coming back to your own senses. “Fuck—I’m sorry, Ro. I don’t... I don’t think we should’ve done that.”
He blew out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, we shouldn’t have.” His chest rose and fell unevenly. “But it was fucking amazing.”
“It was.” You ran your tongue along your teeth in thought. “I’m gonna go, uhm, clean myself up, Ro. G’night.”
“Mmh. Night.”
“This doesn’t change anything, right? We’re still best friends?”
Roman screwed his lips up to the side. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Totally. BFFs for liferz, or whatever cheesy fucking bullshit you need to hear.”
You scoffed. Things would be okay with the two of you. They always worked out in the end. “See you soon, slut.”
“Hey, Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Romeo.”
“Mmkay, bye, fuck-face.” 
With that, the call ended.
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Weeks later, the Roy family was to spend the weekend with the Pierces at their family estate. You figured the reason why Logan had called you to his office right before the suicide was because he wanted you to come along and play mediator—the Pierces were a rather articulate and fanciful family. According to your godfather, they aligned much more with your and Shiv’s politics than his. It reminded you how you were nothing but a pawn on the chessboard for him to maneuver. 
Regardless, you knew you couldn’t say no. Even though he knew you didn’t support the Pierce acquisition, you were a valuable asset and that could potentially be beneficial for both parties. Besides, the Pierces were a powerful family. Having them as allies would be good for you.
You were lounging on the couch beside Shiv and Tabitha when Roman strode into his father’s house, bowing down dramatically.
“How was summer camp?” she teased her twin. 
“Hm? What’s that? Didn’t catch what you said. I’ve been down in the salt mines for so long with my fellow Johnny Lunchpails, I no longer speak One-Percent,” he said when he bent down to kiss Tab’s cheek.
Snorting, Shiv retorted, “You were slinging candy apples, Rome, not digging the Panama Canal.”
“I’ve seen the world for how it really is, Siobhan, and it has changed me! I’m a kettle corn shoveler, here to show you frilly clit-flickers the truth. Hullo, Y/N. You look lovely.” He patted your cheek thrice, and you swatted his hand away before the fourth. A part of you had been worrying for the past few days about your relationship with Roman. Would things change after what had happened over the phone? Or was it all just… no big deal?
To your relief, the two of you seemed to be just the same as before. 
“Hey, Rome. Nice to see you’ve been so… humbled. Tell me, if I were to ask you to do my laundry, would you know how?”
Tabitha cracked up at your words and she nudged at your knee humorously. 
Roman rolled his eyes, muttering something about how he wouldn’t want to touch your tighty whities anyway, and scuttled off to greet Marcia and Connor. Only then did Logan come in, Kendall in tow. His little meat puppet.
“Alright. Cars are waiting—but first, some announcements. Frank, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Logan’s right-hand man stepped forward to address the group. “As you all know, the good news is that the Pierces are entertaining our offer, but bad news—they’re inquiring about your moral character, hence this weekend.”
“They want to look us in the teeth,” gruffed Logan.
Frank nodded. “Right. They want our 24 billion, but they also want to be able to ensure the integrity of their news outlets into the future.”
“Mmh, to ensure everything goes smoothly, we’ve prepared a few do’s and don’ts for the weekend,” said Gerri, pointedly staring at Roman. “Topics to stay clear of: Ravenhead, ATN, Israel, Brightstar, and the Cruise’s rumor mill. Steer onto: gossip, investments, art, movies, literature… tittle-tattle. Wider cultural interests.”
“Oh, and two drinks maximum,” Frank added. “They’re not big drinkers.”
Tilting his head, Roman drawled, “That’s okay. Nobody here has any glaring substance abuse issues that almost brought down the company, right?” He lolled his head over to Kendall, shooting him a wink.
Logan went through a few more details about Tom and ATN and Rhea, which certainly raised a few apprehensions. 
“Thanks for all your help,” said Logan. For a moment, his eyes landed on you. You wondered if he had considered that you’d purposefully sabotage this weekend to stop the deal from going through. Or maybe he knew you were his loyal lapdog, no matter how far he kicked you. Or maybe he simply wanted you there for diversity points. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “We need this. Bagging Pierce is the key to our proxy defense. And the defense is life itself. See you at Plymouth Rock.”
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Once the helicopters landed onto Pierce's land and everyone was filed out into the vast green fields, Logan turned to his group and gestured for them to smile. He’d even gone out of his way to brush a stray piece of lint off of your coat for you whilst passing by. 
“I am smiling!” Roman haughtily protested when his father gave him a pointed glare.
“Yeah, not like a pervert,” said Shiv.
You grinned, laughing out, “That’s just how he looks, Shiv.”
“Hardee-har-har,” Roman spat out. Then, he watched as Logan linked arms with both Marcia and Shiv. “Wow, Jesus. Look at Papa Smurf. Should I be doing that with you guys?”
Both you and Tabitha glanced at each other, before walking onwards, flat out ignoring Roman. 
The Pierce family was waiting not too far from the helicopters, greeting everyone with apprehensive yet kind smiles. 
The woman who spoke had soft eyes and a round face. Not at all intimidating in stature, but you knew better than to judge a book by its cover. “Welcome to Ternhaven! Our city on the hill. I’m Nan Pierce—it’s nice to meet all of you. I think we’re going to have fun getting a look at all of you, won’t we?”
Both families drew nearer as everybody exchanged polite greetings. You shook hands with about half a dozen people, trying your best to keep up with names and faces. Once at the estate, someone had taken off your coat and offered you a glass of water before you’d even taken three steps inside. 
It was certainly a beautiful home. It felt more lived-in than Logan’s houses, with its abundance of paintings and framed pictures on the walls. The furniture was warmer and cozier—a stark contrast to Logan’s preference for sharp edges and monochrome colors.
Roman came up to your side and pointed at a Latin phrase inscribed into the archway. 
“In veritate triumpho,” he read aloud. “This wine is triumphant? No—your vagina trumpets!”
Passing by, Gerri sharply hushed him just as your shoulders began to shake with mirth.
“I triumph in the truth,” you told him. 
“Honesty is the best policy around here,” said a dark-haired man, appearing from seemingly nowhere. You heard Roman mutter Jesus H. Christ, beneath his breath, but you discreetly pinched his side before he could say anything else. You faintly recognized the man as Peter Pierce—a cousin of Nan. He’d been overly enthusiastic with his handshake, watching you with gleaming curiosity, complimenting you on your outfit. 
You weren’t blind. You knew attraction when you saw it—and Peter wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it.
“So… where’d you learn Latin?”
“Self taught,” you told him, smiling politely. “I’m not fluent. I just know a few bits and bobs here and there. Tried to learn during my college years.”
Before Peter could respond, Roman motioned gagging. “Barf. I’m gonna go see who Tabs is flirting with. See you nerds later.”
He slipped away, leaving you alone with Peter, much to your chagrin. 
The man was nice enough, sure, but he was being very obvious with the way his gaze lingered a tad too long on your chest. And when it wasn’t there, he was ogling your lips. It was a bit unnerving. 
“I’ve heard a lot about you, you know,” said Peter, arms crossed. 
“And I know next to nothing about you,” you airily responded, trying your best to keep your smile natural, though it proved increasingly difficult with each passing second.
“Well, that can be remedied, no?” he asked. 
You internally cursed at his forwardness. “Sure, yeah. Sounds great.”
And off he chattered, prattling on about his time with his company and what he studied during university, occasionally asking for your experiences as well. You only paid him half a mind, keeping the other occupied with observations of everybody else in the room. How Shiv had somehow managed to insult someone already, how Connor was talking about his presidential campaign with someone who so clearly didn’t agree with his views, and how Roman was guffawing at something Naomi and Tabitha were discussing.
“And what about the tabloids on you?”
“I’m sorry?” you asked, snapping your attention back onto Peter. 
“The tabloids about you and Roman. A lot of them discuss the two of you as a pair.”
Shrugging one of your shoulders, you shook your head. “Those are just baseless rumors.” You thought back to how you and Roman jerked off to each other through the phone. Not baseless at all, it seemed. “Roman and I are friends.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Peter smiled. A part of you felt bad for stringing him along in such a way. He seemed like a nice enough guy, if you didn’t count all the uncomfortable ogling. “I just feel like we have a connection, you know? Do you feel it, too?”
“Mmh. Yeah, I’m feeling it.” You chanced a glance to Roman, who was staring straight at you with an impish grin. He saw right through your little facade—he knew you were miserable, and he was enjoying the shit out of it.
“That’s so good to hear. I knew you were different the moment I set eyes on you.”
“Wow. You really do have a way with words. Edgar Allen Poe up in here,” you joked loosely, trying your best not to sound deadpan. 
“You like Edgar Allen Poe, too? God, you’re like—fricking perfect for me. Excuse my French.” To your horror, Peter reached out to clasp your shoulder, steering you to a more quiet part of the room. “Tell me more about yourself. Things I don’t already know from the tabloids. What was it like growing up around the Roys?”
They were more of your family than your actual parents. They were the bane of your existence. They were everything to you. 
Before you could vocalize any of your thoughts (or, some poor, watered-down rendition of them), Logan shepherded the Waystar side of the group into another room for a short, private talk. You let out a long sigh as soon as you were far away enough from Peter, feeling your muscles loosen up. God, that man really did make you stiff in all the worst ways. 
“I think it’s going pretty well,” Roman said once everyone began filing through the door. “I mean, nobody’s fucked Nan or killed her cat by accident, so I think we’re doing pretty good.”
It seemed Logan didn’t quite agree, because he stormed up to his daughter, angrily demanding, “What the fuck did you say to Mark? Making cracks about his PhD?”
“It was a joke! He laughed.”
Frowning, Logan continued on, “He’s a yes, Shiv. He’s solid. Why are you even bothering him?”
The group began to then argue about Maxim, who Connor was supposed to persuade into the yes territory of the acquisition—which he was clearly failing.
“Cut the horseshit, know your roles!” barked your godfather. “Shiv, I want you on Nan.”
“Okay, Dad, we don’t have to be so schematic,” she protested, but her words went largely ignored.
Logan rounded on Roman, standing beside you. “Romulus. When you laugh, please do it at the same volume as everyone else. We didn’t get you from a hyena farm.”
“Thanks, Pop,” said Roman. You frowned, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.
“The good news is that Nan seems to be spending money in her head—but she could still be swayed by her family, so every cousin counts,” Gerri added.
“Everybody, stay in your lanes. Who’s on Peter?” asked Logan.
“I got it, Dad,” said Kendall.
Quirking a brow, Frank said, “Actually, Peter seems to be rather taken by Y/N. I think it’s a good idea for her to keep him entertained. He’s worried the rest of us are barbarians.”
You crossed your arms uncomfortably, but nodded with a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, uh, sure.”
“Pimp her out, why don’t you,” scoffed Roman. 
“Good. Everyone got their person? Let’s go, people. Stay focused, stay sharp!” barked Logan, and everyone began to pour out of the room at his dismissal. 
Roman clapped a hand on your forearm. “Hey, uh, if Prickly Pete there does anything—” He made an unintelligible noise while pulling a sour face. “You know the drill. Stop, drop, and roll.”
“That’s for a fire, Ro.”
“Yeah, but it’ll freak him out enough to leave you alone.”
You spared him a sarcastic smile, shaking your head. “Great advice. Thanks.”
“No, but seriously—just say you have to go to the bathroom or something. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
“Okay, Sauron,” you chuckled, shoving him away. “Go. Go and use your wily charms to seduce Naomi into making a terrible decision.”
It was his turn to offer you a lopsided grin. “That’s what I’m best at. Influencing women into years of regret.” With a click of his tongue and a wink, he was off.
 When you turned around, Peter was already waiting for you with an expectant expression. Ugh.
This was going to be a long weekend.
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The Pierces were a strange family. Who the fuck recited poetry as grace before dinner? Nonetheless, you clapped with a polite smile once Naomi was done with her little poem. Roman rolled his eyes none too discreetly and you kicked at his leg beneath the table. 
On your other side, Peter didn’t hesitate to dive into yet another lengthy conversation once everybody began eating. 
“I like to have three novels and a memoir going at once,” said the man with a flirtatious smile. “It’s like natural selection.”
You forced a laugh—one that sounded genuine to everyone but the Roys, who knew you well enough by now to know that you weren’t amused at all. 
“Hm. I think it’s rather redundant to pit literature against each other in such a competitive fashion. Art is art is art, no?” you responded, quirking a brow as you forked a portion of salad onto your plate. 
You’d hoped that your comment would deter Peter from talking more, but your challenge seemed to only invigorate him. 
“A bit of healthy competition in a given field never hurt anyone. Pushes people to create better things,” he said, leaning closer to you.
“Mm, well, respectfully, I disagree. I think art—literature, especially—can blossom organically, just for the sake of it. The idea that creativity flourishes under competition is, frankly, just capitalist propaganda,” you said. 
To your dismay, Peter tilted his head and quipped, “Isn’t that a bit ironic, coming from you? Goddaughter of one of the richest men in the world?”
Your eye twitched. Beneath the table, Roman nudged your foot. 
“It doesn’t matter who I am. My point still stands, no?”
“I suppose we can just agree to disagree. I still enjoy reading several pieces at once… maximum efficiency, right?”
Another fake laugh.
To your surprise, Roman swooped into the conversation, “Yeah, I hear you, brother!” he chirped, trying his best to sound like an intellectual normie—he wasn’t doing a very good job, so far.
Peter spared him a glance, which made him lean even closer to you. “Are you a big reader?”
“Me? Oh. Yeah, big time.” No, he wasn’t. Roman couldn’t even remember the last time he picked up a book and read past the first page. 
“Can you recommend anything Oprah isn’t pushing? Any new fiction?”
For a moment, Roman’s panicked eyes met your goading ones. He began to laugh, but cleared his throat when he realized that Peter was genuinely asking. 
“Oh, right, yeah, sure I can… I, uh, rather enjoyed The Electric Circus.” 
“The Electric Circus?” echoed Peter in a rather pretentious manner. “Who’s the author?”
“Oh, uh, shit! Who was it… it was uh, Timothy Lipton. Yup. That’s him.” Roman was a terrible liar. You were getting second-hand embarrassment just listening to him. 
Catching wind of her brother fumbling, Shiv asked, “Yeah? What’s it about, Rome?”
“Uh, it is… about a young man making his way through the world. Except in two different time periods, so it kinda switches back and forth between—uh, yup! And—and the circus part is like, you know, a metaphor.”
Shiv narrowed her eyes. “For what?”
“Ugh. For the anxiety of modern life, Siobhan.” Roman only ever called his sister that when he tried to provoke her, or when he was exasperated with her antics. “Ask Y/N. She read the book. Ask her.”
Incredulous, you swung your gaze from your food to him, brows pulling together.
“You’ve read The Electric Circus?” asked Peter. His phone was in his palms. “I’m not seeing it on Google… Are you sure that’s what it was called?”
You began to fumble with your words, internally cursing Roman for throwing you under the bus, as well. God, he was going to owe you a million favors from now on. 
“See, uhm, it was a private little thing, uh—it hasn’t been published yet, exactly. Roman and I were just, you know, we were given the pages because we, uh, we were thinking of funding the novel ourselves! So, yeah… I don’t know why Roman would go and recommend that to you when it isn’t even available to the public yet.” You spared Peter a sweet smile whilst simultaneously stomping on Roman’s toes beneath the table. He retaliated by pinching your thigh.
“Oh. I see. Maybe when it comes out we can talk about it over a cup of coffee, then.”
Roman snorted. You sent him a half-hearted glare.
“Sure. That’d be great,” you told him before the man-child on your other side could come up with a rude retort.
Thankfully, Peter was quick to move on to another topic. Something about how mediocre the movies have been getting as of late. What an asshole. 
The conversation was cut off not too soon later by the white nationalist elephant in the room, as Rhea had so eloquently put it—ATN. Logan had vehemently denied sharing their fascistic beliefs, though the Pierces were clearly still skeptical of your godfather. Hell, even you were. 
There was more tense silence when Logan was questioned on whether or not Tom would stay on as head of ATN. The matter was never resolved, as he excused himself with a lame excuse of his sick dog having arthritis, pulling Shiv out of the room with him. 
You and Roman exchanged confused looks. 
By the time they came back, Tabitha was telling one of the Pierces about her willingness to help out her friend. “I’m thinking, like, if they can’t have a baby in six months, I’m just going to offer them my womb. Why not, you know? I’m young, I’m hardy.”
“Wow, Tabs, that’s really nice of you,” you told her genuinely, sipping on some water.
“Good for you,” agreed Marnie Pierce. “I had a friend who did that, it was so great—”
And then there Peter went, butting his fat head into the conversation where it was clearly not needed. “Uh, but if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, what about you two?” He gestured to Roman and Tabitha.
The blonde woman chuckled. “Oh, you mean us planning to have a baby? No, we’re not planning for a baby, because that would require us having sex!”
“Woah!” exclaimed Roman. “Hey, now.”
Peter grimaced. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Yes, you did,” said Marnie, and Peter only shrugged sheepishly.
“No, no, no, it’s totally fine, it’s just not our thing,��� Tabitha replied. “We’re kinda like eunuch besties. It works for us.”
Scratching the back of his head, Roman cleared his throat. “She’s joking. Obviously. She’s kidding. We’re actually quite relentless in that regard. Just… fuck city out here.” 
You almost choked on the water you’d been sipping, the memories of a certain call you had with Roman resurfacing to the forefront of your mind. 
“You okay, Y/N?” Peter asked, lightly patting your back. 
“Fine. Just down the wrong pipe,” you winced. “And, you know, the idea of Roman and Tabs going to pound town doesn’t exactly whet my appetite.”
“Oh, don’t be jealous,” said Roman. “It’s unbecoming.”
Before you could snip back, the table fell quiet when Nan Pierce asked who would be taking on the company after Logan. Your godfather purposefully skirted around the topic, evading a solid name entirely.
Then, Shiv made the terrible mistake of announcing herself as the next CEO.
“Wait, uh, what’s happening?” Peter queried.
“Mmh. I think my life just ended,” Roman responded, looking every bit as shocked as you.
More flubbering from both Logan and Shiv. They were fucking themselves over, you could just feel it.
“You know what, maybe this dinner was a little bit premature. Seems like you guys are still working some things out,” said Peter. 
“No, uh, this is just some family hijinks,” Kendall tried to protest.
Marcia leaned in closer to Logan to ask, “Is this true?”
That seemed to be the last straw for him, because he yelled out, “Will you stop?”
More tense silence. Your foot rested over Roman’s, which was bouncing up and down rapidly beneath your heel. His hand rested on your knee, gripping a tad too tight.
“Well. I was just thinking that it’s such a beautiful, clear night out. Mark—would you like to guide us on a little after-dinner stargaze?” Nan asked.
And with that, came the end of the dinner.
“Did you guys know?” Tabitha asked both you and Roman as the three of you pushed away from the table to head outside. 
“No. No, I didn’t,” said Roman, still in shock.
You had a feeling, sure—there was no way it’d be Connor. Not Kendall, because of his recent endeavors with trying to take over the company, along with his substance abuse. It was between Roman and Shiv, and it didn’t take a genius to see that Logan didn’t think his youngest son was all that competent. That left only Shiv, after all.
“I didn’t know,” you simply said. 
The three of you strode out, leaving only Shiv and Logan left in the dining room.
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“Those stars were really nice,” Tabitha said, lounging on the bed as Roman aggressively rummaged through the luggage in search of his toothbrush.
He was growing increasingly agitated about the idea of Shiv taking over the company, channeling his frustrations out on the poor suitcase for not presenting him his toothbrush on a golden pedestal. With a groan and a hand carding through his hair, Roman kicked at its side, sending the bag skidding against the wall.
“Ro,” Tabitha called. “I have a meeting on Monday, and I’d really love to deal with your neuroses and talk about it and everything but, uh, if you’re gonna lose your mind in here, I might just see if Naomi would let me crash in her bed.”
The man pulled on his face. He hummed once, then twice, as if he was deliberating over something.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s fuck.”
A disbelieving smile danced across her face. She thought he was full of shit. “Yeah, totally. We do the sex so well, so that’s a brilliant idea.”
Clenching his jaw, Roman clambered onto the bed. “Alright. Come on. Come here, you hot fucking piece of shit.”
He tried kissing her, but his nose knocked into hers the wrong way, his hand gripped at her shoulder at an awkward angle, and his lips fell onto only the upper corner of her mouth, barely even counting as a kiss. 
“Woah, easy there, wolfman!” She burst into a fit of laughter, and Roman pulled away with a string of insecure apologies, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, which throbbed from the impact. 
“That was awesome,” he bit out, lying face-down on the bed next to her. “I’m so fucking good at this. Sorry.”
“Yeah, you were, like, squeezing my shoulder really fucking hard—”
“Wasn’t that sexy? How I just took you? Bet you orgasmed like five times in a row.” Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to, though? Like actually?”
She smiled. “Mmkay. Do I want to…? Make love?”
He frowned. “Nope. Wow. I just—” A groan and a sigh.
Features softening, Tabitha reached out to rub at Roman’s back. “Hey. I’m not… uninterested in solving you.”
Roman turned to face her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think we can make it, like… I don’t know… wrong?”
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Tabitha was supposed to be dead. Which—and Roman thought this was quite obvious—meant that she wasn’t supposed to be wet. Now, there were a million and one ways for them to have sex and have it be wrong (like how it felt with you, maybe), but he’d suggested for her to play dead because… well, because he didn’t want it to feel like he was having sex with her. 
The very thought of fucking Tabitha didn’t sit quite right with him. He liked her a lot, and she was fucking hot as shit, but Roman just… couldn’t. He just couldn’t! Maybe she was right. Maybe they were better off as eunuch besties.
And so it came as no shock to both parties when the dead woman sex didn’t end up working out. Tabitha murmured that the morgue was closing for the night—and that she’d go wank off in the bathroom with her electric toothbrush as a makeshift vibrator. Roman apologized to her again, and curled up in the middle of the bed.
What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have sex with his girlfriend, like any other fucking person would?
After five minutes of wallowing in his own shame, Roman dragged himself off the bed and did what he knew how to do best: he ran straight to you.
When there was a knock at your door, you were ninety percent sure it was Roman. The other, more terrified, ten percent anxiously wondered if it was Sleazy Pete coming to talk your ear off some more about the latest developments in artificial intelligence. 
To your relief, it was Roman, clad in a loose white shirt and soft, dark pants. 
“Hey, Romeo,” you greeted, pulling him in and glancing out the hallway, making sure nobody was around to see. “Man, am I glad to see you. I was really scared you were somebody else.”
He made a high-pitched, humorous noise, crossing his arms as you softly shut the door closed. “Peter? Oh, no. He’s too high and mighty to come chasing after you so early. He’s the kind to date the same person for ten years, accidentally cum inside one time and knock them up, which then keeps them chained to his side for the rest of his life. You’re good for now.”
“For now?” You were ready to make another quippy retort, when you noticed the way Roman scuffed his bare feet into the carpet, hand scratching at the back of his head. Something was bugging him. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“Huh? Nothing happened. Fuck off.”
Biting at the inside of your cheek, you reached out to him, holding both his hands within yours. “Rome.”
He parroted your name in an equally emphatic manner. 
You sat down on the bed, steering him to sit beside you. “Is this about Shiv?”
Oh. Right. He’d been so caught up with his guilt and shame over Tabitha that he’d momentarily forgotten about that other part of his life that was just majorly fucked over. 
Roman shrugged. “She fucked up bad, huh?”
You laid down, which prompted him to follow you, his head leaning on your shoulder. The two of you stared up at the ceiling together. 
“We all make mistakes. I think your dad probably led her on with a carrot painted with faux gold. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Your long-time friend made a noise of agreement. 
Comfortable silence stretched thinly between the two of you. Roman faintly noticed that your hair was damp—you’d probably taken a shower after the walk. After inhaling sharply, he caught a whiff of your body spray: sweeter than fucking cotton candy and it almost made him want to puke. Key word being almost—Roman rather liked the smell. Especially on you.
“You smell good.”
“Mmh. Thanks.”
You arched your back, bones popping with your movement as you mumbled under your breath sleepily. Something within Roman stirred. 
“I tried to have sex with Tabitha.”
Suddenly, you weren’t all that sleepy anymore. “Oh? How’d it go?”
“I…” Roman winced. Saying it out loud made it sound so much worse, for some reason. “I pretended she was dead.”
“What?” There was a mildly shocked laugh to your tone.
“Consensually!” he vehemently tacked on. “But, you know, she was fuckin’ dripping for me, so… took the experience away, I guess. I don’t know. I like her a lot. I just don’t… I don’t…”
“You don���t want to have sex with her?”
Another shrug. Roman blew out a drawn-out exhale. “Yeah. I dunno.”
“That’s okay, Rome. You don’t need to have sex if you don’t want to, and you shouldn’t feel bad about not wanting it. That’s literally the definition of consent.”
A part of Roman seemed to melt with your words. Your affirmation that there wasn’t something wrong with him (or, at least that one trait of his, he knew there were several other parts of him that you’d consider highly immoral) relieved him more than he’d care to admit.
“Well… I do want it. I just don’t want it with her, maybe?” His voice went all soft yet high-pitched at the end of the question.
Suddenly, you turned your head to him, your nose only a hair’s breadth away from his. 
“Well, Ro,” you began, husky and low, “who would you want it with?”
He didn’t need to say it. You knew already.
“Who do you want to touch you?” you murmured, hand reaching out to skim over his chest, his stomach, grazing over the very top of his pants and toying with the band of his boxers. “Who do you want to make you feel good, Romeo?”
A low whine caught within his throat when you leaned forward to kiss up the column of his throat, nipping at the skin lightly. All of his sanity seemed to fly straight out the window when your hand dipped within his boxer, tugging out his semi-hard cock, languidly stroking along the length. He moaned, chest rumbling with the sound.
Your eyelids hung low as you nosed along his jaw, which strained with how hard he was clenching his teeth. “Mmh, you’re a dirty little pervert, aren’t you? Sneaking away from your girlfriend to rut your pretty cock against me. You’re a mess and I’ve barely even touched you, Rome.”
It’d been so long. So fucking long since someone touched him this way. Since he’d let someone touch him like this. Since he wanted someone to touch him like this. It was all you. Just you, and only you.
And so, it was no wonder that he was nearing his orgasm already, twitching within your grasp as he whined louder. He murmured unintelligibly, pleading for something he didn’t yet know. 
“Can you be a good boy and cum for me?” you susurrated, planting kisses over his jaw, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. You didn’t dare kiss him on the lips—you weren’t quite sure if that would be too far for your peculiar relationship. 
When he came, a loud groan erupted from his throat, which was quickly muffled when you clapped a palm over his mouth, his eyes flew open to meet yours, pupils fully blown, almost eclipsing the molten brown of his irises. You stroked him through his orgasm, murmuring a mixture of degradations and praises all the way.
You pulled back when he began to jerk his hips away with overstimulation, panting against your palm. The sticky spend on your hand glistened beneath the lamp’s warm-hued light, and you brought it up to your face to kitten-lick his cum off his fingers, humming in satisfaction. The sight nearly made Roman pass out. He swallowed hard, propping himself up on the bed on an elbow.
Voice hoarse, he croaked out, “Thanks. Do you, uh… do you need…”
Yes. You wanted it so badly—you wanted him. 
But you knew Roman wasn’t really in the right mindspace to reciprocate anything at the moment. And the guilt that weighed heavy in your stomach would’ve only been worsened if you’d pressured him into anything that he might’ve been uncomfortable with. 
Baby steps. The two of you had been taking baby steps in your relationship ever since you were, well… babies.
“I’m fine, Rome,” you told him, ignoring the drenched throbbing between your thighs and crawling up next to him to lay down. “You can repay me in the future.”
The haze from his orgasm was beginning to clear away. Roman’s nose buried into your sweet-smelling hair. “With, like, a fuckin’ Baskin Robbins coupon or my tongue up your vagina?”
A soft laugh and a shake of your head. “Both sound wonderful,” you told him, curling up into his warmth. A wave of sleepiness overtook you. It’d been a really long day. “Night, Rome.”
“Night, fuck-face.” 
You might’ve simply hallucinated it in your sleep-addled mind, but you could feel a faint brush of lips on your forehead, along with a whisper of thanks. You fell asleep with a smile on your face that night. Roman had taken a picture (with the flash on, which made for quite unflattering lighting) and sent it to you the next morning, giggling his amusing hyena-giggle while the two of you were in the bathroom—with you brushing your teeth and him perched up on the toilet seat lid. It was a tender moment of picturesque domesticism—a life that didn’t quite seem right for the two of you, unless it was with each other.
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The rest of the weekend at the Pierce’s estate was uneventful. Everybody had gone home thinking the deal wasn’t going to go through—Shiv had told you her dad fucked everything by refusing to name her as the next CEO.
But, to everyone’s surprise except Logan’s, Nan Pierce ended up calling only a few hours later that she’d sell. You weren’t quite happy with the turn of events, but you supposed that’s just how it was with Logan. 
He always won.
Argestes, a business conference for important folk all over the world, was just under a month later. It was a rather prestigious event, the itinerary always decked with the most ludicrously rich and fanciful activities, with only limited invites handed out. 
This was to be your sixth annual year attending. 
You arrived with Roman practically draped over you, much to the press’ delight. After he made a snide comment about how manipulative you could be when it came to business, you bid him adieu, off to fraternize and mingle with potential allies you might need in your pocket. You were just grateful not to bump into Peter Pierce—the last thing you wanted to do was have him glued to your side for the rest of the weekend. 
The next day, when you’d just barely stepped out of your room, you got a frantic text from Roman. It was a link to a journal article about the cruise incidents, followed by a series of question marks and an indiscernible mash of emojis. The last text gave you the room he and his family were in. 
You rushed off to meet them there, checking your constantly buzzing phone along the way to see texts fly from dozens of people: Shiv, Gerri, your colleagues, your friends, your coworkers alike. This wasn’t a good look for the company, that was for sure. 
When you finally got there, Roman quirked a brow at you. “Have you read this? Tell me this isn’t the greyest shit you’ve ever read.”
“Give me a second, I’ve barely even woken up, much less had time to read the article.” You settled in beside him, opening up the link to begin reading. From across the room, Logan was skimming through a physical copy, glasses on the very tip of his nose as he mumbled under his breath. Shiv was on the other end, waiting for everyone to finish reading. 
Finally, you reached the end of the article, slumping back with furrowed brows. “This is, uhm, serious stuff but it’s also really unclear what’s actually being thrown at the wall here.”
“Maybe this, maybe that bullshit,” Roman uttered.
“Rome, careful,” said Kendall.
“Is this one of those things I need a woman to explain to me why it’s bad?” His head knocked into yours. “You tell me—is it bad?”
Offering him a shrug, you huffed out a sigh and scrolled all the way back up to read it again. “It’s bad, it’s fucking awful someone had to go through this—but in all honesty, I expected far worse for a journal article to blow up this much.”
Growing frustrated, Logan ripped his glasses off. “What’s the protein?”
A man you only faintly recalled as Hugo Baker, part of the Parks and Cruises sector, replied, “They found a woman, Keerson. She was working the cruises back in the mid nineties, and name-checked Lester McClintock.”
Gerri nodded. “She says Uncle Mo asked for sex with her and the other dancers to get their contracts renewed.”
“So they fucked?” Logan asked.
“It says sexual exploitation,” clarified Shiv.
“Said subject of the article is dead,” you chimed in. “So the blame on Mo will effectively be shifted onto Waystar. Negligence of ethical conduct, cruise malpractice, so on and so forth.”
A moment of silence filled the room.
“Well, what can we do about it?” Roman queried. 
Gerri said, “There’s not a lot of specifics. It’s not detailed. Cold hard facts: it’s one woman in the nineties, not twenty women four years ago.”
This made Kendall’s face sour, as he pulled the bill of his cap down lower over his face. “Great. I’m glad we’re so good at doing victim math.”
“Yeah, well, Gerri’s just saying it doesn’t necessarily punch through,” Shiv defended.
The older brother gestured to his phone. “Sure, but… this is not okay.”
“We know it’s not okay, that’s why we’re preparing a corporate response,” the redhead bit back. 
The conversation moved on to PR, which Gerri claimed to be Preston. This was met with Shiv’s vehement disapproval—they were three disgusting, old white dudes who, in her words, would just claim the women to be money-grabbing sluts.
“Call me sociopathic but isn’t this a tiny bit quaint in comparison to the past few years?” asked Roman. 
You bit down on the inside of your cheek in thought. “I think they’re hyperfixating on this right now because they see it as a gap in the chainmail. Mo is dead. He’s not around to bear the weight of blame on his shoulders.”
