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originalfatfiction · 4 months

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Andy's Assistant

“Hello, excuse me.” There was a gentle rapping at my office door that caused me to look up from my computer. “Are you Andrew Reynolds?” I looked at a young guy obviously in his early twenties. He smiled cheerily as he stood in the doorway, waiting for my response. His smile was gorgeous, his teeth immaculate.

“Yes, I’m Andrew Reynolds,” I replied. “How can I help you?” He smiled again before he continued, walking a little further into my office.

“Well, the receptionist at the desk in the waiting area said it would be okay if I came on back.” I nodded, allowing him to continue. “My name is Parker Jeong and I applied for the job as your assistant. We had the interview over the phone early last week. I was in the process of moving to the area.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” Recent college grad. Moving from California. Could start working immediately.

“I know that you mentioned wanting to meet in person before finalizing my employment.” He smiled again, and even with the wholesome smile on his face, I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. He had beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and he did his best to hold my gaze. He toyed anxiously with the crisp sheet of paper in his hand, which I assumed was a hard copy of his resumé. He was probably scared I wouldn’t want to hire him after all. Imagine moving across the country for a job only to be told the position had already been filled.

“I know you just graduated a few months ago,” I verbalized. “But from what I remember you telling me during our phone conversation and what I saw on the resumé you emailed over, you’re more than qualified to work as an administrative assistant.”

“Thank you, sir. I brought a hard copy of my resumé with me,” he said.

“Let me take another look.” He walked closer to my desk and handed it to me. I looked it over, recalling most of the standout credentials. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Parker had majored in marketing with a minor in graphic design. He’d spent his final semester involved in a mentorship program for Asian-Americans interested in working in advertising. He graduated magna cum laude. Hell, he was overqualified for this position.

“You’re sure you want this job?” I asked. “You could definitely get a position as a copywriter at another agency.”

“Hathaway and Associates is the best agency in the entire Midwest. I’ve dreamed of working here since I decided I wanted to go into advertising. The commercials you all put out for Nike were astonishing.” The kid had done his research.

“What about those commercials did you like so much?”

“They had this sense of authenticity that I don’t think we see much of anymore. Those ads gave me the courage to join a gym.” I wondered what he’d think if he knew the portly executive in front of him had come up with the concept that inspired his fitness journey.

“I want more for my career, yes, but I don’t plan on shirking my responsibilities as your assistant. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of, sir.”

I was a pretty good judge of character, and I didn’t think Parker would let me down. I liked his honesty. It was refreshing. My previous assistants had never been my choice, often young adults that had some sort of connection to the other executives at the agency. “Well, I look forward to working with you.”

“I look forward to working with you too,” he replied, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood, and his eyes traveled upwards to my face. Maybe he couldn’t tell I was so tall behind my desk, but it seemed like he was surprised by my size. I tended to have this effect on people. I grabbed his hand, and we shook to seal the deal of his hiring.

“Head to human resources and get your paperwork finalized. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. We start at nine.” He thanked me again, clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as he left my office. I bet he skipped down the hallway all the way to HR.

I knew he’d work hard. That was certain. But when it came to how sexy he was, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I assumed Parker was gay, and he was definitely a little snack I could see myself sinking my teeth into, but I had to remind myself that I was in a position of power over him. Even if I wanted to see what he was working with underneath his exquisitely tailored slacks, flirting with him was a no-go. And besides, that little gym bunny probably had no interest in a grizzly bear like me.

The next morning, I got to work a little early and Parker was sitting at his station right outside of my office. He had a dozen donuts on his desk and two coffees, one much larger than the other.

“Hello Mr. Reynolds,” he said. “Please let me know what I can do to help you this morning.” He handed me the larger coffee and a napkin before smoothly opening the box of donuts. I recognized them immediately. They were from a trendy new spot that had opened a few months ago. They specialized in unique flavors, like maple-bacon and Fruity Pebbles.

“You sure know how to make an impression.”

“I told you that I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of.” I grabbed one of the donuts, knowing I’d be coming back out for another within the next fifteen minutes.

“Let me get situated and I’ll let you know what you can do for me.”

“Yes sir.”

I wondered if he knew what he was doing to me with all this “Mr. Reynolds” and “Yes sir” business. My last assistant was a statuesque redhead who never tried to go above and beyond the requirements of her position. Which was fine, I got it. She did what she was paid for. But sometimes I think she messed things up on purpose so I wouldn’t give her more work to do. I barely got a hello from her in the morning, and she left promptly at five without so much as a farewell.

I shuffled into my office, tossing my bag on one of the chairs opposite my desk. I bit into the donut, savoring its sweetness. It tasted like a Biscoff cookie, and I was almost certain the glaze was made from cookie butter. I took a slightly larger bite before shoving the rest of the pastry into my awaiting mouth. That donut never stood a chance. I already wanted another, but I needed to show some self-restraint. I couldn’t let Parker know I spent my working hours inhaling food three minutes into his first day.

About ten minutes later, Parker was knocking at my door, box of donuts in hand.

“We’re celebrating today, Mr. Reynolds,” he said, walking towards my desk. “I’ve already had two of these. I’m going to leave the box with you so you don’t have to worry about coming back for more.”

“Well, uh, you don’t want to offer them to some of the other assistants?”

“No, sir,” he said, coyly setting the box to the left of me at my L-shaped desk. “This is for me and you, sir.”

Damn did Parker know the way to a big man’s heart. Having the box within arm’s reach, I finished the rest of that dozen by noon.

The donuts were one thing, but Parker was constantly supplying me with snacks throughout the day. He’d brought me homemade blueberry muffins and brown butter chocolate chip cookies. He’d made me buttery croissants, decadent fudge brownies, and Oreo cheesecake bites. I wondered if he was making his way through a cookbook.

“It’s just a hobby,” he said offhandedly when I mentioned he didn’t have to bring me so many treats. “I guess I got carried away.”

“You just always bring so much. I hope you know I’m not expecting you to bring something every single day. I don’t want you to feel put out.”

“It’s just how I unwind,” he said. “Before I moved here, I had three roommates. Now that I live alone, I don’t have anyone else to share them with. I’m really sorry for assuming you wanted them.”

“Whoa!” I interjected. “I never said I didn’t want them.” This made him laugh. I didn’t mind the baked goods. I woke up salivating thinking about what new thing he’d have for me to munch on, but it was never just a sampling of his work. The portions were huge. When he showed up with his reusable containers, it always brought to mind something that would normally be placed in the breakroom for everyone in the office to sample—like a baker’s dozen of white chocolate raspberry mini-Bundt cakes or an entire pan of M&M Rice Krispie Treats.

The baked goods were just the cherry on top of having an excellent assistant. He was definitely the best one I’d ever had, a really fast learner for sure, but his competence as an office worker was second to his ability to cater to my often insatiable hunger. A month of Parker’s special treatment was damaging to my waistline. Being catered to by him turned me on beyond belief, and it was something new for me. In my past relationships, my love of food was never celebrated. Parker’s eyes seemed to light up when I munched on whatever he brought me. “It’s not too chocolatey?” he’d asked, pushing another confection my way. It was never too chocolatey. It was always perfect, just like him.

He greeted me with baked goods each morning and made sure to say goodbye before heading out every evening, carrying with him an empty Tupperware container or pie dish. Aside from the extra thousand-plus calories a day I was inhaling from his delicious goodies, he always made sure to have lunch delivered for me.

He talked to me more than any of my other assistants ever had. Almost like he was trying to get to know me on a more personal level. It had me looking forward to going to work, a feeling I hadn’t had in quite a while. It might have been unintentional, but Parker’s interest, even if it was just platonic, was boosting my ego. My old assistants barely ever looked in my direction, but this guy wanted to know what my favorite movies were and what I liked to do for fun. This attention from him was electrifying. My brain knew being this infatuated with him was no good, but my heart (and my stomach) didn’t care.

Even now, none of the interns or other assistants ever talked to me unless absolutely necessary. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a topic of conversation. They all definitely talked about me. I was big, yes. But I also had a resting serious face. Combined with my intimidating frame, they thought of me as some sort of beast. I once made an intern cry during a pitch meeting because I “looked like I was going to bite her head off.” I now made more of an effort to smile, even when there was no reason to. I also tried to ignore the implications of this, considering I was one of four black men on staff.

To the other execs, I was more of the office joke. I was younger than most of them by fifteen years, so they viewed me as some sort of kid brother. It was always a crack here or a joke there. When I landed the Nike account they all thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of the world.

“Andy?” one of them had guffawed, barely able to get out what he wanted to say. “When was the last time you saw the inside of a gym? And Nike went with your pitch?”

But it was something I had become accustomed to; all throughout school I was the big guy people joked about or avoided. Adults always thought I was with the wrong group of kids in elementary school because I was a head taller than the other boys. As if I wasn’t already too big, I had another growth spurt the summer before freshman year of high school. At fourteen my dad began teaching me how to lift weights. My body developed rapidly, and it took me a long time to get comfortable with those changes. By the time I was eighteen, I was larger than my father, who was by no means a small man. My weight sort of leveled out in my early twenties, and I graduated college at my current height and 270 pounds.

Joining the workforce was frightening, yet liberating. I had disposable income and the ability to make my own life decisions. I began working where I was currently employed as a copywriter two months after getting my degree. Lots of late nights and hard work helped me rise in the ranks. I was promoted to the executive level three years ago, and had run through five assistants in that time. I was now thirty-two, unmarried, and a little stifled.

I spent most of my time working. I hadn’t had a hookup in literal years, and to be frank, I didn’t see one happening in the near future. I used to be able to lean into being the big, burly guy who’d had one too many beers. I walked the line between dad-bod and straight-up fat guy for as long as I could before I was promoted. Being an executive meant a lot more responsibility and a lot less free time. My tri-weekly lifting sessions were now a thing of the past. I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds then, but now I was over 350 pounds.

Having Parker as my assistant only exacerbated my feelings of loneliness (and horniness). He probably didn’t even know I was gay and very much into his tight slacks and obedient disposition. The last month had been amazing, yet torturous.

“I have your forms, Mr. Reynolds.”

I told him he could call me Andy, or even just Andrew, but he never did. It was about lunch time and I was getting a bit restless. Maybe I’d run off my other assistants with my multiple food orders throughout the day. I seemed to simply exist in a state of hunger. I was also slightly convinced I couldn’t do my best work on an empty stomach.

I looked at Parker standing in front of me. His dark brown hair was short and very stylish. My hair was cut in a neat fade and my facial hair was thick. I’d kept a standing appointment with my barber every Sunday morning at ten for the last five years.

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to take the manila folder that contained the forms from him. Like some cheesy porno with ridiculous circumstances to set up a sexual scenario, the folder fell through my fingers, all the papers scattering on my office floor.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed. “That’s my bad.” He bent over to pick up the documents, noticing there were more papers to gather than he first realized. He then got on his knees in front of my desk and once again I got to take in his beautiful ass. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight against his butt. His back was slightly arched, as if advertising himself to me. What I wouldn’t give to be bucking my hips behind him. I thought about fucking him constantly, and it had become an obsession. I’d definitely gotten the vibe that he was gay, but I had some serious doubts he’d ever want to hook up with me. “Here you go,” he said, hopping to his feet and handing me the papers.

Almost like it was trying to embarrass me and purposely kill my arousal, my stomach growled.

“Sorry,” I said. I couldn’t believe how hot my face got. My stomach growling was only going to draw attention to the fact that I was twice his size. The portion of goodies I received from Parker at the start of the day was on the smaller side, so that hadn’t helped to dull my hunger pains.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “It’s lunchtime.” I felt my face go hot once more.

“Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry.”

“You’re a pretty big guy. I get it.” He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “Do you, maybe, want to take lunch with me today?”

“I’ve never eaten with one of my assistants before,” I said, in disbelief he wanted to spend time with me outside of the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can just pick something up for you if you’d prefer—”

I stood quickly, not wanting to pass up any opportunity to talk to him about topics not related to copies or signatures or meetings. My gut shook a bit with the momentum. The buttons had given me a difficult time when getting dressed, and I needed to get some new shirts.

“I’m free for lunch,” I exclaimed. “We can go now.”

There were a ton of restaurants in the downtown area. I asked what he wanted to eat and he deferred to me, claiming he wanted me to get whatever I was craving. If I were able to get whatever I was craving, it would be the Parker Jeong meal, extra sauce. He’d probably think that was so cringe. I sighed to myself.

“There’s this place called The Coop,” I said, giving my second choice for lunch. “They serve Nashville style hot chicken.”

At the restaurant he got a normal sized portion of food for a normal sized person, and I wanted to be good, but I needed to replace the lust I was feeling with something else, and that something else was two Nashville hot chicken sandwiches, a large fry, baked beans, coleslaw, and a strawberry mint frozen lemonade.

He didn’t even bat an eye, offering to pick up our trays while I waited at the table. I knew he was just being nice to me because I was his boss. I’d paid for the food, so he was probably just still in assistant mode.

“Order up,” he said, returning to where we sat, setting my overstuffed tray in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking in his tray with three tenders and a medium fry.

“Do you like to eat here a lot?” he asked, sipping from his unsweetened iced tea. Coming from someone else, that would’ve felt like a jab, but from him it just felt conversational.

“I do like this place a lot. Especially for the downtown area. The portions aren’t skimpy and it tastes pretty good too.”

“What other places do you like?”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” I said, digging into my first sandwich. “There’s Tripp’s for seafood, Curry House for Indian, Miss Janie’s for BBQ, oh yeah—Sub Daddy has these huge hoagies. Best in the city. And they’re open late!”

“Sub Daddy?” he laughed. “What kind of name is that?”

“Well, maybe they’re leaning into the innuendo?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he said, looking down at his tenders. “We’ll have to eat there together soon, though Dom Daddies are actually more my speed.”

Was that directed towards me? There was no chance. Absolutely no way. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t coming on to me. But still—even if his comment meant nothing, I could feel myself getting hard.

I took another big bite of my sandwich, trying not to fuck things up. If I lost another assistant they’d probably open an investigation or something to figure out what I did to keep running them off.

“So, um, how’s your food?” I asked, deflecting.

The vibes never quite got back on track after that. I was too wound up and way too invested in my food. If my inability to hold conversation wasn’t enough to scare him off, me stuffing my face for fifteen minutes straight surely did the job.

We made our way back to the office and finished up for the day. It was a little after five when Parker peeked his head into my office.

“Have a good night, Mr. Reynolds.” He hesitated for a moment. “Oh, and thanks for lunch.”

“No problem. I enjoyed your company.” I did enjoy his company. Even with how poorly I felt things went, it was nice being out in public with him. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a date and only lunch between colleagues.

“About the joke I made,” he started, stepping completely into my office and closing the door. “I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”

“Don’t even sweat it,” I said, knowing I sent him into this spiral because I was now inept at talking to cute men. Things had been so much easier ten years ago.

“I am gay,” he continued. “I know some people feel a type of way about that sort of thing. I just don’t want it to ruin our relationship.”

“You don’t need to disclose your sexual orientation, there are policies in place to protect people from discrimination in the workplace and I’d never treat you poorly because of something like that because—”

“Because you’re a really good boss, I know. I’m sorry I even thought you’d treat me differently. It’s just—the real world is way different than a college campus.”

I was about to come out to him. What did I even think was going to happen? Were we going to fuck, me taking control as his sought after Dom Daddy? I was being ridiculous. Of course he was concerned about his career.

“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have to catch up on some work for that supercenter presentation next week.” He started to take off his jacket. “No need to do that, Parker.”

“I can help,” he said.

“No, that’s okay. Don’t ruin your evening,” I said, still feeling embarrassed by this whole debacle. I could use his help. The copy room was unbearably small and I didn’t want to have to keep squeezing in and out of there.

“But if you need my help, I can help.” He smiled. “It’s my job. I’m your assistant.”

I was glad he wanted to help me. He was truly the best assistant I‘d ever had and not just because he had such a fantastic ass. I didn’t want to come across as demanding or difficult to work with, but selfishly, I wanted to spend more time with him.

“Well, okay,” I relented. “As long as you’re free.”

“I’ll order us something from Sub Daddy,” he said, heading back out to his station. “It’s been hours since lunch. You can’t focus on an empty stomach.”

After that, we worked late a lot, and went to lunch together even more often. He was more than willing to try new restaurants with me, always encouraging me to order as much as I wanted. He always offered to treat me, but I never let him. What sense did that make? He only ever ate a fourth of what I did.

His personality was pleasant, which didn’t make it easier for me to stifle my crush on him. Who wouldn’t be into him? He was smart, hardworking, fun, and considerate. He knew how to bake and never made me feel bad about eating what I wanted. I had gotten into the habit of eating more and more when I was around him. I hardly noticed until all the food was gone. I found myself to be less nervous when I was stuffing my face. It felt less likely that I’d say something dumb. When I was 70 pounds lighter, I was way more willing to flirt or say something corny to make a guy laugh. But now I felt like everything I said or did seemed desperate. And so instead of talking, I stuffed my face. In the two months Parker had been working with me, I’d gained ten pounds.