“We’re being punished for the sins of others,” claimed Logan. “No one real gives a fuck.”
You narrowed your eyes at the hot take. 
For once, you seemed to agree with Kendall when he shook his head. “No, no, we can’t be seen to minimize. I think we need to loudly and quickly say that this is not okay.”
“The question is, what would make it go away the fastest? Do we say it’s something and fix it, or say that it’s nothing and fuck off?” Gerri asked.
“Something,” pushed Kendall. “There has to be consequences.”
To your frustration, Shiv shook her head. “Nope. Condemn and move on. It’s just good advice.”
“Not to be the only frilly-pink feminist in the room, but this isn’t something to sweep under the rug. It may not seem that serious at first glance because of the vagueness but a few dozen women’s lives were ruined, and that’s just barely what we know because of the NDAs. If we ignore it now, it’ll come back to bite the company in the ass later down the line. The least we can do is compensate them, no?” you said, crossing your arms.
Sinking into a wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight, Logan threw his hands up. “This is bullshit. It’s all about me! It’s not real, it’s not honest. They don’t give a flying fuck for these poor bitches. They hate me! And I won’t be giving them the satisfaction of giving in. So no—condemn and move on.” 
You wanted to bury your face in your hands and scream. But you didn’t. You stood still and expressionless. 
They started discussing the panel for later that day. The original plan was for it to be Kendall and Roman up there, but having a woman up there would be much more… fitting given the well-timed article’s release. Shiv haughtily refused, but softened upon her dad asking her if she would. 
She’d think about it. 
And with that, the group began to file out. 
The hours trickled on by and before you knew it, there was only ten minutes until Roman and Kendall were supposed to go up for the panel. You were helping Rome rehearse through what he was supposed to say, even though you didn’t agree with the direction they were taking with simply condemning—it was better than not addressing it at all. 
It was all going smoothly until Shiv burst through the doors, declaring that she wanted to be up there for the panel, much to both Kendall and Roman’s dismay.
“Come on, man. It’s panicky as fuck,” said the eldest of the three. “It looks… kind of fucking cheesy, to be honest. Like we’re throwing our token woman at it? The woman who’s not even in our company?”
“Well, it can’t be two men up there right now. It just—it can’t. Right?” Shiv rounded her gaze to you, and you shrugged half-heartedly. 
“I don’t know, Shiv.”
Standing up, Hugo suggested, “Well, the audience is just expecting Roys, so—maybe we stick at two and someone relaxes.”
Logan’s gaze fell on his youngest son. “Romulus.”
“What? You want to pull me? That—that looks like a humiliation,” your friend heatedly defended. 
“We could just say you got sick,” Hugo said.
Both you and Roman made eye contact and you nodded at him to defend himself.
“No. No, you can’t just fuckin’ bump me ten minutes before the panel. That’s bullshit! Fuck that. Respectfully, dad, why is Shiv even here?” he hissed.
“I was invited,” Shiv replied in a serrated tone.
Roman crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, no, I need to be out there. We need to hang together. You know, like, family.”
Rolling her eyes, Shiv drew herself to her full height. “Oh, so you wanna get Connor on the line, get him to come down here, too? Let him dog-pile on so no one’s nose gets put out of joint?”
“I’ll put your nose out of joint!”
“Oh, yeah, you should say that on the panel—!” Shiv pursed her lips. “If you wanna know what I really think—I think you should drop both of them and I’ll do it solo.”
This time, you were quick to say, “Shiv, I love you, but you’re not part of the company yet. To shove you up there alone would look like fucking… empty wokeness. Like we’re smothering the problem with estrogen and calling it a day.”
Roman nodded. “Pretty desperate, Shiv—exploiting the situation for personal gain, hm?”
The three siblings bickered some more until it grew quite cumbersome and repetitive. 
Two minutes until the panel.
Logan held up three fingers, and that was the end of that.
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The panel was… certainly a panel.
It was a lot of dancing around the subject between Kendall and Shiv. You were pretty sure Roman had only said a grand total of two short sentences. 
“We’ll do whatever it takes, you know? We’ll do whatever anyone wants,” he had said. 
From where you were watching on a screen backstage, you face-palmed with a sigh.
By the end, Shiv had made the fatal mistake of implying that Logan should step down from his position, going so far as to call him an old dinosaur. 
It was a shitshow, painted over with glitter and rainbows. In all honesty, it was an embarrassment to even associate yourself with the company at this point. There went all your business schmoozing and fraternizing for the past two days—right down the drain.
“Nice. Bring your daughter to the slaughter. Did you tell the old dinosaur what you were going to do?” Roman asked his twin once the three siblings returned to the room you were in. 
“Hey, I’m sorry, ‘We will do whatever anyone wants?’ What the hell was that?” Kendall asked.
Shrugging, Roman clapped both his hands on your shoulders from behind, squeezing your tensed muscles. “Fuck it, right? It’s just words. There’s no press, anyway. Who gives a shit?”
It was then that Logan walked in, Marcia and Gerri in tow. Roman’s hands slipped away from you to go pour himself a drink and stand by his father.
“It was too much, Siobhan,” said their stepmother. “Dinosaurs?”
Ducking his head, Kendall nodded. “It was over the line. Shiv was over the line.”
Brows cinching, Shiv protested, “Oh, I think it was pretty clear that I was talking about—”
Roman interrupted after taking a long sip of champagne. “No, it was clear, yeah. You tortured the old dinosaur. Barbecued him alive—!”
In a blink of an eye, Logan swung around and back-handed his son straight across the jaw, bellowing out, “Don’t fuck with me!”
The hit rang loud and true across the room. Flesh on flesh, skin on skin, father to son, boot to dog.
Roman fell back with a muffled noise, and you were immediately shooting out of your seat to curl a protective arm around him, placing yourself between him and his aggrieved father. Commotion sprung out—Kendall vehemently yelling at Logan not to touch his brother as if he were a valiant hero, Gerri trying her best to quell the situation with reassuring words.
But all the noise was drowned out in your ears. It was just you and Roman.
It was like you were children all over again, watching with watery eyes as young Roman tried his best to pick himself up after Logan’s frequent beatings. You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes had welled up with a warbling film of stinging tears, heart slamming against your ribcage with staggering, uneven jolts. 
He hunched over, working his jaw and spitting into his palm a second later. 
A tooth fell past his lips, flecked with blood and spit. You could feel your lips twitch downwards as you tried your hardest not to cry.
Kendall flanked to his left, his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and Shiv stood in front of him.
“Rome—you alright?” they both asked. “You okay?”
He worked his jaw again, then shrugged off Kendall’s hand. He was in no mood to be coddled by anyone but you.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fucking fine! Just fucking—leave me alone. I’m fine.” As you began to lead him away, he called over his shoulder. “It’s just a tooth. I’ll get another one.”
Once it was just the two of you in the hallway, Roman dropped the act. It hurt like hell, and he felt safe enough around you not to have to put up a front.
You tugged him into your room with a mildly haunted expression, fingers gripping far too tightly into Roman’s arm. He walked into the bathroom to rinse his mouth out. The water ran a dark shade of pink. 
As he gingerly began brushing his teeth with a spare toothbrush you handed him, you studied his reflection. He stared back, hating how worried you looked for him. 
“You want me to call a medic?” you asked, voice small. “There’s a few on site.”
Roman squinted at nothing in particular, humming. His tongue ran along the part of his gums that throbbed the most. It tasted like copper. A familiar taste. Nostalgic, even.
“No.”
“Do you need to be alone?”
“Fuck, no.”
You rolled a tissue into a tightly-packed bundle, telling him to bite down on it to stop the bleeding. He did as you told, but not without complaining about it tasting like ass. It actually tasted like nothing, but Roman wanted to make you smile. He hated seeing you so worked up.
With that, the two of you made your way out of the bathroom. You made him sit down on your bed and wrapped your arms around him, clinging onto him like a koala to a tree trunk. The both of you slowly kicked off layers of your clothes, trying your best not to break hold of each other in the process. Shoes first, then jackets, then pants, then button-ups.
You were left in a dark short sleeve and your underwear, and he’d tossed off all his clothes except his boxers. 
“The Argie awards are in an hour,” said Roman. His lips brushed against your collarbone as he rested his forehead onto the slope of your shoulder.
“I wouldn’t have stripped down to nearly nothing if I was planning on going.”
“You’re gonna miss dinner. You’ll starve to death—and you won’t be allowed to blame me for it.”
“I have a banana somewhere in here. Plus—room service is only a call away.”
“Mmh. Mmkay.”
The tooth was still curled inside his clenched fist. 
“Wait,” you murmured against him, crawling off his lap to grapple for your wallet that you’d left on the nightstand. Roman murmured unhappily at the loss of warm contact, rubbing his palms up and down your legs. “I don’t really carry cash around these days but… I always keep a few spare coins in here.”
He watched as you fished through the slits, brandishing first a dime, then a nickel. Another dime.
Then you pulled out a quarter, grinning widely.
“I’m supposed to slip this under your pillow while you’re sleeping, but I have a feeling you’re not gonna let me get up for the rest of the night,” you whispered, crawling back to him and throwing a leg over his waist. He curled his own legs around you as well, leaning his weight into you. His head throbbed, his jaw throbbed harder, his heart throbbed the most. 
The cool metal of the quarter fell into his free hand. Then, he unfurled his fist. You stared down at the bloody tooth with unsure eyes.
“You have pretty teeth,” you told him after snapping out of your initial frozen state, pressing your nose into his uninjured cheek. “Even when we were kids, you had the prettiest pearly whites.”
Roman smiled, even though it ached to. “I remember you chased me around for my tooth once. Like a fucking freak.”
“Hm. You loved it, Romey.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” he said, trying his best to be dismissive. Then, he craned his arm to place the tooth on the nightstand. 
You yawned, and he followed closely after you.
“It’s only eight at night. We’re falling asleep at fuckin’... fucking granny hour,” he grumbled.
A giggle, cut off by another yawn. “I don’t blame us. It’s been a long day. Sweet dreams, Romeo.”
“Night, fuck-face.”
“You know I love you, right?” you whispered. A light kiss to his throat as he swallowed.
“Obviously. You’re infatuated with me. Obsessed, even.”
If one was infatuated-slash-obsessed with the other, it’d most certainly be Roman.
You hummed and grinned into him. You didn’t deny his words, merely huffing with amusement. “I’m going to take your tooth and sell it on EBay for a hundred bucks.”
I’m fucking in love you, he wanted to scream.
“Fuck off,” he said. “It’s worth a million bucks at least. Shut up—stop fucking smiling, you freak. Go to sleep.”
You settled against him some more, and drifted off a few minutes later, listening to his heart beat from his throat.
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You weren’t entirely sure what had transpired during the last few hours of Argestes, but there was one thing made clear: Nan Pierce had called off the acquisition entirely. You had no idea what to think of the entire situation anymore. You were just… tired of it all.
Not long after, a team had called you in to record a video message for Logan’s big fiftieth anniversary at Waystar. You were given very little time to figure out what to say, and so your message was short and sweet:
“Hey, Uncle Logan. I think we all owe you a bit of gratitude for giving half a century of your life to the large, ever-expanding field we call media. You’ve always been a constant figure in my life—heh, more constant than my own parents. I couldn’t imagine where I’d be without you. Congratulations, and I look forward to the next fifty years working by your side.”
It wasn’t over the top, and only slightly sugar-coated with falsities. 
Once you stepped out of the recording booth, Roman shot you a grin. “Cocksucker,” he teased. “There you go—something you and Rhea can bond over.”
You prodded his chest with stiff fingers. “Shut up,” you fondly told him.
“How’d you even get all that in one fucking take? They had me say ‘I love you, Dad’, like, ten times in a row.”
Before you could retort back, the two of you bumped into Shiv, who was typing away furiously at her phone. 
“What do you guys reckon—you think Dad is boning Rhea?” she asked.
With a snort, Roman strode away to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Can’t wrap my head around that. Too steamy. Too hot.”
“You are a walking Freudian complex, you know that, Ro?” you asked him, bumping his hips with yours so he’d move over as you fixed your own drink. “I don’t wanna think about it, honestly. Who my godfather fucks is really none of my business.”
“You’re just jealous. You want daddykins all to yourself!” said Roman in a sing-song voice, which made you purposefully step onto his toes. “OW!”
The hot coffee jostled over the rim of his cup and some of it sloshed onto his chest. He sent you a glare and you kissed his cheek with a sweet smile before moving off to sit next to Connor.
“Yeah, yeah, but we should, like, talk about what this means. We’re… we’re all sensing the shift, right?” asked Shiv.
“Gerri says she’s the new thing,” said Roman as he took a seat beside you, obnoxiously leaning back to drape both his legs over your thighs.
Connor lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Well, it just so happens that Gerri was the new thing a while back.”
“Mmh—Logan made it clear that she was more or less there as a placeholder,” you said, sipping on your cup, watching the siblings over the rim. “Come on—there’s no way Logan is handing the company over to a woman, much less a woman older than fifty. It’s a shame, because Gerri really could’ve been a great CEO had she been given an actual chance.”
It didn’t go past your notice to see Shiv’s face contort with dismay at your words. Not too long ago, she’d been under the impression that Logan was handing the company over to a woman—her. 
“I just think we need to be careful,” she said.
“Awh, what’s wrong? You all wedgied up because Rhea stood on your back and worked your arms like an elliptical?” asked Roman, which made both you and Connor snort with amusement.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, we should probably have a plan. You know, in case Dad does something rash.”
It was then that Connor was called away to record his message, and Kendall sauntered in just a minute later. His jacket and pants were noticeably rumpled and a pair of sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose. Only assholes like Kendall would wear sunglasses indoors.
“Hey, what’s up?” he greeted everyone.
“You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday—you want us to think you got laid. Nice try.” Both you and Roman giggled like schoolgirls, which only had the older man rolling his eyes. 
“Well, have fun discussing killing Rhea—” you began.
“There wasn’t anything about killing—” protested Shiv.
“I’m gonna head out. Gotta get some work done before the flight to Dundee. Which, is so fucking over the top, by the way. Even my parents are going for this. They weren’t there for any of my birthdays in the past twenty years, but sure, let’s go to Uncle Logan’s celebration for his fiftieth year working at Waystar.” You nudged Roman’s legs off of yours so you could stand up. 
Rome’s eyes widened. “Your parents are coming? Damn. Rhea really went all out, didn’t she?”
You frowned. “Feels more like a personal affront to me than anything. Not looking forward to seeing them, but whatever. See you guys later.”
They all murmured their farewells and you patted Roman’s knee softly before heading out.
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Dundee was cold. So cold that you had to wear two layers of thermal socks, and your toes were still cold. Roman made fun of you the entire way into the hotel room, joking about icicles forming beneath your chin. 
Once you were finally inside, you cranked your heater up as high as it could go, shedding all your layers off with a grateful moan. It’d been a long flight, and you were exhausted.
Roman laid down on your bed, lazily turning his head to follow your movements as you flitted to and fro around your room, unpacking your essentials.
“There’s better ways to warm up than hanging your wrinkled button-ups,” he quipped. One of his brows quirked upwards in an almost seductive manner.
You laughed at that, fishing out articles of clothing from your luggage. “You’re all bark and no bite, Roman. Besides—you literally brought Tabitha to this event. Where even is she, anyway?”
With a shrug, he remarked absentmindedly, “Oh, she’s off exploring all the joys of Scotland.”
“So… grass and sheep?”
He laughed his hyena-laugh. “Yeah, grass and sheep.” Then, he propped himself up on an elbow to face you properly. “Did you bring a date?”
“Ugh. Didn’t want to bring one. Not with my parents coming. It’ll be a nightmare.”
Something in Roman’s eyes softened. “I would’ve been your date if, uh, if I hadn’t already asked Tabs. To be fair, I asked her before I knew about your parents. I can kick her back to America right now if you ask.”
You paused in your ministrations. “Stop it. I like Tabs. She’s nice. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to be my date out of pity, anyway.”
Roman lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug, lips pursed. “It wouldn’t be pity if I wanted to.”
A beat of silence. 
You blew out a sigh. “I’m really here for the image. I’ll say hi to my parents, and then avoid them for the rest of the night.”
“I can help you with avoiding them.”
“Hm?”
“Gerri wants me to secure funding for Waystar to go private. As a… back up plan, in case everything combusts into fuckin’ flames. She wants me to target Eduard. Seduce him, or whatever. You can come with—butter him up with all your oozy corporate rank and that—that pretty face on your face. He wouldn’t be able to resist if we double-combo him.” Roman shot you a lopsided smile that only lifted one corner of his lips. You pushed away the urge to coo at the fact that he called your face pretty. “Or… you can flit around with all of Dad’s cocksuckers and awkwardly bump into your parents two hundred times before the waterworks break out and you make an embarrassment of yourself in the middle of the celebration.”
Done with putting away your clothes, you made your way to the bed and sat down beside him, your shoulder pressed up flush over his. 
“You’re a lifesaver, Rome. Yeah, of course I’ll come.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can repay me with a blowjob.”
You laughed, but a small part of you wondered if he was serious.
“Any other ways I can repay you? None that could, uhm, potentially warrant a lawsuit?”
Roman scratched at his chin in thought. “Yeah, actually—what if we got, like, married?” His voice went all soft and high-pitched. Lilting. Tentative. 
Your eyes widened at first, then narrowed thinly. “What?” you asked, partially incredulous. He was joking, right?
Right?
“Not like—” He gestured aimlessly. “Not like that. Not actual marriage. Like something equivalent to that—like me chaining you down in the basement, or something. Like me kidnapping you and keeping you hostage.”
“Romeo, what the hell are you talking about?” You sat forward, your face all the closer to his. “In what world is that equivalent to marriage?”
Nervous anxiety clawed within his stomach. “Jesus Christ, I’m not talking about marriage. Just something on that fucking level of us being tied together. I don’t know, you chop off my dick, I chop off your tongue, whatever the fuck. You know, like, you eat me, I eat you—like they do in Germany.”
You were pretty sure that’s not what they did in Germany.
“You know what I mean.” His eyes were pleading, asking you for something you weren’t quite sure of.
“I… I don’t think I do?” You took one of his hands. “Rome, what’s going on? You’re being… weirder than normal. Did something happen with Tabitha?”
Because he was in love with you and he had no idea how to say it. 
The answer to Roman was simple: he just wouldn’t.
Hastily, Roman pulled away from your touch. He rolled off the bed in one single motion, almost tumbling over his own feet as he scrambled to the door. He tried to ignore your crestfallen expression watching him put more distance between the two of you.
“No, nothing happened with Tabitha. Just, uh—just think about it. I’ll text you the details to meet Eduard. Bye!” He was already halfway out the door with his last word.
You screwed your lips to the side in puzzled exasperation, and blew out a heavy sigh.
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The pub was nearly empty, save for a snogging couple near the back, and a few scattered about the seats casually sipping their ale as they watched the soccer match on the mounted television above the bar. Amongst them was Eduard, standing out like a sore thumb with his crisp suit and his dark, slicked-back hair. Just the sight of him seemed to cost money.
“My God, you smell like cotton candy—I almost want to lick your neck. Don’t you want to lick his neck, Y/N?” Roman asked instead of greeting him like any regular person would.
You shot him a half-hearted glare before sticking your hand out. Roman had always been one to overstep boundaries. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Asgarov.”
“Oh, please, Eduard is fine. And the pleasure is all mine,” he languidly drawled, eyes darting up and down your form as a pleased smile curled the corner of your lips. He firmly clasped your palm in a handshake. “I’ve heard much about you—general manager… the glue of the company, some people say. But Roman never mentioned that you were so beautiful.”
A large part of Roman’s insides bristled with hostility, an emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he plastered on a strained smile anyway. “Yup, yeah, forgot to mention. But, uh, yeah, thanks for coming, man. My dad’s going to be very pleased when he sees old friends and whatnot…” He waved the bartender over to order himself a pint, and added on a non-alcoholic beverage for you—he knew you didn’t like to drink during the day. Then, he caught sight of the television. “What’s this? Who’s playing?”
“Scottish,” replied Eduard, taking a sip of his own beer. “I’m thinking of getting in.”
 Your eyebrows raised a notch. “Mmh, smart choice. Lots of buried money in European soccer leagues.”
Eduard spared you a warm smile.
A frown crossed Roman’s features—he was starting to regret inviting you, even though he’d been the one to suggest you flirt him up. 
“Scottish kicky-ball,” he remarked. “Looks like two eunuchs trying to fuck a letterbox.”
His foul comment went largely ignored by the two of you. 
Eduard was certainly an attractive man, you thought once you watched his tongue draw out to run along his lips in thought. “I’m liking the look of Hibs,” he said, eyes trained on the television, flitting down to glance at you for a second. “Or Hearts. I’m undecided.”
“Hearts?” asked Roman. “That’s my dad’s team. The only childhood relic he can stomach.”
Hazy memories of seven-year-old you peeking over the expensive leather couches to see what your godfather was watching on screen came across your mind. It always cycled through the same three channels: ATN, soccer, and old black-and-white English films from the fifties. You never stayed for long, always darting out of the room in fear of him turning to see you there, watching along with him. But from the little that you did catch a glimpse of—you could only barely recall the green insignias and jerseys of the Hibs on the screen.
“I think he was a Hibs fan, no?” you asked, thanking the bartender when he slid your drink over. 
Roman scoffed. “Pfft—I think I’d know which team dad likes.” You didn’t bother trying to argue with him. After all, your childhood memories weren’t exactly the most reliable source.
With a half-minded hum, Eduard said, “I’ve got an agent in Spain. I buy the club, he loans me nine shit-hot players. Climb the ladder, take the second Champion’s League space, UEFA goes full European super-league, flip it, walk away.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds fucking slick, dude,” Roman replied, sipping on the frothy part of his drink. “Slicker than cum on a dolphin’s back.”
“You want in?” asked Eduard.
“Mmh, maybe. But before all that—can we talk about what we talked about before? You know, a major injection, or even taking us private. Have you talked to your dad?” asked Roman. 
A smile and a nod. “It’s a conversation we can have—I have total, three-sixty latitude to work on my father’s behalf.”
“Great. Yeah, cool. No, me too. Yup.”
He didn’t, but you wisely kept your mouth shut. 
“Weird, how much we’re the same,” said Roman, playfully punching Eduard’s shoulder.
“Yeah, you guys are practically twins,” you quipped, smiling over the rim of your glass. “Couldn’t tell the two of you apart.”
The dark-haired man tilted his head. “Buy them with me. We’ll split it fifty-fifty.”
“I, uh…” Roman spared you a look, silently asking you if he was being stupid with his rashness. “I don’t really see a downside, other than zero knowledge or interest in Scottish football. But, yeah! Hearts. Sounds fun.”
“Hibs,” you said.
Roman wrinkled his nose. “Hearts.”
“Hearts, it is,” said Eduard.
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It wasn’t Hearts. 
After Kendall’s laughable rap song about—what was it—stanning his dad and calling him the OG, Roman had broken the news that he’d bought the Hearts club as a present for Logan on such a special day.
Logan fixed the three of you with a blank stare. 
“The Hearts?” he echoed.
Roman spread his arms, wiggling the tips of his finger in a sad rendition of jazz hands. “Mhm.”
“Hearts Football Club?”
Roman nodded.
Shiftily, Logan looked towards you. He always looked to you for clarification when he couldn’t understand his son—which was quite often.
“Uhm, Roman bought the Hearts for you,” you said, voice small.
“It’s your team, right?” Rome asked.
A beat of silence.
“I’m Hibs,” said your godfather.
You fucking knew it.
“You’re Hibs,” parroted Roman, his shoulders beginning to droop. “Really? Are you sure? I thought you were Hearts—I’m pretty sure you were Hearts, dad.”
Scratching at his chin, Logan softly said, “You know what, maybe you’re right. Hm. How would I know what team I’ve supported all my fucking life? Who knows—maybe I supported Kilmarnock. Or Fucklechester Rangers? I mean, how could I possibly know?”
Roman recoiled as if he’d been kicked. Eduard patted his shoulder, and brushed his hand along your lower back as he slipped away, chest burning with secondhand embarrassment. 
“Sorry, Uncle Logan, there’s just been a, uh, a miscommunication—” you said, hastily tugging Roman away. The two of you wove through the crowd until you got out of the large room, into one of the quieter halls. 
You chewed on your bottom lip, watching Roman frustratedly pace back and forth in front of you. Just as you opened your mouth to speak, he snapped out, “I thought he was fucking Hearts, dude!”
“... I told you, Ro.”
He scowled. “Ugh. Shut up.”
Before you could ask if he could maybe switch somehow, two figures pushed through the doors, coming to stand in front of you. You tore your gaze away from the flustered man, fixing your eyes on—
Fuck.
“It’s lovely to see you, Y/N,” said your mother. In her hand was a glass of wine, half empty. “You’ve grown quite a bit. Have you gained weight?”
She reached out, but you immediately stepped back, closer to Roman. 
After getting over your initial shock, you cleared your throat and tentatively responded, “Hi, mom. Dad.”
The couple gave you an awkward onceover. It’d been years since you last saw them, with maybe one or two texts exchanged every year for the holidays. Though, even that wasn’t a guarantee.
“We, uhm, we saw you rush out with Roman here and thought we’d say hello,” said your father, sparing you a terse smile.
“Wow.” Roman, unsurprisingly, inserted himself into the conversation. “And the parents of the year award goes to…”
“You thought you’d say hello. Jesus—I haven’t seen either of you in fucking forever and the first thing you do is nitpick at my appearance?” you growled, fists clenching by your side. “Listen, if you want to be in my life, then be in my life. But you can’t pretend that everything is okay when you see me and then promptly waltz off and disappear for another decade or two.”
Your mother sipped at her wine, at a loss for words. They glanced at each other, both wearing a mildly guilty expression, but had really nothing to defend themself with.
With an angry scoff, you stormed back into the room where Logan was about to give his closing speech, shoulder roughly knocking into your father’s as you brushed past him. 
Roman scratched the back of his head, left alone with your parents. 
“For the record, Y/N is doing fucking great without either of you. You know—crunching those numbers, being a goddamn messiah for the lower-level employees, fucking the boss. All that jazz.” He grinned and hum-laughed when their eyes widened in shock, and sauntered in after you. It wasn’t exactly that white of a lie. You’d given him a handjob and the two of you technically had phone sex—would those two activities put together constitute as one whole traditional, in-person fuck?
He’d come in to stand beside you and Tabitha just in time to hear his father make the announcement.
“... And I shall be appointing Rhea Jarrell as my Chief Executive Operator.”
The crowd burst into applause. Roman clapped with a faux-surprised expression. When he glanced at you, you were wiping the corner of your eyes with the back of your palm and hastily clapped along.
Once the cheers began to mellow away, Roman stopped clapping to lace his fingers through the gaps of yours, squeezing tight. Your eyes watered even more at the contact, but you squeezed back in gratitude.
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There was an interview of  James Weissel on the television: a whistleblowing interview tossing Gerri, Kendall, and Tom into the stinking shitpot that was the cruise incidents, accusing the three of covering up McClintock’s actions. Logan had shut it off before anybody could finish watching.
Whilst everyone was busy prattling off about how bad of a situation this was, Gerri seemed to be the one lighthouse amidst the storm.
“I say we tell the truth,” she calmly said, adjusting her glasses to sit higher up her nose. “The family knew nothing of this. We throw Mo overboard. Mo, bad apple. Jim Weasel, bad apple. Spies a book deal—sotto voce, backed by Sandy and Stewy. All corporate fuckery, no real concern. In terms of historic shit? I say we give up Bill. He should’ve let us know what he discovered rather than cleaning up without telling us the details.”
Bill had been the old Tom before Tom was, well, Tom.
And so there was the strategy: letting Bill take the fall, and kill him off. It wasn’t… a decision you necessarily felt good about, but it was the least messy the situation could be.
Things felt like they’d be smoothed over, just for a little bit.
But then Siobhan came in, phone clutched tightly in her hand. “Gil is going to call for hearings.”
This stirred up quite a murmur in the room. Both Kendall and Frank sat up in their seats with incredulous questions on the tip of their tongues.
“Yeah, Senate Commerce. Probably House, too.” 
Gerri was on her phone in an instant. “Buckle up folks,” she said while scrolling through the news. “We’re going to get an invite to the national latrine. See who’s going to take a public dump.”
“Mr. Fuck is going to Washington,” Shiv sighed.
It was then that Logan let out an ear-splitting bellow of rage. It shocked both you and Roman into flinching. 
“NO! I CAN’T HAVE THIS NOW!” he screamed in distress.
There was a long moment of silence. 
In a leveled tone, you asked Shiv, “Who’s testifying?”
“Uh, well… well, they’d want Dad.”
Kendall quickly protested, “No, we can’t—we won’t let that happen—”
“Protect the egg chamber!” said Roman. Nobody could quite tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 
It was then that Hugo suggested Gerri and Tom to testify. The group went back and forth for a little while longer on what the play would be, but it was quite clear that everybody was already settled with Gerri and Tom going up there. 
To your surprise, Logan called for you and Roman out of the room. 
A part of you wondered if he’d beat Roman over the head with his fancy business shoe for buying the wrong soccer team. You certainly wouldn’t put it past him, especially in his already-agitated state. 
“I need both of your help,” he told the two of you once you were out of the room, lingering by the foot of the pristine staircase. 
“Need someone to run to the store for smokes?” Roman asked, his hands propped on his hips.
“This’ll go on all night… and it might not be okay,” your godfather said.
This made you tilt your head. “Will this really sway the shareholders into folding? It happened under our noses three decades ago, and the perpetrator is dead.”
“The very fact that we’re being called to testify will spook the shareholders. I’m on a knife’s edge.” He grunted softly as he lowered himself to sit on one of the lower steps of the cold staircase. “Ten bad minutes on camera, and that could be it. The end.”
Roman’s brows raised. “The end? Come on, Dad.”
“I need the two of you to chase down the sovereign wealth money,” said Logan.
You and Roman glanced at one another. Was he being serious? 
“Right. Uhm… I mean—that’s… it’s a cool idea, but it’d be a stretch, no?” Roman tentatively brought up. 
Logan leaned forward, shifting his weight onto his elbows, which were resting upon his knees. Though he had made himself physically smaller, he’d always be the biggest presence in the room. “We need that central Asian money. It’s a time out from the responsibilities of being a public company. That’s a fucking lifeline, if I’ve ever seen one.”
“They’d be taking on a massive amount of debt. That’s a… huge responsibility, Uncle Logan.” 
The older man snorted. “Which is why I’m making you go with him. Make sure he doesn’t fuck up. Keep it under wraps. And bring Karl and Laird with you, as well, for the financial matters.” There was a pause as he studied the two of you. “Can you do it?”
Roman scratched anxiously at the back of his head. “Fuck, Dad, I want to say I can. But, I’ll be honest—if it’s, like, really important… I mean, I can say I can do it—like one of those firefighters in the movies. But I don’t know if—”
“You act the fuckleknuckle, but you know… people like you.” 
There it was. A narrow slant of light. It wasn’t real—at least, you didn’t think it was—but it was warmth regardless.
Roman’s features twisted. “It’s a really big fucking deal.”
“Nah. It’s getting the right number from the right suit. Getting your dick in there is easy. Getting into bed—that’s the hard part,” said his father. “You can do it. Both of you can.”
You scuffed your shoe against the floor just as Roman’s nose twitched. 
“Yeah. Sure, dad, I got it.”
Logan pushed himself off the staircase, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. The light was warm, and far too addicting. He smiled softly. 
It wasn’t real, you had to remind yourself. It’s never real. But did that really matter? Did it?
“You’re brilliant, my dear. A real force to reckon with. I trust you to hammer the nail right on its head,” he said. 
You swallowed harshly. “I hope we won’t disappoint, Uncle.”
When he pulled away, he began to make his way towards the doors once more. “Keep me close,” he said. 
And with that, he was gone.
Roman let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. 
“Why does it feel like we just dug our own graves? I feel like I’ve got fuckin’ dirt in my eyes,” he lamented just as you leaned your head onto his shoulder. “You know, if the company ever kills you off, I’ll quit. I don’t know how I’d do it around here without you.”
“All bark, still no bite,” you quietly told him. “You wouldn’t leave the company. Not on your own free will.”
Like a caged dog: it was only able to escape if their owner opened the door for them.
“I’ll kill myself if they kill you. I mean it—I’ll eat a fucking silver bullet.”
“How romantic.”
“Mhm—we’re like fuckin’... Romeo and Juliet.”
He smiled, and so did you.
“C’mon. Let’s go watch the grown-ass men I bought kick around balls for a bit,” said Roman.
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Eduard greeted you at the soccer team’s practice field with a kiss on the cheek, Roman with a firm handshake. 
“It’s good to see you,” you told him with a genuine smile. 
“Good to see you guys, too,” he replied. His expression was well-guarded behind a pair of dark shades. “With everything I’ve heard going down at Waystar, I was surprised you even showed up.”
With a shrug, Roman said, “I have nothing better to do, I promise. I’m gonna cut right to the chase here—do you think there’s any chance you guys have the muscle to take us private? Is that something that’s interesting to you and your dad?”
With nearly no hesitation, Eduard bobbed his head in an affirmative.
Shocked, Karl asked, “Really? That’s…”
Eduard spared the older man half of a grin. “Yes, we’re interested. It’ll look good as part of our portfolio, and we like the news expertise you can share.” Just as Laird began spewing off details to tell Logan, Eduard cut him off by saying, “Actually, Roman, Y/N—can you guys do it? The two of you make quite a team. You and your… bum-boys here can come to Turkey tomorrow? Pitch to me and my Dad?”
You and Roman exchanged earnest glances, as if speaking to each other telepathically. You were sure you could push back your work at Waystar for a few days to settle the privatizing deal. 
“Absolutely. I think we can definitely do that,” said Rome, with a pleased hum. Then, he turned back to fix his gaze on Laird and Karl. “Ain’t that right, bum-boys?”
 “Why Turkey?” you asked, brows raising. “I mean, I can pitch to you anywhere, but why, you know, all the way across the ocean?”
“There’s an investing conference in Bursa. Everyone will be there—we can get into it. Unless you have any objections…?”
Hastily, you shook your head. “No, no. This is great. Thanks for the opportunity.”
“No problem,” said Eduard, watching the ball fly across the field, landing into the goal. “I like you guys. Really.”
The coach called for the team to huddle up, allowing for the owners to say a few words. A part of you wondered if Rome even remembered the name of the FC he had bought.
“Great session, guys. And listen, for Saturday, you have the ability, you have the mentality. Watch that press doesn’t leave you exposed on the turnover, and you fucking got this. Rome?” Eduard turned to your friend, who hadn’t really prepared anything to say.
Roman fixed you with a panicked look, but you nudged him forward with a purse of you lips.
Scratching the back of his head, he awkwardly started, “Uh, yeah, hey guys! Really proud to be associated with all of you. Uh, well, what the fuck can I tell you that you don’t already know? You, uh, you got all this guys, don’t worry about it. ‘Cause you guys are a team, and, uh, when a team… is a team… it can’t actually physically be beaten. It’s impossible. So, go hard, go fast—uh, go you… lovely bastards.” The team glanced at each other and began to awkwardly clap, before Rome looked to you and said, “Anything else you want to add?”
“Me?” you hissed under your breath. “Rome, I’m not an owner—”
“Just say something—!” he whispered back, yanking you forward by the arm.
Stiff, you waved at the litter of sweaty, jerseyed men in front of you. “Hi. Yeah, I’m sure you guys know I’m not one of the team’s owners, but I was there during the business negotiations as Roman’s, uh… co-partner. All I can do now is wish you all the best of luck for your next match—get some rest, eat some good food, keep your eyes on the prize. And if any of you want to get in touch with Waystar Royco for any sort of PR pitches to get your face out there… Coach will have me and Roman’s contact details.” With a smile, you stepped back, shoulder brushing against Roman’s.
“Fuck you,” he muttered bitterly. “Did you rehearse that in your head or something? How’d you manage to perfectly squeeze business into a fucking pep talk?”
You grinned and pinched his cheek lightly. “Go hard and go fast, you lovely bastard,” you mocked, voice rife with fondness, chortling when he swatted your hand away.
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Before you knew it, you and Roman (and the bum-boys) were in Turkey, pitching to Eduard and his team. You had tried practicing a little the night before, but Roman had tossed all the flashcards away out of part-frustration and part-cockiness, assuring you that things would be fine. 
Now, as he was speaking, he seemed pretty confident in his own words. The two of you made a good team, after all.
“Look at the cash flow,” said Roman. “We are undervalued. I think tech just had everybody shitting their pants about legacy media, but really, the wheel turns.”
You nodded with an emphatic smile. “It’s true. No matter how much content moves to streaming sites, people will always want to look for something physical. Something you can feel and experience outside of home—hence Waystar’s adventure parks, and films to experience in theaters.” You made great effort to skirt around the touchy subject of cruises at the moment. 
“Most tech is overvalued. We’re profitable. We’re real money,” Roman added, growing more assured of himself with your support. 
“Tech is always changing. Invest in one thing, and it’ll be outdated in a blink of an eye. Invest in things people will always need: news, broadcasting, life experiences… now that’s reliable.” Eduard flashed you a smile, as if he was already sold.
“This is a tremendous opportunity,” said Rome. “This is once in a lifetime. You get to buy into the US media landscape at the very top. The very top.”
Two of the men leaned forward to whisper indistinctly to one another. 
“It’s a lot of debt,” one of them said once he finally pulled away. “You sure you can pull it together?”
“Absolutely sure,” Roman said with a mild laugh, knowing things with money and debt were quite rocky at the moment, before pointing back at Laird. “Jaime here is the fucking master of leverage. He has structured some of the biggest LBOs in history.”
“Guilty as charged,” said the older man.
Before anyone could say anything else, the doors to the room opened, and a few men filed in, murmuring indistinctly to the security. Your brows pulled together upon seeing guns strapped to their forms.
Roman exchanged a worried look with you.
“Are they, uh… are they with you?” he asked Eduard, who got up off his seat to speak to them in hushed tones.
“Rome, they have guns,” you murmured as you placed a hand on his forearm, glancing back at Karl and Laird. “What’s going on?”
The atmosphere seemed to chill when Eduard turned back to the four of you.
“Hey, look, we’re good. We’re good. But, uh… we’re all gonna go with these gentlemen now, okay?” He raised his hands in an almost placating manner, as if trying to tame a nervous mare. 
 Roman pointed at the armed men. “We’re going with them?” He laughed nervously, wondering if this was one big, elaborate joke. “Uh, no… I don’t think we—uh, who are these guys, exactly?”
Genuine fear began to curdle in your stomach when you watched the security walk out. “Dave just walked out. Hey, Eduard? I just—I need you to be honest with me. Are we in danger right now?”
Eduard worked his jaw in thought. “We’re just going to go with them now. Okay? It’ll be fine.”
“No, uh, I just—Can I just ask what this is in regards to?” Roman stepped in, high-strung. “Is this about the meeting? Is this a business thing?” 
Did I fuck it up and put a loaded gun to my own head? he wanted to say, but bit his tongue before he could.
With a sharp tone, you asked, “Our security guy, Dave, he just walked out with them. Where’d he go? Is he coming back?”
“Dave’s not coming,” said Eduard with pursed lips.
“He’s not coming?” Roman parroted. “Uhm… I would actually really like for Dave to come?”
“Dave is downstairs, we’ll go without him,” Eduard said in a calm tone. “Dave is a security risk. It’s better with these guys, okay?”
“Well, I know Dave, and I sure as hell don’t know these guys so… I think I’d prefer Dave—” you began to say, but was quickly cut off when Eduard put a hand on your shoulder and began leading your tense form out the room, Roman hot on your heels.
“It’s all good. It’s all under control,” Eduard murmured, though you highly doubted it. “There could be a situation, but we’re being looked after.”
A frown crossed Roman’s expression. “Oh, great. We’re being looked after. Fucking great. Laird—can you call Dave?”
They pulled out their phones, but the vested men with guns took the devices away just as quickly as it was pulled out. One stood in front of you with an expectant expression, and you complied with no resistance, handing him your phone, though not without a scowl.
“Great. They took my phone, and now I can’t contact my security, and now we’re going to die,” Roman said. When you looked at him, you could see genuine, restless fear dance over his irises. You didn’t quite know what to say, so you simply squeezed his arm as the two of you walked along.
The armed men led all of you to a crowded hotel lobby, where there seemed to be more hostages, more armed folk in similar attire. 
“Fuck,” Roman mumbled under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t business, is it?”
“Doesn’t look very business-y,” replied Karl.
When someone passed by and their gun brushed against your arm, you flinched back into Roman, your lips pulling back in a snarl. “Eduard. Fuck—Eduard, where the fuck are you taking us?”
“Just relax. This is normal,” he said, shiftily.
Roman scoffed. “Oh, yeah. This feels really fucking normal. Is this—are these guys terrorists? Where’s my fucking security guy? Where’s Dave?”
For a moment, Eduard seemed at a loss for words. You could feel dread pile up in your stomach. “It’s just… it’s an administrative action function,” he reluctantly said.
“Mm, yeah, great, and what exactly is that—?” Roman began to ask, before halting his own question when he trained his gaze on a struggle across the lobby. “Oh, wow, look at that. Guy not being allowed to leave the hotel at gunpoint. That’s—uh, yeah. So what’s… what’s this administrative action function?”
Pursing his lips, Eduard finally fessed up, “There’s just a gathering here now, of us and some other investors, and—”
“Men with guns?” Roman impatiently chirped.
“Yeah, yeah, that, and their guys are some kind of… anti-corruption kind of guys and this is like—it’s like their conference. Or, uh, a party of some sort. And we’re all invited.”
Your eye twitched. “That’s really lovely, but uh, what if I don’t want to go?”
A scream from somewhere over the crowd echoed through the lobby. Glass shattering followed soon after. Karl paled and he anxiously picked at a hangnail.
Eduard sighed. “It’s the kind of party where you have to go. It would be… rude.”
Roman stared at the ground, at nothing in particular. “Well, uh, I guess I wouldn’t mind being just a tiny bit rude.”
It was becoming more and more clear that no amount of protests or questions would get you out of this situation—not with every exit manned by armed personnel. The hostages in the hotel were soon herded into a large hall, empty save for bare white chairs for people to sit on. Eduard was led into a different room, and you briefly wondered if that’d be the last time you ever saw him.
You blew out a breath as you took a seat. Roman was quick to snare Laird into playing a multitude of games, like rock, paper, scissors, eye spy, and fuck, marry, kill. You didn’t pay much attention to them, instead trying to figure out what you’d do with yourself once you got out of this situation. One thing was for sure: your therapist was going to have a field day hearing this. 
“Where do you think they’re taking them?” you asked the men beside you when they began grabbing hostages and shoving them out the doors. 
“Doesn’t look like they’re gonna be taking a tour of the spa,” said Laird.
“My advice,” Karl huffed, looking awfully sweaty, “just don’t look at anything. If you don’t look, you’re not a witness.”
You buried your face in your hands. “Wonderful. Brilliant advice, Karl. At least you didn’t tell me to just take it if they decided to shove their dicks into my mouth.”
“Woah!” exclaimed Roman, eyes widening. “That’s not going to happen. Right? That can’t happen.”
You spared him a shrug, slumping back against the chair. Though, you were quick to sit up straight again when Eduard emerged from the doors, making a bee-line for you and Roman.
“Hey, guys. It’s all good. Things are good. So, uh, my president’s daughter’s husband has asked him to take closer control of some key assets. It’s anti-corruption, but it’s a bit of a power-grab. Some Turkish acquiescence, but it’s all in play.”
If you had to be honest, you understood very little of what he was saying. Whether it was because of your panic-hazed mind, or because he was merely being ambiguous, you couldn’t quite tell.
“Not to, uh, make this all about us…” began Roman, tentative, “but are they going to shoot us at any point?”
“No one is getting shot,” assured the bearded man. “Look, it’s complicated, but with the Zeynal here—there’s some interest about the deal.”
Deal? 
Both you and Roman glanced at each other. 
“Uh, fuck. Okay. The deal, sure,” said Rome.
“One thing they wanted clarity on was—how could they be sure the deal wouldn’t be blocked by your government?” Eduard asked.
You stuck your tongue against your cheek when Roman shook his head, “Well, it wouldn’t. My father has a lot of sway. I mean, he can’t lock up his opponents in a hotel, but, well, he kinda could.”
“And you’re the target of another bid? Won’t that be a problem?”
Sandy and Stewy. “Not a problem,” you quickly said. “They’re all bark, very little bite. If the price is right, we can easily reach a settlement before the shareholder meeting.”
With a nod, Eduard patted your knee, and he got up to leave—talk to his associates once more. 
“That went well,” said Laird, mildly surprised. 
“Yeah… a little too well,” Roman mused.
Hours later, Eduard returned, calling for the four of you to follow him.
It was a pitch. A messy pitch—one you clearly weren’t in the right mindspace for. One where the audience had clear smudges of coke lining their nostrils, dusting their tables. One that had a lot of money thrown into the empty promises, accompanied by high smiles and wandering eyes. It made you feel sick, and Roman clearly wasn’t a fan of it, either. Laird seemed to be satisfied with the mutual agreements, though. He heard money, and he immediately thought he was safe.
But the agreements didn’t feel quite real. None of it felt real. It was all bullshit, you wanted to yell at their face. Being held at gunpoint to play business in front of the coked out billionaires was not your preferred method of saving the company, especially when none of the settlements felt cemented. This wasn’t safe money to bet the entire company on—it might’ve not been money at all, in fact.
By the end of everything, the ambassador had arranged for a plane to finally get you out of the country. You fell asleep as soon as you sat down in your seat, the long hours going without sleep finally catching up to you. Roman curled up in the seat beside you, his head on your shoulder. He stayed awake the entire flight, listening to your steady breaths.
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The Mediterranean. The Roys were on a fancy yacht in the Mediterranean.
It would’ve sounded like a pleasant getaway, if you weren’t dead-tired, having just returned from being held hostage at gunpoint. You just wanted to go home. Logan, however, wanted you and Rome by his side—and who were you to say no to the top dog?
As the speedboat skidded to a stop by the yacht, cheers erupted from siblings, along with Gerri and Frank, Greg and Tom. Roman slid his sunglasses on as he clambered onto the larger boat’s deck. 
“Here they are! The heroes of Asia!” exclaimed Shiv, a flute of champagne in hand. She was the first to greet you, taking your hand and helping you out of the speedboat. After a kiss to your cheek, you spared her an exhausted smile.
“The lions of Turkey! Welcome back, guys!” chimed Greg. He leaned down to embrace his cousin, but Roman was quick to push his face away. Greg didn’t dare try to hug you after that, merely waving from afar.
Frank clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Back like Odysseus. Did you guys ride out on sheep?”
Snorting, Shiv added, “Yeah, I heard you took down an entire army alone, bro.”
“That would’ve been really traumatizing if you weren’t already so fucked up,” Gerri told Roman, who simply frowned.
“Yeah, who’d you suck off to get out?” Kendall inserted.
Tom smiled widely from behind Shiv. “You were staying at Four Seasons, right? How did you guys escape? Did you—did you build a glider out of a caesar salad?”
Roman squinted at nothing in particular from behind the dark lens of his sunglasses. “Uh, you know what? It was actually fucking scary and we thought they might kill us, but yeah…” The tips of his fingers wiggled in a poor rendition of jazz hands. “Hardee-har-har, caesar salads, har-har. So funny.”
An awkward silence ensued between the small group. You scritched at your neck with a wince, wanting nothing more than a shower and a nap.
“Sorry, dude. Seriously,” said Kendall.
Roman snorted. “Yeah, no. They just raped me a little, but I’m no hero. They stuck their cocks down Y/N’s throat, too. Tell them.”
He nudged you and you shook your head tiredly. “They didn’t do that.”
“See? It got so bad that she trauma-blocked the memories. Shame on all of you,” he said, propping his fists on his hips. 
Feeling mildly guilty, Shiv had the gall to rub her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Sorry, Rome.”
“It’s fine. I’m just tired, or whatever. It was funny, actually. Karl almost shat in a bucket and I have it on my phone, so we can fully humiliate him in our daily jerkfest later,” said Rome, tugging you to sit down with him on a large white seat.
“So how’d it all go, business-wise?” Connor asked, eyeing the both of you curiously. “Or was that forgotten?”
Before either of you could say anything, Laird stepped in, shaking his head with a wide smile. “Oh, we can’t say anything about that. Confidential stuff. But they—they did good.”
“Oh! Okay. Promising!” Connor exclaimed, shooting the both of you a grin. “Congrats, you guys.”
Unease crackled between the two of you. When you locked gazes with Roman, he merely lifted one of his shoulders in a shrug, lips pursed. The deal probably wouldn’t go through. It was all empty promises, powdered with a layer of cocaine. 
The two of you failed. And maybe that was okay.
Your hand found his, and his head knocked against yours. He drank the beer Shiv handed him, and you drank in the salty air of the sea.
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After you’d finally managed to pry yourself away from Roman (or, more accurately, Roman away from you), you had yourself a nice, hot shower, and a long-overdue nap. When you drowsily blinked back into consciousness, it was early afternoon, the sun still high up in the cloudless sky. A part of you wondered how you hadn’t just slept through the entire day.
You cleaned yourself up and changed into loose loungewear, heading down a story of the yacht, where you caught sight of the Roy siblings hanging by the pool (minus Connor, who was discussing matters of the play).
Roman waved at you limply. “Hey, sleeping beauty. You were knocked out for a while. I poked you in all your ticklish spots and you didn’t even stir.”
With a sigh, you curled yourself up into the cushioned spot beside him, Shiv on your other side. On her right was Tom, who had his gaze trained on Greg on the other side of the pool—the Roy’s cousin was… getting his toes looked at by the medic? You weren’t sure, and you didn’t quite want to know.
“You know, if you snuck into my room while I’m asleep and prodded me like a corpse, at least don’t fess up to it. You weirdo,” you said once you finally tore your gaze away from Greg, wrinkling your nose at Rome fondly.
“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it,” Roman whistled, to which Shiv let out a loud groan of complaint. 
Sloshing water from the pool drew your attention to Kendall. “You good, Y/N? Sorry about—if I was, like, insensitive earlier—”
“It’s fine,” you quickly replied. “They were never going to shoot us, anyway. It was all just… theatrics.”
Theatrics. Puppets and strings.
Kendall smiled loosely. 
“So, uh, how was DC?” you asked the older man as he leaned against the rim of the pool. “They had it on the TV for a bit when we were waiting to give our pitch.”
He nodded, water dripping from his hair. “Yeah, it was—it was pretty fucking real.”
“You did good,” Roman chirped, adjusting the sunglasses on his nose. 
Scoffing, Kendall shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. And what? I did good for—for a crackhead? For a moron on crack?” His voice was lilting with incredulity.
“Nope. You did good, Ken,” he said.
Shiv nodded. “Yeah. You killed it.”
Kendall wasn’t used to genuine praise from his siblings. It was usually edged with an insult, laced with sarcasm or ire. 
“It was Tom that, uh… that didn’t really persuade everyone quite as well,” you said, sending an apologetic grimace to Shiv’s fiance.
“You’re being too nice. He shat his pants and puked all over the floor,” Roman huffed with an amused smile. 
Tom pulled a cross face. “I didn’t—!” He drew in a sharp breath. “You know, a lot of people are saying I was deadcatting. Yeah. So like—dead cat on the table. Everyone’s looking at this dead cat, and not… not talking about your dad.”
Shiv pursed her lips. “Right. Sure, yeah, you drew the fire. Yeah.”
Both you and Roman exchanged humored looks. 
“So, what’s going on with Rhea? She’s out, right?” Roman asked a beat later.
“Mhm. Melted. But she’s agreed not to say anything publicly until after the shareholder meeting,” said Shiv.
You briefly wondered why she backed away, but chalked it up to immense financial risk and potential ethical demise of her career. Good for her. 
“Instead of Rhea, whose big hairy foot is going to slip into the glass slipper?” Roman queried. “Washington Ken here?”
His older brother clambered out of the pool, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. “Me? Uh, no. Nope. I mean—Rome, you brought the golden goose home.”
The two of you frowned at the same time. Roman let out a loud sigh.
“Could be anyone,” you said. “We’re right back to square one.”
“Yeah. Could be. I mean, why is Greg here?” Kendall shot a look over his shoulder to glance at his cousin, peering between his own toes.
Roman snorted. “I always ask that question.” Then, he patted your thigh and leaned against you, enjoying the warmth of your skin against his. “I did think—you know, when I thought they were going to vacuum out my innards and fill me with concrete or something—like… if we come through this, is there a thing where we, like, talk to each other about stuff? Normally?”
In a strange alien-baby voice, Shiv mocked, “You wanna twalk to each other nwormally?”
Kendall snickered and tacked on, “You wanna twalk abwout the big shit?”
“Yeah, let’s twalk abwout the big shit!”
“We can talk about—our feewings!”
The siblings joking around for a rare moment reminded you of when you were all younger, with missing teeth and scraped knees. When Shiv’s hair would still be done up in a ponytail and yours would be twisted into pigtails. Simpler times—when things weren’t all that simple but you, in your blissful ignorance, had thought they were. 
Though you really didn’t want to laugh, you tried your best to smother down a chuckle, making Roman send you a betrayed glare. 
“Wow. Really? You, too?” He lightly shoved you away, and you and Shiv burst into a fit of giggles when you knocked into her. “How am I the most mature one here?”
“Sowwy, Wome,” you crooned in the same alien-baby voice. He kicked at your foot, then hooked his leg over yours.
The laughter dulled away when the whirring of helicopter blades descended over the yacht.
Logan was here.
“Emotional gunship incoming,” said Kendall.
“Yeah. Send out the distress signal,” Shiv added, the smile on her lips fading away as she looked up to see her father fly down. “We’re under attack.”
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Logan was smiling. It wasn’t often that he smiled. 
He greeted you with a chaste kiss to the cheek, and Roman with a pat to the shoulder. It was warm in the light—brief, but warm nonetheless.
When he hoarded the two of you, along with bum-boys Laird and Karl into a separate room, he immediately asked, “Are you two alright? I heard it got a bit tasty.”
Tasty wasn’t exactly the right word for it, you thought. 
“Mmh, we’re fine. I’ve had worse experiences at hotels before,” Roman languidly commented, shrugging it off. 
Logan tilted his head. “Did they look after you? I spoke to the White House.”
“Someone came and told us there was a warship,” you said, pursing your lips. “Felt a bit extreme.”
“Knowing us gun-handy Americans, I bet it was already there,” Roman snorted, pouring himself a drink. “The ambassador took us for a shitty lunch—you know, sorry that you were held at gunpoint, have a cheese sandwich.”
Logan gestured for all of you to take a seat. “So… on the money. What’s the situation?”
“The kids did great,” said Laird, which made Roman audibly gag. “I think, Mr. Roy, you’ll be able to go private. Eduard and his father have titular responsibility for the sovereign wealth but the president’s daughter’s husband, Zeynal, is the key guy now. The two of ‘em killed it with him.”
Shrugging, Roman said, “Well, it was clear Eduard was getting sidelined. Zeynal figured out who we were, and I thought we were gonna be taken to get a fucking chainsaw massage but… nope. We had an hour, we pitched hard, and they said they wanted in.”
“Too modest,” Laird emphasized, brows raising. “This is the perfect opportunity.”
It wasn’t. It never was.
Karl went on to talk about the numbers, and Logan seemed quite pleased. 
“That’s great. That’s fucking fantastic!” announced Roman’s father.
Rome bit down on the inside of his cheek. He winced, and scratched at his head.
“I just… I do have to say one thing, dad…”
Panic flashed across Laird’s eyes. “Roman, we’re good.”
Ignoring him, Roman said, “I mean, we had a good talk with Zeynal and he said, with his mouth, that he wanted in and that’s great and all… but if this is really serious for us, I think I actually do have to say that it feels like it’s… probably horseshit.”
A beat of silence.
Laird’s eyes twitched.
Clearing your throat, you said, “Yeah, I just wanna make it clear that they said they wanted in, but didn’t sign anything yet. I mean, it’s not like we had any documents on hand but… words mean nothing. Uncle Logan, I don’t know if it’s… really smart to bank the entire future of the company on words of drug-addled men taking a piss out of you.”
Logan’s brows raised.
“It was flaky,” Roman added. “There was a lot of shit going on.”
The head man glanced at Karl, who remained deathly quiet, and then back to you. 
“Roman, they want to rebalance their portfolio for, uh, for a variety of geopolitical reasons,” began Laird. “It’s very European-focused, and he wants to tilt Western Hemisphere. It’s all very logical! I know that it’s a lot of money, and that can be very scary, but it makes sense.”
“All due respect, Laird, but I really don’t think they give a shit about adding us to their portfolio,” you said, voice hesitant. “They know we’re in debt. They know we’re in hot water with a large sector of the company. Why would they want in at all, much less hand over a ten billion dollar investment like it’s nothing?”
Roman sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry that we’re worrying our pretty little heads, Laird, but if they’re rebalancing their portfolio, it’d be fucking insane to do it over one ten-bil mega deal like it’s nothing.”
“Yeah, it’d be more sensible that they invest into several different markets around the globe,” you agreed. “None of this feels right.”
“It doesn’t matter what it feels like,” stressed Laird. “They said yes!”
With a frown, Roman retorted back, “Maybe, sure, they said yes! And there’s a ten or twenty percent chance that you’d make, like, a hundred million bucks with this deal. That’s so exciting! But if we miss, we could be fucked.”
Logan’s expression was hard to read. Anger? Disbelief? Disappointment? Acceptance? You couldn’t quite tell.
Swallowing hard, you said, “If we go through with this and none of it turns out to be real, we’d go straight over the edge. No votes, no political gain, no money.”
Finally, Logan murmured, “If it falls halfway through, it’d be terminal.”
A vein popped out on Laird’s head. “But if it works… just one step forward, and you’d be free.”
You couldn’t help but scoff. “Free from what? Just because we go private doesn’t mean we can do fuck all.”
Before Laird could argue back, Logan fixed his stare onto Roman. “Son?” he asked.
“Dad, I have to say, I’ve done a little bullshitting in my time—and Zenyal was a cokey, lying, 3 AM scotch and see-you-in-the-morning man. He won’t follow through.”
With a frustrated groan, Laird angrily got up from his seat.
Roman shook his head. “Dad, I wish it was real. I really fucking do. But it’s not—and we have to step away.”
When Logan turned his stare onto you, you nodded in agreement with Roman. 
“Karl?” your godfather asked.
The man buckled under the scrutiny. “You can’t lean on this,” he said. “Not now.”
His mind finally made, Logan got up onto his feet. “I’m sorry, Jaime. Keep exploring, keep talking. I cannot pile my chips on something that isn’t solid.”
“Excellent,” sighed Jaime. He looked at you, then at Roman. “You wanna talk solid? Maybe take a look at your kid there. Does he sound solid to you? And—thanks for the support, Karl. I hope you enjoy the king’s favors, because you know what you’re looking at if you don’t go private. Someone has to pay the price. Someone is going to go to jail, and I won’t be around to see it.”
With that, he dramatically took his leave. Roman tilted his head back and rolled his eyes.
“I wanna do the best thing. The most decent thing,” said Logan. His hand was on your shoulder for a moment, before he pulled away. “Tomorrow we’ll get into a discussion about our missteps and how we can indicate how sorry we are to the rest of the world. Get some rest, the both of you.”
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As you clambered into bed, Roman unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it somewhere behind him. He’d followed you into the cabin, claiming that there were no available cabins left—and you knew he was lying, because you’d passed by several empty rooms on the way to yours, but you didn’t bother to protest.
“If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked.”
“Ugh, shut up.”
“You know, I overheard Tom and Shiv speaking to each other,” you said as you fluffed up a pillow to lay on. 
“Ooh. Is Tom the one getting shitcanned? No surprise there,” Roman replied, crawling next to you and laid down on his stomach, head resting on his crossed arms. 
“No. I mean, I don’t actually know who it’ll be, but—” You paused to smile, near-childish laughter falling from your lips. “I heard Tom saying he was excited for a threesome.”
“Ew! What? Ew! Tell me more,” Roman exclaimed, swatting at your arms and you shoved him back, laughing at his tone. “Oh, that’s so gross. Never pegged Tom as the type.”
“I don’t think it was Tom’s idea.”
“Ew!”
The two of you giggled about it some more, before you lolled your head over to face him. 
“Do you think it could be me?” you quietly asked. “Would Logan throw me to the sharks?”
Roman hummed. “Sometimes it feels like he likes you better than any of his own fucking kids. You’re not getting canned. It won’t make sense.”
“Hm.”
He threw an arm over your stomach. “But… it won’t be me, right?”
“I don’t know, Rome,” you told him honestly. “After today… I just don’t know. But I’ve got your back.”
The two of you basked in the comfort of each other’s quiet for a brief moment. You scooched closer to him and shut your eyes.
“You’re a really good friend, Rome.”
Something akin to an amused snort fell from his lips. “Pfft. Friend. I don’t think friends jerk off to the sound of each other’s voices. You’ve had your hand on my dick. Is that what friends do these days?”
“Friends with benefits, then.”
He brushed his lips along your shoulder, light as a feather, barely there. There was a strange ache in his chest. An ache that you also felt. The two of you ached together, unknowingly. 
“Hm. I like the sound of that. It’s like you’re my personal whore.”
“It’s a two-way street.”
“Yeah. You fuck me, I fuck you. You kill me, I kill you. Like they do in Germany.”
There it was again. What was with Roman and Germany?
“Sure. Like they do in Germany.”
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It was hard to stomach breakfast with your restless nerves shooting adrenaline through your veins. You anxiously plowed through two apples and started on your third just when Logan stepped onto the lower level. Everybody’s attention piqued, their heads turning, postures stiffening up against the chairs around the dining table. 
When Gerri tentatively asked him who he had in mind as the sacrificial lamb, Logan waved her away.
“Enough. We stick together, alright? Most things don’t exist. The Ford motor company hardly exists—it’s just a time-saving expression for a collection of financial interests. But this exists, because…”
Roman leaned in close to mockingly whisper, “Family.”
“Family,” Logan finished. “We are a family. And so that’s why I think… I think the obvious choice is me.”
A ripple of shock coursed through the small group. Your eyes narrowed, unsure of what game Logan was playing at now.
“No,” Shiv vehemently said. “What? Dad, you—you can’t.”
Logan tilted his head. It wasn’t often he was told that he couldn’t. “Well, I may not be responsible, but the buck has to stop somewhere.”
The rest of the group erupted in protests. Tom, Kendall, Frank. They were all bleating sheep. Roman rolled his eyes.
“It doesn’t work,” Kendall elaborated. “When people find out Rhea isn’t coming in, we’d need stability. From you.”
Logan raised a single finger. “I need one meaningful skull to wave.” Wave didn’t seem quite the appropriate term. Chop off, maybe. Sever was a good one. “If the shareholders’ meeting was tomorrow, we lose. I need to persuade a number of big figures. So… would anyone like to say anything?”
Crackling silence. Across the table, Greg popped a fat green grape into his mouth.
“I’ll take care of whoever it is,” said Logan. “No one will be forgotten.”
Clearing his throat, Kendall ventured out, “Well, I mean, if we’re doing this, I don’t wanna spread shit around. We’re all loyal servants here. But, uh, I say this without malice aforethought, presumably, uhm, general counsel is the center of the web. Sorry, Gerri. I like you, I do.”
Logan reached out to put his hand over the blonde woman’s. “There is no one more loyal than Gerri,” he said, effectively dismissing the idea.
But you saw right through him. It wasn’t about Gerri’s loyalty. She wasn’t a big enough cut. 
“What about Frank?” Roman offered. Everyone was well aware of his disdain for the older man. “How come Frank is even here today?”
Full of ire, Logan’s old friend nodded his head. “Thanks, Roman. I see it. I could take it. I mean, I make sense.”
“Yeah. And after what he did to you? The whole boardroom coup?” Roman lifted a shoulder, convinced that Frank was the most obvious choice.
“Water under the bridge.” Logan brushed away once more. Still not big enough.
After a long while of stammering, Frank finally coughed out, “I would say objectively, considering my, uh, my indiscretion against the family makes me a less compelling sacrifice. Unlike—uhm, for instance, a loyal servant like Karl.”
Instead of defending himself, Karl decided to turn the blade right back around to Gerri. “My thing is, I guess, if Rhea is no more, then sadly, we’re back to having Gerri as named successor. So that fattens her up for the kill, in my opinion.”
“Everyone knows I was just a name on a piece of paper,” defended the woman, laughing incredulously.
“Oh, don’t put yourself down. I think you were always more than that,” scoffed Karl. “And, you know, the old copy book is a bit blotty. Expense accounts… daughter’s first class on the company coin…”
“Karl sounds good!” Tom chimed in. “Sausage thief,” he bitterly muttered, in reference to the entire Boar on the Floor debacle in Hungary.