On our late nights, I always told him he could leave but he never did. Not once.

That was enough to keep my delusional fantasies about him going.

He started mentioning clubs and bars, asking if I’d ever want to go with. I figured it was just a gesture, and I was way too rusty to ever take him up on the offer, but maybe one day I could. The more I got to know him, the more I found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in me too.

My pants had gotten even tighter; I needed some new ones. My thighs filled them out completely and my ass was getting pretty big too. I’d never gotten around to getting those new shirts, and now I needed new pants. I had to face it. I was fat, and with my habits, I was just going to keep getting fatter.

It was late October, and one of the other execs was celebrating his fiftieth. His assistant and a few of the interns had organized a little office party for him after lunch. I’d already eaten these really delicious chocolate covered pretzel sticks Parker made me and something he’d picked up for me from The Coop for lunch.

Everyone filed into our largest conference room. There were a few toasts and it was a decent time overall. Then the cake was revealed. It was from a nice bakery near our office that people always used when doing festive things like this.

It was time to admit to myself that I loved sweets, and with Parker’s kind gestures, I had tried tons of things I’d never eaten before.

I moseyed on over to the cake, planning to only have a piece. Just enough to be polite to the planning committee. But it was delicious. It was a strawberry lemon layer cake, the perfect marriage between tart and sweet flavors. The lemon cake layers were separated by a delightful strawberry compote (a term I’d learned from Parker), which was also incorporated into the rich buttercream frosting.

By the time I finished my (substantial) piece, Parker discreetly replaced my empty plate with another that had an even larger slice. He did this three more times while we mingled with others from the office. I must have ended up having a third of that cake to myself.

Returning to my office after the celebration gave me time to reflect. I tried to get some work done, but it was hard to focus, especially with the buttons on my yet to be replaced shirt and slacks straining.

What was Parker trying to do? Was he simply being an attentive assistant or was he subtly making fun of me? Or maybe I was just too in my head and he was attracted to me? He’d never done or said anything that alluded to disliking me because of my size. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to me because of it either. I looped through variations of the same arguments over and over.

I must’ve overanalyzed those different scenarios for a good fifteen minutes before shifting my focus back to work. I’d already sent Parker to the art department to collect some mock-ups we’d need, but I couldn’t move forward in my current task without making some photocopies.

I was going to have to face the dreaded copy room.

Minutes later, I stood outside of the copy room. I paused momentarily to psych myself up before proceeding. The room was not spacious to begin with, but with multiple built-in cabinets full of office supplies on one wall and a line of photocopiers on the other, the only space for a person to move was a narrow strip of floor down the middle of the room. I walked up the aisle to one of the machines in the center of the room.

So far, so good. I made one of my copies, and proceeded to the next. Still good. I moved on to my last document. That’s when the machine jammed.

“Fuck me,” I said to myself, sighing. I took a step back, my ass already brushing against a cabinet. I leaned forward, opening the side panel and noticing the jammed paper immediately. This would be an easy fix, thankfully. I was bending my knees slightly, and I could feel the fabric of my slacks pulling tight against my beefy behind. It might have just been my anxiety, but I swear I could feel the stitch on the rise of my pants stretching to its limit. I made a mental note to myself that at this point some new items in my wardrobe were necessary, not optional.

I removed the jammed paper, made my last copy, and swiftly made my exit from that claustrophobic space. Bull in a china shop, meet Andrew Reynolds in the copy room.

I paused for a moment, as I could hear Parker’s voice.

“I really should be getting back.”

“Come on, Parker. You can’t actually like working with Andy.” I backpedaled before I could be seen. It was Antoinette, one of the office gossips. She’d been close with my previous administrative assistant.

“Yeah, I do,” Parker said, sounding somewhat bothered. “He’s really very nice. And super smart.” Whoa. He was actually sticking up for me. I could hardly believe it.

“You’re gay, right?”

What a segue. Antoinette was likely upset he wasn’t down to badmouth me, ready to move the conversation in a direction she found more interesting.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said, his tone slightly more annoyed.

“You don’t like him, do you?” Antoinette pushed. “Because you’re probably barking up the wrong tree with that one. He’s never been with anyone since I started here, and it’s been seven years.”

“Mr. Reynolds might just be a private person. He could have a wife and kids at home. You don’t know.” At this, she laughed.

“I highly doubt that.” Parker likely made a face, as she then said, “Now don’t give me that look. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I hadn’t realized how much you looked up to Andy.” She couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic.

“Like I said,” he reiterated. “I really should be getting back.”

“Okay, wait. I only bring it up because there’s someone else in the office who is interested in you.” She sounded like some sort of matchmaker.

“Toni, please.” He sounded even more irritated. “I don’t think my love life is any of your business, and I don’t need you to hook me up with anyone.”

“Mark is the one that wanted me to talk to you. He really likes you,” Antoinette continued. Mark was a copywriter that had started two or three years after I did. He’d never gotten over the fact that I’d been promoted and he hadn’t.

“I’m flattered, truly,” Parker replied. “But please tell him I’m not interested.”

“Fine, but here’s his card anyway.” There was a slight pause. “But you’ve got to be real with me. Working with Andy must be hard. I heard from his last assistant that he was so demanding, and not about work matters. She spent most of her time placing food orders and picking up his take-out.” She laughed. “Did you see all that cake he ate at Dave’s party this afternoon? That’s why he’s not with somebody. Who wants to date a pig?” I felt my stomach tighten in embarrassment.

“Watch how you speak about my boss,” Parker responded. “This conversation is over.”

“Fine, I swear—” I could hear her heels clicking on the linoleum of the hallway as she walked away from the corner in which they’d been speaking. I could then hear Parker’s steps as he headed towards the copy room.

I froze.

What could I do? There was nowhere to hide. I was in the world’s smallest copy room, and even if there was somewhere to hide, there was no way I’d fit into that hiding spot. I just stood there, ready to face the awkwardness. He turned the corner quickly, bumping into my stomach.

He stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He dropped all the samples from the art department. I could feel that tight feeling in my stomach again, my mouth going dry. He must have known I was listening.

“Mr. Reynolds?” he mused. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He knelt down and started picking up the papers.

“No apologies, please. It’s my fault.”

I bent over quickly to help him and there was a loud ripping sound. The same seam in my pants that had worried me moments before gave way. I could tell immediately that my pants had split down the back.

I stood up straight immediately. I could feel his eyes on my face.

“Andrew,” he said softly.

No, not the pity. I could feel it coming, and that would make me feel worse. I pushed past him, leaving him alone in that tiny room to gather the scattered papers. I waddled awkwardly back to my office to grab my jacket. I didn’t want the pants to rip anymore than they already had. I needed to get some new slacks.

Taking a moment, I looked in the mirror on the back of my office door. My blue button up shirt didn’t hide my large, round belly. I’d really let things get bad these last few months. I had completely lost all restraint since meeting Parker. I was happy-eating when he brought me his baked goods. I was nervous-eating when we went out to lunch together. I was sad-eating at home when I thought about how much it sucked to have unrequited feelings.

My love handles sloped away from my torso down over the side of my pants. My pants looked like they’d been painted on my meaty thighs. When did my face get so round? If I shaved my beard how many chins would I find? More than the one I remembered when I started working here ten years ago? I had once had a square jaw, but I knew now it would be backed by a second chin, with a new layer of fat likely being formed behind that. My round cheeks made my eyes look smaller than they were in my youth. I even had a light dabbling of sweat on my forehead from my dash back into my office.

“Mr. Reynolds?” Parker called gently as he knocked at my door. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said, speaking slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he inquired.

“Yes, I’m sure. I need to head out for an errand, so please make sure you reschedule the rest of my meetings this afternoon.”

“Do you need to go shopping?” he asked.

I could have leaped from my office window—and we were on the twentieth floor. Any chance of ever being with Parker was surely ruined. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get this interaction over with. I opened my office door.

“I could help you pick some things out,” he suggested. “I am your assistant. And I know it’s a stereotype, but I have a pretty good fashion sense.” He was trying so hard to be nice to me.

“This is my problem.” I was still speaking slowly, forcing the words out in a way that likely came off as short. “This is a personal matter, not something to do with work.”

He didn’t say anything. He turned and walked over to his desk, rummaging in one of the drawers. He held a tiny sewing kit in his hands as he strode back over to where I stood. He placed his hand on my stomach, pushing me back into the office before closing the door.

“I understand you would rather shop alone, but I’m not going to let my boss walk around with a split in his pants.” What was he expecting me to do? Strip? There was no way.

“Parker—”

“We don’t have to make a big deal out of this, sir,” he said. “Just take off your pants and hand them here. I can mend them in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Really, that’s not necessary.”

He just stood there, looking at me expectantly. I didn’t want to walk around exposed until I could get to a clothing store. It would only take him fifteen minutes. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt. It was a brown leather material that matched my loafers, which I’d slid out of before shimmying out of my too-tight navy slacks.

I could see myself in the mirror behind my office door again. Here I was in my boxer briefs, Parker standing right in front of me, and it wasn’t a scenario I’d previously imagined. He crouched down in front of me, grabbing the pants so I wouldn’t have to bend over.

He inspected the rip for a moment. “This is perfect. It’s not frayed or anything.”

“You really think you can fix them?”

“A temporary fix, yes.” He walked towards one of the extra chairs in my office and had a seat. Things were silent for a few minutes as he threaded the needle and got started on the repair. I’d taken a seat behind my desk and watched him work.

His skin was so smooth, his lips kissably full, his nose a little large for his face.

“I can see why these split,” he said, not looking up from his work. His words abruptly hit me and filled the silence in a way that sat heavy on my mind.

“Me too.” He still hadn’t looked up at me. He just continued mending my pants.

“I knew I needed new ones, and I—” The words got caught in my throat. I was already embarrassed, so maybe it was time for me to just speak honestly, but speaking honestly kind of felt like admitting defeat. It felt like I was giving up on taking things in an intimate direction with Parker. “I’ve been putting it off. They probably could’ve held on a bit longer, but I’ve put on some weight recently.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Guys like you don’t get it. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“What if I wanted you, Andrew?”

He finally looked up from his work. I must’ve been looking at him stone faced, because his bravado faltered almost immediately.

“Mr. Reynolds—I’m so sorry. That was out of line.”

Parker’s confession allowed me to push past that voice in my head that explained away all the things he did as platonic. He liked me. He wanted me. He’d said so himself.

Before the self-doubt set in, I had to shoot my shot. I’d sulk about my split pants late at night years from now, but right at this moment I refused to return to that negative place. He wanted a Dom Daddy, and that was a role I was more than willing to play.

“What if I told you I wanted to fuck you right now?” His face reddened considerably. I’d never seen him so worked up before, and that made me more confident. “Since the day I hired you, I’ve thought about what it’d feel like to be inside of that sweet ass.”

“Sir—”

“C’mere,” I said in a low voice. He stood, placing my slacks in the seat he’d gotten up from, and gingerly made his way to where I sat behind my desk. He looked down at me slightly as I sat, but we were essentially still on eye level with one another. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his lips parted slightly in lust. He pressed his crotch into my gut as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel his erection through his khakis.

I reached up and palmed his ass, holding a cheek in each hand. He really was stacked back there. He moaned slightly, pressing his dick further into my stomach. We continued kissing, and I pulled him even closer into myself.

I could have kissed him like this for hours, but he pulled away after a few minutes. His palms were pressed against my sagging chest, which sat atop my heavy middle. He slid his hands down my front before resting them on the part of my gut that sat out the farthest. Normally, my first instinct would have been to suck it in, but I realized how useless that would have been. There was no hiding it anymore.

He patted my stomach gently before moving his hands beneath it, lifting it and bouncing it up and down slowly. I could see his hardness through his khakis, so it was clear that he was enjoying himself. If I were to be honest with myself, I was enjoying the belly play too. I’d never had someone focus so intently on my gut before.

I stood up, and he tilted his head back to continue meeting my gaze. I had to play this correctly. I knew he made a joke about liking dominant men, but I wasn’t certain it was actually what he was into.

“Get on your knees,” I said, staring down at him.

“Yes sir.”

He knew what I wanted. He pawed at my underwear until it was around my ankles. My dick bobbed freely now, level with his line of sight. The closer he got to me, the harder I got and the harder it was to see him. He reached up with one hand to hold my belly out of the way and with the other he grabbed the base of my dick.

“Get to work,” I instructed. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he wrapped his mouth around my dick. It had been a while, but I couldn’t recall a better blow. He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. His one hand gently massaged the base of my gut as he continued sucking me off. I’d been with people who liked that I wasn’t rail thin, but never with someone like Parker. Everything was adding up. The special treats, the lunches together, the cake at the party this afternoon. He liked me being fat, and I was now fairly certain he wanted me even fatter. “I’m about to cum.”

He didn’t stop his work. He simply slowed his pace, teasing my dick with his tongue in a different way. The switch in sensation caused me to erupt. A heavy stream of cum shot from my dick into his mouth and he made sure to get every last drop. I let go of his hair, stepping back so I could have a seat.

I was panting heavily, my underwear around my ankles, gut rising and falling with each deep breath I took. He looked up at me from his place on the floor. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. I could still see his erection through his khakis. Damn, he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. I could hardly believe he was experiencing such intense lust over me.

“You’re something else,” I said, still catching my breath. “And I can’t believe it, but I’d kill for another piece of that cake right now.”

That had him up on his feet, speed-walking from my office and back to the conference room. He was so out of it, he’d probably run to that bakery to get me another piece if he had to.

This shift in our relationship was going to be interesting.

I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen immediately following our initial sexual encounter, but we went about our weekends like nothing had changed. After eating one of the final slices of that cake from the office party, I left early to purchase some new clothing items. He texted me, and I replied, but neither of us mentioned what had happened.

So Monday morning came and I had spent the entire weekend eating optimistically. I thought about how much he’d want me to be eating good. At one point, I googled “gay fat fetish” and found there was a whole world of people not only into big guys, but into big guys getting even bigger. Maybe he’d bring it up, but now I wanted to test the waters a little. What sort of things would get him going? I was excited to find out. Monday morning, I was hard the entire commute to work thinking about demolishing whatever Parker planned to put in front of me.

I walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would lead me to the twentieth floor. I noticed Parker making his way toward the elevators. Just seeing him existing in the world made me so fucking happy. I almost didn’t even notice that Mark was right next to him. I hit the door open button quickly, wanting to be near Parker as soon as possible, even if that meant sharing the space with Mark. The doors stayed open, and they both got on.

“Good Morning, Mr. Reynolds.” He smiled up at me. He was carrying a tote bag, and like some sort of sugar-addicted bloodhound, I was almost certain I could smell cinnamon.

“Parker, hey,” I said, covering my crotch with my bag. Just hearing him say my name was turning me on, giving me a semi. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Hello Andrew,” Mark said. To be completely honest, I’d blocked him out almost immediately. He and I weren’t on the best terms, especially after my promotion.

“Hey Mark.”

“Are you still hitting the gym?” he asked. “Since you got that promotion, I’ve noticed a change in your appearance. I’m sure you’re eating well on that executive salary.”

“I do have a hand in that,” Parker said plainly. “Mr. Reynolds is very kind to indulge my personal baking hobby.”

“But still,” Mark pressed. “Sometimes we’ve got to push ourselves, you know? Once you hit thirty it takes more effort to stay in shape.”

“I think he looks great,” Parker offered, turning to look at Mark. He gave him an obvious once over, his eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his shoes. “Do you work out, Mark?”

“Yeah, I do actually,” Mark responded proudly. “Six days a week.”

“Really?” Parker inquired. “I’d have never thought that.”

The man was too stunned to speak.

We all stood silent, the whir of the elevator’s mechanisms the only source of sound. The elevator finally stopped on our floor. Parker and I went towards my office while Mark made his way to his cubicle. Parker placed the tote bag on his desk and I stopped for a moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, giving a knowing smile.

“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“You’re something else.”

“I’m nothing special,” he said, removing two Tupperware containers from the tote bag. “So today you have options. You could have some millionaire shortbread bars or carrot cake cinnamon rolls.”

“Or? You act like I’m not going to polish off both of these containers before we head out for lunch.”

“Uh—well, I—I didn’t think you’d want—”

He looked up at me in surprise, like he’d been found out. I’d known Parker for a couple of months now, and I’d never seen him so flustered. It made me weirdly satisfied. He wanted me to eat? He wanted me to put on a few pounds? If he kept blowing me like he had last week, I’d eat whatever he wanted for the rest of my life.

“I bought some new pants, so I can probably keep indulging for a little while. I need my assistant to make sure I don’t go hungry. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, sir,” he said. “Not a problem at all, sir.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” I grabbed both containers and went into my office, peeling off both lids and diving into the baked goods with unabashed enthusiasm. Over that first hour of the day, I ate a dozen shortbread bars and six hefty cinnamon rolls.