“Gerri is theoretically kind of perfect,” said Connor.
“No,” Roman was quick to protest. “Nope. That’s bullshit. I disagree.”
Propping his joined hands on the table, Logan asked, “Why?”
“Why? Because that’s my opinion,” Roman said in a defensive manner.
“Yeah… but your reasoning?”
With a hasty glance to you, Roman hastily spun out, “Seriously, Gerri? To pay for cruises? We, what, we take out our senior woman? Haven’t we, you know—kidding, here, but—killed enough women already?”
“It’d look orchestrated. Gerri is just too obvious,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Sexual misconduct cases three decades ago, and we’d be placing the blame on general counsel and simply wiping our hands clean? Not to mention it’d just make Waystar look more… anti-women if we went down that route.”
Roman nodded. “Listen, I think the obvious choice here is, and I hate to say it because he’s such a swell guy, but—” he made a whistling noise and pointed to the man sitting across from him, “Tom.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, you're the head of cruises, man.”
Kendall pursed his lips. “I gotta agree with Rome here. Tom, I fucking love you dude, but you shat the bed over Mo Lester.”
“But I was sent in there as the fucking beating man—I took the fucking beating!” 
Shiv shook the back of her head, making no effort to defend her husband.
“You got suckered in by Eavis,” said Kendall.
“I answered the questions!”
“You don’t answer the questions. Okay? That’s, like, rule one.” Kendall patted his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I’m not beating up on you here, I’m just saying that he got a win off you and you’re kinda the face of this now.”
Lifting her head up high, Shiv said, “Tom looks logical. Cruises, document destruction. It’d be laid out for us.”
Tom’s gaze swiveled to his wife, expression utterly torn. “What?” he croaked out.
“I’m not saying you should be,” the red-head defended. “But I’m just saying you’re like family, but you’re not… actually family, which is also good. Tom, it’s the elephant in the room. We can say that!”
“No, we can’t! There’s absolutely no need to speak of the elephant in the room! There’s fifteen other fucking elephants in this room!” With an angry scoff, Tom threw both his hands up. “If you want someone who’s family but not family, what about Y/N?”
Immediately, Roman let out a high-pitched, “No! Why would it—why the fuck should it be her?”
Tom’s face contorted under the scrutiny. “I don’t know. General manager of Waystar, and goddaughter to Logan sounds like a good fucking steak to throw to the lions.” At your confused expression, Tom quickly backed down. “I’m not actually saying Y/N. I’m just saying things! It just—it shouldn’t be me. What about you, huh, Shiv?”
“Okay, fine. How do I work?” she hissed out. 
“I don’t know!” Tom exclaimed, his voice raising a few notches in volume.
Gerri pursed her lips to the side and mentioned, “I mean, if we’re saying Shiv, we could highlight witness tampering and, uh, that she was going to take over but—I don’t know, it probably wouldn���t work.”
Shiv reared back as if she’d been stung. “Uh, yeah. Too fucking right it wouldn’t work. I don’t make sense, I’ve never been inside.”
“What about both of them? Shiv and Tom? Beauty and the beast,” Roman said.
“Does Tom work?” Logan asked. “Alone?”
A long beat of silence. 
In all honesty, you thought he’d work. The missing documents were more than enough to go off of. 
But Kendall shook his head, and it flew right out the window. “Honestly, I don’t think he’s a big enough skull. No offense.”
“Then how about Tom with some fucking… Greg sprinkles?” Roman asked, gesturing to his cousin, who’d managed to polish off all the grapes on the tray. One of the workers floated by to take the tray away, no doubt to fill it back up again.
“Greg sprinkles?” parroted Greg.
Wincing, you apologetically added, “I mean, you did destroy those documents for Tom, no? It’s—it's an aided crime. It works.”
Connor laughed. “Elmo and Big Bird. I could start to see that, yeah. You could throw in a Karl or a Frank, and you’re golden.”
“What—what precisely are Greg sprinkles?” asked the Roy cousin.
“Greg sprinkles are basically a fantastic garnish for practically anyone seated at this table,” Roman replied with a faux warm smile. “Like a Tom sundae with a little Greg cherry on top.” He popped his lips and Greg frowned.
“No, I object. I do. I mean—I’m more than a sprinkle! What about you, huh? What about Roman?”
“Roman?” you asked, cocking a brow. “How would he be a good candidate?”
“Well, he’s widely known as a terrible person!”
Roman snorted. “Thanks, Toe Jam.”
“There’s another elephant in the room,” Connor interrupted. “What about I just throw myself over the side, huh?”
Shiv laughed quietly, hiding her smile behind her palm.
“Yeah, just—in return for a payout. I’m cash strapped, so just lock me into that sweet, sweet golden parachute and toss me in the volcano!” said the oldest Roy sibling. On he blathered, about how he should be the one to take the fall.
Logan glanced around. “That’s… that’s kind of you, Con. Thank you. We’ll bear it in mind.” He smiled, but it wasn’t quite authentic. It wasn’t real. Connor slumped back, going largely ignored once again.
With that, Logan stood up. “We have half an idea but… yeah. Let’s do this later.”
Off he went, through the glass doors, gone to God knows where.
You and Roman exchanged a look. His was one of relief and gratitude, yours was one of exasperation. Then, Roman leaned forward to snatch the tray of grapes away from Greg, and offered a branch of the plump green fruits to you. 
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Dinner left a stale taste in your mouth. Maybe it was because you weren’t particularly fond of the served courses. Maybe it was because of the rocking motions of the boat upsetting your stomach. Or maybe—maybe it was because Logan had finally chosen his sacrificial lamb.
Kendall stood beside his father with pursed lips. Logan nodded to the sitting group. “I’ve decided,” he simply said.
Incredulity danced across Roman’s expression, brows raised. “Ken?” he asked. “Come on, really? Dad, you—no. There’s… what about the… one of the other shitfuckers?”
Your eyes darted from your godfather, to Kendall, who took a seat across from you. He met your eyes, if only for a brief moment. A part of you felt bad for him—after all, to you he was always going to be the eight-year-old boy draped in a suit far too large for him, practicing a speech in front of the mirror for a nameless award he was going to accept one day. He’d make you and Roman sit down and listen to him, four and five years of age, expectantly turning to the two of you after he was done and asking if it sounded okay. Desperate for approval, even if the assurance came from two young kids with missing teeth and bored eyes.
He was practically your brother. You averted your gaze with mild shame burning within your chest.
“Hey, it’s okay,” said Kendall. He looked around the table. “You’re all off the hook.”
Roman leaned forward and asked, uncharacteristically genuine, “You okay?”
Wordless, Kendall nodded. He was trying his best to stave away the frown tugging at the corners of his lips. There were tears warbling over his irises. 
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.” 
But he wasn’t. Roman knew, and you knew, too.
Karl cleared his throat. “Is it just… I don’t wanna be rude here—is it just him?”
Gerri tilted her head. “First—uh, second-born son—with his responsibilities, it wouldn’t be a hard sell.”
“Roman,” said Logan. “You’re taking over as full chief operating officer.”
An indignant noise fell from his throat. “Yeah? What with Captain Cautious back in the other room?” 
“No, no. Frank’s going to be responsible for the cruises clean up. You’re on your own. Solo.” Logan stared at his youngest son. “Can you handle it?”
Beneath the table, Roman’s jostling knee bumped into yours. “Yeah,” he unenthusiastically said. “That’s really exciting.”
Kendall spared his little brother a lopsided smile. “No, Rome. It’s great. For real.” Then, he raised a fork. “Eat up, guys. This one’s on me.”
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Day three on the boat. You woke up to Roman’s arms wrapped around your midriff, his face buried in the fabric over your chest. He sleepily mumbled and whined when you dragged yourself (and, effectively, him as well, seeing as he refused to let go of you) out of bed. The two of you brushed your teeth together before you promptly kicked him out of your room so you could take a quick shower in peace.
By the time the both of you got down to have breakfast, Greg was the one to tell you that Kendall had left earlier in the morning. 
“Right to his slaughter,” you mumbled to Rome, who’s face twisted with guilt.
An hour later, you were watching Kendall on the television. Shiv and Logan were on the couches, and Roman had both his hands resting on your shoulders, kneading your muscles as if you were a stress ball.
“I have been asked to explain my role in the management of illegality at the firm and associated cover ups. And it has been suggested that I would be a suitable figure to absorb the anger and concern,” said screen Kendall. To your surprise, his words were followed by, “But…”
You and Roman exchanged glances. He stopped working at your shoulders and crossed his arms. 
“The truth is that my father is a malignant presence. He is a liar, a bully, and was fully aware of the events that had transpired on the cruise ships for many years, and made efforts to hide and cover up. He had a twisted sense of loyalty to bad actors like Lester McClintock, and a disregard for the safety of migrant workers, union and non-union workers, along with vulnerable performers and guests.”
“Fuck me,” Roman whispered. Logan silently lifted a finger to his lips to shush him.
The Kendall on screen was vastly different to the puppet Kendall you’d come to know for the past few months. He’d finally broken free of his strings.
“My father keeps a watchful eye over his entire empire, and the notion that he would have allowed millions of dollars of settlements and compensation to be paid without his explicit approval is utterly fanciful. I have with me today copies of records that show his personal sign-off. How much those of us who executed his wishes bear responsibility is for another day.” 
Shiv briefly twisted around to shoot you an utterly dumbfounded look, as if to ask you if you’d known he was going to do this. You sent her an equally befuddled expression.
“But I think…” said Kendall, “This is the day his reign ends.”
With that, Kendall got up and walked off to the side, out of the camera’s view. You couldn’t see it, for Logan was facing the screen, but there was a slight smile on your godfather’s face.
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peterparkersnose · 1 year
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You Over Anyone
pairing: Din Djarin x reader
word count: 2.6k
warnings: jealousy, angst, relationship awkwardness, assault (physical), reader gets cut by a knife, description of assault and defense, blood, din takes care of you, allusions to sex
a/n 97 days until the mandalorian returns !!!! somewhat angsty. there isnt quite enough angst on tumblr that doesnt end up with sex. dont get me wrong, i love a good smut, but sometimes i just need some yelling and frustration. longer fic woohoo!!! wrote it in one night too. i missed din djarin. 
bonus at the end for you guys :)
summary Y/N gets upset when another girl comes around and questions where her relationship stands with Din
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read time: 9 mins 29 seconds
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3 days, 12 hours, and 30 ish minutes. That was the last time Din kissed you, but you totally weren’t counting. How long has it been since he’s touched you? Hugged you? Acknowledged you for anything other than the bare minimum? Your anxious thoughts flew through your mind as you tied up your boots. He had become more and more distant each day since you had found Natalie.
About a week ago you were in the forest looking for a frog to sneak to Grogu. He had listened to you all day and deserved a treat for being a good boy. That is when you came upon a girl, no older than 20. She was almost nude, shivering, and covered in dirt. And drop dead gorgeous.
Against your better judgement you took her back to the crest. Din had basically done the same for you when he found you, why not return the favor?
Natalie showed up in the middle of an awkward time in you and Din’s relationship. Sure, flirty banter has been there ever since you’ve known him. But the last few months you two have been together- sort of. It was confirmed by mutual feelings but never said out loud. You two were everything but girlfriend and boyfriend. I mean, you could have sworn Grogu said ‘mama’ last week. You were raising a child as well as taking the risk of making a new one. He had shown you his face. You had to be something. There was no way you weren’t- right?
Shaking your head and grabbing your weapon, you followed the sound of giggling from outside.
“He does tricks?” Natalie asked, head cocked perfectly in Din’s direction. Her ponytail flew perfectly in the breeze.
“Well, sometimes. Grogu- where’s your ball? Did you leave it on the crest?” Din playfully asked his son, tickling his stomach. All he got and expected as a response was a ‘coo’ from the child.
Taking in the sight of your… Din and Grogu and her made you sick. I mean, she was even wearing your clothes. How much more sick could this get?
“Ready?” you asked, approaching the two hanging your blaster from your belt.
“Actually, I think Natalie and I are going to stay back. I promised her I would teach her how to shoot and…” Din said, the tone in his voice weary.
He saw the way your face dropped, but it flew completely over his head. Your mouth was slightly agape. You stared at him. Then her. Then him.
“Y/N?” Din coughed, breaking you from your haze. “Yeah sure. I’ll take Grogu into town with me.” you said flatly. Without hesitating, you reached for Grogu sitting in his pouch on Din’s waist (god that tiny waste drove you nuts) and secured him in your scarves.
Walking to the speeder, you watched as Din brought Natalie over to the hill the crest was parked on, letting her aim his blaster. His blaster, the one you were forbidden to touch. The pit in your stomach kept growing larger and larger and falling deeper and deeper.
Grogu cooed, noticing his mother was upset. “I’m alright, kid.” you said, smiling putting on a strong face for him. Of course, he could sense everything that was wrong and your phony smile couldn’t fool him. A sad sigh exhaled from the child as he placed his forehead and a tiny green hand on your chest where he sat tightly.
At least someone still wanted you.
Jiggling through the lanyard that was attached to your waist looking for the speeder key, you heard a shout from behind you.
“Y/N!” Din yelled, waving his hand with a slight run towards you.
Your face perked up. A slight smile came on your lips. He was coming back to give you a goodbye kiss, you just knew it.
“Hey,” he said, slightly out of breathe as he reached the speeder. You were ready. Leaning over the speeder towards him, your eyes met through his viser.
“Don’t forget those to buy those special nuts I like. The ones with dragon berry? Remember?”
Your perfect moment was crushed.
“Yup,” is all you could manage out. Your hand had grasped the right key and you sped off, leaving a trail of dust behind you.
***
It was now midday. The hot sun beat down on the two of you. Your scarves were draped over your head, shielding the sun from your eyes.
You felt a tiny scratch on your chest. “Yes, yes. Calm down, we’re going to the Cantina for some food.”
One more sale and it was lunch. The bag of credits in your sleeve pocket was still heavy. You were skimming the blaster modifications when you heard a squeal.
“Is that her, Din?” you heard Natalie say from feet away. “Shh!” he hushed her.
He told her his name. Not Mando anymore. Din.
“Y/N!” Natalie yelled from across the market. You grinded your teeth and took a deep breathe, abandoning any interest in the parts.
“Hi!” you said with the fakest smile you had ever had on your face. “How did you two get here without a speeder?” you asked, a pissed tone silently rode off your lips as your eyes stabbed into his beskar helmet.
“We walked! It was such a nice time in the forest. An hour goes by really fast when your having fun.” Natalie smiled aimlessly at you.
As you couldn’t see, Din was behind his mask with the most tired eyes and annoyed face known to man.
You swallowed.
“I’m starving. Could you get me some food Din?” she said again using his name. “Mando.” he corrected her. “Oh right. We’re using our made up names.” she whispered, giggling heading towards the Cantina.
He stood there for a second, looking you up and down. You knew him well enough behind the mask to notice what he was doing. “Don’t fucking even,” you scoffed, following the bubbly girl into the Cantina. “Don’t what?” he asked, following you confused into the loud bar.
You felt the tears begin to well up in your eyes. Making your way to the bathroom, you shook Din’s hand off of yours trying to gain your attention. “Please,” you yelled a little too loudly, yanking your hand away and making a bee line towards the restroom.
You slammed the stall door shut and waited for the heavy beskar boots to follow you in. He wasn’t the type to leave you. Ever. You waited.
And waited.
And waited. And they never came.
Sitting on the toilet sobbing, you barely remembered Grogu was there. Another scratch on your chest reminded you that he was hungry.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” you sniffled, wiping your eyes and attempting to clean up your red face.
Staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror felt stupid. You had so much pity for yourself. Your braid has become more loose than it was this morning. Strands of loose hair rested next to your face. Your boots had mud on them. Now was not the time to be critiquing yourself but you couldn’t help it. How could you not? Natalie was beautiful, more pretty than you’d ever be. Right?
This time Grogu let out a small growl and you gave in. Turning the corner, you were grabbed near the exit and thrown back into the bathroom.
Laying on the floor confused, you looked up at your attacker. A giant creature with blue horns stared down at you with a smirk on his face.
“I saw that pretty bag of coins on your wrist, ma’am.” he scowled, pointing his long knife down at you. “I would appreciate if we did this the easy way.” he said cracking his neck in both directions.
The blade rested on the middle of your chest. Grogu, being the curious creature he is poked his head out of your swaddle you had made him.
“Well well well, what is this?” he asked, moving the knife to bump the scarf you had around your chest. “I think I will be taking both.” he smiled, revealing his yellow crooked teeth.
Panic flashed your mind as you rolled over, shielding Grogu from his grasp. He let out a loud yell in anger and didn’t hesitate to swipe his dagger at your shoulder, leaving a pretty nasty cut.
“Fuck!” you yelled out in pain, holding the open wound.
Grogu being the good boy he is (he deserves another frog) rolled out of your grasp and waved his tiny hand in the air. The dagger flew from the attackers hand and right into your grasp.
“Good boy,” you whispered as you didn’t hesitate to stab the man near his groin. He cried out in pain as you twisted the knife, then pulled it out. It was covered in purple blood.
You scooped up Grogu and made your way back into the crowded Cantina. You spotted Din with his elbow resting comfortably on the counter talking to Natalie.
“… and then Greef started to complain about-”
“We need to go.” you said in a low voice, grabbing his hand and pulling in the opposite direction. “What?” he asked. “What’s that?” Natalie asked loudly, pointing at the dripping dagger in your hand.
“Shut it for once, won’t you?” you yelled at her. A wave of concern flew over Natalie’s face. “Hey!” Din yelled, sticking his finger in your face. You had to ignore the intrusive thought to bite it.
A large roar came from the Cantina bathroom exit. Everyone’s eyes turned to the creature. “You little bitch!” the man yelled, meeting your eyes in the crowd.
“We need to go.” you ordered, slipping out of the entrance. Looking behind you and gripping Grogu close, you ran to the speeder. Din quickly followed without Natalie on his tail.
You straddled the speeder as you heard your attacker’s yells from behind you. He was a few feet behind Din. At that point, Natalie began to stumble out of the Cantina.
Din held up his hand, signaling for you to start the speeder. The wound on your arm throbbed. With one hand cradling a sleeping Grogu and the other on the speeder handle, you prepared for the worst.
Din made it just in time. “Go go!” he yelled, grabbing your waist tightly as you sped off. That man and Natalie were left in the dust.
The speeder tumbled as you reached the crest. You meant to get fuel on your way back, but that obviously didn’t get to happen.
As the two of you finally stopped, you sat for a moment in silence.
Finally, you flipped around. You handed Din a sleeping Grogu and turned to go back in the crest. Your face was stone cold.
“Are you okay?” Din asked wearily. He was most definitely not getting a response. You walked through the hatch and made it to the medical cabinet. It was funny, you had forgot you had put on a white shirt today and not a crimson one.
“Is that blood?” he asked, removing his helmet and setting Grogu inside of it. He liked to nap there sometimes, it was warm and smelt of his father.
“Why do you care? I’m surprised your not back on your speeder going to find Natalie.” you hissed, cutting your sleeve off to reveal the wound.
“Fuck!” you yelled as the bloody sleeve rolled down your arm. “What? Cy’are what happened?” Din asked, rushing to your aid. “Get away from me.” you hissed back at him, struggling to see straight. “Let me help.” he demanded. “Go ffffucking find her.” you slurred.
Blood was definitely lost.
“Sit for gods sake.” he yelled, pulling up a chair behind you. He pulled out the bacta cream and bandages. “You b-better not fucking touch me Din Djarin,” you yawned.
Ignoring you, he wiped the blood away from the wound. It wouldn’t need stitches, but it would leave a nasty scar. He applied the cream and wrapped your arm up. “Too tight?” he asked, his eyes peering into yours.
“I don’t know why your so worried about me when we left Natalie out there.” you bitched. “Seriously Y/N, too tight or not.” he said ignoring your comment.
“You told her your name?” you slurred, the blood loss just beginning to regenerate.
“What? No. She heard you call me it last night.”
“Oh.”
“Why were you all over her? You could barely even speak to me. It’s obvious that you were just going to leave me somewhere and take her instead.” you mumbled, staring at your muddy and now bloodied boots.
“What?” Din asked, astonished. “What are you talking about, Cy’are?”
He bent down in front of you, his hands on both of your thighs. “Don’t lie,” you said, turning your head away from his. Tears began forming in your eyes.
“Your in love with her Din.”
Din wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your thighs. “You are dreaming, my love.”
“Then why did you-”
“I stayed with her because I thought you couldn’t stand her. I thought I was doing you a favor.” he explained.
I mean he wasn’t wrong.
“But what about-”
“Shh,” he shushed you. “I’m horrible but I’m glad we left her at the Cantina. I didn’t know how much longer I could have gone with her constantly at my hip. I couldn’t be with you, I was starting to loose my mind.”
You carefully grabbed a handful of his brown curly hair. You always forgot how soft it was, never being able to touch it under all that beskar.
“Really?” you sniffled, using your other hand to wipe the tear away.
“We have about another 45 minutes to get off this planet.” he hummed into your jeans, kissing your thigh before returning upright.
“I can’t believe you thought I liked her better,” Din scoffed, now towering over you.
“You let her use your blaster?” you questioned. “She grabbed it.” he sighed, laughing at your question. “So am I allowed to touch it now?” “Absolutely not.”
“But why did you ignore me then? Not even anything. No good morning kiss or sleeping in the same bed or…” “Oh.” he sighed. “I thought you wanted to keep it quiet? Not let her know. I’m sorry,”
“I’d let the whole galaxy see you touch me,” you mumbled. A smile rose to Din’s lips.
His hand turned to your cheek, cupping it ever so lightly. His thumb brushed over your lips. He bent down, giving you a soft kiss on your tear stained lips.
“You over anyone, cy’arika. How I’ve missed you.”
yes don’t worry grogu was fed he is well taken care of don’t call cps trust me he got all the frogs and eggs he wanted after that day
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bonus:
You lay in his warm grasp for the first time in over a week. His warm skin rested on yours. The hum of the open galaxy surrounding the ship filled your ears. Din’s messy hair sat on him well. His arms ran across your bare chest, holding you with ever such ease. His breaths became more shallow with each second.
“Hey,” he whispered groggily in your ear, pulling you closer. “Mhm,” you replied, pushing yourself into his embrace. You were expecting an ‘I love you’ or ‘I missed your body’ or something romantic.
“Did you remember my nuts? The dragon berry ones?”
“God dammit Din,” you sighed, closing your eyes.
“Did you remember?” he asked, sitting up in bed and peering down at you with a raised eyebrow.
“No Din. I forgot your fucking nuts.”
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heliads · 1 month
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hiiii! I’d really like a Draco Malfoy x fem!slytherin!reader where they used to be BEST friends and started to date, but then ended up breaking up on bad terms (due to some angsty miscommunication). so it’s basically like best friends to exes to lovers but in the end it’s super fluffy and Draco’s a little simp even tho that’s lowkey ooc
'friendships end' - draco malfoy
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It’s been a long time since you’ve heard from Draco Malfoy, which is unusual. Typically, he likes to make his presence known. Yet it’s been many months since his owl sent word of his exploits, or the last time he sought you out in the Slytherin common room to explain at length the latest novelties to come his way. You used to love that, you know– the trust, the confidence in you to hear him out– but now you love the silence more, or so you tell yourself. Then again, you suppose the emptiness is your fault. After all, you’re the one who broke up with him. 
You hadn’t wanted to, of course. Not really. In the heat of yet another argument, you’d convinced yourself that a breakup would be good, but in the time since then, you’ve only been spiraling into memories of what had been yours before you took it all away. You had been happier with Draco, hadn’t you? Now all you can do is second-guess yourself and wonder if you had been wrong to end the one brilliant thing that had belonged to you and no one else.
It had been inevitable that you and Draco would start dating. That’s what your other friends of Slytherin House had said, at least, when the news broke. It seemed like the entirety of Hogwarts had known within a few hours of your first date together. Gossip spreads like wildfire in a school like this, and as it turns out, more than a few of your fellow students had been expecting you two to get together for quite some time.
At first, it had seemed like yet another victory in your pocket. Draco loved you and you loved him. The two of you were the talk of the town. Stealing Draco’s heart might have been the best hat-trick you’d ever pulled off, and he might say the same thing about you. You traded scarves and stole his jackets, bought each other roses and studied side by side in the common room every night, borrowing glances when you were sure the other wasn’t looking. Every move felt like a miracle– look at this person, who loves only me. Somehow, I managed to make them fall in love with me, despite all odds and all other people, and now they’ll be mine forever.
Only– forever isn’t a true thing, not in the wizarding world, and certainly not in fast-paced Slytherin. Every day, there are new battles to be fought, more prizes to be won, and victories that can be won by one person and one person only. You and Draco stopped competing together and started fighting against each other to secure the top places. Instead of being happy for each other when you got high exam scores, it felt like more nails in your coffin. Wouldn’t he grow tired of you if you couldn’t get your grades up? And he went to bed afraid, lay up all night wondering, wouldn’t you move on if Draco couldn’t win more Quidditch games?
Regardless if the two of you actually depended that much on each other’s academic and personal successes for your love to flourish, it certainly felt that way. The other Slytherin students, which at first had welcomed your relationship with open arms, turned against you, whispering to each other like snakes whenever you passed them in the corridors. Nowhere felt safe except by each other’s side, and then not even that. You swore Draco was mocking you to Crabbe and Goyle. He thought you were bad-mouthing him to Pansy and Astoria. 
And then, after weeks of rumors and indecision, it all came to a fiery head. You accused each other of not actually caring about each other and lying about what you’d done and worse things, too. When the voices were raised and the words got bad, you pulled for the last weapon you had up your sleeve and announced that you wanted to break up with him. You were assuming that Draco would recognize the move for what it was, a last-ditch attempt for him to realize that you were on fragile ground, but instead his eyes just flashed and he agreed that separation would be best for you two.
All of a sudden, it was over. Years in the making, only months in the having. The two of you have never been able to do anything but escalate a situation– grades, love, and this, now– so of course Draco would never back down from a fight. One of you always had to be better. One of you always had to have the last laugh. And now you’re both alone, forever on opposite sides of a classroom or common room, staring daggers at each other’s backs because it’s the only glimpse you’ll ever be able to catch of the person who had once sworn to love you forever.
It’s terrible because not only have you lost your love, you’ve lost your friend. You and Draco were the best of friends before you started dating, it’s why you felt confident enough to risk your heart on a Malfoy. You knew he would never hurt you because he never has, and then he did. Sitting with the broken fragments of your heart in your hands, your first instinct was to go to Draco about this, and then the truth slowly sunk in that you couldn’t, that you never could trust him with your honesty again. Draco knew every part of you, broken and bare, good and bad and ugly, and he ended things anyway. If Draco Malfoy can break your heart, then where is the proof that love could ever exist anywhere again?
Friendships end. Friendships always end. You know this to be true. Either by sudden death or slow drifting, best friends never stay that way forever. You’ll have irreconcilable differences that lead to jaded arguments, or time will intervene and you’ll stop seeing each other around, then stop making attempts to care. You’ve chosen the first end, it seems, but since when would anything with you and Draco end with a lackluster indifference? You would either pledge yourselves to each other forever or go out with enough chill to ice you both out for good. There was no world in which you could go quietly.
Perhaps this is true, perhaps it was meant to be all along that two people so ambitious and excitable as you two could never end with anything but terror, but Merlin, if you don’t hate it now. You straggle from class to class, hardly able to convince yourself to put in the effort to care about what you’re learning. You’ll lock in long enough to study for exams, and turn in halfway decent papers, of course, but your heart isn’t in it anymore.
And how could it? You have no heart. It’s gone, lost to you forever in the annex of a corridor a few turns away from the Slytherin common room, where Draco stalked away from you, unaware or perhaps not caring about the blood he tracks wherever he goes. He ripped your heart in two and washed his hands of the agony. You wish you could do the same, but every new day just reminds you of how much you wish you were with him.
Still, you move on, or you try to, at least. Draco clearly has. He hardly spares a word for you, not even a gloating reminder that he’s got the upper hand since he isn’t wallowing in self-pity on a day-to-day basis. He’s simply busy all of the time, too busy for you. You’re not so busy that you don’t notice it, and certainly not busy enough that it wouldn’t hurt.
Yes, you miss Draco, but who wouldn’t? What a time in your life. There are some people in life that you simply won’t be able to forget, and you have a feeling that Draco Malfoy is one of them. As much as you would love to push him into the past and lock him up with all the other dusty relics of times long since gone, he refuses to be barricaded with the rest of your childhood playthings and old friends.
He’s always been too ambitious for his own good, hasn’t he? And so have you. It’s what drew the two of you together in the first place, and it’s what drew you apart. You try to use that same strength to push yourself onwards and upwards, and it works for a time, but never completely. You can throw yourself back into your studies and spend your free time laughing with friends, but there will always come a time at the end of the day in which you have nothing to occupy your heedless minutes, when the gloomy thoughts come creeping back in again and you wonder– just why did you have to let him go, really?
Not even the strictest schedule in the world can free you of regret, it seems. You feel like you’re being torn apart at all seams even as you attempt to force yourself back together again. Your nerves are flighty, your senses on constant high alert, and you can’t seem to stop your eyes from scanning the room whenever someone exits or enters, just in case Draco might come in, just in case he might see you as anything but your best. You have to prove that you’re doing better than him, but you’re not sure if you can convince him of that when you can hardly convince yourself.
Days go by, blending into weeks, and then two months have come and gone and you’re no better off than you were at the start. Things with Draco are still painful, like testing a wound just to watch the stitches come undone. Every interaction with him is terrible. You run into each other in the corridors and he practically flinches with an effort to look away again. You both raise your hands to answer the same question in class and you almost sprain a muscle in your effort to quickly pull your arm down again. You and Draco approach the entrance to the common room at the same time and have to stand there, side by side, pretending you don’t notice each other at all. 
It’s an awful sort of hell, having to feign indifference to the one person who used to be able to read you like a book. Maybe he still can, maybe not even time and separation can heal Draco of that great gift, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to attempt to read between your lines anymore. Maybe he’s not faking apathy with you. Maybe he truly just doesn’t care.
Despite your tendency to think that way, your friends seem to have none of it. They keep telling you that he stares when he thinks you’re not looking, that every time some boy asks for your help on a problem in class, Draco snaps a quill or otherwise looks like he’s going to burst a blood vessel from failing to keep himself in check.
You don’t have the heart to believe them. Your friends will tell you whatever they think is right to get you to smile again. You know you’ve been ruining the mood whenever you complain about Draco, but you’ve been trying to work on that, too. You’ve been trying to work on a lot. It doesn’t always go the way you plan it.
Still, when they talk like that, you can’t help but secretly listen along. You catch Draco looking one time, then again. The second time, he doesn’t look away, but keeps holding your gaze like an oath, a promise. He used to smile whenever he caught your eye in class, but this time, his gaze is more serious. It feels like life and death, and it’s only just the two of you happening to look the same way at the same time.
Everything feels charged. You cross paths and the entire corridor seems to crackle with energy. You know how this feels, you remember it from the first time around, so at this point, it isn’t a question of if you’ll make another mistake but when.
When, as it turns out, is about a week later. You’re walking back from the library, late one night when a problem set got the better of you. After finishing the work at long last, all you want to do is go back to the Slytherin common room so you can go to sleep. Halfway back, though, you run into Draco, obviously coming from a similar situation given the ink stains on his writing hand.
Usually, this is the part where one of you doubles back or otherwise hides from the other, but instead Draco looks at you, and says, “Walk with me?”
You agree before you know what you’re doing. At first, your footsteps echo in the silent halls, and then you gather up the courage to speak again. “It’s been a while since I saw you.”
Draco scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. I saw you in class this morning.”
You give him a dour look. “You know what I mean. I don’t think you’ve spoken to me on purpose since–”
Since the fight, that is. Since both of you walked out on each other. Draco looks away for a moment, and when he speaks again, the syllables are terse and clipped. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk. After all, you were the one who ended things.”
You sigh. “I didn’t want to, though. It was a stupid thing to say and we were both angry at each other. We’d had arguments before, I thought we’d talk it over in a day or two and then be fine.”
“And then we weren’t,” Draco supplies.
“And then we weren’t,” you repeat listlessly. A moment later, you can’t help but add on somewhat desperately, “Where did we go wrong, Draco? What happened to us?”
Draco’s gaze is bleak and painful. “I don’t know. I’ve tried thinking it over loads of times. I thought you liked me.”
“I did,” you insist. Then, quieter:  “I do.”
He risks a quick glance your way. “Still?”
You don’t dare look at him outright. He’s always been an expert at calling your bluff, anyway. You reckon he doesn’t need to hold your gaze to know when you’re telling the truth. “Always. I never thought you’d leave me, Draco. I didn’t know what to do without you. I tried to move on, but I couldn’t.”
“Neither could I,” he reveals. “Every time I saw some bloke flirting with you, I wanted to hex him. Worst part was, I couldn’t admit to being angry because I wasn’t supposed to be jealous.”
“You were jealous over someone asking me for help on the homework?” You ask, a quiet laugh rising to your lips.
“They weren’t just interested in the homework,” Draco insists, although his irritation starts to fade when you laugh outright.
“Alright, then. Let’s say you did have something to be jealous about. Would that mean that you– that you wanted–”
“It means that I want you, Y/N,” Draco says, quickly stepping in front of you so you’re forced to stop walking and look directly at him. “I want you back. I want us back. What do you say?”
He’s close, so close. He hasn’t been this close since an empty room and a furious argument. This time, though, you’re not unhappy. Far from it.
“I say yes,” you tell him, and the words have hardly left your lips before he leans forward and kisses you.
You’ve had many victories over your time at Hogwarts. You’ve aced exams, you’ve done well in competitions, you’ve won the boy you loved, twice. This kiss feels like the best of them all.
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The Dangers of Hope Ch. 7
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Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.
Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.
Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.
Chapter Warnings: Angst, bit of smut.
Word Count: 4,813
A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.
If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊
I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.
I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️
A/N 2: Chapter 7 has arrived. 😊 I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️
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The dividers below were created by @saradika
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Three and a half weeks later
“And these would be beside every tent?” Dean asked Brandy as he looked at the rough drawings she’d made of her latest idea.
She nodded. “Yeah, on the West side of every tent. It would mean families don’t have to come to Food Storage every few days for more rations, and once the deep snow comes that’s gonna be a huge benefit for folks. Plus it’s easier for people to plan ahead and stretch their food if they have two weeks worth of rations sitting outside their tent. I mean, it won’t work once spring comes, but that’s a problem for spring.”
Dean nodded. He looked at their builders, the group of half a dozen survivors that were tasked with providing new buildings and necessities as the camp required. They’d built the sheds earlier in the year, the chicken coop last summer and were currently finishing up a small barn for the cow.
“Is this gonna interfere with completing the barn?” He asked, nodding at Brandy’s drawings. 
One of the women, he was pretty sure her name was Vanessa, shook her head. “No, we’ll be finished with the barn in a couple of days, and be able to get Lily settled for the winter all snug, and then move on to the food sheds.” She looked at the drawing again and shrugged. “They’re small enough that we should be able to get them all done within a few weeks?” 
She looked to the rest of the builders who nodded their agreement.
Dean frowned. “Lily?”
Vanessa grinned. “Yeah, sorry that’s what the kids have dubbed our little cow. Y/N has them going to visit her once a week so Ralph can teach them about farming.” She said, referring to the old farmer who had helped to plant the winter vegetables.
Dean felt his stomach twist as it always did when someone brought up her name. But he just nodded. “Okay, good. Get started on the food sheds as soon as you’re able. The deep snow is gonna come in the next couple weeks. It’d be good to have them all done by then.”
They all gave a chorus of “Okay, Boss” or “Sure thing Boss” as they nodded and took their leave. They wrapped their scarves tight and pulled on their mittens. The deep snow may not have come yet, but the ground was layered in white, and winter was sharp and stinging in the late November air.
Brandy gathered up her drawings and was headed out when Dean called her back.
“Brandy?”
She turned back to him, an eyebrow raised in question. They'd never discussed their meeting in the cabin with Y/N, but he'd noticed a slightly colder demeanor from her lately.
And he knew why, of course. 
Brandy had been one of the original dozen survivors who had built the camp together. She'd been an incredible asset from the beginning, and they probably wouldn't have survived without her planning and strategies for running the camp. He and the soldiers may have kept the survivors alive, but Brandy kept them living by organizing and planning for their food and shelter. She was an invaluable member of the camp.
But three weeks ago he'd treated her like a servant meant to do his bidding. He knew he owed her an apology, but it had been so long since he'd apologized for anything that it stuck in his throat.
Now she contemplated him, waiting for him to speak, and he just nodded. He pointed towards her drawings. 
“This is a good idea.” He cleared his throat. “So, thanks.”
Brandy stared a moment longer before a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She nodded.
“No problem, Boss. That's what we're all here for, right?”
Dean just nodded and she lifted her scarf over her face and left the big cabin where Dean conducted most of his business these days, since it was warmer than his tent and could fit more people.
As he ran a hand over his face, the door opened again and most of his soldiers tromped inside. They were there to talk about security and possible threats, but Dean immediately looked at Johnston. 
“Hey, did you tell her I want to see her?”
The thin man nodded vigorously. “Yes sir. I told her yesterday. Has…has she not come to see you yet?” He looked around the room as though Y/N might be hiding somewhere. 
Dean shook his head. “No, she hasn't.” He pointed towards the door. “So why don't you go get her and tell her I expect to see her now.”
Johnston looked wary and as though he definitely didn't want to follow that order. But when Dean just stared him down, he turned and left quickly.
The rest of his soldiers began giving their reports about any problems they were having at the outposts, like equipment that needed repair or items that needed replenishing. But Dean was only half listening; his gaze kept straying to the door, waiting for Y/N to show. 
Ten minutes later, Patrick was briefing him and Dean tried to focus on what he was saying. 
“Williams has seen the group twice now, but -” Patrick cut himself off as Y/N and Johnston pushed through the door.
Y/N smiled at the soldiers as she came in. “Sorry to interrupt, but apparently I was summoned.” 
She cut her glance to Dean and her smile turned brittle. 
“I was told you needed to see me.”
“Yeah, since yesterday.” Dean responded, hardening his voice in an attempt to not seem desperate, especially in front of his soldiers.
“Sorry. Busy.” Was Y/N's curt reply. “What do you need?”
Dean took a deep breath. “I just wanted to know how you're -” he altered his words, “your school, or, uh, the school was going?”
Y/N paused for a moment before answering with a shrug. 
“Fine.”
When it was clear that was all she was going to say, Dean scowled at her. “You wanna elaborate on that?”
She raised her chin a fraction. “Oh, I'm sorry, Boss, I don’t have anything else to say right now, but I’ll be sure to write out a full report for next week.”
Her eyes shot daggers that found their mark, bringing a pain to his chest that he felt a lot these days. He’d thought it might go away if he could talk to her, see her, but it was just worse with her there.
He shook his head. “That won't be necessary.” He said quietly.
“Anything else then, Sir?”
He'd never hated that moniker more. “No, that's it.” 
She spun on her heel and walked out of the cabin. Silence reigned when she left. Dean waved at everyone else. “We'll finish this another time.” When they didn't immediately move, he made his voice a bit sharper. 
“Dismissed.”
That got them moving and they all shuffled their way out the door - all except Risa. She closed the door behind her fellow soldiers and then turned back to face Dean. 
He caught her eye and lifted his hands. “What?”
She shook her head slowly. “You're such an idiot.”
Dean dropped his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna try that again?”
Risa shook her head as she walked back to him. “No, I said what I said.” 
Dean gave her a look of annoyance as she reached him and leaned one hip on the table where he stood. She raised her hand to his cheek, her countenance softening. 
“I really wanted to be the one.”
Dean scowled in confusion. “The one what?”
Risa pushed her fingers through his short hair. “The one to make you smile.” There was a long pause between them and Dean had no idea how to respond to that. She shook her head and stood up straight, dropping her hand. “But, it was obviously meant to be her.”
Dean scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
“Y/N. You know I'm talking about Y/N.”
He gave a short burst of sarcastic, humorless laughter. “Yeah, right. You think Y/N's gonna make me smile? I've done nothing but pull my hair out since she got here, so ..” He trailed off and looked away from Risa's knowing gaze.
Risa nodded. “Yeah, cause you're an idiot.” She reiterated.
When he looked back at her, Risa was smiling softly and wistfully. “Apologize to her, idiot. Try to get back what you've nearly lost. She's pissed, don't get me wrong, it might take some real groveling on your part but,” she nodded, “she has a very kind heart, so she might forgive you. It's definitely worth a try.”
Dean stared at her for a moment before he looked down at the ground, conceding the truth in her words. “I don't know how to do it.”
Risa gave a gentle laugh. “You're a smart guy. Bet you'll figure it out.”
She put her hand on his cheek again, resting the other on his chest as she stood on tiptoe to reach his lips. She placed a light, lingering kiss there and then pulled away. 
“Goodbye, Dean.”
Dean felt a jolt of worry at the farewell. “You’re leaving? Am I losing a soldier?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, the soldier is staying. I'm saying goodbye to the woman I wanted to be for you. And the man that she…cared about a lot. I hope he lets himself be happy.”
Dean frowned, feeling the weight of her goodbye, with all of its disappointed hopes. 
“Goodbye Risa.” He said, and knowing it wasn't enough, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her lips, light and brief. “Thank you…for being the woman you are.”
He thought he saw a glimmer of moisture in her eye, but she blinked it away quickly and pulled out from under his hands. She moved to the door in a few strides and, with one last smile thrown over her shoulder, she walked away.
***
That afternoon as the winter sun headed into the west, Dean made the decision to go talk to Y/N. This was ridiculous. They were a camp of less than 150 people, continuing to try and avoid each other was impractical.
He'd just go tell her that.
He walked to the school because she was usually still there this time of day. But when he got there, the schoolroom was empty. He looked around the space that he hadn't seen in over a month and had to shake his head.
What had been a cold empty shed not even three months ago was now a warm, inviting, cozy space. She'd had a little camp stove installed, and on the Northern wall, replacing the fall leaves that had been there, was a giant, beautifully sewn quilt. He recognized it as the same design as the one that hung in the big cabin. 
Hannah, who was Ralph-the-farmer's wife, had made it out of old scraps of material. It took a long time to gather enough scraps for a whole quilt so he knew this quilt probably took her months of hard work. But of course she'd gifted it to Y/N and the school. That's what Y/N brought out in people - hard work and generosity.
The small wooden table in the room had four chairs around it now and he wondered where she'd snagged the other two chairs. 
The kids’ blanket seating had been enhanced slightly with the addition of a few pillows, and on the western wall, beside the old map, two long, weathered planks of wood had been nailed in place to serve as bookshelves. The books he'd brought back had been placed lovingly on the shelves, not a single corner bent on any of them. 
He sighed at the changes and felt a warmth flare to life in his heart. Y/N did this too - seeming to warm the spaces around her without trying.
He walked out of the schoolroom and was just starting to walk back to his tent when he heard high pitched giggles coming from the side of the school just seconds before three small bodies hurtled forward, chasing and grabbing on to one another - Emma and her two little friends. He couldn't remember their names.
When they all saw him, the laughter fell away and Emma's eyes got wide, fear and suspicion filling them instantly. It felt like a punch when he remembered the way she'd climbed up on the chair beside him that one time, shy acceptance in her expression as she asked him to read to her.
He hated that she was so scared of him; he had to try and fix that much, at least. 
“Hi girls.” He said in what he hoped was a friendly sounding voice. Emma's friends nodded and waved at him slightly. But Emma stayed on high alert.
He looked at her two friends. “I need to talk to Emma, so you girls head on home now.” 
They looked to Emma who looked more scared than ever. But she whispered goodbye to them and they ran off.
Dean got a bit closer to her and went down on his haunches. He took a second to think what to say to her.
“You know, you don't have to be scared of me.”
“I'm not.” Emma said quickly while her big blue eyes were shrouded in fear.
Dean nodded. “Okay, good because…” He struggled to find the words that would help. “Cause I thought maybe I scared you a bit before. When I, uh, needed to talk to your mom alone.”
Emma nodded, the suspicion growing in her gaze. “When you were mad at Mommy.”
Dean shook his head. “No, I wasn't mad.” 
Emma gave him a look that said she didn't believe him and he conceded with a nod. 
“Okay, I was a little…upset, but I was just…confused. Eventually everything got figured out.”
She didn't say anything, clearly still highly skeptical. 
Dean took a deep breath and decided  to just go for it. “Anyway, I didn't mean to scare you and I'm…sorry about it.” He cleared his throat. “And I promise not to scare you like that again. Okay?”
Emma stared at him for a long time and he kept hold of her earnest blue gaze throughout her scrutiny. Slowly a smile spread across her face.
“Okay.” She said, accepting him at his word. “Then can you come over again for supper tonight? I can read a bunch of words now, mommy taught me in the books. So, I could help you read the story this time.”
Dean shook his head at the speedy ways of forgiveness in a child's heart, and for the first time in more years than he could remember, a small smile turned up one side of his mouth. 
He reached out to pat her cold cheek. “I'm not sure, kiddo. We'll have to wait and see.” Emma was about to argue the point but Dean stood up. “Now it's gonna be dark soon and it's way too cold for you to be out here without a scarf. Don't you have one?” He asked.
Emma nodded. “Yeah, but I don't like it. It itches.”
Dean hummed. “Ah, yeah wool does that sometimes.” He unwound his own scarf from around his neck.
“Here, I'll trade you.” He said as he wound the polyester scarf around her neck and up over her cheeks. “Now, you head home.”
Emma's eyes were bright and happy above her new scarf as she danced away, skipping through the light snow that blanketed the ground.
He watched her go for a moment before turning back to head home himself. But he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Y/N standing in the path with an arm full of wood. Silence reigned for nearly a full minute. Finally he reached forward to take the wood, but Y/N shook her head.
“No, I’m fine.” She nodded toward the school. “Just stocking up for tomorrow.”
“Right.” 
More silence. Y/N’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke. “Thank you for the scarf. It’s been impossible to get her to wear one.”
He nodded and then realized something. “How long were you standing there?”
Y/N took a deep breath, answering on an exhale. “Since just before you promised my daughter not to scare the shit out of her again.”
Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “So, basically the whole time.”
“Yeah, basically.” She took a beat pause. “Thank you for that.” 
Dean nodded. She walked towards the school again but before she could close the door and shut him out, Dean called to her, knowing his voice sounded desperate.
“I needed to believe it.”
Y/N turned in the doorway, a frown on her face. “Needed to believe what?”
He took a step closer, feeling choked by all the words he wanted to say that wouldn’t form properly in his mind. Y/N stared at him for a moment more before huffing slightly and walking into the schoolroom. He followed her inside, closing the door against the wind as she dropped the pile of wood into a metal bucket by the stove.
When she turned back to face him, she was scowling. “Dean, I don’t know what you want here. What do you want me to say?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want her to say anything. He wanted to say things, so many things. “No, nothing.” He croaked out.
She crossed her arms over her chest, bunching up her too big jacket. “Then what are you doing here?”
He took deep breaths in through his nose, pushing the words out through a closed throat. “I needed to believe it.” He said again, quieter this time.
“Believe what?” Y/N asked in frustration.
He stepped close to her and she took a step back before refusing to retreat. He gazed at her and wished more than anything that she really could just see inside his head so he wouldn’t have to try and get it out.
But he looked at the ground quickly and then back at her. His breathing was slightly labored and his voice was thin as he spoke. “You’re so dangerous to me, Y/N.”
He knew he said the wrong words when her forehead wrinkled into a deep frown and she nodded. “Because - I’m a psychic monster? Or because I’m a croat? Why exactly am I dangerous this time?”
“Because you’re you.” Dean answered loudly, speaking over the end of her question. He sighed in frustration; he was getting all of this wrong. He looked up to the heavens, as though they could possibly help him, and tried again, speaking softer.
“I needed to believe that you could control my mind or my…my feelings because…” He trailed off and looked at Y/N hoping she’d just know what he was saying and finish the sentence for him. But she was still just frowning in confusion.
“Because,” he continued, “my feelings when I'm around you are…dangerous. For me, I mean, they’re dangerous. Y/N I can’t…” He shook his head. “The way you look at the world? And the way you change how I see it too? It’s so fucking dangerous.”
He waved his hand, trying to encompass everything. “This world is ugly and shitty, and fucking ended! We literally lived through the end of the world, and now all that’s left is this - this dark, violent, bullshit reality.” 
He shook his head and his voice was filled with awe. “Yet somehow you move through it like this,” again he struggled for the words to describe her, “like some kind of lighthouse, like a refuge for every cold, lost thing. And I - “
He cut himself off, not sure he was making any sense. But Y/N had stopped frowning and was now just contemplating him.
He shrugged. “And when I’m around you, I feel warmer than I’ve felt in years, brighter.” He shook his head and moved away from her, embarrassed by his confession and knowing he wasn't saying it right. 
He stared at the map as he spoke. “So, I needed to believe that the feelings weren’t real, that you’d just forced me to feel that way. Because if the feelings and thoughts you bring out of me are real?” His shoulders slumped. “God, I’m so fucked.”
He felt Y/N come up to stand just behind him on his right, but he stayed staring at the map as she spoke.
“Why? What’s so dangerous about warmth and light?”
His voice was barely audible as he answered slowly. “Because they bring hope. And hope is a lie. It’s a lie I believed for a long time, a lie I clung to. The lie of possibilities, of family, of good conquering evil. And when the lie was revealed and the world fell apart, the truth almost killed me.”
After a moment he turned to face her and felt his heart skip as he saw her expression of sadness and the tears that sparkled in her eyes, even in the growing dusk.
He lifted a hand to cup her cheek and thumbed away a tear as it fell over her bottom lashes. “And Y/N, if I allow myself to hope again, and it gets crushed by the world again…” He shook his head. “I won’t survive it, I know I won’t.”
He took a step closer to her and felt her warmth penetrating his cold bones. She grabbed his free hand and held it in both of hers as he dropped his other hand from her cheek.
“Or…” she said, her voice filled with conviction, “or we can both hope, both fight, and both win. Even if we never get big wins, the little ones still count. And they add up. Every day we’re here alive is a win. Every time we smile at someone and they smile back is a win. Every time the sun shines so bright you have to close your eyes, every time we hear Emma giggle, every time our stomachs are full, every time we do something to make our home here better - every small thing adds up to big wins.”
Dean shook his head. He knew that trying to resist the pull of her light and life was pointless; she’d been pulling him out of the dark, and changing his plans since the moment she’d come into his life. 
He used their connected hands to pull her tight against him and watched heat enter her beautiful, red-ringed eyes.
He bent his head, but before his lips touched hers, he whispered words that came much easier now. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For all of it. I’m so sorry.”
Another tear fell down her cheek and she smiled and bit her lip. “If I say you’re forgiven will you kiss me?”
He pretended to mull it over and then nodded. “Yes, I think that’s fair.”
In the dusky twilight around them he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers; his arms tightened around her as she moaned softly. 
He was definitely counting that sound as a win.
***
Over the next month Dean resumed his dinners with Y/N, the difference being that he was there nearly every night, and he’d stopped pretending to himself that he didn’t relish every moment with her and Emma. 
Over the evenings spent together, Emma had warmed more and more to him so that now she ran to meet him every time he walked through their tent flap, holding her arms up so he’d pick her up and toss her up into the air, catching her in a swooping motion as she came down. It made Y/N gasp every time, but Emma squealed with delight. He’d set her down and she’d grab his hand, nearly three times the size of hers, and pull him over to the table.
He’d take off his heavy canvas jacket within the relative warmth of the tent, and drape it over Emma’s shoulders, making her giggle as she drowned inside it. 
They’d sit around the table and share the day's events, though Emma usually did the majority of the talking. It always brought a mixture of feelings when he listened to her bubbly, excited stories. It made him happy and terrified at the same time. She was so precious he couldn’t help but smile, an expression that was becoming easier for him as the days went by. But also, his chest felt tight and he could feel terror creep in as the darkness whispered a warning, telling him that he couldn’t possibly keep her safe. He’d lose her, and Y/N too.
Sometimes that thought woke him from a deep sleep and made him shake and sweat. It was proving incredibly difficult to make all his fears go away. But as soon as he saw Y/N’s smile the next day, it felt easier.
In fact it was becoming increasingly difficult to go home at all, to leave her warm cozy tent and return to his dismal gray one. But they were trying to be careful and move slowly in deference to Emma. They didn’t want her to feel confused or unsure of things now that she finally seemed so at ease. 
So they hid their kisses and their caresses until after Emma was sleeping, at which point they’d usually try and brave the cold long enough to enjoy some alone time, even if it was encumbered by bulky jackets and scarves. They never had enough time, but they’d managed slightly more satisfactory make out sessions in the empty school and in Dean’s tent. But they were always too rushed and things had to end too quickly.
Dean ached for her more and more every day.
One evening in mid December, the air was much milder than usual; the day had been unseasonably warm and the night held on to a trace of it. Dean had Y/N pressed up against the side of the thick canvas tent, sucking on the soft skin just below her ear. As her breath caught and she angled her head so that he had better access, he was practically vibrating with how badly he needed to feel her. 
As he breathed into her mouth, he slowly unzipped her jeans, letting her tell him no if she wanted. But she just nodded and bit her lip.
He watched her face as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of the leggings she wore as an extra layer against the cold, and then down into her panties. He desperately tried to stifle the moan that wanted to escape as he felt how soaking wet she was for him.
“Goddamn.” He whispered roughly as he slid two fingers inside her, rubbing his thumb against her little bundle of nerves and making her bite harder into her lip to keep quiet. He decided to help her out and closed his mouth over hers, swallowing up her small moans.
He pushed in and out of her body, his cock hardening as she gripped his forearm where it disappeared into her pants while her cunt clenched tight around his fingers. He passed his fingers over her sweet spot a couple of times and she fell over the edge. She broke off their kiss to bury a scream in his neck, muffling it with his thick collar. 
As she came down she clung to him, her hot breaths creating puffs of white in the cold air. She moved her hand to cup his hard on through his jeans and was just reaching for his zipper when they suddenly heard Cas’ voice inside the tent.
“Emma, where is your mother and Dean?” 
Dean groaned. What the fuck? Y/N squeaked slightly and pulled her hand back, making him absolutely throb with need. He was gonna slaughter his best friend. 
They were quickly righting their clothing when Emma's voice reached them, and it didn’t really sound like she’d been sleeping.
“They’re outside the tent, kissing each other.”
Y/N’s eyes got huge and round and Dean stifled a snorted laugh behind his palm while she slapped his bicep. 
“It’s not funny. Jesus, we’re gonna traumatize her!” She said in a horrified whisper.
Suddenly Cas’ head poked around the side of the tent and he frowned. “Are you finished kissing?”
Y/N buried her head in Dean’s chest and Dean scowled at the angel. “Well, we sure as hell are now.”
Cas nodded, completely ignoring Dean’s frustration. “Good. You need to come inside. I have incredible news.”
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “What news, Cas?”
The angel’s smile was surprising in its rarity and it made Dean raise an eyebrow.
“I know why Y/N isn’t a psychic.”
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Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma
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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire
Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96
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smolvenger · 8 months
Text
The Battle of Agincourt (Henry V/fem! Reader Oneshot)
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Word Count: 7K
Summary: As his wife and queen, you follow your husband, Henry the Fifth to France for his battles. It is the morning of the battle of Agincourt, and you don't know if he will make it out alive. You spend one last moment of passion together.
Warnings: NSFW 18+ SMUT! SMUT! (We get TWO smut scenes in one onshot! P in V sex, missionary, doggy style, edging, medieval dirty talk, praise, slight degradation and edging breast play, degradation, bits of power play, doing the deed standing up-legit one of the filthiest things I've written in a long time!). Mentions of war and brief mention of sexual assault and death. Lots of angst, but also some fluff.
A/N: Based off of a dream I had. Enjoy!
Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract (you can just skip the wedding night and barn scene and you will be good, bestie) @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner@littlespaceyelf@superficialdomina @evelyn-kingsley @muddyorbsblr
You never forgot the day you were introduced to the man you loved.
You were sent there to the castle. An alliance between your father and the new king of England was being considered. Nothing confirmed, you were told by your father. Only consideration.
“He is a single man. And young. He needs more for his army, his lands…and that is secured with a marriage,” he told you.
 The one key to sealing it.
You.
A marriage between you and this king. Many men in his army sealed with one woman being brought to his bed. And it might be you.
 You had heard he was a wild boy, Harry Monmouth, Prince Hal. But everyone assured you that he had somehow matured. No sooner than his father died but he had been far calmer, more responsible. He spent his hours studying rather than drinking.
But you were still nervous. When the day arrived for this alliance to be discussed, your father asked you to dress in your best. Looking in the mirror as you squeezed your mother’s hand, you wondered; am I good enough for a king’s glance? Perhaps if you had more jewels and walked in with the richest silks like a shining diamond, then he would take note. Still, bedecked in your finery, you headed off and were greeted at the castle. You were stopped, awaiting the signal.
“If the king decides he would like to meet you…then be ready,” he warned.
It might not happen at all, you wondered.
You did hear voices outside the thick door. Seeping through. No doubt there would be advisors and other lords to talk to the king. But there was one voice-he sounded young, indeed. He had a resonant, powerful voice- rich and commanding. But smooth too. The sort to command a legion but could also whisper gentle words to his lover.
 As you stood, wondering how long you both could wait, the door opened, and you jumped.
“His Majesty, King Henry the Fifth, would like to meet you,” the servant announced.
Just for consideration. Nothing permanent. Not yet, you thought. You were grateful your dresses were long. They would hide your shaking legs. You nodded, remembering basic etiquette as you gripped your father’s arm.  
The door opened and you both walked inside, your steps echoing throughout the stone castle. You took in your surroundings despite the air in your lungs almost stopping. The high windows with the orange sunlight. The long candles for light. The weaving of Saint George on the back wall. A wooden throne with tall, stone steps. There, you saw your father. A few lords in the back-old men with scarves for hats and long cloaks.
And in the center of it, turning towards you, was a young man. A young man with a crown- Henry the Fifth. The young king.
Extremely handsome. A head full of his auburn curls, his small, neat beard. His blue eyes were soft when he looked at you and a red leather doublet framed his lean body well. There were chairs about and you were led to sit in a chair some distance away.
Your father and the king began to talk. Keeping an appropriate distance. But you couldn’t help but admire the handsome, young king. If he were just an ordinary man going down the street, you would have indulged in ogling him. But you could not, you felt yourself get warm as you kept your eyes demurely on the floor when he caught you watching. Their voices became murmurs. Then the king turned to you.  
“You are the Lady Y/N…” he began.
He gestured to you to rise from your chair, you gave him a curtsy.
“I am, your grace,” you replied.
He walked up closer. You could hear his footsteps. You made your own breath slower. You could feel yourself sweat like it was July in Italy. You forced your eyes down, feeling your shaking going to your hands.
“You need not be shy, my lady,” he said.
You then looked up. Eyes onto him.
“Could you take two steps closer, my lady?” he asked.
You did. He walked around you in a circle, seeing all of you. You let him, though your heart was roaring in your ears. Feeling his eyes all over his potential bride- you. Once he stepped out, completing his circle, your eyes met his. Perhaps that was bold, considering his position- your lord and sovereign of your country. But nothing in him deterred.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Very well, your grace.” You replied.
Henry turned to your father, looking at him, but only taking a step back.
“Sir…you have not offered me some mortal woman…” he began.
You folded your hands and did your best to mask your dread. Oh no, was he about to Call you something bad? How would you endure the humiliation of being not only rejected but insulted by the king of England mere minutes of meeting him!? You would have to spend your life under a rock in the woods to save your dignity. You looked up to him with big eyes and felt your body brace itself. To hold in the tears and anger of such a moment with as much false calm as you could. Awaiting the blow of the king's insult.
But no blow arrived.
Henry then smiled, eyes turning between you and your father.
“Here before me is an angel from heaven! A woman too lovely for us mere men!” King Henry the Fifth announced.  
One did not recover from such a statement quickly. "Shock" was not quite the word fitting for how you felt. No, it was this. Utter and pure delighted surprise. Your breath quickened. You felt a smile grow on you. Your heart picked up again as he walked closer to you.
“Thank you, your grace…do you fear blasphemy from such words?” you asked.
“Not if it is the truth, just as scripture is,” he added with a wink.
Your mind went blank at his wink, his smile. Hot and your mind spinning. Your mouth kept running from the excitement. But still polite.
“You are generous, your grace.”
He went up to you.
“Could you…call me Henry? Or Harry? Hal, even?”
“I could…Henry,” you replied.
 You watched Henry turn to your father and shake his hand. The alliance went through. With a flourish, he signed the treaty and the agreement to marry you.
“Ah, my lucky little girl…now about to be queen of England!” your father would say later, kissing your cheek.
Henry (for now he was more than just the king, but your intended!) would often invite you to visit. Giving you tours of every room and corner of the castle.
“After all, it’s going to be your home!” he would claim.
Or, to the most shock of anyone, he would visit your home himself to see you. Fine dinners would be served, and he would sit by you as you sewed, smiling like a schoolboy just to be beside you.  
A chaperone was always present, but quiet in the back. A smiling shadow upon you two. Henry wrote you numerous letters and you wrote back to him when he was away. It was easier to like him the more he spent time with you. If not, be infatuated with him. Maybe even love him as the months to the wedding passed. He showered you with gifts and lovers’ tokens. Little ribbons and pieces of jewelry and belts and scraps of paper with love poetry.
The first time he held your hand, you thought you saw him tremble a little. His thumb went over the skin of yours. He was very soft- not pressing or squeezing your own. You felt as if you could float.
The first time he kissed you was the day before the wedding. You were both walking in the gardens. With the sun gentle and the flowers in bloom, it was just like a dream. Your chaperone was in the back, her arms folded before her. Then Henry stopped his steps and turned to you.
“Could I kiss you…on the lips, Y/N?” he asked, his eyes hopeful like a puppy.
You didn’t have the heart to say no. How fortunate that you wanted to. You felt yourself swallow hard and then nod your head.
“Yes,” you answered.
 He tipped your chin to meet him and kissed you. It was gentle.  Chaste, even. You felt his soft lips and nothing else.  But it was…loving. Your knees wobbled again. You felt the breath from his nose. He was so close. So, so close. He felt…good. He let go, the lips clicking as they retracted. Both of your eyes were still closed. When you opened, he relaxed and let out a smile. You opened your mouth a little but had no words.
“Your kiss has a power to it, Y/N,” he whispered.
“I will use them with caution, then,” you replied teasingly.
You then returned to wrapping an arm around his and continuing walking. Both you and your chaperone shared a look, giving an appreciative nod. Something was growing inside you for him. Something…more.  
 You couldn’t deny that Henry was the most handsome man you had ever lain eyes on. His broad back and his slender waist. His winning smile, large, gentle hands, cheekbones, tall height, soft blue eyes- all beautiful.
And desirable.
He was lean and strong-what did he look like beneath his leather and velvet? If you were honest with yourself, you couldn’t wait for your wedding…and your wedding night. You often indulged in secret glances at his codpiece and his behind whenever he turned around-his pants flattered him. And both sides were something to see. The beautiful curls- a mix of red and blonde that he combed back. You wondered what it would be like to touch. Even pull! That was from what you learned from others of what happened between a husband and wife before the big day. Henry’s beard made him look mature and dignified. Not some pranking, whooping boy- a man. A man who knew how to take care of a woman in bed.
Even among your tours of the castle, he never took you to your private chambers. But whenever you passed by the hall with those large, wooden doors right at the end of a small passageway, you couldn’t help but grin.
Already tingly and titillated at the thought of the night, you kept your smile when they dressed you on your wedding day. It was joyous. Your gown was made with the finest while silk with little pearl embellishments and a jeweled belt. No one would doubt you were Queen of England already. Your father led you out. When you were placed on Henry’s left at the door of the chapel, you could see his smile on you- already bedecked in red with his crown. The ceremony felt far too long. But you held yourself together like a giddy child on a festival. The mass and prayers came and went. Henry made his vows before an altar as did you. Then the priest made the sign of the cross over you two.
It was done. You were married to him now. The second the priest let his hand down, bells all over the city- no, not just the city, England itself it-chimed out. Flower petals were tossed your way as you both walked out through the city, presented to the people as a couple.
There were enough guests that it seemed like half the world’s population was there at the feast. Your friends and family, those you loved dearly, were invited.  A thankful distraction from your growing physical desire for your husband (to think! Henry was now your husband!!). They embraced you and wished “Y/N, oh much congrats!” to you. You never felt such beaming love from everyone you cared for as that day. You hugged and chatted and celebrated with the people you loved. Henry smiled at you and kissed your hand with such tenderness your heart could burst. The feast tasted sweet, and the music played even sweeter.
 The room became darker, and servants lit more candles. Guests were leaving. It was announced that there would be a bedding ceremony. It was finally time, you thought with trepidation. Musicians played songs as the party led you to Henry’s chambers through those stone halls. Henry was adorably nervous. You saw his hands twitch and when you brushed close to him. Oh, no doubt you were nervous too. Any rational person in your situation would be nervous. You considered yourself such. But you were also…excited. Ready.