Once I’d finished both desserts, I sat back at my desk. I felt my chair sag, groaning slightly as I allowed my bulk to settle into the seat. This was so unhinged. What was happening to me? Maybe it was all the sugar, but I was in some sort of stupor. My only thought was how I wanted Parker between my legs again, his hands all over my gut. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I must’ve sat there for about ten minutes before there was a knock at my door. “Mr. Reynolds?”

“Come in.” Parker opened the door and walked up to my desk. I watched him survey the scene. I laughed a little to myself at the shocked expression on his face as he took in both containers sitting empty in front of me.

“You already finished the–the–the shortbread bars?”

“And the cinnamon rolls,” I added. “They were both phenomenal. You’ve got quite the talent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I only wish I’d had some milk to wash it all down with.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that for next time.”

“There is something you could do for me right now,” I said. He looked back at my office door, which he’d left open. He went over to the door and closed it quietly.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“You could get that ass over here, for starters.”

He made his way to where I sat behind my desk, like he had on Friday. We looked at one another for a moment, both taking in the moment. It probably wasn’t smart to fuck my assistant before 10 AM on a Monday, but I’d spent nearly two years involuntarily celibate.

“Get undressed.”

He didn’t question me. He immediately began unbuttoning his crisp, white dress shirt. He tossed it on my desk and then peeled his undershirt off over his head. He shimmied out of his navy-colored chinos. He was in nothing but a pair of stylish briefs. It was obvious he worked out, as his quads bulged with muscle as did his arms. He had well-defined abs, firm pecs.

His body was completely opposite to my own. My legs and arms were large, yes, but not defined with muscle as they had been in the past. I’d never had abs in my entire life. My stomach sat heavy in front of me, packed full of sugary snacks. And even though I’d just eaten enough baked goods for a small get-together, I was already thinking about what I’d be having for lunch.

“What’re we doing for lunch?” I asked. His whole face reddened, all the way to his ears. I reached out to pull him closer, so I could feel his body with my mouth. I kissed his chest softly, enjoying his scent in the process. “I asked you what we’re doing for lunch.”

He moaned loudly.

“Last—last week you mentioned you wanted an—an Italian beef from—” I bit his nipple gently, sucking it afterwards. “Big Beef’s.”

“Fuck that sounds good. With extra hot peppers and a cheese sauce on the side.” He pawed at his briefs, exposing himself to me. He had a nice dick, a respectable size. He was getting off on this for sure. I let go of his waist and began to unbutton my own shirt. He watched me intently, still stroking his penis. I tossed it on the desk with his clothing items.

He paused his masturbatory efforts to help me remove my undershirt. His briefs were now around his ankles and he pressed his dick into my gut. I grabbed at his ass, lightly teasing his hole with my finger as he grinded against me. He didn’t last long after that, coming all over my bloated stomach. He took a step back. Looking down, I could see his cum glistening as it coated the fuzz of my belly. “You’re not done,” I said, lifting my gut to reveal my belt buckle.

A man of excellent intuition, Parker immediately got me out of my pants and gave me some very thorough head.

Oh, and lunch at Big Beef’s that afternoon was stupendous.

We fell into a routine that made every work day well worth it. He was still bringing me his baked goods (beverages now included). We left the office whenever possible to grab a bite to eat during our lunch hour, and when we couldn’t get away he made sure to pick something up for me or to have it delivered. But the best part had to be our sexual escapades. I’d had nearly every part of his body in my mouth at least once. And he was excellent at taking direction. I was pretty sure at this point that he craved it, being told what to do. He was my good boy, doing what I requested, often going above and beyond like there was a chance of being promoted.

From the end of October to the start of the winter holidays, he and I were completely engrossed with one another. Although, even with how intense things had been within the four walls of my office, we had yet to move beyond them.

It was now the second week of December. I was nearing 400 pounds, a thought that was slightly frightening to me. I’d never been this big in my entire life. People around the office had taken notice of my rapid weight gain. It was the elephant in the room. But the food was good, and the sex mind-blowing. I was also intoxicated by Parker’s adoration. With each pound I gained, he seemed to get more and more excited to service me. I wondered how much longer my wardrobe would last before needing to be updated again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.” I looked up from the email I was drafting. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” I inquired, wondering what it was Parker had been mulling over. He was shifting his weight back and forth, nervously smiling in my direction like the day I hired him.

“Well, my parents bought me these tickets to a musical a few weeks ago, and I know that it’s last minute, but I was really hoping you would come with me to see it.”

“A musical?”

“What can I say?” he offered, shrugging slightly. “I’m as stereotypical as they come.”

“When is it?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.” A Saturday.

Was Parker trying to take things to the next level? This was an exciting development. I would love to spend time with him outside of working hours. I could only imagine how much fun we’d have late into the evening post dinnertime.

“If it’s too much, I understand.”

Too much? Not at all. We both wanted more. It was like a weight had been lifted from me (metaphorically, of course). The office sexcapades were nice, there was no doubt about that, but he too wanted to be more than just a hook-up.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

He laughed.

“I’m kind of obsessed, can’t you tell?”

“I love being adored,” I said, smiling at him playfully. “And now I’m really looking forward to this musical tomorrow. What’s the runtime? Over two hours, I’m sure. I’ll probably need to eat something beforehand.”

“I’ll make a reservation,” he declared enthusiastically, always delighted at an opportunity to get me eating. I was only half-serious with my comment about needing to eat beforehand, but I wasn’t so sure I’d make it the two and a half hours without a meal prior to the curtain rising. I felt incredibly lucky. We’d be getting dinner and seeing a show (and hopefully having even more fun at one of our apartments after).

Once he made the reservation, he emailed over all the info—the restaurant, the reservation time, the name of the theater, the showtime. I could hardly wait. I’d be counting the milliseconds until then.

The next evening, I dressed to meet Parker for our date. I wore a pair of dark jeans and some Nikes. When I first landed that account, they’d sent over at least ten different pairs. I had lots of dress shirts that fit fairly well since I re-upped, but I wanted to be a little more casual. I found a burgundy crew neck in the back of my dresser that had been a staple in my wardrobe last winter. I pulled it on and found myself shocked at how it fit. I figured there’d be some resistance, but the fabric clung to my plump chest and protruding belly in a way that was much more form-fitting than I anticipated. I tugged at the bottom trying to pull it down to cover the entirety of my stomach. If I moved my arms too much, it exposed some of my brown skin, even though I was also wearing an undershirt.

My first inclination was to change. I wouldn’t have normally wanted to draw attention to my size. But I knew what Parker liked, and I loved pressing his buttons, so I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys, deciding to keep on the sweater. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret my outfit choice later on.

I was right on time to Haraboji’s, and as I entered the restaurant, I noticed my perfectly punctual assistant had already beaten me to the establishment.

“Mr. Reynolds, over here!” He waved at me from a seat at the bar. I felt silly for being this excited, considering we ate together in restaurants every other day, but this was no work-lunch. This was a Saturday night dinner. A date.

“Parker, hey,” I said, smiling down at my companion for the evening. He was still wearing his jacket, a stylish, olive-green duffle coat. He had on a pair of platform Chelsea boots and dark chinos. “Please, call me Andy, or Andrew—even Drew would be fine.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I guess we aren’t in the office.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he replied. “I’ve wanted to eat here with you for months.”

“I’ve heard this place is really good.”

“Have you ever had Korean barbecue before?” he asked. “I haven’t been to a Korean restaurant since I moved here.”

“I haven’t, but you know I’ll try anything. I trust you to make sure I have something tasty.”

After that the hostess called Parker’s name and we were seated. It was pretty crowded, every table filled. In front of us was a little grilling station. Our waiter came and Parker took the reins, ordering what seemed like a lot of food for just two people. He asked for bulgogi, pork belly, garlic butter chicken, and brisket. He also ordered fried seaweed rolls and tteokbokki. Our waiter brought out a lot of little dishes with different vegetables on them.

“These are banchan—um, side dishes,” Parker explained. “They’re really good with the grilled meats. That one is cucumber, that one is potato, and that one is zucchini.”

“And that one is kimchi.”

“Yes, exactly!”

Our waiter returned with another worker to assist him. One of them held our appetizers, the other numerous plates of raw meat on a serving platter. Once all the plates were set out in front of us, it seemed truly excessive. Parker got to work immediately, oiling the grill and placing meat on it strategically. As things were cooked he piled them high on my plate. Everything tasted great and I followed every suggestion he gave me. “Eat this with that,” he’d say, hyper focused on his grilling. “Ooo, you’ve got to try that with this dipping sauce.”

Halfway through the meal, I noticed that he was no longer eating. I seemed to be his main priority. I was now regretting my earlier boldness when getting dressed for this outing. My sweater rose slightly on my stomach exposing the light layer of dark hair on my underbelly. Parker didn’t stop either, making sure to cook every piece of meat that had been provided to us.

“There’s also Korean fried chicken on the menu,” he said, having just finished grilling the last bit of bulgogi and pork belly. “They come in orders of four.”

I groaned slightly, sitting back in my seat and resting my hand on the top of my gut.

That was when the waiter returned, taking in my gorged state his face reddened on my behalf and he focused his attention on Parker. “Is there anything else I can get for you guys?”

“Yes, we wanted a double order of the fried chicken wings and a bottle of peach soju.”

The waiter glanced in my direction and then back at Parker. He probably couldn’t believe we were ordering more food. I couldn’t believe we were ordering more food, but my date was a man on a mission. We did have about forty minutes before we needed to be at the theater, but I still thought he was cutting it close.

“I’ll put that in right now.” I waited for our server to leave before speaking.

“I’m spilling out of my sweater and you're still shoving food in my direction.”

“Andy,” he said innocently. “You don’t want to be hungry while the show is going on. You said so yourself, remember?”

“How considerate of you,” I responded, sitting up. I grabbed my fork and started in on the last bit of meat he’d put on my plate. “And I can’t wait to thank you at my place after the show.”

After dinner at Haraboji’s, we made our way to the theater for the musical. I’d already parked my Buick Enclave in a parking garage on the same street as the restaurant. He informed me that he picked this restaurant not only because he’d been wanting to try it, but also because it was only a block away from where we’d be seeing the show.

I was so full I didn’t feel like doing anything, especially walking. I was perspiring a little bit so I left my jacket open to air myself out. I could feel a cool breeze on my stomach, but I just ignored it. Parker was leading the way, glancing my way every so often to check me out. If his parents hadn’t gone through the trouble of buying him these tickets, we’d already be halfway to my place.

We made it to the lobby and the worker scanned the tickets on Parker’s phone. There was about ten minutes until the show would start so we made our way to our seats. This was where things got awkward.

Personally, when purchasing tickets in advance, I always tried to get the seat closest to the aisle. But these two seats were right in the middle of a row. Not everyone was in their seats yet, but we’d still need to shimmy past five or so people. Parker seemed somewhat oblivious to this issue, and in his defense, he likely never faced this sort of problem. Being bigger meant anticipating any obstacle. Would there be a lot of walking? Would there be a lot of stairs? How sturdy were the seats? I’d always thought about these things, but having gained fifty pounds in the last five months created even more complications I needed to be ready for.

“Excuse us,” Parker said, making his way into the row. He got by the first person with ease, whereas the man needed to stand up for me and press himself as far back into his seat as possible. Even then, my gut pushed up against him as I made my way past him. This happened four more times until we made it to our seats.

I sat in the chair and it creaked loudly. It was a really tight squeeze. This was not a theater that had been updated this century. It had probably been forty or fifty years since there had been any type of alteration to the seating. The armrests could not be lifted, so I sat there as they dug into the sides of my bloated gut. Fuck, I thought. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so hard at dinner.

“Isn’t there like a special section for bigger people?” the woman next to me asked the man she was with. She was at least trying to whisper, but considering the fact I was sitting right next to her that didn’t do much to keep me from hearing her. “It’s just, these seats are so small, you know? Even for someone regularly sized.”

I’d been feeling pretty good before all of this happened. I was used to people making comments. But something about this made me really think hard about what I’d been doing to my body. I was already fat. I’d already had horrible eating habits. But should I have let this thing with Parker push me so completely into gluttony? I was the one who had to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions and too-small theater seats.

Parker was a great person and a masterful lover, but he was also ten years younger than me. If this dalliance were to end, he could go about his life unchanged. But me? How much bigger would I be by the time he got bored of me?

“Andy,” Parker said, his hand on my thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. This wasn’t the time or place to share my thoughts with him.

“I didn’t pick the seats,” he explained. “Next time, I’ll make sure that we’re on the end.”

“Thanks.” I exhaled, feeling a little better. Him saying that didn’t absolve all of my fears, but it reminded me of how thoughtful Parker was. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like to be my size, but he did try to consider how my size affected my day-to-day life.

The lights dimmed and the show started a few minutes later. It was pretty funny and the music was enjoyable. I never thought a musical adaptation of an 80’s fantasy-horror-comedy would be any good, but I’d see it again if given the chance. After the cast took their bows we waited for our row to clear out before we got up. I could tell he really enjoyed himself, so that made the two and half hours in that seat from hell worth it.

“I Ubered here from my apartment,” he said once we were outside.

“I’m in that parking garage by the restaurant,” I said. “I could give you a ride home.”

“You did say you needed to thank me at dinner.”

“Oh, I know just how to thank you.” It was nearly ten, and aside from the people who were also leaving the theater, there weren’t a ton of people around. I grabbed Parker’s hand and we went to my car. I asked him where he lived and other than that I just listened to all the fun facts he had about the production. We were soon out front. “You’re coming up, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course.” I parked and we made our way towards the entrance. He led me up some stairs to his fourth floor apartment. If he lived any higher, we’d have had to call it a night. His place was pretty small, a one bedroom. It was also super neat and tidy. Everything about Parker was that way.

He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, offering to take mine too in the process. He told me to take a seat on the couch. I sat and realized how little it was. I guess a couch of this size was all he really needed, but it was more like a chair. I filled it up three-fourths of the way.

He carried in a tray with some vanilla oat milk and a container of cookies. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the remaining one-fourth of sofa. “Consider these as a thank you for a great evening,” he said. “They’re lemon shortbread.”

“You must spend a fortune on butter and eggs.”

“Not at all, I just started buying in bulk when I realized I had someone to bake for.”

“I appreciate getting to eat everything you’ve made for me,” I said, pulling at my sweater, “though I should probably slow down on all the baked goods.” I looked in his direction, wondering how he’d take in that information. He looked a little hurt, a little embarrassed.

“Is everything okay, Andy?” he asked. “With us, I mean. I just thought—”

I could just keep all of these concerns to myself, but that wouldn’t solve anything. It was probably better to have this conversation now instead of later. “I’ve gained a substantial amount of weight since we started sleeping together. I know we haven’t put into words what this is, but I’m pretty sure you’re a feeder—or an encourager—which term is it?” I thought about all the information I found back when I investigated gay fat fetishes a few months ago.

“I think they’re pretty interchangeable.” He wasn’t looking at me. “And I guess that I am, yes.” He actually looked super pale. Was he scared? Did he think I was upset? I figured he was aware that he’d been found out months ago. He was always so focused on my weight and overfeeding me. His preferences were kind of obvious.

“I’m not upset,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty into it.”

He looked up at me, relief overtaking his previously sullen expression. “You are?”

“I think you know I like to eat. And getting bigger is kind of hot when I have someone so into it.”

“I’m into it for sure.”

“My main concern is how serious you are, Parker.” He looked at me intently, waiting for me to continue speaking. “You’re young. You’re still fairly new to the area. When it comes down to it, you’re a hot commodity. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. With how big I was, with how big I’ve gotten, I’m limiting myself. My prospects were slim before, but I’ve probably made the margins even smaller in regards to my marketability.”

“Andrew, I am very serious about you,” he said. “You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever been with. You’re also the biggest guy I've ever been with. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I am willing to do. If you want to lose weight, that’s fine. If you want me to stop with the baking, that’s fine. I just want you. I like you.”

“I like you too. I have since you first started working for me.” Our eyes were locked on one another. This conversation felt so real, so needed. This guy was serious about me. What a relief. “And let’s not be too hasty about the baking. I’ll let you know if we need to slow down, Mr. Feeder.”

This caused his whole face to redden, all the way to his ears. I loved when that happened. It was so funny to see his emotions so clearly. “Now bring that container of cookies over here. I’m hungry.”

Maybe it was reckless of me. Maybe I should’ve taken the out Parker had offered me. But I kept on eating like I had been. I blew past 400 pounds as we entered the new year. He’d flown home for the holidays, so I spent time with my own family. They all showed great concern for how big I’d gotten, but that didn’t stop them from piling my plate high with soul food at Christmas dinner. That was just how my family operated. It’s why I was so big growing up to begin with.

That first Monday back after the winter holidays was nice because we were able to fall back into our normal routine, which included copious amounts of food and a great deal sex. While most people around the office set goals for having a healthier diet or joining a gym, I did nothing of the sort. It was somewhat freeing to know there was no resolution I was bound to break.