You entered the bedroom. It was large. Fitting for the king. Once it was your father-in-law’s room- the late Henry the Fourth. Now it was your husband’s. It was full of lit candles with tall stained-glass windows, and a white stone floor with black squares. A large bed with a dark canopy full of gold-colored fleur-de-lys patterns, cream pillows, and thick, dark blankets.
Servants undressed you from that beautiful wedding dress. They undressed Henry too until both of you were in your shifts. You couldn’t help but notice how the collar peeked at a beautiful, broad chest-just open enough to see a peek. It seemed as beautiful as you imagined. It made more shivers of desire run through you. You were given a cup of spiced wine that you both sipped from. It felt as sacred as a Eucharist- he looked at you as you drank and as he drank. An offering of something shared-how now you would be joined as one. The bed was now an altar and lovemaking a rite.
 After the bishop blessed the bed, Henry dismissed every courtier. He thanked them for celebrating with him but insisted on privacy. They bowed and left. For the first time, you both were truly alone. He then turned to you.
“How are you, your Highness?” he asked, noting your new title, he took your hands, running a thumb over them.
“It was a long day…but a happy one. I’m a little tired…. but I’m well…,” you answered.
“I’m glad you are, Y/N…” he replied.
Smiling at him, You cupped his cheek and moved his arms to embrace you. He blinked in slight surprise.
“You can hold me…husband,” you said, relishing the taste of the word.
The most you did throughout your betrothal was hold hands. But he obliged and put his long arms around you. He smelled of wine and a bit of incense from the ceremony at the church. With his thumb, he gently traced your face.
“If Satan himself would look at you, he would weep and confess for forgiveness at once…Y/N, Can I kiss you?” he asked.
“Yes- please kiss me,” you replied.
Then he kissed you. But you kept him there. Pressed against you. God’s blood, that beautiful man right near you, against you, on you- feeling his warmth, his body on yours. You wanted more. You then grabbed him and kept kissing him again and again. He felt so warm and soft…except for one part of him you could feel against you. And no codpiece to cover for it. You bit back a giggle at the new feeling, knowing that he really felt the same despite his wide eyes and blushing cheeks. And your body replied in turn. It was as if lightning was coursing through you.  It made you wetter than the sea. Preparing yourself for him.
Oh, and you were more than ready. And this was a perfect time for it. You grabbed onto him. Then began to lead him to the bed with a smile, walking up two little elevated steps that led to the bed strewn with flowers and ribbons for this night. For this moment. For this act. Then right before the bed, your fingers went to the strings of your shift on the collar that held it together-the only layer over you.
Henry’s jaw dropped a little, looking down and then back up to your face. Even if you saw an outline of his desire through his shift, his eyes grew wide.
“Y/N …are you…sure?” he asked.
You undid the tie, showing the valley of your cleavage. You felt his eyes flutter down then forced back up at yours.
“Henry…I want you to take me. Make love to me- make love to your wife tonight!” you insisted quietly.
“I did not wish to…to push you to…to…uh, consummate the marriage before you...you wanted to…” he replied meekly.
The most powerful man in the world and here he was at a loss of words. To think this was once the tavern boy caught with prostitutes!
“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Henry…I want you…take me on your bed…you are my king….rule me and have me here then….” You whispered.
You led his hands to push the rest of your shift off. Leaving you bare before him. His eyes finally drank all of you in.
That was enough to persuade him.
He pushed you down and was on top of you.  Like an animal released from his cage, his kisses had a little more fire to them. His hands began to roam greedily over your body. Down your chest, feeling one of your breasts as he kissed you. Then down your stomach, over your hip bones- feeling each bit of you. He began to pant heavily, his eyes full of eager joy and a playful lust in his smile.
Then you helped to take off his shift. You nearly forgot to breathe at the sight of Henry’s naked body. His strong abdominals and arms. His large chest with a few black hairs. Of course, his own cock was so hard and large you bit back the urge to gasp at the sight of it.  You laid down on the bed, smiling at him.
“Please, Henry…I ache for you…” you urged. Splaying your body before him on his bed. Feeling like a siren. Only he was no hesitant prey.
He pulled himself over you, taking one hand of his to position your legs to open, shifting his weight on top of you.
“I always wondered what this night would be like…what it would be like the moment I saw you…” he whispered.
He looked at you, cupping your cheek. Seeking permission as he settled himself, his tip just at your entrance’s beginning.
“Henry…I’m ready…” you urged him.
Not wanting to keep you waiting any longer. Not able for himself to wait any longer. He then positioned himself. Slowly, he entered you. Inch by agonizing inch. You writhed beneath him, moaning as he got inside.
“Oh! Oh-oh God!” you cried. He was big. You could feel him creeping in deep, almost like your stomach could be penetrated from his largeness. You clung onto the sheets tight, and his own hand went over yours.
He himself let out a grunt when he finally shifted all his cock inside you. There was a little pain, but it fizzled out. You were full-and it was heavenly You held onto him. He pulled his hips back and began to slowly enter you again and again. You groaned with each delicious thrust of his.
“Yes…nrgh-my wife-you-gods-my wife-my sweet wife-“he whispered with each snap.
You opened your arms as well as your legs, holding onto him. He repeated your name again. Kissing you tenderly on the side of your head when he could. A mess of groans and kisses and praise was all the king could say. His arms stretching around to keep you in his embrace.
Then he used one hand and lifted your legs up to a new position- a little deeper. Your knees went up. You let out little cries with each slow, sloppy movement. Each welcome intrusion of him to your insides. You had never known pleasure as much as this.
“Yes…oh gods…Henry…Henry I…oh!” you breathed out.
Your head lay on those cream pillows. Soft as clouds. With the dark bed canopy and the roaring fire, the rain outside pattering the windows, there was never a lovelier, more peaceful night. His curls fell before his face. He kept at it- thrust, thrust, thrust. His shallow breathing above you, and the moans that escaped you that were far from maiden modesty.
 He held you. He gave you an open kiss as he thrust forward for one. He began to mutter more.
“Yes…nrgh- yes, -my little queen…doing so well…”
More little noises came out of you. And you heard his voice get only a little higher in pitch. And yet he continued, only barely picking up the pace. You wrapped your hands to him and ran one through the curls on his head- how soft they felt, like little auburn feathers.  How soft the bed was-a feathered mattress against your bare skin as it slide back and forth slowly against it with each snap of his kingly hips. Henry slowed one thrust but would give you a little kiss- your cheek, the side of your face.
“God’s blood-my wife-nrg-sweet wife-oh-yes-taking-taking me…”
He kept at it. Then he reached down. He found your entrance, the very beginning where your lips and walls. He talked softly in between thrusts.
“I’m…I’m close, and I think….I think you are too, my little wife- I…yes…come undone, come undone with me…”
 He reached inside and you gasped from the feeling. He found your bud, his finger curling with it, stroking it with each thrust. You let out another gasp. He smiled.
“Let go wife-nrgh-let it…let it-“
 He began to strum it. Then everything overwhelmed you. You were spinning higher and higher. His kisses and hands already felt your bud and with his playing. You felt yourself winding up, curling up inside. You shook so hard. You wondered if you were going to die from the overwhelm, from the rising feeling, the intensity. His thrusts picked up the pace, you felt it growing, growing, growing.
Then finally, something hit you so suddenly, so hard-your body clenching and releasing all at once you let out a loud cry as the sensation hit you like cold air.
“Ah!”
A last thrust, the king of England came undone and let out his own small shout of pleasure. Then he stopped his thrusts. He stayed inside you, letting his seed rope itself. Then he held you, held you tight as he came inside you. It seemed as if the world itself stopped.
 Once it was done, he pulled out but kept close to you. Caressing your cheek. Panting hard, his broad, strong chest rising with his breaths.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I feel…I’ve never felt so good, husband,” you replied with a giggle as you pulled him forward to wrap your arms and kiss him until both fell asleep.
He did turn out to be a good husband. Always listening, gentle, and enthusiastic about his role. He listened to your own advice and always took you seriously. He was aggressively faithful, shutting down even the idea of a mistress if any lord was foolish enough to suggest it. He spent time with you. There were so many times you would hold him to your chest and hum, playing with his curls. You learned from each other and challenged each other to do better each day. Be it in a game of chess or in court. He made you feel…safe. Wanted. Loved, even. Not to mention he was a passionate lover in bed. If your one duty was to bed the king, then being queen was quite a simple task indeed. And a duty you loved to fulfill again. And again. And again. And again.
You managed your own life as queen well. adapting and figuring it out. Attending parliament by his side.
You were sitting by him when the fateful day came. It was found out he had a claim to France. And the French ambassador mocked him by giving him the gift of a box full of tennis balls. Furious at the insult, Henry declared there and then he would begin an invasion of France.
 He’s going to leave. He’s going to be gone to war. And who knows how long, you thought sadly. You went to your chambers and began to sob. Then the next day, all were discussing logistics. You sat on your own throne, contemplating it all as they talked.
“Yes, my brother- John shall stay. He will lead…” Henry announced. “And by this day, we will gather the army and set sail for France.”
You couldn’t take it. You sat up at once.
“And I will go with you!” you insisted.
The men’s heads turned to you.
“What?!” cried one lord, stepping forward.
The advisors went around you.
“Your Highness…it is not safe!” advised another.
You walked forward, looking down at the table with the map on it. Then you looked at them and addressed them.
“My husband is a warrior. And when we were married, we were made one. This means I am a warrior too, in my own way. And where he goes, there I must go too- his battles are mine as well. Then I say- I will go with him!” you declared, slamming a firm hand on the table.
There was a second of silence. Then your husband took your hands.
“If we can make it safe for her, she will go with me,” he said.
You went off to France with him. You braved the rollicking ships. You both shared a little cot bed as the ship heaved back and forth at night. One night was a storm and the thunder surprised you so much in your bed, you clung to him. He only laughed a little, rubbing your back in comfort.
“It’s only the voice of God, my dove, He is on our side…and protecting you,” he assured, kissing your forehead.
It was not long before it arrived and the army began to set forth. You traveled through forests, riding your horse by your husband’s side through villages and countryside for entire days.  You were a little nervous being the only woman surrounded by men. But they knew how precious a queen you were to their Harry of England, their sovereign. If any of them dared to lay a hand on you, they knew they would face a quick and bloody end on their king’s sword. So, they kept respectful, always greeting you with bows and soft voices.  You would set up camp and then live in a tent rather than a palace.  Some hours you would give your own counsel as you stood by him for planning the army’s next move. When there was an attack, you were put in a safe place with many guards so none would dare hurt the king’s beloved. Other times, you would volunteer with the food or help with medical needs- helping with injuries, cooling warm foreheads with cloths. You saw this fiercer side already of him. He shouted bold, encouraging speeches as they went and attacked towns.
Though you scolded him for the speech he made to the Governor of a city called Harfleur. When they arrived, to your immense shock, Henry coldly threatened his army would pillage the town, set their infants on spikes, and ravish the village women. That was enough to persuade the governor to open the gates and peacefully let them go through without one shred of violence. But his words still rang and made you see red with anger.
You met him in your tent later, and he jumped at your frown. You crossed your arms.
“Henry- you dare to have your men do these unspeakable things to women! You know better! Have you considered I am a woman as well?! And that is our worst fear!”
“I only wished to scare him. I knew it would move him, my dear. And it does happen during wars…”
“You will not let that happen! You will not let the soldiers force themselves on civilian women-or I shall never speak to you, and you won’t be allowed in my chambers either! I’ll sleep in another tent and not allow you to lay a hand on me!” You chided.
It was a threat which, like his to the governor, worked well. He never made a spoke like that again. And you forgave him.
The many ups and downs.  The army was too depleted to move onto Paris so all of you went to Calais. You stopped and fled further realizing the French army was chasing everyone down. You arrived at the small town of Agincourt. The French army had now surrounded you. The Dauphin arrived one cold night. And it was decided-there would be a formal battle tomorrow.
Now here it was- a decisive battle. Only a small handful of soldiers could get a full night’s sleep and Henry himself stayed awake to talk to them. But in your tent, you tossed and turned in your makeshift bed under many blankets. You awoke and then fell again. Your worries had haunted you.
They were going to fight the Dauphin’s army. And the Dauphin’s men outnumbered Henry’s. Five French soldiers for every English.
You awoke shivering and dressed. You gathered your cloak for it was a cold day. Opening the flap of one tent, you saw him. Henry. A small distance away, kneeling in the grass. It was so early that the sky was still grey, the sun barely peeking. You could hear his prayer.
“Lord…strengthen my soldier’s hearts…I’ve made my repentance to Richard and his grave…. please strengthen them…and me…”
Five to one, your mind kept repeating to yourself. Five to one. Five to one.
You wondered at the white horse he brought with him. It was with the others chewing on grass in ignorance of what was about to happen. Why would your husband need it? It would be as if he was a target for their practice! A surefire way to signal this was the man to kill.
How fragile he seemed as he kept praying. He was human. Your husband’s mortality dawned on you. His racing heart could stop. His warm skin grow cold. And his shallow breaths of his anxious prayer would end and there would be none anymore. He dressed in a red doublet- red as the blood threatening to spill from him.
You approached him, noticing him making the sign of the cross to end the prayer. He turned his head to see you.
“How are you?” you asked.
“Only as well as I can be…” he asked.
He easily got up from the grass. Then he went over to a of his lords and guards already armored. He whispered something to them. Nodding, they turned back to camp. He then returned, his gloved hands taking yours.
“I’d…I’d like to spend some time with you…. before…before it starts,” he said.
“Of course, dear husband,” you answered with a smile.
Both of you walked into the woods. It was peaceful- you heard the leaves beneath your shoes and the birdsong. The rustling of trees and the mist as gentle as his kisses at your wedding.  Disguised in your cloaks, you could have been any ordinary pair of lovers wandering in the forest. Not a king and queen of a whole nation.
“Y/N…do you see that? In the valley?” he asked, pointing at a hand.
It was a barn and An old house. The house was abandoned and burned to where the walls were only halfway stood beside it. The barn was intact. He led you inside- the wood creaking and the wind whistling through it. There wasn’t one living life around. No horses. No pigs. Not even an ant.
“We’re a distance off…are we still safe?” you asked.
“It’s alright- you know the path- find the oak tree with mushrooms and keep walking north…Y/N, I asked the guards to leave us alone for a little. I wanted to…to be with you.”
There were no animals around, much less people.  Only you two. Even the sky itself seemed unreal. It was nothing but the grey light of dawn over a cloudy sky. So early, it felt cold. And it was misty and grey.
It was dark and musty in the barn. You saw a wooden bench and stables and troughs. But it was mostly hay- so much hay that there were still tall stalks around the barn.
He then turned to you and kissed you. He took you in his arms. He touched your face, and you realized a tear was rolling down your cheek.
“Y/N…I want this…if this is our last moment together…I….” he began.
He held you closer.
“Yes, Henry….”
He took a deep breath. Then kissed you again, only leaving a trail down your neck. Your heart picked up and you warmed up quickly. He then returned, cupping your face again and looking directly into your eyes, so close. So, there was only him.
“The camp is far off. They won’t disturb us. They won’t hear us. Y/N I… I…I love you….”
“I love you too,” you replied. You kissed him again. You shivered from feeling the cold. And the growing desperation on his face.
“I know this is not the most romantic place. This is not the most beautiful speech I can think of. But…I say it again because it is simple. It is true- I love you, Y/N. And should I die, I want you to know that…”
He paused. Then blinking back a couple tears, he continued.
“If…If this is the day, I’m killed…it is a prayer for you that will be my last word…I’m glad I met you. I’m glad I married you. I have so much shame, so much regret…but you- you were the best choice I made as king. To choose to marry you, love you…”
You cupped him and kissed him again. You felt him press against you. His hands went from your back to your sides. His gloves went up and began to bunch your skirt. Already, you felt yourself grow wet for him. Feeling the bit of cold air on your skin.
“The guards are away…the army is away…they’re far…my wife…please…. here…. love me one last time, lie with me here-so I can feel you-know it is like inside you, to feel your pleasure one more time…”
You grabbed onto him. Feeling his skin, his breathing in his body-his life. His fire.
“Yes…take me. Henry- use me now. I know you feel so much. Take it out. Take out everything on me…just love me…make love to me, husband. Strongly. Strongly as you feel,” you pleaded.
He gave a small smile, giving a last kiss with tongue. Tasting him. He pressed you close.
“You will?” he asked.
“I will,” you answered.
 Then he pushed you roughly and you and you landed with a small laugh against a haystack. One so high it was taller than yourself.   He then backed you to the haystalk in a second. His kisses on your neck had added teeth. He was leaving marks against the skin of your exposed neck.
“Do you like this, little wife?” he asked.
“I do!”
He chuckled lightly.
“Gods, you torment me. Each time you are there in my tent, every meeting you look at me and smile, I imagine you without your gown on. If could, I’d have you over that very table the second they left every meeting…”
Then, his hand turned to a grip. He grabbed onto you. You began to grind naturally against him. He gasped at the feeling but kept talking.
“Perhaps I could grab you and have you on the grass. And have every soldier who leered at you to watch. To have them watch as I take you like a beast. So, they know none of them can make you cum like I can.  Until your name is all you can say on your lips. So, they all know you are mine.”
He found the blouse of your dress. Desperately, he pulled down the overdress’s shoulders. With one tug, he undid the strap of the shift beneath and pulled it down. Your breasts exposed. He cupped and kissed it. He kept a hand, pinching your nipple as he went to your ear. Then he began to make more biting kisses on your neck You embraced him- touching what you could, kissing what you could.
“Henry…I love you, I love you…” you repeated.
“I love you, and be ready, little wife. You’ve wanted fire-now you have it.”
He lowered his mouth to kiss your breasts. Then he used teeth and tongue. He bit your breasts, licked your nipples, and then used his teeth. You began to moan. It was so loud, that you were grateful not even animals could hear you now.
Then he lightly tossed you around. Then he turned you around, pushing you so that you leaned over a wooden bench that was kept there. Your hands braced onto the wood. He then lifted your skirt up to your hips, your bum exposed to him. He gave you a small smack on your behind. You let out a cry.
“I remember your chiding at Harfleur. That’s what you get, little wife, when you disobey your king. You get punishment.”
He began to undo his pants with a quick click of his belt. He began to thrust into you there- hitting this new angle. It was so obscene; you couldn’t help but give into it. Your own filthy moans and his grunts right behind you.
“There-nrgh-yes-I-I-I-take you, like-like a whore-“
You were moving along, feeling your own body shake with each fast, deep thrust. You let out shouts as he got over. The spinning feeling, coiling in your belly, rising from the delicious degradation.
“Oh…oh gods-Henry-I’m-I’m going to-to cum, I’mgoingtocumI’m-“
Then he stopped. You heard his voice behind you.
“Not yet…. you won’t release yet. I’m not done,” he announced.
He turned you around. His large hands almost ripped off your cloak, and then your dress so it pulled down. If he could rip your dress to shreds, he would. But he only roughly put it all aside. You were fully naked, and he was still clothed. He smiled and licked his lips, his curls freed from his head.
“This- seeing this again- I would fight a hundred battles to see your bare breasts and feel your sweet warmth around my cock again.”
He picked you up. You held onto him. With one hand, he pulled down his pants as you held tighter. Released, his leaking tip is already teasing your entrance. Then he backed you up against the hay. He hooked your leg up to be around him. The hay was so high and sturdy that it held you up.
“My queen among people, but my whore in this barn.”
You gasped a little as he entered you. He was fast, desperate. His thrusts wild. He even freed one hand and slapped your breasts, and you let out a cry.
“How can I not touch these breasts? You make me too hard to even think in this army. Riding my horse when I want to use you like a mare beneath me.”
“Hen-Henry-I-I-“ the words left you.
Your breasts began to bounce with his movement obscenely. He grunted more like an animal. You wrapped your arms around his still-clothed shoulders, trying to keep up.
“I love-love-nrgh-you so much-gods-yes, I love you-nrgh-you’re all I could think about-yes-do you understand-ah!- how hard -yes- it is to speak diplomacy-nrgh- with the French when your cock is raging hard seeing your wife?”
He thrust into you again and your own voice was getting a little higher. Hard, rough, desperate.  The spinning, the rising was happening. You held onto him. Then one glove began to reach down and circle your clitoris, you gasped- letting it out. The hard leather on your wet folds, on your bud was going to break you. You heard his words. You bit on, to fight the rise, to not release yet. Hearing each thing he said.
“If I live- I Want you in my tent. On my bed, over the blankets. I want you naked -and I want your legs spread wide for me-so I can ravish you like this again when it’s done. Do that-do that for your king,”
“Yes, yes-I will!”
“I-I-am-nrgh-your king, am I?” he asked as he thrust.
“Y-yes! Yes, you are!”
“Who is your king?”
“Henry! Henry’s my king!”
He then continued at another violent, rougher pace. You wondered how much of this you could even take.
“I want to take you-nrgh- scream-nrgh-so all of France know who belongs to you-you-yes-NRGH- are mine-as-as as France as mine.”
He began to thrust harder. You gasped, as he kept at it.
“Oh-Oh my god-oh god- it’s-it’s happening-Henry I’m-I’m I’mI’mI’m-“
“Yes-Yes-you’re there, little whore-cum-cum for your king-cum for your king-cum for your king!”
Finally, you did too with a last scream. It echoed across to where the sound pattered through the woods. With a breathy, struggled shout he released as well. He kept thrusting, but slower. His hot speed shot forth and went inside you. Both of you panting wildly- you could see your chests heaving. He then held you, shaking a little as he caught his breath.
“Y/N….darling…thank you…I love you…so much…”
He kissed the side of your head as you nestled together. He kissed your cheek and his grip softened.
“Are you hurt?”
“No…I’m not…I have never felt better…” you said.
He helped you back up. Though you felt a little dizzy from the intensity. You could feel his seed inside you-dripping a little down your thighs. You wanted it to stay. Perhaps you would have a child from this and you would have to one day tell them they were conceived on the morn of a battle. Your legs shook. He picked up your discarded clothes and quickly helped you dress back into them. You combed you both wiped the hay off of both of you.
“That was…that was incredible…” you sighed as he clasped the cloak around you.
“And I must agree with you…” he replied.
You walked out soon. Still holding hands. He blushed bright red and there was a prance to his step. Confidence. Even if he was defeated, he would not go down easily. Not without a fight. The sun was now rising higher. The time was approaching. You watched as he was fitted back to his armor by his servants as you stood and watched. Exchanging small looks between you. But before he faced his men, he went back and gave you a passionate kiss. The deepest, and most loving kiss you ever felt him give you.
“Should anything happen to me- the Dauphin out of mercy he shall make sure you are safely brought home to England as an act of diplomacy. I made him promise. And the remaining soldiers will guard you, as well as my uncle.”
“But if…nothing happens to you…” you asked hopefully.
“Then…you remember your promise…” he said with a grin.
“I will see you in our tent…”
He smiled, then he went down and kissed your hand. Tears in his eyes.
“I never knew one soul like yours. Your courage, your kind heart, your wisdom…the greatest of all queens in all nations, and if I had my choice of every woman, it would still be you…”
You embraced him a last time.
“I love you, Y/N. And you will always be loved by me. Thank you…thank you for everything…”
“I love you too, Henry…”
Sharing a brief last kiss on your forehead, he went on his white horse. You felt tears streaming down your face. Then off he went with his men to battle. You never felt prouder of him. Though you felt yourself crying, you were smiling as well. Proud of your king. Your lover. Your husband.
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jamdoughnutmagician · 3 months
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These Bonds That Tie Us. (Prince!Eddie x Knight!Reader) Smut
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Basically this fic was only meant to be a filthy little blurb based on this text post, but it kind of got out of hand and I made it a little mushy-gushy (so idk what really happened there??)
Word Count:1,477
Warnings:Smut, 18+, Bondage, Dominant/Submissive themes (Slight Dom!Reader and Sub!Eddie), Cowgirl position, size kink, Oral Sex (F!Receiving) Nothing else that I can think of, but feel free to shoot me a message incase I missed something.
Masterlist Eddie Munson Masterlist
Eddie finds himself tied up by delicate silk scarves that bind his wrists to the bed’s frame. He lies sprawled across the wine red blankets on the bed, naked and completely at the mercy of the very pretty lady who stalked around his bed eyeing him up like he was a prize to be won.
It wasn’t that he was spoiled, at least that’s what Eddie thought of himself. Sure, being a prince came with certain privileges that the average person could only dream of, that he would only have to mention wanting something before it would appear within reaching distance of him, but that didn’t make him spoiled, did it?
Well, whatever Eddie thought of himself in this moment didn’t matter to her in the slightest. His knight in shining armour, who had sworn an oath to protect him at all costs. His sworn protector who lifted up her silver helmet to reveal the face of the most beautiful maiden that Eddie had ever had the delight to lay his sights on. No, his royal title meant nothing to her, she wanted nothing more than to have the crown prince trembling under her touch. 
Her figure crawled up next to him on the bed, free of all her armour and under-garments as she leant closer to his body. Pecking her lips against the skin of his soft stomach, her tongue licks a stripe against the fuzzy trail that runs below his navel. He shivers under her touch.
“Look at you, such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” you chuckle, your eyes cast on his big brown ones. “All these people at your beck and call, ready to cater to your every last whim, if only they could see you now.” you smirk when you see how he tugs against the bonds that tie him, his hard cock laying stiff against stomach.
“Already so hard and I’ve barely touched you, my prince, you just can’t help it can you?” you tease him, watching as the scarlet flush rises up from his chest to his face, spreading out across his nose and cheeks in a rosy glow.
“Please..” he whines desperately, not even sure of what he was begging for, all he knew is that it wasn't enough. He longed for your touch, no matter how much had to beg for it.
“So nice of you to use your manners, my prince.” You purr, as your hand skates up his torso, your fingers tweaking each of his nipples with a gentle tug.
“Ah, please I just want to feel you…please I'll be good for you, I promise..” The plea falls from his pretty pink lips.
“I suppose I can indulge you this one time, your highness..” you quiet his pleas with a gentle kiss placed to his flushed cheek.
You settle yourself over his slim hips, each one of your thighs sat astride him whilst your hand reaches behind you to give a few firm tugs of his hard cock, swiping your thumb through the dripping pearl of pre-cum that threatened to spill from his tip.
Your slick hand glides up his cock once more, your thumb tracing the length of the prominent and pulsing vein that runs the length of him. You rise up on your knees just enough to tease the flushing head of his cock on your entrance, before slowly sinking down on him inch by inch until he’s as deep inside you as he can possibly be.
You look at him from underneath your lashes, looking at him where he lay so eager to place his hands on you, but the tugging of silk against his wrists forbids him.
He longed to take his hands and place them on to the soft curve of your hips, to feel your skin under his fingertips. 
But with the way your eyes locked on to him, there was an unspoken understanding that his hands were bound to the bedposts at your request, he was no way in charge tonight. You were calling the shots tonight, not him.
You roll your hips in deliberate movements, shifting in a way that has his thick cock nudging so deeply inside you. Riding him with very little regard for his pleasure, and far more concerned with your own.
His dark eyes are trained on your figure, looking at how you take his cock so perfectly. How your body rises and falls with every salacious movement of your hips.
“Not so high and mighty now, are you my prince?” your voice purrs out in a tease, your hand reaching out to brush away the loose strands of hair that obscure his face. “No, you’re just my little play-thing. No better than a common whore.” 
A heat blooms in his chest at your words. He wanted to protest, he wanted to deny it, but with the way your hips were circling him, he couldn’t help his shameless moans. He really was a common whore. Your common whore.
The way you were taking charge and just using him for your own pleasure had Eddie’s mind spinning, he was enjoying this more than he could ever imagine. 
Time and time again he had been the one who had been in charge, but now with the roles reversed, he found himself happily surrendering his power to the feeling of being submissive.
You continued to rock your hips down on to his length, shamelessly moaning at the stretch of him inside you.
“You’re so big..” you whine breathlessly, taking your hand and placing it on your lower stomach. “Feel you right here.” Feeling the nudge of his cock bulging its way into your guts.
Eddie didn’t think it was possible for him to be more turned on than he already was, but hearing you say that, had his brain going fuzzy. He feels the knot in stomach tying itself ever tighter with every move you make, his sensitive cock just throbbing inside you.
“Please, Miss, I’m so close…Please, you feel so warm and wet and so fucking perfect.” he moans desperately.
You decide to take pity on him. His big brown eyes are glassy with unshed tears, from holding back his pleasure for so long.
 It doesn’t take very much more than a few slow rolls of your hips before he’s spilling his release into you, pumping his hot load deep inside your warm cunt.
You untie his wrists, allowing him the time to come back down to earth, letting him come back to his senses as you pull yourself off him.
The steady flow of white drips from between your legs, as you eye him up once more. 
“You know, my prince, it’s very rude of you to not allow me to finish, how about you come a little closer” you beckon him with a slender finger. “Put that mouth to use. Clean up the mess you’ve made, and make me come.” your voice low and sultry ringing out into the otherwise quiet bedroom.
With his wrists no longer tied he wastes no time in making his way towards you, hooking his arms around your thighs and attaching his lips to your swollen clit. His tongue works in precise circles, teasing your sensitive button. He begins to lap at your folds, tasting the combined mixture of both his and your essences on his tongue, moaning as he nuzzles his mouth into your warm cunt and his nose’s button tip nudges against your clit so deliciously .
Your fingers weave their way into his long dark curls, tangling into the softness as you eagerly urge him to where you want him most.
He takes your lead and slips two of his thick fingers into your wet centre, curling them inside you as he suckles your clit once more. Sucking it between his plump lips and pleasuring you to the best of his ability.
“Your pussy tastes so fuckin’ sweet…” he mumbles against you, his tongue continuing it’s quest to please you.
Suddenly it all feels like too much all at once, the feeling of his strong hands on your thighs, his tongue on your pussy and his nose nudging so perfectly against your clit that it had your thighs quivering against his head. Almost crushing him between your thighs as your orgasm rushes over you in a pulsing gush.
You come down from your high as you release your poor prince from your thighs, with a shuddering breath. Both of you are sweaty and exhausted from the late evening’s activities.
He comes closer to snuggle your body to his. His lithe muscles embracing your frame before placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
If only for tonight it was just the two of you together, away from the prying eyes of the crowd, you couldn’t be more happy in the arms of your beloved prince.
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@slutty-thevampireslayer @penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfirebunnyxx @seatnights @onegirlmanytales @mrsjellymunson @reidsbtch
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witchywriter18 · 8 months
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Dating Young! Sirius Black and being a Hufflepuff
Hufflepuff will always be my preferred house to write the reader in since I am a Hufflepuff.
First, a bit of background
You're a muggleborn Hufflepuff and have been friends with Lily Evans since you were five. When you both found out you were magical, the two of you were so excited (despite Petunia's bitterness)
When it was finally time to go to Hogwarts, both you and Lily boarded the train with Severus (your mutual friend)
You first locked eyes with Sirius when waiting to be let into the Great Hall for sorting.
You were looking around the place in wonder when your (e/c) eyes met a pair of gray ones.
Sirius gave you a smile and small wave, which you returned, albeit more nervously than he did.
Love at first sight, not that either of you knew that yet because you both were 11 but you both felt something in that moment.
You were disappointed that you weren't sorted into the same house as Lily but you still ended up loving Hufflepuff.
Over the years, you had ended up growing close with the Marauders; especially Sirius.
The two of you started dating in 6th year with him taking you to Hogsmead.
Because I can't get enough of this troupe, yes, you do swap scarves in the winter. He doesn't have a reason other than he thinks you look adorable in his red and gold scarf.
Before you started dating, this big black dog would prance up to you when you were sitting under a tree by the lake, some flowers in its mouth.
Once the flowers were plopped into your lap (the stems slightly slobbery), the dog would just stare at you with the closest thing to a smile it could offer, tongue lolling to the side.
The dog would bask in your presence almost daily, tail wagging at the great ear scratches and belly rubs you gave.
It always seemed to shoot off when James, Remus, or Peter approached weirdly enough...
It wasn't until after you started dating that you found out that Sirius was the cuddly black dog you doted on in 5th year. He gave up the game when he noticed you had a few of the flowers pressed between the pages of your favorite book.
"You still have the flowers I gave you back before we dated?"
"What are you talking about? You never got me flowers before we started dating."
"Yes I did! Then we'd cuddle by the lake!"
" No we didn't! I got these flowers from a sweet dog. Who strangely enough I stopped seeing once we started dating- wait a second. You were the- *mouth gets covered*
"Well, that'll teach me to open my big mouth before speaking."