Over the first few months of the new year, Parker began spending more and more time at my apartment. Suddenly there was a toothbrush, and then extra pairs of underwear, and then, an item that let me know how serious things had gotten between us, his KitchenAid Stand Mixer.

“You’re here more than at your place,” I said one Saturday evening in April. We’d ordered pizza for dinner, and even though Parker had stopped eating thirty minutes ago, I was still working on an extra-large, tavern-style sausage and pepperoni. I’d already eaten some buffalo wings and a Caesar salad (for balance, of course). “When does your lease end?”

“Well, it ends August of this year.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel it?”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for another slice. “I’ll pay whatever fee your landlord charges for breaking your lease.”

The next week he moved into my three-bedroom apartment. I had more than enough room for his stuff. Even his dollhouse-sized couch fit comfortably against a wall in the home office. This did mean my office baked goods were a thing of the past. They were never able to last long enough after he prepared them to be brought into work. Since meeting Parker nine months ago, I was now 75 pounds heavier.

Parker and I were going to take a long weekend for Memorial Day. We’d both put in for the day off on Friday and we wouldn’t need to return to the office until Tuesday. I’d rented a house up north, about three hours away. The Thursday before we were to leave, Parker frantically entered my office a little after we returned from lunch.

I was positively beached. We were both looking forward to the weekend and he excitedly ordered for me at Rockin’ Sushi. We had purchased enough sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls for a party of five or six people.

My belly covered my lap almost to my knees when I sat. I normally didn’t dress so casually for the office, but today I was wearing a polo. The fabric was pulled tight around my stomach and I’d been massaging the sides of my gut before Parker came to find me. If he didn’t seem so distraught, I’d have asked him to take over.

“We can’t go out of town,” he said. “We have to reevaluate your accounts.”

“What?” I asked, my eyes half-open. “I have nine major accounts and twelve smaller ones. That’s more than all the other execs.”

“Yes, that’s true, but—” he stopped talking. He probably felt like he’d been overreacting, but I wanted to make sure his worries were quelled.

“Talk to me.”

“I heard from Mr. Monroe’s assistant, who heard from Mr. Otterly’s assistant, that Mr. Otterly plans to retire at the end of June.” John Otterly was well past the age for retirement. His presence at Hathaway and Associates was really just a formality at this point. He’d been an exec at our agency since the mid-seventies. In his prime, for sure, he was incredible at pulling in clients and coming up with catchy slogans for print ads. Now, he had only one major account for a failing brand of novelty gag-gifts. “They’re looking to promote someone, but they want to make the position more robust by taking some accounts from other executives.”

“Bullshit.”

“Agreed.” He watched me heave myself out of my desk chair. “What should we do?”

“Follow me.”

I might have moved a little bit more slowly these days, but with Parker’s help I’d acquired two new clients in the last nine months and strengthened our agency’s relationship with all my original accounts. I wasn’t just some overweight behemoth who didn’t do any work. I was a heavy hitter. I’d recently had a confidence about myself that, shamefully, came from the idolization and devotion Parker gave to me. I was the biggest I’d ever been, but I didn’t feel ashamed of myself. I was already going to draw attention entering a room so I might as well not give a fuck what people thought.

We stopped outside of William Hathaway’s office, whose grandfather had actually founded Hathaway and Associates almost a century ago. We executives kept things running while he received a great deal of the credit, considering he was only in office two days a week. He did hold a forty-five percent share on the board of directors, which was the largest portion of any member. This meant he had a great deal of influence when the board made the large decisions that affected day-to-day operations.

“He’s preparing to leave early for the holiday weekend,” his administrative assistant said plainly. She was also the office manager. Mr. Hathaway’s schedule allowed her to take on more responsibilities, so she helped to organize the tasks for the interns and other assistants. “He doesn’t want to be bothered, especially after the meeting he just had.”

“Martha,” Parker said gently, smiling in her direction. “Mr. Reynolds was hoping to speak with Mr. Hathaway before he left. If he’s not terribly busy, would you please let him?”

“I don’t know. He was pretty adamant that he didn’t want to see anyone else.”

“Didn’t you say your husband liked the chocolate-dipped almond biscotti I made you for your anniversary?”

“Those were divine,” she said, taking more interest in Parker’s plea. I remembered those biscotti. I’d eaten two test batches before he felt confident enough to share them with Martha.

“Weren’t they?” I added. “I don’t know how he does it, but he’s incredibly talented.”

“My husband’s birthday is coming up,” she pondered aloud. “Have you ever made a cake before?”

“Of course!”

They ironed out some details and settled on a tiramisu inspired layer cake. She hopped out of her seat giddily and went to inform Hathaway of our arrival. We got the go ahead to enter and there he was waiting for us behind his desk nursing a scotch.

“Reynolds, you’re bigger every time I see you.”

Hathaway wasn’t one to mince words.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the only one carrying around a spare tire.” This made him laugh.

“I’m in my sixties, what’s your excuse?” He didn’t stop. “And I’ve got a spare tire, you’ve got a whole Goodyear.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, allowing him to think his ribbing had gotten to me. “I’m just eating good. And my assistant here is a master baker.”

“He is, eh?” Hathaway asked, drinking from his scotch. “You're the biscotti boy?”

“Yes sir. That’s me.”

“Martha, that stingy bitch, only let me have one. Said they were for her anniversary. I’ve got an anniversary. And a birthday.”

“I’ll get those dates from Martha, sir.” Hathaway gave an impressed smirk and took another sip from his drink.

After that, we were finally able to talk business. I asked about Otterly. His retirement was true, a decision “strongly encouraged” by all members of the board. The position being padded with the accounts of other executives was also true. We would be asked in the coming month to choose one or two of our large scale accounts to let go of. When I asked why they didn’t just cut the position, they were concerned about losing their lead copywriter, who voiced concerns about a lack of upward mobility at Hathaway and Associates. He claimed he’d be willing to walk away from the agency unless he was seriously considered for Otterly’s position.

That lead copywriter? Mark.

If it were anyone else, I would have thought twice about my next course of action. But for Mark? I couldn't care less.

“Well,” I started, hoping I was playing this right. “I say cut Otterly’s position. Give his few accounts to one of us execs, and if he walks, he walks.”

“He’s done good work,” Hathaway offered.

“You can save a great deal by cutting the position. Promote one of the junior copywriters to Mark’s position. And for good measure, Parker here can take the open junior copywriter role.” Parker made a sound of surprise but did his best to recover.

“Biscotti boy?”

“He’s got the Andrew Reynolds seal of approval.” This meant a great deal. I had the most accounts out of all eleven execs. I also had the greatest renewal rates. “I’d be losing the world’s greatest assistant, but I’d do anything for Hathaway and Associates.”

“My great-niece did just graduate from Columbia,” Hathaway said. “I’m sure she’ll need help finding a job with a degree in art history.” If I had to deal with another nepo-baby, so be it. I was keeping my accounts and helping Parker advance in his career.

“Just think about it,” I said, ending our conversation. As we left his office, Martha entered. Before the door closed completely, I heard him mentioning that the board needed to convene after the holiday weekend to vote about an important matter. I had a good feeling that things were going to change for my little Biscotti Boy.

We did still manage to make it up to the house I rented. Fortunately, it was somewhat secluded, the houses pretty far apart from each other. They were only really visible to one another from the front yard. Parker had a long list of grocery items he needed, so our first stop after checking into the rental was the local supercenter. He was obviously grateful for what I’d done in Hathaway’s office, and he spent the weekend showing me that gratitude with his culinary skills and physical flexibility. My favorite memory from our trip would be how he’d gotten me on the floor after grilling some brats and making s’mores.

“Okay, so bend your knees,” he said, swinging his leg around my waist after tossing me a pillow for underneath my head. There wasn’t a ton of space between my bent knees and my bulging belly, but Parker fit there perfectly. He looked down at me as he sat atop my waist, sliding all nine inches of my penis inside himself. He rested his hands on my stomach. Their warmth penetrated me to my core.

I reached up to grab at his butt as he rode me. It felt good in my hands, and the thought of what it looked like as I fucked him had me salivating. Always the hard worker, Parker swiveled his hips back and forth rhythmically. His dick was angled upwards, sandwiched between the bottom of my gut and his flat stomach. He leaned forward slightly, his hands sliding up my stomach to my chest. He grabbed my slightly puffy nipples and pinched them gently. That intensified the pleasure I was feeling and I lifted him slightly by raising my legs, pushing myself deeper inside of his ass.

“Oh God,” he moaned, sitting straight up. He bounced up and down like this for nearly a minute before he came. His cum shot up his front, some landing on the floor and on my gut. The look of sheer pleasure on his face was intoxicating. That did it for me too, and had me shooting my load as well.

We stayed on the floor longer than intended. I couldn’t get up just yet, so he covered both of our naked bodies with a large blanket and cuddled up close to me. Losing him as my assistant was going to be tough, but moments like these would make up for it.

Returning to work on Tuesday was fine. I’d have preferred another week in a secluded lake house with Parker, but the real world was waiting for us. Antoinette was in rare form, flitting from assistant to assistant spreading gossip. She was Hathaway and Associates' very own Lady Whistledown, though a lot less discreet.

Before lunch, the board met to discuss the future of Mr. Otterly’s position. Antoinette made sure everyone knew how they voted, openly voicing her dismay that her good friend Mark would not be shifting to an executive role, as John Otterly’s position would be closed and his accounts redistributed amongst some of the remaining executives.

The ball was now in Mark’s court. He could keep his current job or he could quit. I was hoping for the latter, so Parker could shine in the field he’d gone to school for.

We worked all day and at exactly five we clocked out. We entered the elevator and Mark followed behind us. “That’s some shit you pulled Andy,” he spat. I noticed a cardboard box in his hands.

“You’re referring to what exactly?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh please,” he said. “You get a little ass from your assistant and you’re bending over backwards to get him a promotion. It’s pathetic, but it makes a lot of sense. Why else would he ever waste his time trying to find your dick under that massive gut?”

“You’re out of line,” I said, stepping towards him.

“He’s a sneak and you’re a gullible, desperate, sorry excuse for a professional.” He was upset, understandably, but his job had still been intact. He could’ve continued in his role as lead copywriter, a position I held for over four years before my promotion, and one day he’d be seen as ready to move up in the agency. He’d only been lead copywriter for a year and a half, a role in which he’d been given when the previous lead stepped down to take care of her newborn twins. Mark expected things to be handed to him without putting in the work. Now he was throwing a tantrum, and he wanted to take out his anger on us because he thought we were easy targets.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you just aren’t that likable?” I asked, staring down at him, forcing him into the corner of the elevator. “You’re talented, sure, but you are just so fucking hard to like. Hathaway knows this, the other execs know this. Why do you think it was so easy to encourage them to close Otterly’s position? They don’t want to work any more closely with you than they already do.”

I looked down at the cardboard box. Like a baby, he’d quit when he didn’t get his way. “Or should I say did?”

The elevator stopped on the main floor and the doors opened. Mark looked up at me and then over at Parker. “Fuck the both of you,” he said, pushing past me with slight difficulty. Parker looked pretty mortified, his entire face red with embarrassment.

My little ingénue. He was still very green, and I loved that about him, but I needed him to stand up for himself if he was going to survive in this industry. People made jokes or rude comments. There’d be backstabbing and petty office gossip. At the end of the day it didn’t matter. I was proof of that. There’d been talk about my weight for months, and I was still one of the most successful people on staff.

I’d for sure been in a slump before I met Parker, but I was becoming the man I’d been in my early twenties (metaphorically, not physically). There was a lot less self-doubt and self-loathing. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that I was good at what I did, and I knew I just needed to carry myself like I had when I was grinding as a junior copywriter.

“That was really intense,” he said. We’d slowed, pausing in a stairwell. We were halfway between the lobby and the underground parking garage. “I would never sleep with you for that. I swear that I would never do that.”

“I know.” I felt myself smiling. It made me feel good that he liked me so much. His first thought was how I felt. He was always looking out for me, and if he did get a new role as a copywriter, no assistant would ever live up to what he was capable of.

“I love you,” he said, looking at me seriously. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that to me. How we’d gotten to this point, I’d never fully grasp, but I was glad that we did.

“I love you too,” I said. We were silent for a moment, and I took the opportunity to joke with him. “And I have to say, what an elaborate scheme you pulled. The baked goods, the lunches, the head. All for a promotion. You’re truly a mastermind.”

He laughed, swatting me on the ass. “And this is only Phase One. Mu-ha-ha.”

“What’s Phase Two?”

“Hmm, I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

“Maybe you aren’t the mastermind I thought you were—”

“Shut up!” he said, laughing. “Now let’s get you something good to eat for defending my honor.”

A month later, Parker was officially offered a position as a junior copywriter. He’d taken me shopping for some summer clothing items—both work attire and casual items. The number of X’s on my shirts and shorts was a little shocking, but he did have a knack for picking flattering cuts and patterns. I may have been over 400 pounds, but I’d never looked more stylish.

“Are you ready yet?” Parker called from the living room. It was the last Saturday in June and all of Parker’s old roommates from California were in town for the last weekend of Pride and to celebrate his promotion.

“Yeah,” I called in response. I walked out of our bedroom. “But you’re sure you want me to wear this to meet your friends?”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s just a pair of shorts and a polo. It’s not risqué.”

The shorts were much shorter than I’d buy for myself, but they did fit me very well. They were a good three inches above my knees. He saw them on some Instagram ad and bought me three different pairs. The polo was much more out of my comfort zone. It was cream-colored and a crochet knit. You could see glimpses of my brown skin through the hundreds of small holes that made up the shirt.

“But it seems like you guys want to dance and that’s not really my scene anymore. Can’t you all celebrate tonight and then we all meet up for brunch tomorrow?”

“Okay, what about we all meet up tonight and go out to brunch tomorrow morning?” he countered in rhetorical fashion. “And besides, if you don’t want to burn any calories, you can just have some bar food and a beer.”

“They have those soft pretzels there don’t they?”

“They sure do,” he said, handing me my keys. “Now let’s go please.”

Fortunately I was able to find a good parking spot not too far from the bar. I parked and we walked the block to Dudes. The day had cooled considerably, which I was grateful for. It’d been in the eighties, but it was only about seventy now that the sun had set. They asked to see Parker’s ID and then we made our way inside.

“Parker!” I looked for who had shouted his name. It was another Asian guy who was about Parker’s height.

“Yedam, hey!” Parker looked at me. “Andy, this is Yedam. Yedam, this is my boyfriend Andy.”

“Oh wow,” Yedam said, taking me in. He smiled, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. “Um, it’s nice to meet you.” He locked eyes with Parker, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Was this a good interaction or not? I was having trouble reading the situation. Two other guys made their way to where we stood, both holding drinks. One of the guys handed a glass to Yedam.

“Mike, Sam, this is my boyfriend Andy.” Mike was white and very blond. Sam was black, a little lighter than I was. Overall, they all had the same vibe as Parker. Very put-together, the same height and build.

“This makes sense,” Sam said, gesturing back and forth with his pointer finger between Parker and I.

“Oh yeah, a thousand percent,” Mike added.

I felt like I was missing something, but I was hopeful Parker would fill me in later. The guys all told me I was very handsome and very large. It wasn’t in a sarcastic way, or a flirtatious way even. They presented it like they were simply stating facts. I ordered my pretzels and a round of shots for Parker and his friends. They were all laughing and joking and hanging off of one another. It was almost enough to make me jealous, but I knew I was what Parker wanted. I didn’t need to worry about his friends.

After another shot Parker pulled me towards the crowded dance floor. “Ready?” he asked, leaning into me.

“I thought I was supposed to drink my beer and eat bar food.” I scanned the whole place; I was the biggest guy in the entire club.

“You’ve got all night to eat bar food. You can dance with me for a few minutes.” He started to move his body and I did too. I wasn’t a bad dancer; it was just something I tended to avoid. He turned slowly, his butt against my crotch.

It seemed like the music got faster and louder, and the entire time I couldn’t take my eyes off of Parker. He was absolutely gorgeous. I leaned down, kissing his neck. He lifted his arms, wrapping them around my neck. I stepped back and felt a foot under me.

“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna break someone’s foot!” This guy was drunk.

“What was that?” I asked. Six months ago, I’d have left the dance floor completely mortified. But now, why would I ever stop living my life because I took up just a little too much space? The world was a big place, and people would just have to make room for me.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Just be more careful. Sorry.”

“That dude was an ass,” Parker said, turning to face me, resting his hands on my waist.

“As crowded as it is, I was bound to step on someone’s foot.” I leaned down so I didn’t have to shout this next part so loudly. “Although it does probably hurt a little more when the one doing the stepping is over 425 pounds.” Parker smiled at me, and I think it was a relief to him that I was being a good sport.

“Parker! Andy!” It was Sam waving us over to the bar.

He and the rest of Parker’s friends wanted to do another shot and my pretzels were waiting for me. “They were just delivered,” Yedam said. “And we didn’t want them to get cold.”

The rest of the night went pretty well. Parker was always so reserved and in control of himself, so it was nice to see him having fun and letting loose. They were all pretty toasted by midnight, and Mike drunkenly started talking about getting something to eat.

“Why did we drink so much?” he bemoaned, leaning against Yedam as we left the bar. “We should’ve gotten dinner before the bar.”

“You were the one convinced you were getting laid tonight,” Sam stated, stumbling right along next to them.

“Andy knows a place,” Parker said, leaning against me. “Isn’t Sub Daddy’s second location near here?”

“Uh, yeah, it is,” I offered. “I can drive, though you all better not puke.”

“We won’t!” they all sang in unison.

We made it to my Buick unscathed, and I made sure everyone was buckled up. Looking at Parker in the seat next to me and his three drunk besties in the back seat was hilarious to me. It looked like I’d kidnapped a bunch of intoxicated twinks.

“So did Parker used to bake a lot when you all lived together?” I asked, making conversation as we drove.

“Constantly,” Yedam said, sounding comically exasperated. “We had this neighbor.”

“Oh yeah!” Mike interjected. “Big Idris.”

“Your neighbor went by ‘Big Idris?’ Seriously?” I asked.

“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed, cracking up. “I think his real name was Tyler or something?”

“Tyson,” Parker clarified, his entire face and ears covered in a red blush that I didn’t think was entirely from the alcohol.

“Tyson, right,” Sam continued. “We called him Big Idris because he was hot like a young Idris Elba, but much bigger. I mean, not huge.” There was a slight pause, as if he was second guessing his next statement. “Like you’re way bigger than he was.”

“Okay, so he wasn’t fat-fat, got it.”

“So anyway, Big Idris was our neighbor across the hall. When we moved in at the start of our fall semester junior year, Parker baked little treats for everyone on the floor. Big Idris was the only one who came back asking for seconds.” The three of them roared with laughter. I could see where this story was going. Yedam continued the tale.

“It was just like when we were in the dorms. He didn’t have access to a kitchen, but Parker made sure this guy who lived on the floor above us never went without a snack. Insomnia Cookies should probably erect a statue in Parker’s honor. What was his name? Owen?”

“Yes, Owen,” Parker confirmed.

“So Owen, the ex-football player, ended the year having put on the freshman fifteen.”

“Plus fifteen,” Mike added.

“Plus fifteen,” Sam followed. They all cracked up again. Parker was definitely an anomaly to them. An oddity that made for interesting stories. Their sex lives were probably pretty tame compared to what Parker and I were into.

“Owen was nothing like Big Idris though,” Yedam said. “Those 45 pounds were nothing compared to the almost a hundred Big Idris gained living across the hall from us for two years.”

Mike spoke next, saying, “To be fair, it wasn’t all Parker. This guy liked to eat, and he was always ordering DoorDash or UberEats.”

“But Parker wasn’t innocent,” Sam said. “He baked him a different type of cookie at least three times a week.”

“What happened to Big Idris?” I asked, now extremely curious.

“His girlfriend moved in and Parker moved here to start his new job. She’s definitely helped him change his diet around. You can tell he’s lost some weight, not eating as much take-out. But he for sure doesn’t seem as happy as when Parker was visiting his apartment at two in the morning.”

“That’s a shame,” Parker said. Now that had me cracking up as I pulled into the Sub Daddy parking lot. Of course Parker would be upset to hear that all his hard work was being undone.

We went inside and ordered, and the four of them decided to split two sandwiches, which was funny because I ordered two sandwiches for myself. We sat and ate, the four of them passing tiny bags of chips back and forth to supplement their little sandwiches. After we finished eating I drove them back to their Airbnb. We made plans to meet up for brunch the next afternoon, and I was very interested to hear more about Parker as a sexy coed with feeder tendencies.

Parker was only slightly hungover the next morning. We hung out with his friends again in the afternoon. They mostly shared stories, while I mostly ate boujee brunch food. We said our goodbyes and they made plans to get together again soon. They all still lived in the old apartment, at least until their lease ended in the fall. Overall, the weekend had been a success, and I was sure Parker was excited to start his new position come Tuesday.

Monday he’d be training his replacement.

“So make sure his lunch is ordered at eleven so that he’s able to eat by noon,” Parker stated matter-of-factly.

He had been with my new assistant all morning. She was a nice girl, and I could tell she was already a little overwhelmed by all the things Parker expected her to remember. I think Parker was sad to be shifting to a new position, even though he was really excited to be doing what he dreamed of.

He would be on an entirely different side of the office. It was probably for the best that we had a bit of space from each other. We didn’t want to become one of those couples that couldn’t function without the other.

But still, he knew me better than anyone. I didn’t have to think about my next move because he’d already anticipate it.

“Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said before turning his attention to my new assistant. “Nicolette, we can go over the best times to schedule Mr. Reynolds for a meeting after you get back from your break.” She couldn’t grab her purse fast enough. She was probably going to be updating her LinkedIn and putting in applications on Indeed.

“You need to go a bit easier on her,” I said once we were behind closed doors. “Remember that's Hathaway’s great-niece.”

“I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes when I started,” he said. “I just want to make sure she knows what to do so things go smoothly for you.”

“I’ll be okay, babe.”

“Fine. I’ll dial it back.”

“So how about a quickie for old time’s sake?” He laughed, but he immediately loosened his tie.

I ended up seated behind my desk with my pants around my ankles. He was completely nude, claiming he didn’t want to chance getting a stain on his clothes. He kneeled in front of me and reached into my desk drawer. He grabbed a tiny bottle of lube. He squirted a moderate amount in his palm before wrapping his hand around my erection. He pumped my dick slowly, covering it with the lube.

I watched him stand with his back to me. I got to my feet, grabbing the bottle of lube from him and covering his hole with some of it, massaging it with my fingers. Being between his fat cheeks was always a pleasure. It was the only fatty part about him, and I loved grabbing his ass roughly in these moments. I bent my knees before angling my dick so there’d be a smooth entry and pushed my penis into him slowly. I leaned my body on top of him, my gut resting on his back as I rocked my hips back and forth. I felt his body relaxing as I found a good rhythm. I continued to thrust my hips and he did his best to stifle his moans.

“I’m your biggest success story,” I said breathily, pushing a bit more forcefully. “I just know your friends are going to be shocked the next time they see me.”

“Uh—” he whimpered, his knees buckling slightly.

“Say it,” I said. “Say that you’re gonna make me bigger.”

“I–I’m gonna make you bigger.” He tugged at his dick desperately. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“500 isn’t that far off,” I said, not entirely believing it myself. Would he want me to get that big? He did tell me that I was the biggest person he’d ever been with. Could he handle that? Could I?

“Oh fuck!” he panted, doing his best to catch his cum in his hand. I gave a few final pushes before filling him with my cum. I pulled myself from inside of him and we both got cleaned up. He got dressed, looking positively pristine, like nothing lewd had just taken place in my office.

That’s when he turned to me and said, “I hope you’re ready for lunch.”

He had a look in his eye that let me know our sex talk wasn’t just talk. Parker had goals, and I liked a man with motivation.

I sure knew how to hire ‘em.

The End!

#gainer stories #gainer story #gainerstory #gainer fiction #gainer fic #gainerfic #fatfiction #gay feedee #gay feeder #weight gain

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light-yaers · 1 year

Text

Take Care: Chapter One

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

Word Count: 13k+

Chapter One

“Thank you so much for accepting me,” you said, stepping into Shannon Hart’s office, Head of Applications at Richmond university. “I’ve been so looking forward to finally getting into publishing and writing.”

Shannon gestured for you to sit opposite her. You dropped yourself down into the swivel chair facing her desk, as she cleared her throat and adjusted her sleeves. You stared at her thoughtfully, taking in the slight twitch of her brow and the vein popping out on her forehead.

“Are you okay, Shannon?” You frowned.

She intertwined her fingers and placed them on the desktop before her. “We’ve asked you here today to let you know, with great regret, that your placement at Pluto Press has been… mixed up.”

“Mixed up?”

“Royally.” Shannon stared you down.

“Royally how?” You leaned forward, all decorum going out the window immediately.

“Our paperwork was sorted wrong. It’s an internal admin error, one that’s– frankly– deeply embarrassing–”

“Just tell me what the deal is, okay, Shannon?” you said, trying not to yell at her to just say it.

Shannon cleared her throat again. “You weren’t the name that we sent to the Pluto Press administration. Which means… well, it means–”

You smacked your hand upon her desk, making her flinch. “I mean this in the nicest way, but for the love of God, spit it out.”

“Your placement at Pluto Press was filled by someone else.”

You squinted at her. “Someone else?”

“Yes.”

“But, I can still get a spot, right?” you asked.

“Regrettably not.”

“Not?”

Shannon nodded. “Not.”

You toyed between the urge to scream at the ceiling, or round-house kick the woman sat in front of you. Both seemed appealing, both seemed necessary, but instead you did nothing. You sat like a rock before her, ignoring the upbeat dump-dump of your heart beneath your ribcage. You weren’t an angry person, no, but this was the closest you’d been to booking into a rage room.

“So… you’re saying, I won’t be an intern at Pluto Press starting next week?” you said, trying to comprehend it fully yourself.

“Correct.” Shannon stayed frozen.

“So…” You leant forward, fully, leaning down on your arms and looking Shannon directly in the face. She gulped anxiously, with nerves, and for good reason. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Shannon?”

“Ah, well.” Shannon squeaked out. Sweat dotted her brow and as quickly leaned back in her chair. “This is what I wanted to discuss. Your options.”

“My options,” you repeated.

“Of which there are a few. One, you could defer the year and be ensured a space on this masters next year, with your original placement at Pluto Press–”

“Fuck no,” you said immediately. “Listen, Shannon. I’ve put off this masters for four fucking years. I’m not waiting another year. I mean, I’ve already moved to Richmond. I’ve taken out my student loans. So, abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Shannon’s eyebrow twitched intensely. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” she whispered. “So, your second option.”

“How many options are there?”

“...Two.”

“So, this is my final option?”

“If you don’t wish to drop out completely, yes.” Shannon was a stone-cold fox, you could tell. As much as her eyebrow twitched and her brow glistened, she was certainly blunt and to the point. It was something you could admire, despite the want to storm out of her office.

“So, my final option is?”

Shannon leaned forward again, strongly. “There is one other placement available for this course. They’re new, and we were originally going to try them out with a student who wished to be a sports journalist, but…”

“But?”

“He changed his mind about the course and went into the fried chicken industry, instead.” You squinted at her quizzically. Shannon’s face stayed as still as a gargoyle. “It’s a social placement. You do Instagram uploads, copywriting, player profiles and articles, things like that.”

“Player profiles? For what?”

“Football.”

“Football?”

“AFC Richmond, to be exact.”

The day had gone from bad to worse within a matter of seconds. Not only had you been wrongfully pushed out of your publishing placement, but now your only option was to work for a fucking football team. Football had been something that went over your head from the start. If it wasn’t the fact that boys from the school football team, when you were twelve, laughed at you incessantly, then it was the visuals of grown men clutching their knees and whining on a pitch that made you hate it completely. Football was not your thing. Football wouldn’t allow you to publish your first novel.

You widened your eyes. “A fucking football team?”

Shannon winced, and it was like a layer shed off her in an instant. “Can I be utterly transparent with you?”

“Please.”

“I know it’s shit,” she said bluntly. You let out a huff in agreement. “But, you still have the opportunity to network. Big name footballers have connections, as does Rebecca Welton, the club owner. You’ll still have all the access to publishing opportunities that you’d get through Pluto Press, just… in a slightly unorthodox way. Your coursework will be slightly changed, and the term structures will be different to match up with the league, but.” Shannon shrugged. “This is still something worth doing. You can write on the side, too. And who doesn’t want to be around some attractive footballers?”

“Me,” you said plainly.

“Scratch that last part, then,” Shannon replied. For the first time since entering her office, she attempted to smile at you. It was almost frightening to look at.

So, it was fuck all. You had no choice. You’d moved into your flat two days before, a tube ride away from Pluto Press, and coincidentally a walk away from the Dogtrack. There was no way you were backing out now, not when you’d been deferring your application for years. This was a time where you had inspiration, motivation, and wanted to succeed. You had to strike while the iron was hot, even if that meant dealing with footballers, of all fucking people.

As much as you’d batted away Shannon’s comment about them, you had already heard of a few players that Richmond. Jamie Tartt was well-known, and you’d be lying if you hadn’t thought he was fit when you’d seen him on his girlfriends’ socials a while back. They were a different breed, though, so entirely excluded from the world that you existed in; far away from the stoicism of footballers and their swinging dicks that fell into one too many vaginas. You didn’t want to be another working woman in the background, especially in an industry that you knew fuck all about. But– this was the best option. It still got you the same opportunities, still gave you the time to write and work on your own novel.

You inhaled sharply and sighed deeply. Shannon stayed put, eyeing you up as she pursed her lips.

“Fine,” you said. “I’ll do it.”

You had less than a week to prepare. Not in terms of your masters or education, but mentally. You were thrusting yourself into the proverbial belly of the beast, a football club full of men who, most likely, smelled really fucking bad. You made a list in your head– Febreeze was right at the top. It wasn’t just about the uncertainty and horror of it all, it was also something that transcended that. What if they didn’t like you? What if this entire experiment went drastically wrong? You knew fuck all about football, and would be surrounded by those whose literal entire lives revolved around the sport.

You felt like an imposter more than anything. More than the rage of the fuck up. More than the fear of things going wrong with your degree. You were an imposter, entering into a world that wasn’t your own, being handed opportunities that others would die for.

That’s all that went through your head as you stood outside AFC Richmond, just off Nelson Road. It looked like a typical football ground from the outside– a green and vibrant field directly to the right, where someone on an industrial mower was cutting the grass. The car park was full of expensive vehicles; Lambos, Jags, Martins. As you focused your breathing, a hulking pitch black Jeep came careening around the corner. You flinched as the driver parked it in one of the top spots, next to a bright green monstrosity, so low to the ground that your knees felt weak just looking at it.

The driver side door of the Jeep burst open, and a man, dressed exactly like his fucking car, jumped out. His jeans were black, his t-shirt black, his leather jacket– black. Atop his head sat a close cut mop of black hair, and his beard was trimmed to absolute perfection, almost to the point of robotism. It was, you guessed it, black.

You stared at him with a mixture of confusion and utter amazement. Was this the Grim Reaper, come to take you away for your sins and tell you your life was all but over? He looked back at you with an indifferent sort of stare, one that penetrated deep into your chest and made you want to violently throw up, or run away immediately.

As he approached the double doored entrance, his back to you, he stopped suddenly. He turned around slowly and laid his dark eyes upon you. “You a fan?” he asked.

“What?” you stuttered out, taken aback by the deepness of his voice. There was a scratch to it, one that resembled a growl. Was this man actually real? He came across as some kind of mythical creature that represented a bad omen, or someone gruff enough to mend the goalposts with his bare hands.

“Meet and greets only happen after games,” he continued. Your face soured with amusement.

“I’m not here for a bloody meet and greet,” you let out. “Do I look like a football fan?” you added quickly, suddenly afraid that you looked like the kind of person to wait outside football stadiums, just to see players.

He shrugged. “I don’t fucking know.”

You took a step forward. “I’m here to see Rebecca Welton, actually. I just…” You glanced around the car park, trying to find the right words to say that you’d been afraid to go inside. “I just didn’t know whether to wait outside or not.”

He followed your eye movements, looking around at the cars alongside you. “Well, she doesn’t seem to have an office in the car park, does she,” he stated. You let out a small huff, embarrassed.

“No, I guess not.” You looked into his eyes, tracing the outline of his stoic face. He was sort of… soft around the edges. If that was even possible. “Do you know where her office is?”

“Do I look like a fucking tour guide?” he said bluntly, and you flinched backwards. Your expression dropped, replaced with something other than the tinge of softness you had before. This guy was an arsehole. An utter arsehole, wearing leather and too tight jeans. When it rained, you bet droplets trickled off him in grey washes, picking up the black dye off his stupid fucking clothes.

“Well,” you said, regarding him. “No, not a tour guide. Maybe the caretaker?”

He raised his brows. “The fucking caretaker?”

“Yeah.” You squinted at him. “I can picture you mowing some grass, fixing some posts, DIY and all that.”

He shuffled on his spot. “Who the fuck are you?”

You crossed your arms. “Someone who’s trying to find Rebecca Welton’s office. And you are?”

“Not the fucking caretaker,” he said, before he turned on his heels and headed to the door.

“Hey, wait!” you yelled. “Hold on!” You rushed towards the door, flashing him a vaguely apologetic stare, but you didn’t dare say one outloud. He didn’t deserve one.

He peered down at you, letting out a literal growl. You backed up slightly, looking at him in absolute awe. “Did you just growl at me?”

“I growl at everyone,” he said.

“Has anyone ever told you that’s a bit weird?”