So Sirius explained that he, James, and Peter were animagai to help with Remus's monthly problem (after clearing it with the three of course)
You later asked Sirius to help you become an animagus so you could also help, which Sirius didn't like the idea of at first leading you two to have your first argument as a couple.
Sirius did NOT want his sweet Hufflepuff to get into trouble.
After lots of convincing (in the form of smooches, leaving many lipstick marks on his face), he finally agreed to helping you in being an animagus.
His least favorite part of the process was you having to keep the mandrake leaf on your tongue because that means he couldn't hear your voice as often (or shove his tongue down your throat-)
Your animagus ended up being a dog as well which upon further research, meant the you and Sirius were basically soulmates.
"Looks like you're going to be stuck with me for a looonnnggg time, love."
"Oh please, like you could get rid of me that easily."
I've run out of ideas for now so here ya go
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the-inkstained-witch · 2 months
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thrift stores have probably been more beneficial for finding items for my practice then any metaphysical shop and with a lot less cultural appropriation
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the houseware section at my favorite thrift store had basically a whole altar that you could have bought for less than 15 dollars. I could see thrift stores working especially well for you if you practice Christian witchcraft or folk Catholicism, because there's no shortage of Christian imagery in small statues and wall art. I've bought literal bags of candles at thrift stores for just a few bucks, and the selection of items like beads, candle holders, jars and trays is something you're never going to find that reasonably priced anywhere else. not to mention the scarves! nearly my entire collection of veils (about a dozen scarves and a dozen bandanas) was thrifted. my advice to anyone starting off in their craft who wants to use common items like spoons and jars in their practice is to find them at thrift stores. obviously, always cleanse the hell out of them. there's gonna be all sorts of unwanted energy in and around them that you're not gonna wanna fuck with, but personally I also love the strong energy coming off a once loved, no longer needed item. thrift stores and charity shops are amazing ways to find new and interesting items to involve in your craft.
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rei-vii · 10 months
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The Depths Call, Plunged by the Beauty
|| basically an Octavinelle x GN!Reader but is a an actual shrimp merperson thingy
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A/N: Did this first instead of doing my schoolworks 😭 the brainrot was getting to me also i'll prolly make this a series of sort. will post more of my hc in a few days. just need to take care of this hectic week !!
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The luminescent lights of the aquariums never felt so alive right now. The corals dipped in radiance, basked by the effulgent energy. Eyes beaded to the lone swimmer of the still waves, their figure illuminated by the jellyfish. Such phylum glowing bright like cyan pearls that adorned the flourishing abode. 
The dorm felt lively.
The clattering of utensils, shuffles of quick footsteps of workers, and the chatter of students who all made way into the lounge for a dine and rest. Violet hued interiors provided regality and sophistication as if wealth and ambition were morphed in it, giving such a satisfying sight of the interior for one to see. Employees clad in black and gray scarves worked diligently, serving their dear customers with dishes and exquisite drinks. But drew the attention of the people was the features of the performer in the tanks.
Draped with nothing but scales and a grin, they swam across the water with elegance. Tendrils of their hair swayed by the motion of the water and the flick of their tail created an enchanting movement. Students watched the performer who worked in silence pulled by a magnetic appeal. The cafe seemed so busy, but time felt slow when they glided in a circular motion. The tank’s colors suited them so much, along with the twinkle in your eyes which blended well with the flowing substance yet stood out in the sight of the viewers.
“Ahahaha! They look so happy swimming right now!” The squeal of an impulsive twin was vocalized, chuckling at the scene of you waving at a student who watched you in the tank with intent. With a delicate smile that pushed your eyes up, the student flinched and returned to their meal with flustered cheeks. 
It was a usual day in the lounge but you enjoyed this part of your job nonetheless. 
Small fishes that paddled their way to you were gently caressed by the hands that cared for them. Hands of which happily poked at them behind the glass screen of the aquarium and gave company to their little world. A little titter from your mouth and a fish zoomed behind your neck, pushing through the flowing mop of hair that rippled like an upward seagrass. 
“How bubbly,” Nobody can hear the light whisper of your remark in the waters as you tenderly prodded the fish that caught your attention earlier.
A few spectated the simple scene but Jade smiled under his hand. So endearing of your antics, he presumed. The corners of his lips ghosted a genuine curve and his gloved hand neared his mouth and urged a cough in his throat as he went on with his task.
Few onlookers had their heads boldly turned to your appearance behind the encased glass. Curious eyes and those who seek of entertainment trailed behind you, of course you were standing out in the background. Your shelled tail flapped again as you went near the glass, hovering over as few inches were between you and the wall that separated the water and the dorm. 
A small fry approached the tank and slowly pressed their digits to the glass. They had no distinguishable appearance, you mused. But the hand they placed made a sentiment to you. As you drift near the glass, you connect your hand back to the student’s palm beyond the transparent panel. You eyed down the individual as they reveled in front your true sea form. Amazement scattered across their face, ignoring the yap of their companions which were calling out to them.
You only smiled back in return, eyes half-opened that took in the appearance of the peculiar person.
“Enjoying [Name]’s little show, Prefect?” 
Azul quipped in, a staff in his hand and the other placed onto his chest. He absolutely didn’t miss the way your eyes subtly lit up by his arrival.
The dorm truly felt lively with your company.
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jonquilandlace · 2 months
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Anyway I know I'm not a super big COTL blog or anything lol but I made a lamb! :D
Their name is Ciel, like sky, because I was trying to name them vaguely angelically and got to Siel and then realized I could just go for the Real Name variant lmao. They're very based on how I play the lamb lol (and, kinda like my Cult of the Mouse edit, which I did not elaborate upon at all lol, I think of them as pretty much COTL but if you could do an Undertale-style Pacifist Run, so a bit more strategy and dodging)! I h/c the Lamb as mute/using sign primarily, so that's true of Ciel, too; primarily, they're a cutie pie with a heart of gold :>
My main fun design idea is that their scarf is what would change colors with all the fleeces instead of the whole fleece! This is kinda the equivalent of just the base game "red" cloak, though that's a constant underneath the scarves; my favorite fleeces as a player are the two blues (Hobbled Heels and Fragile, I think?), so they're probably most commonly in those two, but, like, c'mon, the red cloak is a classic.
Bonus "Other Fleeces" under the cut! Just did a few personal favorite cloaks, plus the basic white and green because I just like their designs lol (the god of death fleece looks SO NICE on them imho)
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keehlmyself · 3 months
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late night christmas headcanons with (some) the death note cast!
this post will include: light, l lawliet, misa, matsuda, near, mello, matt & sayu.
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— ' its the most wonderful time of the year ! '
LIGHT YAGAMI ★ [pre/no-kira!]
unsurprisingly, light is a very considerate gift giver. on one hand he tries to get gifts that will be more beneficial in the long run! at the same time he attempts to get something that he knows the person will like.
i can imagine light would be the kind of person to end up scouring the store for something affordable, useful and still likable. (spoiler! he fails to find items that fall into all three categories)
his gift-wrapping is neat. his mother, sachiko, taught him how to wrap gifts at the ripe age of 7. ever since then, he helps her every christmas :)
most items on wish list are stationary, up until little specific things — like a certain keychain or an expensive book.
one of his favourite things about christmas is the cookies that his mom makes. his favourites are (of course) the classic chocolate chip and simple vanilla biscuits.
he used to believe in santa when he was younger until the illusion and magic was ruined for him. as a result, while sayu was still young, he made sure that she'd continue to believe and have something to look forward to every christmas.
one time, he got L for a secret santa activity. he was fully aware that L was already rich. he could have anything he wanted! and so, he decided to make his own gift (with misa's assistance).
L LAWLIET ★
when he was younger, christmas was quite bleak at wammy's. other kids seemed to have fun but he just found himself incredibly uninterested in the holiday.
still, watari would get him gifts — and secretly? he felt appreciated.
years later, the kira task force would somehow find themselves discussing their holiday plans. L had decided to allow everyone to take a few days off (as pushed by his mentor, watari) to celebrate christmas with their families.
matsuda (bless his soul) decides to go ahead and suggest an office christmas party! at first, L is hesitant..
but he accepts. obviously.
with their basically infinite budget, the food is to die for. cakes, ice cream, meats, a few traditional meals from across the world..
secretly, this was L's quiet way of showing his own appreciation to everyone.
now you're probably wondering, 'what are his gifts like?' ... honestly lame. it depends; but for the most part, his gifts rely on practicality.
misa gave him shampoo for christmas once. and deodorant. and slippers. she wasn't trying to be mean, she just thought L didn't know those things existed and she wanted to guide him..
if you aren't upfront on what you want for christmas, he'll give you stationary, socks, utensils, etc.
MISA AMANE ★
misa is serving absolute cunt in that outfit she's wearing. she went all out - went shopping just for this. she's the type to wear little cute scarves, arm warmers, beanies.. and she looks good in them.
her gift giving abilities are god-like for the most part. she shops in advance and asks people for their wish lists
cute gift wrappers!! candy print, little cats, reindeer, hearts, etc. definitely for lights gift: she'd wrap it in hearts! (he did not reciprocate..)
at times, she worries she won't be able to spend christmas with her family (mostly just the task force) due to her modelling and acting career. she has to constantly do photoshoots, film commercials, and it stresses her out.
to make up for it: she drinks hot chocolate. and her hot chocolate is always the cutest. cute mugs, cute marshmallows, etc. but it still tastes good.
she taught sayu how to do her hot chocolate recipe! (it was barely her own recipe, she just adds alot of cute little etuff)
she's the type of gift wrapper to put ribbons on her gifts.
when asked about what she wanted for christmas, she said something cheesy like; 'anything as long as lights there'
TOUTA MATSUDA ★
christmas party planner 4everrrr
buys gifts a few months too early, our considerate king.
draws/doodles on the gift tags! (taught by misa)
he nagged watari to teach him to make cookies. he wanted to make some christmas cookies for L, in hopes that he'd win his apprpval.
wears ugly christmas sweaters a few days before christmas.
and so, this conversation ensued;
L: 'that sweater looks rather old.' Matsu: 'what? no, its barely been used' L: 'ah. it mustve been rotting in your closet.'
loves the concept of santa claus. has tried to make watari dress up as santa.
when he was younger, his parents brought him to talk to santa! by this time, matsuda already new santa claus wasnt real.
and so, he had an existential crisis the moment he realized that there was infact a white haired-white bearded man, clad in red.. and may be his childhood hero.
he liked rudolph alot and for one Halloween, he dressed up as him
NEAR ★
christmas at wammys was especially tiring for him. the children screaming, the sound of wrapping paper ripping being heard throughout the entire orphanage.. wasn't for him!
he didn't have many friends so he never really received any gifts.
his first ever gift was from linda — it meant alot to him. it was a little paper origami doll of him. it was taped horribly.
his family before the orphanage? he couldn't really remember, so along with that, he couldn't remember the christmases they had.
near gives gifts when he can.. by that, when or if he remembers.
his gifts range from socks to an entire mansion. he's not very responsible with his money.
HATES the mistletoe. one time he was under it the same time as mello. did they kiss? no, but mello did chase him around.
now sorta looks forward to christmas because of eggnog and all the toys he gets out of it. he gets ALOT of toys.
he dislikes carollers. he thinks they're too noisy. one time, he and a few other kids were forced to perform a sonf infront of everyone as part of the wammy's christmas party..
he was stood still and stayed quiet the entire time.
MELLO ★
he had alot of items on his wish list. most predominantly; accessories, clothes and of course.. chocolate.
mello is given a LOT of chocolate every christmas — with the exception of near who gave him a toothbrush out of mild concern.
his gifts are the best. by that, he just gets whatever the person wants (but at times gets everything)
mello just wants to be better than everyone when it comes to the gifts. and everything. there's a reasoning behind it, being; from a young age he always thought that if he gave the most and got the most, it would mean that everyone would like him.
there's a secret mostly one sided competition between near, matt and mello every year over who gives and receives the most gifts.
he gets into multiple fights with near, which results in him dumping a glass of eggnog down near's back.
near was not happy with the disgusting feel of wet clothes stuck to his skin. insert him literally SCREAMING
the closest person of authority in the area was giving mello a look of, 'make him stop or so help me'
wears all black to a christmas party with the exception of a red christmas hat
MATT ★
his wishlist is a little expensive, mostly 'cause it's all video game related — and clothes. did he list the clothes? no, mello did, 'cause matt's clothes are starting to fall apart at the seams.
he and mello think the christmas games are lame but they participate anyway. matts always helping mello win.
matt absolutely half asses his gifts! unless you're someone he likes or has a crush on.
lowkey pigs out during the christmas feast. he has fast metabolism so it doesn't really affect his body, but he does receive these wide-eyed looks from mello like 'holy shit you're gonna eat ALL of that?'
sings christmas songs to annoy everyone. definitely.
when he was younger, he wasn't really able to celebrate christmas properly with his family. i headcanon that he got into wammy's at a really young age and that he was there when near first arrived too.
he might not seem like it but he was one of the people (like linda) to try and make christmas a little more happy and sweet for the newcomers/the younger kids in the orphanage. he didn't want them to experience the same dissappointment and upset he felt every christmas when he was still with his family.
matt plays holiday pranks on everyone.
this is contradictory to the headcanon i made before the last, but he once told a random kid on the street santa claus wasn't real and it started crying.
SAYU YAGAMI ★
when she was younger, she'd save up all her allowance so she could buy her family gifts. admittedly — sayu's gifts never really aligned much with whatever was on their christmas lists. but she was so sweet, how could they reject?
sayu once got her and light matching slippers. hers were bunny slippers and his was dog slippers. (based off of this)
she believed santa was real up until the age of 15. she got a little angsty around those years..
her wishlist is mostly things like nail polish, certain percume, journaling books, clothes — but one year she wanted a pet mouse.. so she wrote down mouse.
well, sachiko wasn't a big fan of rodents. so instead she got her a computer mouse. and a new PC to go along with it. sayu liked it! she did want a computer too, yes..
she was salty about the pet mouse thing for the next 2 weeks though.
can't wrap gifts to save her life. she's the gift giver who puts her gifts into those paperbags and puts a ribbon sticker.
sayu loves to bake cookies with her mom. even after the events (yes, when she was traumatized to all hell by mello and the mafia) of death note, she continued to bake with her every christmas.
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nikethestatue · 4 months
Text
A Match Baked in Heaven
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Chapter 4 Here
Part V
My Girl
Nuala W. Raith.
27 years old. A cyber security senior analyst at the New Scotland Yard. Graduated from the London School of Economics. First job was with Accenture, but was quickly recruited by the government due to her phenomenal computer skills. Fairly successful modelling career in her teens and early twenties. Longest relationship was with a Canadian hockey player. Their engagement broke up when he was photographed with a scantily-clad stripper whose head was buried in his crotch. 
Hobbies: gaming, football, rugby, cooking, live concerts
Competitive swimmer throughout her uni studies
Elain printed out the profile and placed the page in her bag. She slid her IPad into it as well and then went on to put on her coat. 
She just received a message on her phone stating ‘come out, matchmaker!’ That was exactly what she expected from her wild and untamed client.
Piglet was freaking out at the door, snorting and grunting and giving a few pathetic little barks, while he clawed at the door, impatient to leave.
“Will you calm down?” Elain muttered, and opened the door for him and he sprinted out like his arse was on fire.
There was a Bentley idling at the curb and the moment Piglet rushed out, the car door opened and Azriel Night stepped out.
Elain Archeron paused in the doorway, watching her client and marvelling at his ungodly handsomeness. Unlike his usual uniform of jeans, boots and some kind of basic shirt, today, he was wearing a dark suit, which hugged his tall, slender, muscular form to ridiculous perfection. The white shirt that was open to the chest didn’t hurt either. The dark tattoos that snaked from under his shirt and spilled over his neck and his hands made him look dangerous and desirable. It was the dichotomy of his whole being in a handsome dark package–he was a combination of dangerous and damaged, aggressive and gentle, thoughtful and mannerless, inelegant and stylish.
Suddenly, he squatted right on the sidewalk, and opened his arms wide, while Piglet leapt at him, nuzzling at him wildly, and Azriel hugged him and stroked him. 
“I missed you too, my little matey. How are you doing?”
Piglet stood on his one hind leg and placed his paws on Azriel’s shoulders, going in for a full body hug.
“How’s our girl? Is she wearing purple today, since you are rockin’ your purple tie?”
Azriel already knew the drill–outside, Piglet wore coats, ties or scarves. Today, he had on a Burberry jacket and a purple scarf that matched his coat. At home or inside, he wore his stylish bows.
At that moment, Elain stepped out of the house, and Azriel looked up and whistled loudly.
“No...she is wearing a trench coat…nice touch. I hope there is nothing underneath it…”
“Mr. Night!” Elain snapped at him, blushing profusely. “You are being scandalous and utterly inappropriate!”
He laughed, watching her, as he stroked Piglet’s back.
Elain seemed to look rather sensible, in her camel knee-length trench, a large leather tote over her shoulder, and sexy brown leather booties, but somehow, she made it all look incredibly elegant, and dare he say, sexy. Elain never went for ‘sexy’, but somehow, she made all her pristine, somewhat old-fashioned outfits look alluring. The fact that she was wearing subtle, nude fishnets didn’t hurt either. Azriel always found himself intrigued by what she was going to wear, and so far, he distinctly recalled each and every one of her ensembles. Now, he was actively pondering if the fishnets were stockings? 
“She is mad at me already! I think it’s our record time,” he whisper-shouted to the dog. “Is it my fault,” he addressed her, “that trench coats look good on sexy women and make me wish that there was nothing beneath them. It’s every man’s fantasy, you know.”
“I am not here to fulfil your fantasy,” she cut him off. “I am simply wearing a coat.”
“Mmmm.” 
He waited for her to come down the stairs and then extended his hand to her. She shook it reluctantly and he smiled brightly at her, his expression teasing.
“Did you watch the game?” he asked immediately.
“Hello to you too,” she said, while Azriel opened the car door for her and Pinky leapt in eagerly, ready for a new adventure.
“Well, hello then Ms. Archeron,” Azriel murmured, leaning so close to her that his nose almost skimmed her cheek. ”Allow me to help you inside.”
She frowned at him, as she slid inside the car, and Azriel followed her right after. 
“Good afternoon, Miss,” the driver greeted her.
She greeted him back and then looked at Azriel, a bemused expression on her face.
“Where is Mr. Night? What did you do with him? And who are you?”
He laughed, throwing his head back and she looked at his thick throat, swallowing audibly.
“I mean, a car, you are being almost polite, dressed in a suit…that’s not the Mr. Night that I know. Usually he curses, argues and taunts me relentlessly.”
“Aw, Ms, Archeron,” he ran his index finger over her long lock. “Day is still young. There is time for all that.”
“Oh, phew,” she pretended to wipe her brow. “I was getting worried.”
“You shouldn’t. The arsehole is still here and happily present. So, back to my previous question?”
“Which is?”
“Are you wearing anything under the trench?” he teased and she seethed at him as usual, crossing her arms on her chest and glowering at him. 
He raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But…are you?” he whispered quickly.
“One more word, and I am leaving,” she warned.
“Dev, drive fast,” Azriel ordered and the driver smiled, as he sped down the road. 
Meanwhile, Pinkly crawled over Elain and landed on Azriel’s lap, totally disregarding Elain’s displeased hiss. Azriel chuckled, while Pinky pressed his flat face against the window. 
Elain reached into her bag and took out a pretty box with a scowl on her face. She pushed the box into Azriel’s lap without saying a word and then turned to the opposite window.
“What’s that?” he pondered.
“For you,” was all she answered. 
Curious, very, very curious, he opened the box, while Pinky tore his attention away from the window and was now panting with anticipation.
“Is that for me?” Azriel gasped, but it was genuine surprise, and not mockery. Surprise and utter delight.
The box was filled with biscuits of all kinds. Homemade.
“I said it was for you,” she shrugged like she didn’t care.
“You baked? For me?” he whispered in disbelief.
“Well, not just for you,” she argued quickly. “We had Sunday lunch at my sister Feyre’s. She served some very dodgy salmon,”
“How dodgy?” he smirked.
“Dodgy enough that we mostly ate mash and these biscuits that I brought. I had baked entirely too many. So,”
“I am getting the overflow. Thanks, pretty matchmaker!” she elbowed her gently. “I can’t believe you thought of me and made me a box!”
“Well, these are lemon,” she began pointing at different varieties of biscuits in the box. “These are almond horns. Those are orange and hazelnut,”
“Oh my god,” he marvelled in appreciation.
“Chocolate and coffee nibs. And plain shortbread.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her. Her old-fashioned, picturesque beauty, the enormous eyes, the beautiful hair, and for once, he saw someone special. Someone who didn’t fit any moulds that he was familiar with, and once again, he was at a loss. He didn’t know what to make of her.
“Elain…” he said softly, and then immediately corrected himself, “Ms. Archeron. This might be the most thoughtful and kind thing anyone’s ever done for me. I thank you. Truly.”
“You are welcome. It’s not a big thing, but you seemed to enjoy them.”
“More than you think. You baked for me. Made something with your hands…That means a lot.”
“Well, enjoy it,” Elain said gently, while Pinky was growling with impatience.
“Can I give him one?” 
“Just the plain shortbread,” Elain allowed, and Azriel fed one of the biscuits to the overexcited dog, who chomped on it noisily and messily. “He is perpetually hungry and if he could, he’d eat the whole box. He climbed onto the chair and then somehow got on top of the table and ate a whole bowl of raspberries. That was yesterday. A couple of days before, he somehow snuck into the open drawer of the refrigerator, stole a bag of sausages, ate them all, and promptly got diarrhoea…So there is that.”
Azriel was laughing silently, his whole body shaking. 
“Oh no. Why did he get the shits?”
“Because he ate like 7 or 8 sausages. He is a smallish dog. It would be the equivalent of me eating maybe 15-20 sausages. I’d get diarrhoea too!”
“Valid. What else?”
“He ate three bananas, peel and all, again by way of stealing. Then, when I wasn’t looking, he grabbed half of my cheese and onion sandwich, and ate all of that too.”
“What about the dodgy salmon?”
“Even he wouldn’t eat that!” Elain laughed. “He did eat a good heap of mash and gravy, a bread roll with butter, then proceeded to steal my sister Nesta’s steamed tofu,”
“Jesus Christ,” Azriel gasped in horror.
“Immediately spat it out,”
“Not blaming him at all. I’d spit it out too!”
“And then went to my father and cried fake pug tears to him because he was so upset that he stole and ate the wrong thing. Of course my father then had to feed him cheese and ham. As compensation of some kind. Emotional distress I am assuming?”
“My god I love him!” Azriel groaned. “I might have to steal him from you.”
“Well, then you’ll die,” she warned placidly. Azriel was laughing loudly now, considering her nonchalant tone. When he finally came to, he prodded,
“So?”
“I watched the game,” she confirmed. “You did well–one goal and two assists.”
“What about Pink?”
“Piglet watched it too. Now I can show him reruns of football games–he seems to enjoy watching things run.”
“And I am a thing that runs?” Azriel chuckled.
“You certainly are. You have incredible stamina,”
His mouth quirked and he crooned, “You have no idea…”
Elain gawked at him, and then realised what she had said, and rolled her eyes.
“You do remember, Mr. Night that I am not the one who is auditioning to be your potential wife?” She reminded him primly. “I am not the match. I am the matchmaker.”
“How can I forget? Unless you finally change your mind and just go for it,” he proposed. “You already know what you’d be signing up for with me. I have a pretty good idea about you as well. I don’t know why you are fighting this so hard?”
“Yes. I wonder why indeed.”
They were driving through the city and Piglet was panting with enjoyment, looking out the window.
Azriel gently rubbed the dog’s furry neck, relaxed against the back seat, manspreading widely. Elain threw inquisitive glances when she thought he wasn’t watching, and they mostly landed below his waist. As was his usual manner, Azriel let her look as much as she wanted. The car was big enough–even with his height and spread, there was plenty of space. So it was her choice to look, and it would be rude of him not to let her.
“I don’t want you to get so close to him,” Elain said suddenly.
Azriel looked at her quizzically.
“Piglet,” she clarified. “He is getting attached to you. He waits for you at the door,”
At that Azriel smiled, but Elain continued, 
“He thinks of you as a friend.”
“I am his friend,”
“But this is all temporary. You understand that, don’t you? Once you are matched with the right person, our relationship will end. And I don’t want Piglet to think that you’ll be around, coming to play with him or be present in his and my life,”
Azriel chewed the inside of his cheek for a long while, thinking about what she said.
“It doesn’t have to end,” he said at last.
Please don’t.
Don’t end it. 
“You are a client, Mr. Night,” Elain added, “I can’t imagine you’d have time for me once you are getting to know your future wife and getting married.”
“That’s it then?”
“Couple of months, maybe three, at most,” she confirmed. “That’s how long most of my associations with my clients last. One lasted a year, but that’s highly unusual. Besides, you are under a time constraint. I imagine that by January, we will be done.”
“I am sorry, but I disagree, Ms. Archeron,” Azriel said firmly. “Perhaps this is how things have gone before, but I cannot accept it. Let’s come up with a new agreement then…a new plan,”
“What sort of plan?”
“Something that would allow us to keep in touch beyond this initial agreement,”
“Like what?”
He shrugged, scrubbing his hand over his chin.
“Teach me manners?” he proposed. “Proper manners. Like a gentleman.”
Elain laughed, “I am not a miracle worker, Mr. Night. I am not sure I have the capability to do something like that.”
“You aren’t giving yourself enough credit. But for now, why don’t we just leave things as status quo. Three-four months is a long time. Lots of things could happen in that timeframe. Meanwhile, I’d like to keep meeting with you and Pinky.”
“Yes, I suppose,” she agreed, somewhat reluctantly.
“Do you not like me, Ms. Archeron?” he queried, no hesitation in his question.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” she admitted. “But you are an usual client for me, and I struggle with reigning you in,”
“Perhaps you shouldn't try? And just let things be as they are?” he suggested. “Maybe I am not meant to be reigned in?”
“It’s beginning to look like that,” Elain sighed. “Now, where are we going? Why couldn’t we meet at my office?”
“Where is your sense of adventure?” he smiled. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Hmmm…Very, very marginally.”
“Aw, you wound me, Ms. Archeron! But I will take you to a place you’ll undoubtedly enjoy.”
Elain looked outside the window and suddenly felt Azriel’s large, heavy palm cover her hand. He was silent, but he threaded their fingers together and held her hand firmly in his.
She turned her head and breathed, ‘Mr. Night’.
He looked straight at her, his face emotionless as usual, but said just as softly ‘Ms. Archeron’. He almost dared her to say something, or tug her hand away from his, but he wouldn’t allow it, and just kept her in place. To her credit, she didn’t attempt to either.
Piglet turned his head and looked at them, assessing the hand-holding. Then, bouncing with a surplus of excitement, he jumped on Azriel, bucking and shimmying wildly, before rolling onto Elain’s lap, waiting for a belly scratch, and then slithering back on Azriel.
“See, he is on our side,” Azriel chuckled, scratching the supple rolls of fat on the pug. “He is team Elriel.”
“Team what?”
“Elriel,” 
“I don’t know what that means.”
“El–for Elain, and Riel for Azriel. Duh? Do I have to teach you everything?!”
“Where do you even come up with this nonsense?” she looked at him, perplexed.
“Elriel is not nonsense, Ms. Archeron. It’s our ship name. Pinky is the first shipper.”
“My god. You’ve read too many romance novels, Mr. Night.”
“Yeah, well, it gets boring on the road,” he shrugged. “So I read.”
“Romance novels?”
“Fantasy. Dark romance. Romantasy. Whatever.”
“Romantasy?”
“Are you judging me?”
“No, no. Not at all,” she shook her head, stifling a laugh.
They crossed the river, and Elain looked around, trying to figure out where they were going.
At last, she exclaimed, “Borough Market?”
“Nope,” he popped his lips.
“Where then?!” she whined.
“Patience.”
“I want the apple crisp!” she begged.
“You always seem to want some kind of apple crisp,” he teased. 
“It’s my favourite. This one has bruleed custard on top. It’s so goooddd,” she moaned.
“Maybe next time,” he promised, smiling to himself.
The appreciation that he had for Elain’s unabashed love for food and eating was hard to describe. All the other women he ever went out with insisted on salads, pretended like they weren’t hungry, opted for tofu and seaweed, and in general, avoided eating as much as possible. Elain was about tea, and custard, and cake, and hearty stews.
“We are here,” he said at last. The car parked and he went to open the door. Pinky hopped out first, and then Elain climbed out and threw her head back.
“We are going to the Shard?” she asked.
“We are!” He curled his arm offering it to her and she took it. 
Elain seemed surprised, but she followed him nevertheless, while Pinky stepped in front of them with his usual self importance, like he knew where he was going. Azriel could only dream of having this dog’s confidence!
The three of them took the lift up to Shangri-La hotel and were immediately greeted by an obsequious female hostess, who looked at Azriel like he was a dick-on-a-stick.
“Mr. Night, please follow me,” she flitted about, swaying her hips, as she paid no attention to Elain, and ushered them to a table in front of the windows, which overlooked the stunning vistas of London. It felt as if they sat right on top of Tower Bridge. Piglet plastered his face against the window, snorting with amazement. Whatever he was seeing, he was very impressed. 
“He is a support animal. We have all the documentation,” Azriel told the hostess, but she waved her hand at him.
“Of course, Mr. Night. That wouldn’t be a problem.”
“He is very well-behaved,” Azriel assured her, while observing Elain’s pinched little face. She wasn’t liking what was happening here.
Finally, the woman left, and Elain muttered, “Why even ask me for help? You have a ready-to-go wife right here. Wives on tap, I am sure.”
Azriel laughed at her.
“If I didn’t know you better, I would’ve thought that you were jealous, Ms. Archeron.”
“Jealous? Hardly,” she scoffed. 
“Phew, I was beginning to worry that you were developing feelings for me and my company,” he snickered. “Allow me,” he offered to take her trench–something the hostess should’ve done, but apparently, she was too star struck.
Elain unbelted and shrugged the coat off and Azriel looked her over with interest that he wasn’t even trying to hide. 
“Blimey,” he exhaled. 
Elain wore a form-fitting nude jumper and a knee-length skirt with brown and purple abstract pattern. Frankly, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the round pair of glorious tits that the jumper did all kinds of favours for. He even liked the one strand of fat pearls around her neck. 
“None. Don’t worry. But,” she looked around, “this is nice. Thank you, Mr. Night. I appreciate the thought. Imagine–I’ve never been here before. It’s been on the list of places to go, but we never could make it. So, thank you! I’ve just checked an item off my bucket list.”
“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Archeron,” he included his head. “Care to share what else is on your bucket list?”
“No,” she told him immediately, as she pulled out her IPad from her bag. “We are here to talk about you.”
He held the chair for her and she sat down.
“And here I thought that this Pink Afternoon Tea will thaw you a bit! Champagne at least?”
“I’ll have a glass,” she agreed graciously.
“You are not pregnant or anything like that, right?” he goaded her. 
She rolled her eyes and told him, “Not that I am not aware of.”
“So. There is someone in your life to get pregnant by?” he pressed.
“I’ll be asking you a series of questions,” Elain said, ignoring him and his probing. “Please answer truthfully. I am building your profile. There are no right or wrong answers.”
“May I tell you something meanwhile?”
“Sure.”
“You look sexy as fuck, matchmaker. It’s dangerous.”
She sucked in her breath and nervously picked at her pearls.
“Mr. Night…”
“Ms. Archeron. I see what I see.”
At that moment, their champagne was delivered, followed by waiters with the tea service. Elain exhaled a relieved breath. 
It looked spectacular–Reuben sandwiches, Truffle Egg and Cress, Smoked Salmon, Coronation Chicken–all done in various shades of pink. There were chicken liver parfaits, and tiny burgers. Pink scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam. And a variety of little architecturally-impressive pastries–a layer cake with pistachios and cherries, raspberry plum cake, something called shang mont rose, and the Pink Sphere. 
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The Pink Afternoon Tea at the Shard (Shangri-La Hotel, London)
They even brought a bowl of water and a bowl of whipped cream for Piglet. 
“It’s beautiful. Almost too beautiful to eat,” Elain commented, inspecting all the offering.
“Almost,” Azriel raised his champagne flute. “But not quite. To us, Ms. Archeron. To our tenuous friendship. Maybe it will grow into something more.”
Elain glanced at him and whispered, “maybe,” before sipping her champagne.