“All the time. I don’t fucking care,” he said bluntly.

You shrugged. “Fair enough.”

A moment of awkwardly comfortable silence followed. He continued to peer down at you, flicking his eyes across your own, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate you. It didn’t work, not after you’d got under his skin by mistaking him for the caretaker. You raised your brows at him silently, pleading with him to just fucking tell you where to go. You understood that they probably didn’t have many mid-twenties girls around the club, but the least he could do was help, just this once.

He rolled his eyes quickly. “All the way down the corridor, up the stairs. Her office is right there.”

He pulled open the door, reluctantly standing to the side for you to go first. You smiled. “Thank you!” you exclaimed. You rushed inside, fast-walking down the corridor until you found the set of steps up to Rebecca’s office.

He stayed back, peering at you as you went on your way. Before he turned to head down the stairs, he found himself subtly smiling at the scene that played out priorly. You had guts, that’s what he gauged. You had guts and you weren’t afraid to use them.

Rebecca Welton was the most intimidating, yet beautiful, woman you’d ever laid eyes upon. As you sat opposite her in her office, cup of tea in her grasp and hand moving through the air as she talked, you couldn’t take your eyes off the alarming look on her face. She was glowing, talking smartly and confidently, while you all but cowered before her like another male suitor.

“Did you catch any of that?” she asked abruptly, bringing you back into the room. You’d heard nothing, not when you’d been looking at the almost perfect way her face moved when she spoke.

You widened your eyes. “Yes. All of it. In perfect detail.”

“Great.” She stood up quickly, downing the remaining contents of her teacup. “I’ll introduce you to the team. Come on,” she said, rounding her desk.

You scrambled up from your seat and followed her immediately. Her shoes clicked upon the floor dramatically, as you made your way down the stairs and back through the corridor you came from. She took you down another set of stairs to the lower portion of the stadium. You passed multiple offices, and a gym, before she whisked you past a few back rooms.

“Locker room here.” She pointed to her left as you passed. You stuck your head around the corner quickly, taking in a wave of red and blue. “Manager’s office,” she added from a bit further up. “Beyond that is the kit room, and physio on the right.” Rebecca stopped in the corridor suddenly, making you gasp. She let out a breath, before turning on her heels and heading back down the way you both came.

You followed her without question, clutching onto your tote bag for dear life as she whisked you through the grounds. Her legs were too long to keep up with fully, so you were forced to partially jog behind her every few seconds.

“Um, Rebecca?” you asked.

“Hmm.”

“Do I get an office space?”

She stopped again, next to the gym. “Of course,” she said, peering down at you. “It’s there.” She pointed to the right, further away from the gym. A small room is all you saw, devoid of windows, with nothing more than a desk sat in the partial darkness. “I’m sure you can make it… homely.”

“Yes,” you said, smiling up at her from fear. Now wasn’t the time to be criticising your workplace amenities. Maybe when you’d paid your dues, or done a good job, could you ask for something more.

Besides, Rebecca seemed incredibly eager to be done with this tour. She hadn’t exactly been enthralled at your arrival, nor did she seem keen to talk to you for longer than she had to. You’d heard things about her before– a cheating husband, enough money to buy a skyscraper in Dubai, probably. You did your best to keep up with her, avoiding personal questions and trying to retain everything she told you.

The two of you turned the corner, headed for a long corridor, with daylight streaming in at the end. This was obviously the tunnel where players entered onto the pitch. You’d never stepped foot in a stadium of any kind, let alone been on the under-layers like the players themselves. As the both of you made your way to the doors, you imagined what it would be like for them– anticipation, nerves. You’d be shitting yourself, probably.

“I’ll take you to the team, now,” Rebecca explained. “Do you like football?”

“No,” you said immediately. From the look on her face, she wasn’t mad. Maybe this was as good a time as any to explain that you knew fuck all about all this, and actually didn’t want it.

Rebecca peered back at you. “Not at all?”

You sighed. “I know nothing about football, if I’m being honest. I’m a writer, not a sportswoman. I don’t care for sweaty men, or their reasons for fighting one another on a field. I’ll do my job, that I can assure you Ms. Welton, but I won’t deny that I couldn’t give a shit about this game.”

Rebecca slowed her speed, letting you catch up with her. Her quizzical expression quickly turned into a triumphant smile. “Fantastic,” she said. She was being genuine, and you had no idea why. “Well, come on!” she exclaimed, as the two of you burst through the double doors and onto the pitch.

The players bundled up and down the pitch with speed, kicking about a ball as they were split into two teams. You watched them for a few moments, following their movements as they scrambled up and down, kicking the ball between them, until someone finally went for a shot– he got it, but no one seemed happy about it. That was number nine, Jamie Tartt.

“I was wide open!” number twenty-four exclaimed.

“Well, so was I. So, I went for it. Sue me,” Tartt replied, in his staunch Mancunian accent. He stuck out his tongue like a schoolboy as he walked away, leaving number twenty-four with a sour expression on his face. He was comforted by a few others, telling him to brush it off.

You and Rebecca approached the coaches. “Coach Lasso,” Rebecca began, prompting the men to turn around. “This here is our new placement from Richmond university. The one I told you about last week.”

A man with the largest moustache you’d ever seen regarded you. “Oh, yes! I remember now. Welcome!” he said happily, shaking your hand abruptly. You shuffled your falling tote bag back onto your arm, smiling at him awkwardly as he kept shaking your hand.

“Great to be here,” you muttered.

“Call me Ted. You and I are both newbies, you know. Same as Coach here,” Ted said, gesturing to a man beside him. He wore mirrored glasses and crossed his arms intimidatingly. He said nothing, only sent you a nod in hello. “So, what brought you to us, huh? Got a love for football? Got a burning Tobey Maguire for the beautiful game?”

Tobey Maguire?

You looked to the other coach for help. “Burning desire,” he said bluntly.

“I’m trying out my own version of Cockney rhyming slang. Tobey Maguire, desire. Sylvester Stallone, the phone. So far it’s all actors, but we’re getting somewhere.” Ted peered down at you with a cartoonish smile. He was like no one you’d ever met before, someone so overly happy that you could hardly believe it.

“You’re doing… great,” you let out, from lack of what else to say. “But, well– I don’t know a lot about football, but–”

“You and me both, sister,” Ted interrupted.

You laughed awkwardly. “But, I’m happy to be here, and excited for the next year.” A lie, but one that needed to be said. You weren’t here to fuck up this club, or get overly buddy-buddy with its players. You were going to do your job, get your degree and use it afterwards. That was the goal, but during that, you had no Tobey Maguire to upset the team or the management.

Ted and his second in command, Coach Beard, turned around to the pitch. You stood next to Rebecca, who stood next to them, looking out at the players like they were being judged for the next season of So, you think you can dance?

Ted blew on his whistle shrilly. “Gather around, boys!” he yelled. The men obeyed, halting play as they all gathered before their new coaches, with some of them looking more than exhausted.

You couldn’t imagine the physical damage all of them went through, or how fit they had to actually be. You could hardly reach a level six in your bleep test at school, let alone be able to sprint up and down a pitch for two forty-five minute halves.

“Where’s Roy?” Ted asked, prompting one player to appear through the hubbub. When you met his eye, you almost choked on air. It was the guy, the not caretaker. The one that growled at you not an hour ago. “Ah, there he is. Listen up fellas! This little lady here is the placement from Richmond college–”

“Uni!” one of the players yelled.

Ted shot him a wide-eyed look. “God, you call college something different, too? Anyway, yes. Richmond uni. She’ll be doing a few things around here for us. Not PR, but keeping up with player profiles on the website, small updates, and all that jazz about the season coming up, maybe an article or two.”

As Ted spoke, you forced yourself to look anywhere but at number six– Roy Kent. He was staring you down like you’d done something ungodly, like you’d burned down his house or kicked his dog. His stance was one that you’d never seen either, like he was constantly on high alert and ready to strike a punch if needed.

“This here is Roy Kent, the captain of the team.” Ted gestured to Roy. He growled at you. You frowned at him. “You’ll be working with Roy for the next week on player profiles–”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Roy stepped forward. I’ve told you all before, I don’t get involved in PR or website shit,” Roy spoke up. “Get one of the other lads to do it.”

“It’s just for the time being, Roy. Just until she gets acquainted with the grounds.” Ted tried. “As much as I’m happy not to have you in front of a camera– believe me, that’s up to you– as a captain, and as your coach, I’m asking you to do this for the newest member of the Richmond family. Okay?”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All you wanted was to start and not stop for a year, so time could go faster. All you wanted was twenty pairs of eyes to stop looking you up and down like something shiny and brand-new.

Roy’s fists balled tightly, until his knuckles went white. “Fine.”

You let out a long breath. “Great,” you muttered. Roy’s eyes found your face, and you looked at him with no effort to be nice. You and he both knew that this was going to be long and annoying. It was better to get it out in the first place than to keep it all in for a year.

After meeting the team, you headed to your shoebox of an office. You had the day to set it up and make your own, before things kicked off. Ted and Beard were still running coaching for the rest of the day, so you were effectively on the lower floor by yourself. You set up your office, popped down your laptop and made a new folder in your documents. You went through your upcoming assignments, and started planning for what you could do. Rebecca gave you the various passwords for the social accounts, which you started filing through to get a sense of what they posted.

It was all the type of shit that your mum would like on Facebook. Brilliant.

If this was what you had to do to get to where you wanted, then so be it. It would all be worth it when you had connections and a network around you. That was the goal.

You opened your ongoing novel on your computer and scanned the pages. This was the endgame; to get the baby published. It was fiction, not once mentioning any sport, but it was all you wanted. Years of delay had led you here, so you had to embrace it while you had the chance to. Downtime was something that you’d have an abundance of, which was another perk, you supposed.

By four in the afternoon, the players tickled back inside. They passed your office with subtle curiosity, peering around the corner as you sat at your desk, filing through emails and starting on a subtle plan for your first assignment, due in at the end of the week. As soon as you’d got the courage up to grab Roy for a quick chat, you could get started.

When the players began filing out of the locker room to head home, you packed up your own belongings. You passed a few of them in the corridor, smiling sweetly and saying subtle hellos as you made your way through, until you almost slammed into one of them.

“Oof!” you exclaimed before him; it was number twenty-four, the one you’d seen before on the pitch.

Gently, he held you steady by your shoulders to stop you falling. “My apologies,” he said kindly.

“Don’t worry. I’m still getting used to this place.”

“It can be a lot to begin with, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it very soon,” he reassured you. You smiled up at him, before he stuck out his hand. “I’m Sam Obisanya. It’s nice to meet you properly.”

You took his hand. “You too. I’m excited to get to know you all.”

“Well, if you want, come and join us later this week. It’s Isaac’s birthday, so we’re all going out to celebrate.”

“Oh,” you said bashfully. “I don’t know, I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s fine, bruv,” another player turned the corner from the locker room. Isaac McAdoo. “Come along. The more the merrier, you get me.”

Player Colin Hughes appeared in the doorway after him. “Definitely. Come and join in on the fun.”

“Especially before the season starts next weekend,” Isaac added. “Gotta get our freak on while we still can.”

McAdoo and Hughes left together, and you got the sense that they were two players who had a long history of friendship. You turned back to Sam and shot him a smile. “Count me in, then,” you said.

“Brilliant. I’ll put it in our group chat,” Sam said sweetly, before he made his leave.

You turned to the locker room, pleasantly surprised at how that had all gone. If all of the guys were like that, then you’d have no issue with them whatsoever. But, then came Roy. You entered the locker room hesitantly, scooting out of the way as other players said their goodbyes for the day. To the right was the manager’s office, where Ted and Beard still sat at their desks. Directly opposite the door, however, was exactly who you wanted.

You approached Roy, as he pulled on a pair of shoes, and cleared your throat. He looked up at you slowly, resting a hand on his thigh as he lazily skittered his eyes across you.

“So, you’re definitely not the caretaker,” you said, in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“The last lawn I mowed was my grandad’s when I was nine,” he replied bluntly.

“Noted. I can put that in your player profile, if you wanted.” Sarcasm fell from your mouth, but you got the sense that Roy didn’t appreciate it. He growled, going back to doing up his laces. “I just wanted to talk to you about that, actually. About what Ted said.”

“If you think I’m going to gab with you about the team for the next week then you’re a lot dumber than I gave you credit for in the car park,” he said plainly.

You waved at him in dismissal quickly. “No, no, that’s what I meant. I really don’t need you to do that,” you said transparently. Roy looked up at you with interest, waiting for you to continue. You let out a sigh. “I’m not going to pretend that all this is a dream come true for me, the same way that you won’t pretend it’s something you give a fuck about helping me with. I can go around the players on my own, don’t worry.”

Roy finished tying his laces, before he stood. He towered over you, but the intimidation he’d displayed priorly was starting to wear off. You got a sense that he was just like this, all of the time. You’d read a few articles about him earlier, about his start at Sunderland and his triumphant years at Chelsea, before he moved to AFC Richmond. Roy Kent seemed like a player entrenched with respect. He was one of the greats, that’s what every article had said. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were intrigued to see it all for yourself.

“Fair enough,” he finally agreed.

You let out an innate sigh of relief. “Great. Thank you,” you said, before you turned and headed for the door. Before you left, however, you stopped abruptly. The locker room was empty now, bar the coaches in the other office. It was just the two of you, and you had a nagging feeling within your gut. “You can tell, can’t you?” you asked.

You turned back to Roy. “Tell what?” he replied.

“That I don’t want to be here.”

“You were stood outside the building this morning like you were walking to your fucking death,” he said. “Of course, I could fucking tell.”

“Just double checking,” you muttered, subtly embarrassed.

“Why are you here then? If you don’t want to be,” he asked, grabbing his bag from the bench. He stood to full height again and took a few steps toward you. It was only then that you realised he was assuming for you to both walk out the building together.

You stepped out of the locker room, falling into step next to Roy in the corridor. “The university fucked up. This was the only placement they had left,” you admitted.

“That’s fucking shit.” Roy’s candour was something you were growing to appreciate, almost. “So, you don’t like football?”

“I don’t know a single thing about it, besides it being people kicking a ball on a field.”

Roy let out a long, low whistle. “Fucking hell. No wonder you didn’t want to come inside.”

As the two of you emerged into the car park, you felt lighter than you had all day. Roy headed to his Jeep, and you stayed a few paces back. “It’s not… ideal.”

“That’s an overly nice way to put it,” he said, looking back at you. “And it’s a fucking lie. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You shrugged. “I want to publish my book. This is a way to make it happen.”

“Fair enough,” Roy said, jumping into his Jeep. He rolled the window down and switched on the engine. “Just don’t fucking include me in it, alright?”

You scoffed. “You think I want to write about you? Don’t flatter yourself, Captain.”

Roy winced. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered, before he put his car in gear and sped out of the car park. He left you without a second glance, turning onto the street and careening down the road as fast as he could, just to get away from you.

You found yourself walking home with a strange sense of peace. Yes, the situation wasn’t in your favour. Yes, you’d already fucked up and called the team captain the caretaker before you’d even stepped foot in the club, but things didn’t feel bad. The boys were nice, the coaches were welcoming, and even Rebecca Welton didn’t give a shit that you knew nothing. Things were slotting into place faster than you expected, but you were happy about it. As you made your way through Richmond, back to your flat, you realised that you didn’t feel awful. You felt almost happy, content, ready to take on the remainder of your first week and bosh out your first piece of coursework.

You spent the evening on Google, looking up the history of the Dogtrack, of AFC Richmond, of their star players. You learned that Jamie Tartt was on loan from Manchester City for a season, which made things all the more interesting when it came to his sportsmanship with the rest of the current team. You watched old game highlights, not understanding a single thing they were doing on screen. You gave up after a few hours of them kicking a ball around, too tired from the prior stress of last week to stay awake any longer.

The next morning, you got to work. You made an announcement to the locker room, while the guys pulled on their shin pads and football boots. “Over the next few days, I kindly ask that you all fill in a small worksheet for me. A bit about your backgrounds, your current positions, your birthdays, even. It’s for the updated player profiles on the website, and I’m on a deadline, so please do this as soon as you can!” you explained.

Sam was the first to hand his in, doing it almost immediately after you made your announcement. He dropped it into the small basket on your desk before he headed out to training, shooting you and a small smile as he left you at your desk. Soon after, McAdoo, Hughes, Bumbercatch and Zoreaux followed suit. You had enough information to start.

By the end of the day, you had almost half of the profiles written. You’d expected the workload to be more, or something intensely focused on football plays, but this was piss. You’d definitely be done by the Sunday deadline, just a few days away.

As the days flew by, you got better at approaching players on their own. You made yourself known and didn’t pester (unless they needed it), just reminded them of the task at hand. Isaac's birthday celebrations loomed ever closer, which meant the guys were in a boisterous and excitable mood for the final half of the week. They would play games in the locker room after training, laugh in the gym during work out hours, and pass by your office, waving at you with chuckles on their lips.