“I won’t be able to train properly after all this,” Azriel commented, as he bit into one of the sandwiches, “but you only live once, yeah?”
“Your first concert?” Elain asked, looking down at her IPad.
Piglet already polished all the cream off, and was now snoring softly under the table. 
Azriel thought for a second, and said,
“Eminem. I was fourteen. Cass and I snuck out and slept outside all night, but we got in. It was incredible.”
She smiled and whispered, “that must have been amazing…”
“It really was.”
“Favourite movie?”
“Fight Club.”
“Favourite singer or band?”
“Led Zeppelin.”
“I could’ve guessed. You seem like the type.”
“Oh, and what type is that?”
“Old-fashioned, but rebellious.”
“What about you? Tay Tay? Adele?”
Elain wrinkled her nose.
“If we are talking singers, then it’s Amy Winehouse,” she said. “Band–it’s always the Rolling Stones.”
“Ahhh…well, that’s to be expected.”
“Why?”
“You like the classics.”
“Look at us, figuring each other out.” Her tone was vaguely sarcastic. Then she asked the next question, “First celebrity crush?”
Azriel took a while to think about that one, sipping his tea, and finishing up his little burger.
“Brad Pitt.”
“Oh?” Elain smiled. “Really?”
“He is a beautiful man. What can I say? In ‘Troy’ I think.”
“First thing you do when you wake up?”
“Think about football,” he told her instantly. “I am dedicated to my game, my team, my city. I work hard for what I do.”
“What was your dream job when you were young?”
“I didn’t think I’d have one at all,” he told her honestly. Elain didn’t know how to follow up on that statement. “Thought I’d be in a gang, or something. Maybe in prison. Maybe dead,”
“That’s…very grim,” she frowned.
“That’s the reality of those lads who I grew up with. My reality. I just happen to run well with a ball.”
“How do you think others view you?”
“They either like me or hate me. I am good looking, so some respond to that. Others cannot abide my character. I don’t care, to be honest. I only care about the opinions of very few people.”
“Who?” she asked quickly, though he suspected that it wasn’t part of the questionnaire.
“Cassian, I suppose. Rhys. My team. Coach. You.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Elain hid her face behind her cup, aimlessly picking at her sandwich, but Azriel watched her closely. 
“You can’t ask questions like these and not expect uncomfortable answers,” he reminded her simply.
“Why me though?”
“For a posh, prissy bird, you are surprisingly accepting. I suppose I appreciate that, so I don’t want you to think of me…badly.”
“I don’t, you know.”
“I do. And that’s what’s so surprising. You are a nice sort of person.”
Elain adjusted her hair, trying to make herself comfortable, and asked,
“What do you not tolerate?”
“Disloyalty. Random cruelty.”
Her eyes fell on his scarred hands, while he spread some jam on his scone and popped it in his mouth. Despite the scars, his hands were attractive. Big and strong and sure.
“Where do you want to live?”
“London. It’s home. It understands me.”
“Biggest fear?”
He didn’t say anything for a while.
“I’ll tell you,” he drummed his fingers on the table, “but we say it together. You say yours, and I’ll say mine.”
“Mr. Night,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“No, Ms. Archeron. This is the way we do it. If you don’t like it, move on to the next questions.”
Elain sighed and murmured ‘fine’.
“On three then…One, two, three.”
Loneliness.
Both of them blurted the same word at the same time.
Loneliness. 
Elain stared at him. A little shocked. Azriel only chuckled. 
“Well then…”
He smiled again. 
“I might need more Champagne.”
“I'll ask lighter questions,” she promised quickly, not commenting on their shared fear.
“Please do, before I get black out drunk at Afternoon Tea at the Shard. Do they have whiskey here?”
“Mr. Night, you aren’t drinking whiskey!”
“Not yet. But I might soon. Are you eating your burger?”
“No. You can have it.”
She typed something in her notebook and he meanwhile ate her mini burger in two bites.
“Do you wear pyjamas to bed?” came the next question, and Azriel huffed at it.
“No. I sleep completely naked.”
She cleared her throat and went on,
“Boxers or briefs?”
Azriel grinned and leaned back in his chair, as was his manner when he got comfortable and amused. 
“Well, well…Boxer briefs, Ms. Archeron,” he answered with a wink. “I normally like everything to be tucked in there, and not flop in the wind.”
Elain snorted a laugh.
“You see,” he continued. “The Lord hath endowed me well in that region. There is much to hold in place. It’s like wrestling a python into my poor drawers every morning…”
“Oh, how tragic. It must be very difficult for you,” she mocked.
But Azriel didn’t miss the lovely blush that spread on her cheeks. 
“It is a struggle, but one that I accepted humbly. Wouldn’t be surprised if they could see it all the way in America. Makes our American cousins all kinds of edgy seeing a British cock in all its glory.”
“Oh my god,”
Leaning towards her, he whispered conspiratorially, “don’t tell Cassian. He gets a bit…competitive.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Elain promised.
“Hardly a secret. Anything else you’d like to know, matchmaker? Or see?”
“The most significant of your tattoos?” she hopped over his proposition just like that.
He rubbed his chest, and said, “A Churchill quote: It is the time to dare and endure.”
“Is that something that helps you?”
“Something to keep me grounded when things get tough. I also have this one,” he pointed to his forearm. “Arsenal crest. And a Union Jack on my shoulder.”
The next question was Azriel’s favourite. Elain asked,
“Maradona or Pele?”
“Diego Armando Maradona,” he said at once.
“Do you believe in god?”
“No.”
“Can you change a tyre?”
“Yes.”
“The first thing you look at in a woman?”
“Her gaze. Her look.”
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked quickly, without raising her eyes from the tablet.
“No. Never. Have you?” he asked quickly.
“This isn’t about me,”
“Answer the question,” he ordered.
“No, Mr. Night. I have not been in love. Do you want to marry?”
“Seems like I have to.”
“If you didn’t need to.”
“Marriage changes little, but if the woman wants it, then yes, I would marry.”
“And children? Would you like to have children?”
“Yes. Four.”
She glanced at him and repeated, “Four?”
“Yes. Four.”
“What do you know how to cook?”
“Steak. Only the best eggs you’ve ever eaten. Really good lamb stew. A bacon sandwich. You won’t go hungry with me, pretty matchmaker. Don’t worry.”
“Is this another proposal?”
“Always!” he grinned at her. “Now that you know everything about me, am I making a more appealing candidate?”
“I am sure that you are, for others. I am not looking for a husband, Mr. Night,” she reminded him dryly.
“Why hasn’t the ginger bloke closed the deal?” Azriel started on the pastries, popping one of them in his mouth whole. That solicited a frown from Elain, but he only smiled at her. “What’s he waiting for?”
“Why do you think it’s the man, and not me?”
“You are a fucking matchmaker, princess. Of course you wanna get married. Come on now,” he bubbled his lips. “It’s like saying I am a footballer, but I don’t want to win the Ballon D’Or. Of course I do. Probably no chance of it, but nevertheless, the dream is there.”
“Maybe, hypothetically, I want to get married. But it’s nothing and to no one specific,” she finally relented. 
“Well, that’s a start,” he smiled. “Anything else? What do you want to know? My favourite colour? It’s cobalt blue, by the way. Funny how you wore a skirt in that colour the first time we met. You think it’s a sign?” he winked at her.
“No. I do not.”
“You are so hard to impress,” he complained jokingly. “Tough little cookie. But I’ll break that hard exterior and will get to the soft, gooey inside, the delicious centre.”
“Mr. Night, please remember that ours is a professional relationship. You aren’t breaking me in or whatever it is you just said. It definitely sounded wholly inappropriate. 
“I, however, must ask you more personal questions…Which, honestly, I am dreading,” she added sombrely.
Azriel stretched his very long legs under the table and crossed them at the ankles, before lacing his fingers on his stomach and smiling like an asshole at her. 
“Come on then, pretty matchmaker. Bring it on! I won’t put the moves on you–unless you want me to–and I will behave,”
“Why am I doubting everything you just said?” she whispered with a heavy sight.
“Oh, don’t. Come on, ask away!”
“I preferred you when you were reluctant and a moody arsehole, like you were at our first meeting.”
“Oh, I am still that. Don’t worry. But I am making an effort here and want to make your life a bit easier.”
“How are you in bed, Mr. Night?” she blurted out. “Any specific preferences that a prospective match should know about? Dominant? Submissive? Rough? BDSM? Any fetishes? Any musts? Any hard limits? And how do you feel about fidelity?”
“Well, fuck me that’s a lot of questions! I think I will have that whiskey after all.”
They waited for his whiskey to be delivered and Azriel took a sip, smacking his lips with appreciation.
“You are a bad influence, Ms. Archeron,” he told her. “You make me want to live.”
She looked at him and his declaration with surprise.
“And you don’t live otherwise?”
“I dunno. With you, things seem…easier. Lighter? Like I don't have to worry about my form constantly, or think about the game, or training, or restrict myself. It’s nice, you know. It feels like there is more to the world, and to my life than what I am used to. I can have a drink, and have some pastries, and wear a suit…Not just trainers that sponsor me, or salads and leafy greens and lean protein.”
Elain smiled, “You sound like my sister Nesta. She is a dancer. She is very careful about what she eats,”
���Hence the tofu that makes Pinky sick.”
“Indeed.”
He resumed his position, with his hands on his stomach and then said,
“I am rough. As a lover.”
Elain stopped typing in her IPad and stared at him, clearly not expecting this nugget of info to drop on her lap.
“Rough?” she repeated at last. “As in…violent?”
He chuckled.
“Nah, I ain’t violent, pretty girl.”
“Mr. Night,” she snapped.
“Sorry, sorry. Ms. Archeron–where I come from, fucking is quick, hard, rough and unromantic. There ain’t no flickering candles, soft music, gauzy curtains,”
“I am impressed and a bit alarmed that you just used the word ‘gauzy’,” Elain commented.
“All, I’ve been hitting the dictionary every night. Picking up fancy words to impress you with!”
“You should be impressing your future matches,” she reminded him with a meaningful look, and he nodded in acquiescence. 
“Yeah, I remember. The matches.”
“So, you are rough,” Elain repeated. 
“Listen–on and off for a few years, I didn’t even have a place to sleep when I was a teen. Three months with one family, six weeks with another, four days with another…Stretches of time in between where Cass and me had to fend for ourselves. But you know…needs must and all. My dick was a teenage dick regardless of what my family situation was, so I had to get it where I could.”
Elain listened without commenting, her face expressionless. Azriel wasn’t sure if she was shocked, or repulsed, or judging him. That damn poker face of hers was on point.
“And where could I get it? Against the wall near the chippy, or on a park bench, or in a stairwell. That doesn’t bode well for lengthy sessions of tender lovemaking.
“So I go in pretty rough. I’ll make you come–a lady, I’ll make a lady come–but if she is looking for prim and proper that ain’t me.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. 
“I ain’t mean, Ms. Archeron. I am an athlete–I am controlled and powerful. Before I took up football, I used to box. There wasn’t much else to do where we lived, and because Cass and I were so big, we joined the local church’s boxing club. It taught me how to control my strength, my physicality, and my size. There ain’t ever been a need to be physically rough with the girl. Why? What’s she gonna do against me, you know?”
“Anything else?”
“All that other stuff you’d mentioned–BDSM, dom and sub–I don’t have any interest in that. I don’t particularly like inflicting pain, especially not on women. But if you’d like me to spank you or tie you up, I’ll tie you up. Whatever you fancy, Ms. Archeron.”
Elain blushed violently and adorably, as she scrambled to pretend to type something.
“So you do like to be spanked?” he grinned at her. He knew that she was fake typing right now.
She squirmed in her chair, and woke up Piglet, when she poked him with her foot. He snorted his disappointment and then emerged from under the table and immediately looked at Azriel with a pleading gaze. 
“I saved you a sandwich,” Azriel chuckled, tearing a piece of the sandwich and feeding it to the pug. “Coronation chicken, no less.”
Piglet began chomping on the sandwich with delight, finding a kindred spirit in Azriel. 
“I am still waiting for an answer, Ms. Archeron,” Azriel teased. “Spanking? Tying up? Are you a dom? Or do you like to submit? And before you tell me that this is not about you, I’d still like to know.”
“Well, this is not about me,” she hissed.
Azriel cocked his head to the side and looked at her with a humoured look in his eyes, asking,
“Are you a virgin?” 
“For god’s sake, Mr. Night! Why are you asking me this?!” she demanded, scandalised.
“No shame in that,” he said lightly. “If you are, I mean. I am not judging.”
“Well, I am not, Mr. Night. I am a grown woman. And not a virgin. Are you the one who is going to be asking questions now?!”
“Yes, now I am kind of into it. What’s your favourite colour?”
“Pink!” she snapped.
“How about favourite food?”
“Sushi!”
“Cold raw fish–yum. But like I said before, no judgement.”
“Feels like judgement,”
“What else can I ask?”
“Nothing!”
“Do you find me handsome?”
“No!” she cried out.
“No? But I am a handsome footballer, what’s wrong with me?”
“Your gigantic ego.”
“Ego just corresponds to other parts of my anatomy,” he shrugged innocently.
“Oh lord. We are quite finished here, Mr. Night. I think we should get the bill.”
“I think I’d like another whiskey,” he argued.
“Well, you’ll be drinking it alone.”
“Naw…Pink is staying here with me. I am feeding him sandwiches and you know he ain’t going anywhere. Sit that pretty plump arse of yours down, Ms. Archeron. We’ll go soon enough.”
She pouted, but her traitorous dog was only proving Azriel correct, as he slurped his water and chewed on the sandwich that Azriel kept feeding him.
“My arse isn’t plump,” she muttered.
He glanced at her and smiled, “I’ll be the judge of that,” he decided. “Hope the ginger bloke appreciates your arse and worships it the way it deserves to be worshipped. It’s a hella nice coupla buns. Sorry and all…but I noticed,”
“No. More. Whiskey.” Elain ordered, wiping her brow. She was going to lose 10 kilos by the time all of this was going to be over. This man needed to be in some special institution. 
“I know what kind of a wife I want!” he suddenly declared, rubbing his hands excitedly.
“Oh you do, do you? Please tell. I am…well, scared, but also intrigued.”
“I want the kind of girl who kisses me at red lights.”
“That’s actually…kind of romantic,” Elain agreed, surprised. He made no sense this man, but he definitely kept her on her toes.
“Yeah, kind of like she can’t even wait to give me a hot and sloppy one. So she waits until we are at a red light and goes for it.”
Meanwhile, Piglet finished his sandwich and ambled towards the massive wall of windows, looking out with great interest. Because he was wearing his Burberry jacket, and now stood in front of a window overlooking the Gherkin, the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge, charmed tourists and other guests began pointing at him and oohing and ahhing with delight, completely awed by the stylish pug.
“They gonna start taking photos of him.” Azriel whispered to Elain, and she smiled, nodding, while she quickly snapped a pic of her own.
“Going on his Insta?” he joked, while the waiter brought another whiskey. Azriel figured that he might not be leaving here any time soon. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in god knows how long. 
“Obviously!” she tapped something quickly on her phone and in the next minute, showed it to him.
It was an amazing photo, considering that she barely even moved to take it–but Piglet looked like he was floating above the city, his expression pensive, his jacket on point, every landmark below him captured with crisp precision. 
Enjoying London Town #puginthesky #whenpugsfly #puglyfe
“How do you even come up with these so quickly?” he shook his head, but then quickly requested, “send it to me. I want to have it. Also, it’s a gorgeous pic!”
“Thank you.”
Elain reached for her bag and then withdrew a folder, which she lay on the table, between the two of them.
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Night, I wanted to mention this before we go further.”
“Sounds ominous,” he huffed.
“Are you currently…sexually active?”
He cocked his brow at her and chuckled, “what a question, Ms. Archeron! Why? Are you interested?”
She ignored the suggestive quip and said, “It’s just that it would be preferential if you maintain a certain amount of abstinence while being matched. You can certainly decide to engage in sexual relations with the match when the two if you are ready, but I would ask you to treat it as you would a normal relationship…”
“I’ve never been in a relationship,” he sipped his whiskey. “So I am no expert. But I think I can manage it.”
“You truly haven’t been in a relationship?”
“No. Not really.”
“And yet you can abstain?” she confirmed.
“Matchmaker,” he sighed, “I am almost 30, I have some self-control. It’s been a while since I’ve lost control over pussy,”
“Mr. Night!”
“Sorry, sexual relations. Listen, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my youth. Nothing too terrible, but I should’ve done better. Now I am the Captain, and the younger lads look up at me. I want to do right by them, make sure that their careers don’t blow up, that they are careful with their money and the women that they are with. With us–you can get one injury, and it could be career ending. Everything you’ve been counting on, planning on, expecting, working for a decade towards–poof, gone! All because someone made a bad tackle, or you ran wrong, or a ligament snapped. And you are left with nothing, all the contracts and games and endorsements are gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers. “Everyone thinks they’ll be a Ronaldo, or a Messi, or a Zidane, but that’s untrue for most players. 
“So now, I feel a sense of responsibility. Look at me–I am an old fucker,” he laughed. “But it’s true. So yeah, I can abstain. When we travel, I don’t party all that much. After dinner, I usually go back to the hotel and play Candy Crush. Or read dark romances.”
At that, Elain giggled, “you do not read dark romances!” she argued.
“Yeah I fuckin’ do!” he insisted.
“Such a liar!”
“Telling you,”
“Okay, so what are you reading currently?” 
“Shantel Tessier’s ‘Carnage’,” he reported immediately. 
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s super smutty,” was the verdict.
“You do not read Shantel Tessier!” Elain gawked at him adorably, completely taken aback.
“You’d be incorrect. Listen, I had an injury a couple of years ago and was in rehab for two months. I was bored out of my mind. The nurse who was taking care of me got me hooked up on dark romances. I fuckin’ love that shite!” he admitted excitedly. “You ladies write some bloody crazy shit. Never read anything like that written by a man!”
Azriel glanced in Pinky’s direction and smiled widely. The pug was legitimately posing for photos and creating a mini stampede around him. He was even giving over the shoulder looks, not to mention all sorts of side and front poses, knowing exactly what needed to be done to gain the most reaction. 
“Hey mate, you can photograph him, but don’t touch him,” Azriel said protectively, when some guy wanted to pick the dog up. “He doesn’t like anyone but me and my girl touching him. He bites.”
Maybe the truth was stretched a bit, but whatever. It worked, because the bloke stepped back cautiously and didn’t attempt to touch the dog anymore.
‘I am not your girl,” Elain said quietly, crimping the napkin on her lap.
“No. But you could be. Nothing’s stopping you,” he said simply.
With that, Elain pushed the folder towards him and explained,
“Your first match”.
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catierambles · 3 months
Text
Alternate Instincts Ch.15
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Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)
WC 1367
Warnings:....none?
Mike looked over at her as they watched the movie, seeing the bored expression on her face,
“This really doesn't scare you at all?” He asked and she sighed.
“Slasher flicks don't scare me.” She said, “A) the body has roughly a gallon of blood in it, these people are losing multiples of that per injury, and some of the injuries are basically just overly dramatic papercuts. B) jump scares are the fart jokes of horror movies, good if they're done right, tacky if overused, and this movie has gone past overusing and into the realm of cringe. Give me a good psychological horror any day. Sometimes less is more.” She caught his pout when she was finished and blinked at him. “Mike, were you hoping that I'd be all scared and jumpy and hide myself on you?”
“Maybe.” He pouted and she snorted, pulling him towards her by his hoodie and pressing a kiss to his lips.
“You're adorable.” She said and he smiled, his hand coming up to hold the side of her jaw as he leaned in for another kiss. He pushed her back against the couch, pressing down onto her as his lips moved against hers.
“Hey you two.” Sy said as he came into the living room and Mike picked his head up. “I interruptin'?”
“What's up, Sy?” Stephanie asked, her hands pressed to Mike's chest.
“We're headin' to the wolf bar in town in you wanna join us.” He said, “If not, one of us will stay behind so shithead doesn't get ideas seein' you alone.”
“Wolf bar?” Stephanie asked.
“Not strictly advertised as such, but it's like a cop bar but for wolves, we just all kinda congregate there. The town and businesses are neutral territory so no one tries to pull shit.” He explained and she and Mike shared a look.
“Yeah, why not.” Stephanie said, “Sounds like fun. You don't think Jordan will try anything there, do you?”
“He'd set off the radar of every wolf in there if he so much as stepped foot in it.” Sy said, “They'd hand him over to the Council, eventually, but he'd be bleedin' when they do. Just in case, I'll let security know what's goin' on. They're all wolves, so if they get a tickle, they'll circle the wagons around ya.”
Once a game plan was established, they got ready, Stephanie changing out of her lounge clothes into a pair of jeans, a long sleeved v-neck and a pair of dark flats. Mike stuck to his hoodie and t-shirt combo, August wore yet another beige button up with a white-shirt underneath, Sy opting for jeans and one his of Lynard Skynard shirts that had definitely seen better days, Walter in a dark cableknit that did absolutely nothing to hide how wide his shoulders were, and Geralt stuck with a black shirt and black jeans which only made his coloration more striking. They were about to head out when August stopped her, looking down at her with his arms folded over his chest and his brow furrowed in a scowl.
“What?” She asked and he reached over, grabbing one of Walter's scarves from the hooks by the door and looping it around her neck so lay on her chest, covering what had been bared by her shirt's neckline. “Really?”
“You could change.” He suggested and she rolled her eyes.
“August, I don't care if guys peek at the cleavage, and you shouldn't either seeing as you've seen the whole thing and they never will.”
“I'd rather they not peek at all, Princess.”
“Get over your insecurities and walk out the door. Let's go.” She said and shooed him out the door, Sy locking up behind them. She walked with Sy and Mike towards his truck, pulling the scarf off. “Walker.” He looked at her and got a face full of scarf after she threw it at him, sticking her tongue out at him as she got into the passenger seat of Sy's truck. Geralt and Walter rode with August in his SUV and they set out, heading down the winding access roads to the main town.
The bar itself was busy, a few road bikes parked out front as well as trucks in the small parking lot. Given the fact that they were surrounded by forest and mountains, it didn't shock her. Sports cars and sedans weren't exactly great with mountain roads. She dodged August as he tried to smack her on the butt, swatting away his hands and making Mike laugh. The others went off into the depths of the bar as Sy explained what was going on to the head of security, Stephanie giving him a shrug when he turned an arched brow towards her.
“Don't worry about it, Sy.” He said, “That Feral isn't going anywhere near your Mate.”
“Thanks, man.” He said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, doll. I need a beer.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he settled his hand on her hip as he steered her away towards the bar itself. They got their beers and talked, but she noticed that he kept looking over at the others playing pool in the corner with a couple other guys.
“Go on.” She said, moving her head at them.
“I just don't wanna leave you alone, babe.”
“You're not.” She said, “The bar is filled with people who, I'm assuming, are mostly wolves and security is already keeping an eye out. I'm be fine.”
“I also don't want you to think we're abandonin' ya the first chance we got.”
“I don't.” She reassured him and he gave her a small smile, squeezing her thigh and moving off. Turning on the bar stool, she watched him head over to the others, leaning back against the bar. It was nice seeing them like this, socializing, more relaxed. Even August and Geralt were smiling, sort of. A small group of women approached them, scantily clad with drinks in their hands. She didn't know if they were wolves as she had no way to tell, but they didn't need to be. The guys were all attractive in their own ways, so it was no surprise that they were getting attention. And August was worried about her.
“It's always gonna be you.” She kept Sy's words wrapped around her mind like a shield, protecting herself against the insecure thoughts and anxieties. Someone slid up to the bar next to her and she spared them a glance out of the corner of her eye. It was a squirrelly looking guy with dark hair down to his collar and his attention was fixed on her, a smile which he probably thought was charming turned in her direction.
“What's a pretty little girl like you doing in a bar filled with big bad wolves?” He asked and she paused, arching a brow at him.
“Drinking a beer.” She said simply, raising the said beer to her lips and taking a sip.
“Haven't seen you here before.”
“Haven't been here before.”
“You come by yourself?” He asked.
“Nope.” She said and moved her head at the pool tables.
“Your friends are pretty too.” He thought she had come here with the group of women, because of course he did. “Why don't you invite them over to join us?”
“That's a great idea.” She said and caught Sy's attention with a gesture, beckoning him over. He tapped Walter's chest with the back of his hand and he got the others attention. They put the pool cues back and made their way towards her across the bar and she caught the guy's smile fade as he realized his mistake.
“Hey, babe.” Sy said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “Who's this?”
“No idea, but he said you guys should come over to join us.”
“That was nice of him.” Walter said.
“He also called you pretty.” Stephanie said with a smile.
“Thanks, man!” Mike said.
“Uh—I—” He stammered.
“Leave.” Geralt said simply and he fled quickly. She waited half a second after he left before bursting into laughter.
“Big bad wolves, indeed.” She chuckled but shook her head when they gave her a questioning look.
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Text
Candy Cane Stripes
Raphael x Reader
Summary: On a chilly day in New York, you head to the lair to show off your sparkly red holiday nails…
Note: Well, here we go, first fic on the new blog. I’ve been cleaning out my room, going through my stuff and this just…felt right. I think I needed a fresh start here. Consider this my new era. The turtles are in their 20s in this.
Warnings: None?
Word Count: 1.5k
Reader Is: Female
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It was a chilly, New York winter day and you were down in the lair, desperate to warm up after having walked through the snow and ice to get there. Donnie had set up the heating system down there pretty well, managing to keep heat in their living space despite the obvious draftiness of the sewers.
You had brought some winter supplies for the boys, namely, hot cocoa ingredients, some wintry mugs, and all of your favorite holiday movies on DVD. You were wrapped up in one of the scarves Raph had knitted for you, red and white candy cane stripes. It matched the nails you’d just gotten done a few days before, to commemorate the beginning of the holiday season.
Leo and Mikey greeted you when you entered, Mikey playing his video games on the TV and Leo reading something in his spot on the couch. Donnie was in the lab, as usual, and Raph was working out. You could tell by the steady clinking of his weights in the distance. You couldn’t help but blush a little, thinking of the big, strong turtle.
You’d been friends with the turtles since you were in high school and they were teens. Now, you were all in your early twenties, you’d finished college and were working basically full time at a game store downtown, which meant you were always able to get gaming equipment and games for them with your generous employee discount. Lately, you were trying to figure out the rest of your life, and if you were being honest…you wanted Raph, and the rest of his brothers, for that matter, to be a part of it.
Once you got comfortable, you pulled out your cocoa ingredients, pouring a mug of milk and cocoa mix, squirting in lots of chocolate syrup before giving it a good stir and sticking it into the microwave. You readied a can of whipped cream, squirting some in your mouth, only to come face to face with the turtle in the red bandana himself.
“Oop.” You mumbled, eating the whipped cream. “Hello.”
“What’cha up to, shorty?” He asked, giving your head a playful shove.
“Hot cocoa. You want some?” You held up an empty mug, wiggling it around temptingly.
He grinned. “I could be convinced.”
You mixed together another mug full of cocoa and swapped it for yours in the microwave. You turned to grab the whipped cream, but Raphael had it, doing the exact same thing you had just been doing. You giggled. “Hey!”
“One sec.” He said, holding up a large finger and taking another hit of whipped cream before handing it back to you.
You shook your head, chuckling as you sprayed a spiral of whipped cream on top of your drink, nursing it in your hands as you took your first tentative sip. It was then that Raph finally noticed the sparkling red color of your nails, accompanied your candy cane accent nails. He stared for a long moment before you looked up, catching him.
“What’s that look for, big guy?”
“Huh?” He met your eyes. “Oh, nothin’, nothin’.”
You took a sip of cocoa and set it on the counter, holding out your hands so he could get a closer look at them, taking each of your human hands in his much, much bigger ones. Raph admired your little fingers, the way the red polish glittered in the light as he moved them ever so slightly.
“When’d ya get these done?”
“This week. Thought they would be nice for the holidays and all that.” You shrugged. “Plus, red happens to be one of my favorite colors.”
He smirked, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. “Oh it does, does it?”
“Mmhmm.” You nodded, eyes meeting his.
Raph’s voice got all soft. “It’s a good color for ya.”
Heat rose to your cheeks at the implications. “I think so, too.”
The microwave beeping caused you to part, grabbing the mug for Raph, careful not to burn yourself on its hot exterior. You handed it to him and he sprayed some whipped cream on it before going through the basket of things you’d brought down to the lair. He shuffled through your DVDs before holding up a copy of the Grinch.
“It’s you!” You said, laughing mischievously.
He deadpanned. “Ha. Very funny.” He continued to look through them, pulling out Barbie in the Nutcracker. “What’s this one for?”
“I brought that specifically at Mikey’s request.” You defended. “But it is a cinematic masterpiece nonetheless.”
Raph chuckled. “I’m sure it is.”
The two of you moved to the living room, Raph carrying your basket for you. Leo greeted you as you sat down, barely looking up from his book to do so. You pulled out your Switch and booted up Stardew, Mikey sitting upright at the sound.
“You playing Stardew?”
You grinned. “Maybe.”
“Can I get on?”
“Absolutely.” You laughed, booting up the Co-Op farm you’d started with the boys. Well, you mostly played with Mikey, but Donnie hopped on every so often.
Raph picked one of your movies from the basket and pulled it out, opening the case and staring at the DVD. Looking at it, his thumb might be too big to pop it out in one piece, so he handed it to you.
“Hmm?” You asked, looking up. “Oh.” This wasn’t the first time he’d asked you to do so. Borrowing your little hands, as he liked to say. You popped out the disk and handed it to him so he could put it in the PlayStation.
With Home Alone playing in the background, he sat beside you on the couch, his arm settled on the back cushions, brushing against your back. He watched your screen every once in a while, fascinated as your little pixelated character ran around, planting parsnips and fighting little green blobs.
Your phone buzzed, a notification from Tinder blinking on its screen before going black again. It was one of their promotional messages, begging you to try their premium service, but why would you when it was already so rough out there?
Raph was quiet for a long moment before saying, “You tryin’ to date again?”
“I was. I don’t know.” You shrugged. “The dating pool up there is rough.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” You looked over at him.
“Nothin’, I just…I think ya should delete it.”
“I probably should.” You shrugged and leaned on him, hoping he’d finally take the hint.
“Yeah, her crush isn’t on there anyway.” Mikey chuckled.
Raph narrowed his eyes. “You got a crush?”
“I do and you’re gonna be down a brother if he doesn’t shut up about it.” You glared at him over your Switch, causing the youngest turtle to laugh mischievously.
“Huh. Didn’t know that.” Raph crossed his arms, withdrawing them from around you, jealousy bubbling just beneath his surface. It was almost hilarious how oblivious he was, if not utterly infuriating.
You stayed for the rest of the movie before starting to pack up your stuff to go home. “Hey Raph, would you walk me back?”
“Sure.” He replied, a little shorter with you than usual. “Got everything?”
“Mmhmm.” You nodded, looking up at him.
“Great. Let’s go.”
The city was quiet, snowflakes falling. You loved New York in winter. There was so much to do and it was beautiful. Well, until the snow turned to slush, that was, then it wasn’t so fun. But right now, the way it looked, it was like your own personal snow globe.
Raph got you to your apartment in one piece, and he was about to turn to leave, but you put a hand on his arm.
“Hey, do you wanna come up? Hang out for a bit?”
“Uh, sure.” He nodded, motioning up to your fire escape. “Race ya.”
“Ha. For your sake and mine I hope the elevator’s working today.” You chuckled, walking into the building and taking the elevator up to the fifth floor. Once you were inside, Raph’s hulking silhouette was looming in the window. You crossed the room, unlocking the window and opening it for him.
“Thanks.”
“Mmhmm.” You hummed, watching as he entered the room, standing somewhat awkwardly as he waited for you to say something.
“So…this crush ah yours…I know ‘em?” Raph asked tentatively, shifting from one foot to the other.
You chuckled. “You…do, actually. Pretty well, I would think.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”
“Oh.” You repeated, taking a few steps closer, looking up at him. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, though. I get it.”
“Wait, you mean me?” His eyes widened, staring at you. “Holy shit.”
You burst into laughter. “Yes I mean you! Who did you think I meant?”
“I dunno, like Leo or…Casey or somethin’ not…” His expression softened. “Me?”
“You.” You confirmed, taking that final step and taking one of his gigantic hands with your own.
“Are ya sure?” he asked, fingers tentatively curling around yours.
“Positive.”
He grinned. He looked around your apartment. “Aw, shorty, where’s your mistletoe when I need it?”
“You don’t need it.” You assured him, standing on your toes as he met you in the middle, finally, finally pressing his lips to yours.
Tags: @thelaundrybitch
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