By Thursday, you’d cornered Jamie after training.

“Come on, man. It’s not hard to do. I just need it done by tomorrow, so I can write them all up for Sunday, is all,” you pleaded with him.

He took off his football shirt swiftly, making you roll your eyes. “I don’t have the time this evening. Got a prior arrangement, you get me.”

“I really don’t care about your prior arrangement, Jamie. I need this done. It’ll take you two fucking minutes, literally.”

“Sorry, love,” he said, and the patronising tone in his voice was one that you couldn’t stand. You were older than him by a few years, yet he was acting so inherently high and mighty. “I can’t change what evening I get waxed or the lady gets upset.”

“Waxed?” You grimaced.

Suddenly, a shrill high-pitched voice rounded the corner into the locker room. “Alright, boys!” it yelled, and when you turned around, you almost collapsed to the floor. Keeley fucking Jones stood in the middle of the locker room, beaming at all the boys with a genuine smile, and wearing an outfit that you’d never think would work on paper, but it absolutely worked in practice; on her.

You froze where you were, as she peered around the room and met Jamie’s face. “Ready to go, babe?” she asked, before she caught your eye. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in greeting. “Who’s this?”

Jamie shrugged on a new shirt, packing some of his belongings. “New social person, or somethin’.”

“Social placement,” you corrected him, looking only at Keeley. “Sorry to stare, it’s just… you’re Keeley Jones, aren’t you?”

“The one and only!” she exclaimed. “You’re a newbie, are you? Welcome to Richmond.” She leant towards you warmly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder in greeting. “Now, I’ve gotta get this one here to his waxing appointment.”

“Oh, sure,” you muttered, peering back at Jamie and trying not to imagine exactly what needed waxing. It was almost traumatising. “Before you go, take this, though,” you added, before you handed her one of your worksheets to her. “I really need him to fill this out by tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” Keeley said, folding it neatly and putting it in her bag. “I’ll make sure he gets it done.” She winked at you, making you blush.

The final lads trickled out of the locker rooms, while you reminded each of them to get the worksheet done. A few picked up a new copy, others nodded at you in agreement, but Roy Kent– he didn’t so much as growl as he passed you for the door.

You followed him immediately, rushing down the hallway to meet him.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment or something?” you asked. He growled in response. You scoffed. “You definitely are.”

“Excuse me if I’m not used to nagging uni students getting on my back,” he replied.

“It’s been years since I stopped being a uni student, Roy. I’m in bed by ten thirty every night, I’ll have you know.”

“A boring, nagging uni student, then.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, feeling a slight sting, but you weren’t going to let him phase you. “Have you done the worksheet yet?” you asked. He let out another growl, to which you peered up at him with a blunt expression. “Please, just get it done by tomorrow.”

“Only if you piss off and leave me alone.”

You stopped in the hallway abruptly. “Done and done,” you said from behind him. He kept walking towards the car park, looking back when he realised you weren’t doing it just for show.

You walked back down the hallway, the way you came, as you went for a different exit. Roy stopped walking without your knowledge, furrowing his brows at you as you turned a corner and disappeared. He readjusted his grip on his gym bag, sighing out of his nose.

“Fucks sake,” he whispered harshly, before he entered the car park, door slamming behind him with an echo.

You woke in the morning feeling anxious. It wasn’t just because today would be the first time you socialised with the lads outside the club, but today was the last, easy day that you had to get the remaining worksheets. Your deadline was in two days, and you wouldn’t see the players after today for the entire weekend. It was crunch time, and as much as you wanted Roy and Jamie to be easy and mouldable, you expected the absolute opposite.

Your anxiety dimmed when you arrived in the morning to a full tray of completed worksheets in your office. All but one had been filled out and left for you– and by no surprise, Roy Kent was the last.

“Fucks sake,” you muttered under your breath. You hoisted yourself from your chair and made your way out the office, headed for the locker room. There was a certain confidence in your walk, reserved only for when you were at the end of your tether.

Roy was a grown man. Was he really incapable of filling out a simple worksheet? It drove you insane that he was one of those people who intentionally didn’t do something, even when he’d been explicitly asked to multiple times. Like a child who did the opposite of what their parents said, or when your mum tells you to do something that you were planning on doing yourself, but now don’t want to because she asked you herself.

As you approached the locker room, you let out a whining “Roy!” loud enough that everyone could hear you. You turned into the room, flickering your eyes across the players.

Roy wasn’t there. “Where the fuck is he?” you asked Isaac.

Isaac shrugged. “Think he’s already out on the pitch.”

You made your way out to the pitch, filling the hallways with the same whine that you’d released previously. If this was what it resorted to, then so be it. If you had to make Roy hate you even more just to do this damn worksheet, then you’d fucking do it.

Ted turned to you as you stormed onto the pitch. “Howdy!” he exclaimed. “Jeesh, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? I did that once, too, when I first moved here and slept on the opposite side of the bed. It was crazy, like the universe was all mixed up and upside down. I almost threw up.”

“Where the hell is Roy?” you asked, ignoring him as you looked out to the pitch. The boys were milled around, waiting for the others to come out so they could start warming up properly.

“Well, he’s right–” Ted began, pointing out to the field. He shimmied his finger around, like a cat obsessed with a laser pointer, before he dropped his hand in defeat. “He was right there before.”

“He’s avoiding me,” you let out with a scoff. “This is fucking unbelievable. He’s a literal child.”

“Hey now,” Ted said. “When I see him, I’ll send him to your office, okay?”

You nodded, pissed off beyond comprehension. “Okay.”

The day went by too quickly, but you managed to get all the other profiles written. Not once did Roy come to your office, and when the guys came back in at the end of training, he was nowhere to be seen. You approached Colin, who said that he’d been right behind him, last he’d seen. That was the same as Sam, as Isaac, as the rest.

Roy Kent’s back up career should have been a magician’s glamorous fucking assistant with how much he’d been able to disappear without a fucking trace.

“That’s it. I’m going to kill him,” you said, leaned against the locker room frame as the guys got themselves ready for the evening.

Sam turned to you reassuringly. “He might come tonight, who knows?”

“I can give you his number, if you want?” Isaac suggested. “Can track him down and make him pay, and that.”

You smiled. “Please do. I don’t care if I have to call him twelve times, I’ll fucking do it.”

“Why do you need it done so badly anyway?” Jamie chimed in, shaking out his football shirt.

You copied Roy’s number into your phone from Isaac’s, sighing as you looked back to the room. The boys stared at you expectantly. “You guys know how this placement is for my masters degree, right? Which means I have certain assignments and coursework to get done. This is my first one, and I need all the players to participate, or it’ll be a big, fat fail.”

“Oh shit,” Isaac said. “So, you get graded for this?” You nodded sullenly. Isaac puffed out his chest abruptly. “Listen here, boys! Any of you see Roy, you get him to fill out this fucking sheet, kapeesh?”

You smiled, feeling bashful. “Thanks, Isaac.”

“No problem, girl. Now, turn that frown upside down. We’re getting drunk tonight!”

The locker room erupted into cheers. Jamie sprayed far too much Lynx in the air, and Colin almost cracked his head open as he jumped up and down on a bench, but even you couldn’t deny the atmosphere was electric. They were all good in their own ways, just some were a lot harder to let their walls down.

As the guys filed out of the room, you peered over at Roy’s cubby. Gently, you walked over and placed an unfilled sheet on his shelf. You stuck a small post-it to the paper– do this for me and i’ll never come to you for anything else.

You left the locker room in silence, trying not to worry too much about having incomplete work for your deadline. You had Roy’s number now, anyway, so even if it was something small over text you were certain you could get something. A crumb, maybe. You didn’t panic, not yet. Panicking would be for the Saturday scaries, and the remainder of your Sunday. Panicking wasn’t for now, as you followed the boys out to the car park and piled into the front seat of Sam’s car. A convoy of you left for Isaac’s house, before you all hit up the club later in the evening.

By the time the sun had set, your legs were jelloid from dancing, and your abs were coming in from laughing. You’d gabbed with Keeley for hours at the house, and were still gabbing now on the way to the club.

“What is it with Roy? I just don’t get it,” you asked.

“What, you mean his rugged good looks, or the fact he’s emotionally constipated to the max?” Keeley replied, and you let out a scoff.

“Definitely emotional constipation. He’s not that hot,” you let out. Keeley’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh, please. I know you don’t like him, but you have to admit that he’s gorgeous.”

“I won’t admit that, because all he’s been to me is ugly.” You stuck out your chin stubbornly.

Keeley smiled deviously. “Call him.”

“Absolutely not,” you said, shaking your head. “Hard pass.”

“Just call him. As soon as you get him on the phone, he can’t avoid you. And if he does, he’s a real arsehole. This is for your degree, for fucks sake.”

“I don’t think he knows that,” you said timidly.

“Then tell him! Yell it at him! Get him to do it.” She urged you, and you had no choice.

As the guys strolled forward towards the club, you and Keeley found yourself leant against a wall in a quiet corner. You found Roy’s number in your phone and dialled before you could chicken out. You tried not to vomit when it rang, and with each dial sound you were close to calling it a day.

After five or so rings, he actually picked up. “Who the fuck is it?” he asked, his voice gravelly over the line.

“Roy!” you and Keeley let out in sync, both equally surprised that he’d actually answered.

“Yeah. Who the hell is this?”

“Roy.” You took over, letting out a shaking breath. “It’s–”

He sighed, cutting you off. “I know who it is, now. I swear to God, if you’re asking me about that fucking sheet again, I’ll blow my top.”

All of your fear dissipated. It turned into immediate rage. “Oh, you fucking arse, Roy Kent,” you let out harshly. “I asked you to do this one thing, something that’s important, and you chose to avoid me all day instead.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you!” he yelled back. “I was busy, and I didn’t need you breathing down my fucking neck even more!”

“Oh, fuck you!” you screamed. “Just fucking get it done– please!”

“Why do you even fucking need it?” he asked, booming his voice over the line. You sucked in a deep breath, trying to control yourself.

“I need it for my d–”

“Know what, I don’t actually care,” he cut you off. “I don’t fucking get involved in club PR shit.”

“This isn’t just for the club, Roy–” you pleaded angrily, but he wouldn’t listen.

“The other guys do, but I don’t. I don’t want the fucking marketing collaborations, the articles, the profiles, whatever the fuck else your job actually is. I’m too old to fucking deal with this shit.”

“Are you fucking serious?” you exploded. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re a professional footballer, Roy. This is part of the fucking job!”

“Good-fucking-bye,” he said.

“Hey, wa–!” you yelled, but the line went dead before you could get another word in. You called back, but the line went to voicemail immediately. You assumed he’d blocked your number. “I’m going to– I’m going to fucking–”

“Use your words, babe,” Keeley said, trying to calm you down. Soon, though, your anger turned to tears. Your eyes started watering, and you sniffed back snot. Keeley quickly wrapped her arms around you. “Hey now, hey, come on,” she crooned sweetly. “It’ll be okay.”

“My first assignment and I’ve already fucked up. It’ll be docked at 40% for being incomplete,” you explained. Keeley pulled back, looking at you softly.

“I’m sorry, babe. Can you tell them he was being an arse?”

“I don’t know. They might not believe me.”

“It’s Roy Kent. Everyone knows he’s a prick.” Keeley gently brushed a few strands of hair behind your ears. “Come on. Let’s have some fun and try to forget about this tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” You sniffed, breathing out to try and expel the anxiety from your stomach. “I need a drink,” you said.

Keeley twisted her arm in yours. The two of you walked down the street together, with Keeley cracking jokes to cheer you up. “I think you need more than one drink, to be honest,” she whittled on, and you allowed yourself to relax. Just for the evening, just for then.

When you got home, you sent Roy a drunk text. It was short and to the point, and when you woke up, you didn’t have a reply. You weren’t expecting one, not after that phone call. You read over the text, over and over, imagining what Roy must feel like.

This was for my degree, my first assignment is due on Sunday. It’ll be incomplete without you.

You didn’t even know if he’d read it, but you were past the point of trying. You’d done all you could, and still he’d denied you. This was on him, not you.

Roy spent his Friday evening in anguish. Sat at his dining table with a beer, he got out a crumpled version of your worksheet from his gym bag. He looked over the questions he’d already answered– his birthday, his prior positions through the years, but the one question that made him want to rage was still unanswered: What do you want from your career in the future?

The future for Roy was different to that of McAdoo, and Tartt, and Obisanya. Roy Kent’s future was up and coming, and he knew it wouldn’t involve running around a pitch anymore. Seeing that question hadn’t just made him upset, it had ruined his entire week. So, he’d avoided you like the plague, he’d spent every night doing the same thing; trying to fucking answer it and getting nowhere.

So, he’d decided to say fuck it, and not do it at all. After he’d hung up on you that night, his anger at you quickly turned to guilt. On Monday, he’d apologise and hand it in, just without that question answered. But for now, he wanted to sit in silence, read the latest Dan Brown novel he had, and drink beer until he fell asleep on the sofa.

Roy turned off his phone for the rest of the weekend.

You slept with yours the entire weekend, but still got no reply from Roy. You wanted to scream at him, tell him that he was an entitled arse, but you knew it’d be useless. Roy Kent obviously didn’t give a shit about you, so why would he care about your insults? You spent your Sunday compiling the profiles that you had already, putting them together to make something coherent. On the front page, you had to specify that one player had not completed the task, which would be your downfall. When you submitted your assignment, you slammed your laptop shut and immediately went to bed. You didn’t want to stay up thinking about it, or think about the email that you’d have in your inbox tomorrow, saying how it would be docked at 40% for being incomplete.

You slept like shit, but still you rose on Monday morning. The walk to Nelson Road was particularly bleak, with black clouds bustling over Richmond and rain on the forecast for the next few days. The atmosphere at the stadium was tense, too, what with the first game of the season being that weekend. The boys were all conserving their energy, all working hard. When you arrived at your office, you flicked on the light– a crumpled worksheet lay on your desk.

The name at the top– Roy Kent.

He’d done the majority, but crossed out the final question. You wondered if he’d done that as an apology, or as an attempt to piss you off further. You’d texted him about your deadline, told him that it was on Sunday. Had he not even opened your message? You picked up his sheet and read it through, trying to keep at bay the anger that you felt in your chest. Maybe he hadn’t meant it to be, but this was cruel. He’d given you enough to make a decent profile, but a day late. It came across like he was laughing in your face.

Quickly, before you lost your nerve, you picked up the worksheet and booked it to the locker room. You stormed down the corridor, turning into the room strongly. You didn’t look at anyone else, just eyes forward, and latched upon the number six at the top of Roy’s blue cubby opposite the door. The boys stopped talking, going utterly silent at your arrival.

Roy turned to you, shooting you a quizzical look. He peered down at the worksheet in your hands, then back up at your blunt and glassy-eyed expression.

“What?” he asked plainly.

You responded by thrusting the worksheet into his chest. He grabbed hold of it, not expecting an altercation this early in the morning. You stepped back, exhaling from your nose, looking at him with such disappointment, before you left them to it.

Roy looked at the worksheet in his hands, utterly confused as to why you gave it back after trying so hard to get it in the first place. He glanced around the room, taking in the pursed lip expressions of his teammates.

“What the fuck just happened?” he asked them, booming.

“Her deadline was yesterday, bruv,” Isaac said. Tension descended over the room.

“Deadline for what?” Roy asked.

“Her degree, Roy. This was her first assignment,” Sam added.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Roy said, furrowing his brows.

“She tried to tell you, man,” Colin joined in. “On the phone with Keeley.”

“And in a text.” Jamie pointed to Colin, before looking at Roy. “Keeley told me that she sent you a message that evening, explaining why she needed it.”

“Got docked at 40%, innit,” Isaac added, pulling up his socks.

Roy’s eyes found a spot on the wall and zoned out in realisation. He’d turned his phone off all weekend. “Fuuuuuuuck,” he breathed out.

As much as Roy wanted to be left alone, he wasn’t cruel. If he’d known it was for your degree, he would have grown the fuck up and handed it in sooner. Now, as you sat at your desk and read over the reply from your professor, probably over and over again, he felt awful. It’d only been a week, and he knew you didn’t even want to be doing this specific placement. He felt like an arsehole, a real, fucking arsehole.

At training, he could hardly focus. The thought of you, sat at your desk, pissed off, upset, writing another Instagram caption or article that you couldn’t give a shit about, made him angry at himself. Roy had never gone to uni, or done a masters. From the age of nine, he’d been destined to be a professional footballer. He’d got lucky, alongside working hard for the entirety of his career. He knew you also worked hard, just from the fact you put yourself in a shit position to get what you wanted. That took guts, even Roy could admit that.

When he missed another assist during training, his third miss for the day, he stomped his feet on the pitch and let out a loud, “Fuck this!”

Roy pulled off his bib, throwing it at Nate, the kit man, before he stormed off the pitch. His boots clattered against the concrete floor as he skidded his way through the stadium, all the way to your office. He didn’t knock, but instead bombarded his way inside.

You let out a small gasp at his arrival, but stayed sat down, glued to your spot.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me it was for your degree?” he boomed. “I would have fucking handed it over sooner if you had.”

“Why would that make any difference?” you said, keeping your voice steady.

“Because it’s not just for the club, it’s for something you’re working towards.”

“So, you’re saying, if it was only for the club and not myself too, you wouldn’t have done it at all?”

“Fuck no. I don’t do PR shit,” he said bluntly.

“Even if it was my job to do it? Even though it was something you had a responsibility to contribute towards?” you said, raising your brows at him. “That’s no fucking better, Roy.”

“I just–” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean to fuck this up for you, that’s what I mean.”

“It is what it is.” You shuffled some papers on your desk, rearranging your notebooks just to keep yourself busy.

“Isaac told me you’d get a bad mark,” Roy said.

“Isaac is right,” you confirmed.

“Well, now I feel like an arsehole.” Roy breathed in deeply, and exhaled sharply.

“You were an arsehole, Roy,” you said immediately, strongly. “But, it’s done now. This was the only assignment I had that included the whole team, anyway. So, from now on, I’ll be sure to stay far far away from you.”

Roy short-circuited for a moment. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, he balled his fists, he shuffled on the spot. He looked like a robot that had lemonade poured on his circuit. His jaw clenched, and you watched in awe at the sheer skill he used to tense his body in such a way.

“Roy?” you asked, concerned.

“Fucks sake!” he exploded, before he left your office immediately. You got up from your desk and zoomed to the door, watching him walk away from the field and to the locker room instead, muttering to himself all the same.

You didn’t see him for the remainder of the day. You bumped into Ted on your way out the stadium, to which he shot you a perked brow look. You let out a long sigh, followed by a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Well, what a day,” you said.

“You could say that again,” he agreed. “The first match is on the horizon, and our captain walked out mid practice session.”

You winced. “Sorry about that,” you apologised.

“Oh, please, it’s not your fault,” Ted reassured you. “Gotta say, it’s not the first time a player has abandoned us halfway through the day, but at least it was today instead of on Saturday.”

“Wait” You stopped in the corridor, right before the doors to the car park. “He didn’t come back afterwards?”

Ted squinted at you. “You didn’t know? He flew off into the wind like one of the Wicked Witch of the East’s monkey henchmen. One second he was yelling obscenities on the pitch, and the next he’d driven off in his Jeep.”

You let out a stuttered breath, trying to compute Ted’s words. Roy had vanished after storming into your office, and no one knew where the fuck he’d disappeared to. It didn’t make sense, and you didn’t think this ordeal would mean that much to him in the aftermath. You weren’t trying to beat him up after what he’d done, as much as it had hurt you and pissed you off about your mark. This was odd, though, and incredibly out of character for Richmond’s captain.

“Weird,” you let out.

“Really weird,” Ted repeated. “But, who are we to question a football star?”

You squinted at him. “Isn’t that your job?”

Ted shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

You walked home, stunned into silence, trying to figure out what was actually going through Roy’s skull. You were half-tempted to text him, but you still didn’t know if he’d blocked you or not. You almost wanted to reassure him that it was fine, even though he was the one that fucked up your assignment. It was odd how that worked, wasn’t it? How those who had been done wrong felt the need to check in after the wrongdoer realised their actions. You had no reason to tell Roy it was fine, but you still wanted to. If his outburst had told you anything, it was that he felt bad about it all. That was good, you supposed. That meant he wasn’t as emotionally constipated as you’d thought.

Roy ignored you for the next three days. It was blindingly obvious to everyone at the club, even including Rebecca, who you met with for lunch on Thursday in her office.

“I think he feels bad,” you explained.

“I suspect he does. That’s no reason to be behaving like a child.” She ate a mouthful of salad.

“I suppose not… but other than that, it’s all going very well!”

Her face soured. “Oh?”

“I’ve given the Instagram captions a revamp, and I’m in the process of updating the website, too. I had this idea to do articles about the employees and why they wanted to get involved with AFC Richmond, and their passions outside of work, too–”

“That all sounds very interesting,” Rebecca cut you off. “But, unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend.”

“Oh,” you said, as she stood up. You followed suit, picking up your salad and juggling the rest of your lunch in your arms. “Well, this was really nice!” you said, as she started herding you out of her office. “Maybe we should do this again–?”

“Maybe,” Rebecca said. “Bye bye, now!”

You stood outside her closed door. It almost touched your nose from where she’d slammed it, your arms full of your belongings. You let out a sigh, and headed back down the stairs to your office sullenly. You found that what you missed the most out of everything– not the sunlight, or the decor– was having a woman work friend. You felt almost isolated being one of the only women who worked in the building. It was lonely sometimes.

You shuffled your belongings back into your bag on the walk down. You passed the gym as you approached your office and took a peek through the window. On the treadmill, facing the corridor by your office, was Roy. He read a book as he did an incline walk, reading the words thoughtfully, before he turned the page.

Suddenly, he looked up and caught your eye. You flinched, but stayed frozen in your spot. Roy’s face flattened into an unreadable expression. You gulped away the shock, and instead raised your hand and waved at him awkwardly.

Without warning, Roy fell off the treadmill. You gasped immediately, letting out a “Roy?!” as you dropped your bag to the floor and made your way to the gym.

You careened through the door and peered at the floor. Roy was there, crumpled, book thrown under a weight bench on the other side of the gym. “Are you alright?” you asked quickly, offering him your hand.

The other boys stopped what they were doing to witness the scene. Not one of them helped Roy up themselves, but instead waited for you to rush to his aid. It was beyond odd. Roy couldn’t even meet your eye, let alone take your hand.

You frowned at him, hurt. “Roy,” you tried again. “You know you can look at me, right?”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, and forced himself to look up and meet your gaze. “Just tripped.” Knees clicking, he got himself up off the floor. That’s when he caught your eye properly, frowning sullenly. You’d never seen him don such an expression, let alone this close.

You stepped back a little, confused as hell. You looked around the room at the others, their silence descending upon the entire stadium floor, not just the gym. They were all acting strange, making you feel like you were on the outside of an inside joke that they all knew well.

You scoffed, annoyed, as you reversed towards the door. “Okay,” you let out. “You’re all acting so fucking strange this week.” You reached the door frame, and went to leave, but stopped. You looked back at them all, before your gaze landed on Roy strongly. “I don’t like it.”

You left, walked back to your office, and shut the door with a bang.

Roy turned to the guys in the gym, still catching his breath from before. The guys looked at him like he was wounded, almost, and not just from the abrupt fall. Roy breathed out deeply, taking in their pitying faces.

“Stop fucking looking at me, alright!” he burst.

“Sorry, Roy,” Isaac said first, followed by some mutters from the others.

“I’m not some fucking baby bird that’s fallen out a fucking tree, alright?”

“Then why are you acting like one?” Jamie said suddenly. He sauntered forwards, and the rest of the team held their breath. “What, am I wrong? You haven’t said two words to her in days, not since you went AWOL on us earlier this week.” There were nods of agreement, some shrugs of confusion. “Where did you even go, like? You just took off.”

The yeah’s of agreement are what made Roy lose it. Everyone wanted to know where he’d gone, why he’d left, but he hadn’t been able to get it out since he’d done it on Monday.

“I went to her fucking uni!” he bellowed over their mutterings. “I went to her uni and spoke with her fucking lecturer, and said how much of a fucking arse I was.” The room went utterly silent. Roy looked to the floor. “That’s why I haven’t said a fucking word, because I don’t know if I made it better, or if I fucked it up even more.”

Roy balled his fists. He’d been feeling ashamed since Monday, more than he’d expected to feel. Guilt was his least favourite thing to feel, even though he often faked being unbothered.

Colin took an abrupt step forward, snapping the tension. “That’s fucking badass.”

Roy sent a confused arch of his brow at the Welshman. “Really?”

“Hell yeah, that’s badass. That’s a proper grand gesture, boyo. One that shows how bad you truly feel about it all,” Colin reassured him. The lads nodded in approval, sealing the deal that Roy had done the right thing. “She doesn’t know?”

Roy shook his head. “She hasn’t said anything. I don’t know if anything’s come of it.”

“Tell her tomorrow,” Sam spoke up. “Tell her tomorrow and I assure you, she will be okay about it all. I do not get the sense that she holds a grudge, you know? She is a kind person.” More hums of agreement filtered around the room. “Also, you cannot do it today. Not after that display on the treadmill,” Sam added, wincing.

“True,” Roy agreed reluctantly.

Isaac approached his captain then, placing a huge but reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’ll forgive you, bruv. I’m sure of it.”

Roy nodded. “Thanks, Isaac.”

You locked yourself in your office for the remainder of the day. It was too odd out there, both on Roy’s and the guys’ part. You had no idea what had them acting so off-puttingly, but you wanted no fucking part of it. You dived into work, completing a plan for a new article on the website, before writing your novel for the rest of the day. Shannon Hart had been right– you had so much spare time to write that you already felt like an author already. You were on the clock while tapping away, getting paid for writing your book already, it seemed.

Near the end of the day, an email was pinged into your inbox from your lecturer. You had the jitters every time you received an email from him now, after reading what he had to say about your incomplete first assignment. You’d come to accept the 40% outcome over the past few days, but it still stung. You didn’t want to be considered a failure in your course, especially when you’d only just started.

You opened it up nervously, skimming the contents quickly until you realised it was nothing bad– in fact, it was something very good. “Shut the fuck up…” you let out, trailing off as you read it properly.

An impromptu visitor graced the halls of the Richmond university faculty building on Monday in the form of Mr. Roy Kent, number six and Captain at AFC Richmond. He had a lot to say about you, and about your recent assignment, most notably that he’d ‘massively fucked up’ and was a ‘gigantic arsehole’.

He explained everything about why you submitted your work incomplete, and assured us you were not to blame. I’ve taken this into consideration, and have remarked your work today on my own time. When before you were capped at 40/100, I have remarked your work at 87/100; a grade A1.

Congratulations. You must be doing something right for those footballers.

“Shut the fuck up!” you screeched, jumping up from your desk at lightspeed.

You could hardly believe it. This was what Roy had done on Monday, after he’d left training for the day? He’d gone and knocked on the door of your fucking lecturer, not leaving until they understood that he’d messed up the assignment for you. This was immense, and not at all what you’d been expecting. That explained Roy’s aversion to you over the past few days, and the abrupt fall in the gym today.

You let out a shocked cackle. It reverberated around the walls of your square office, bouncing back into your ears and only making you laugh more. This was hilarious– a footballer such as Roy Kent taking it upon himself to do something so rash was incredibly comical. But, it also warmed your heart. He’d felt so bad that he’d taken matters into his own hands.

This was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you, if you thought about it too hard. This was a grand gesture, a proper apology, if you’d ever seen one. It made you smile like the fucking sun in the sky.

Roy left the stadium after everyone else, taking extra care after his fall in the gym. He’d scraped his knee up pretty bad, and even gone to the resident first aider for a knee brace to make sure he was fine before the first match of the season that Saturday. He made his way out, entering into the car park. He was expecting his lone Jeep to be there, but was surprised to find you leaning against the hood. Your arms were crossed, bag on your shoulder, as you looked out at the setting sun over the green grass of the Dogtrack. He slowed to a stroll, tightening his grip on the straps of his gym bag. You turned your gaze and met his eye, shooting him a knowing look.

“Working overtime?” you asked. It was a redundant question. You had a look in your eye that Roy could sense from a mile off– you knew.

“Just making up for lost time at the start of the week,” he replied, coming to stand opposite you.

You stood up straight, and peered up at him. “Ah, yes. I heard you disappeared on Monday.”

“Did you now?” he said. “Who said that?”

You shrugged, stalling to get the point. You were enjoying the silent amusement between you. Both of you knew what was up, but you had to admit you liked the subtle tension. “Just Ted.”

“Oh,” Roy said, his tone the slightest bit sunken.

“And my lecturer, actually,” you said finally. “He emailed me an hour ago to tell me that you popped in for a visit the other day.”

“Really?” Roy faked confusion.

“Mhm.” You tried not to laugh. “He remarked my assignment. I got an A.”

Just like that, all the stress and tension in Roy’s chest dissipated. It flew into the sky and was caught by the breeze instantly. You smiled at him knowingly, regarding him thoughtfully. He shuffled on his spot awkwardly, looking out towards the setting sun on the horizon, over the pitch.

“That’s great,” he let out genuinely.

You stepped forward. “You didn’t have to do that, Roy.”

He snapped his stare on you. “Yes, I fucking did. I was an arsehole.”

You shrugged, scuffing the ground with your shoe. “You were an arsehole, yeah. But arsehole’s don’t go to my fucking uni and ask my lecturer to remark an assignment.” You scoffed.

“It was the least I could do,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that you didn’t think he’d been capable of. Roy Kent left you with more question marks the more you spoke to him, but you liked a mystery.

“Well, thank you,” you said, peering up at him sweetly. There was a section of yourself that was different, softer, sweeter, reserved only for those rare moments where people fully exposed themselves to you. Their true intention, their true selves. This was one of those moments. “Really. Thank you, Roy.”

He nodded at you, not knowing what to add. The sun cast an orange glow over the car park, reflecting off his Jeep vibrantly. It looked like the car itself was bright orange, so different from the black paint that stuck out like a sore thumb, usually. His car was so big and bulking, the same as the man that stood before you. But you knew that wasn’t all he was, not after what he’d done for you.

“Heading home?” he asked, changing the subject.

You nodded. “I’m exhausted.”

He scoffed. “You and me both.”

“How are you feeling about Saturday? The Arsenal game?”

Roy shook his head. “Let’s not even go there today,” he said, and you immediately backed off. You knew it was a lot of the team, having both a new management team, in the form of Ted and Beard, on top of someone new skulking around the building– you.

“It’ll be the first football game I’ve ever gone to, you know?” you added.

Roy perked his brow at you. “You really know fuck all about football, don’t you?”

You scoffed abruptly. “Fuck all indeed.”

The smallest smile graced Roy’s face, and you found yourself savouring it. You didn’t want to jinx it, but after almost two weeks of headbutting, you wanted to believe it was over. Perhaps, you and Roy would coexist happily now. Without the meanness, or the miscommunication, or all of the inbetween. In terms of the team, you’d done well with the crew and the boys, bar Roy and Rebecca, but things were looking up.

You felt content again, like you could actually do this after all.

“Need a ride?” Roy asked suddenly.

“Oh,” you let out, looking back at his Jeep. The orange was fading from its reflection. “Sure, I could use a lift.”

“Hop in,” Roy said, as he made his way around to the driver’s side.

He shoved his bag into the backseat, as you opened the passenger side door and jumped in. You slammed it behind you, getting comfortable, as Roy jumped into the driver’s seat next to you. There was a comfortable silence that settled over the car, as the two of you buckled yourselves in. Roy turned on the engine, and the radio turned on harshly, blasting you with an 80s song far too loudly.

You both flinched back, wincing, and Roy clicked a button quickly, turning off the sound. “Fucking hell,” he said. “I think Heart are trying to deafen us.”

You let out a chuckle. “I’ll listen to 80s music over the charts any day.”

Roy perked his brows at you, putting the car in reverse. “Good on you.” He reversed out of the car park and turned onto the main road.

You didn’t talk much, just small talk here and there. It felt oddly intimate being driven home by Roy Kent, but you tried not to let it rattle you. Acquaintanceships always started off patchy, with neither wanting to step over a line, until something resembling friendship ended up shining through. You told yourself that, maybe, a few months down the line, it would be normal for you to catch a lift home with Roy in the week.

You directed him to your street, pointing at your door with a smile. Roy pulled up to the curb, cutting off his engine as you unbuckled your seatbelt. You weren’t expecting him to fully kill the engine, but you didn’t pay it any mind. You jumped out of the car onto the road and rushed onto the pavement, peering up into his, now open, window.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said with a smile.

“It’s fine. I live just around the corner, actually.”

“Don’t tell me you live in one of those big fuck off houses down the street,” you said, pointing down the end of your road. To the left beyond was an array of giant houses, all with blossom trees outside and large gates guarding them. They were gorgeous, huge and expensive.

Roy squinted at you. “I’m a professional footballer. Of course, I fucking do.”

You huffed in amusement. You were about to say I can’t wait to see it in person one day, but stopped yourself short. Was that a weird thing to say, even to a colleague? You bit on your tongue instead and stepped back towards the steps that lead to your door. There was something unsaid in the air, mostly from Roy. You got the sense he wanted to say something more, as his fingers tapped anxiously on the steering wheel.

Instead, you sighed. “See you tomorrow,” you settled on.

Roy inhaled deeply, and raised his hand in goodbye. “See you.”

His window ascended and he started the engine again. He sped off down the road, before he took an abrupt left at the end and disappeared from view. You let yourself into your building and stepped into the hallway. You sighed once more, contentedly, before you closed the door on another interesting day at AFC Richmond.

CHAPTER TWO

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