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☔️ 𝓣𝓮𝓪, 𝓡𝓪𝓲𝓷, & 𝓣𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 🥊

A little disclaimer:

This is a purely self-indulgent “what if” fanfic snippet about how Lorcan and Rilla might meet one day! I know Bajingo and Suzie prefer to stay away from Ratterrock fanfiction for their own reasons, so please don’t feel obligated to read it! This is just a fun little idea that’s been living in my head for a while, and I finally decided to write it down. All characters and the world of Ratterrock SOLELY belong to @suzie-guru & @bajingo — I’m just playing around in their beautiful sandbox! ♡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

(PLS SUPPORT THEM ON THEIR PATREON, INSTAGRAM, & TUMBLR ACCOUNTS)

🔞 RATED PG-13 (for heated kissing & light touching) 🔞

The Gilded Lily Tearoom sat on the edge of the more respectable side of Saltscratch’s waterfront district — close enough to the glittering lights of the respectable shops and theaters to feel safe for young ladies of good breeding, but still near enough to the docks that the air carried the sharp tang of salt, fish, and distant trouble.

Rilla Mackenzie had slipped away from her family’s watchful eyes for the third time that week. The heavy grief over Theresa’s murder still sat like a stone in her chest. Her friend had been found washed up on the rocks, and the whispers said she’d last been seen venturing into one of the Bloody Hearts’ more dangerous territories. No proper young mouse should ever have been there.

So Rilla sat at a small table near the stained-glass window, nursing a cup of strong black tea laced with honey. The colorful glass cast warm rose and emerald light across her blue dress and soft brown fur. She needed the quiet. She needed to think.

The peace was shattered when the front door flew open with a bang.

In stumbled Lorcan Regal — shirt collar open, suspenders crooked, one sleeve torn and dark with fresh blood. Rainwater and blood streaked his fur. He looked like he’d just rolled out of a back-alley brawl (which, to be fair, he had). Some rival crew’s lads had gotten mouthy about Hearts territory again. Lorcan, being Lorcan, had answered with his fists and a grin. He’d won, of course… but not without collecting a few new souvenirs.

His bright green eyes swept the tearoom lazily until they landed on her.

A slow, roguish smile spread across his bruised face. He straightened up as best he could, ran a bloody-knuckled hand through his messy fur, and sauntered straight toward Rilla’s table like he owned the place.

“Well, now… look at you, sittin’ here all proper and pretty like a painting,” he drawled, that thick Irish lilt wrapping around every word. “Name’s Lorcan Regal, darlin’. And you…you’ve got the kind of eyes that could make a lad forget he’s bleedin’!”

Rilla’s teacup froze halfway to her lips.

Regal.

She knew that name far too well. The Bloody Hearts. The gang whose territory her friend Theresa had been seen in before she turned up dead. And here was one of the brothers — the wild middle one, if the rumors were true — dripping blood and charm all over the Gilded Lily’s clean floor.

“You’re bleeding on the tiles,” she said, voice sharp with grief and suspicion. “And I know exactly who you are.”

Lorcan didn’t miss a beat. He pulled out the chair across from her and dropped into it with a dramatic wince, still grinning like an idiot.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. Good things, I hope?”

He leaned forward, trying (and failing spectacularly) to look like a gentleman.

“Listen, love… I can see that sadness in your eyes. If it’s about that poor mouse girl, Theresa… I’m sorry. Truly. But that wasn’t us. And if there’s anything this rowdy rat can do to chase those clouds away — buy you a fresh cuppa, walk you home safe, or just sit here and look handsome while you scold me — I’m at your service.”

He offered her his less bloody hand with a crooked little bow, green eyes sparkling with mischief even as blood trickled down his temple.

Rilla stared at the offered hand, heart hammering.

This was an awful idea.

And yet she couldn’t quite make herself look away.

Rilla set her teacup down with a sharp clink, eyes narrowing at the giant, bleeding rat now lounging in the delicate chair across from her like he belonged there.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so the other patrons wouldn’t cause a scene. “Waltzing in here covered in blood like some stray tomcat, flashing that crooked smile, and expecting me to just… what? Melt? I knew Theresa. She was my friend. And the last anyone saw of her, she was heading toward your people’s territory. So forgive me if I don’t find your ‘charm’ very convincing right now, Mr. Regal.”

Lorcan’s ears twitched, but instead of backing off, his grin only widened. He leaned forward, elbows on the table — which immediately made the delicate porcelain rattle dangerously.

“Oi, easy on the heart, love. You wound me deeper than those bastards in the alley did!”

He gestured vaguely at his bloody knuckles.

“And for the record, that little scrap earlier? Just some Cussers’ lads thinkin’ they could mouth off about Hearts territory. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

He winked. Actually winked. Then, in classic Lorcan fashion, he reached for the sugar bowl to “look gentlemanly” and promptly knocked over the little milk pitcher. White liquid spilled across the tablecloth and onto Rilla’s sleeve.

“Shite—! Sorry, darlin’, my hands are a bit… occupied at the moment…”

He grabbed a napkin and started dabbing at her arm with surprising gentleness for someone who looked like he’d just crawled out of a bar fight. His touch lingered a second longer than necessary, green eyes flicking up to meet hers.

“There. See? I can be useful. Even if I’m bleedin’ all over your nice afternoon.”

Rilla’s cheeks burned under her fur. She yanked her arm back, but not before noticing how warm his fingers were.

“You are impossible. Do you always barge into respectable places, ruin ladies’ dresses, and then try to flirt your way out of it?”

“Only when the lady in question has eyes like warm honey and a tongue sharp enough to cut glass,” he shot back, voice dropping into a low, playful rumble. “Besides… you’re still sittin’ here. Means I haven’t scared you off completely. Progress, yeah?”

He flashed that crooked, roguish smile again — the one that said he knew exactly how much trouble he was — and was enjoying every second of it.

From the corner of the tearoom, an older mouse lady gasped audibly at the sight of the infamous Regal brother. A waiter started hurrying over, looking equal parts terrified and furious.

Lorcan didn’t even glance their way. He just kept his focus on Rilla, tail flicking lazily behind him.

“So tell me, pretty mouse…you gonna let me buy you that fresh cuppa, or are you gonna make me beg? ‘Cause I look good on my knees too, y’know.”

Rilla stared at him, torn between wanting to slap him and the ridiculous, traitorous flutter in her chest.

This was definitely a terrible idea.

“You are incorrigible,” she whispered fiercely, even as her eyes flicked down to his mouth for half a second too long.

Lorcan’s voice dropped even lower.

“Aye, and you’re sittin’ here lettin’ me be incorrigible. Makes a lad wonder what else you’d let me get away with, pretty mouse…”

His tail brushed lightly against her ankle under the table.

Rilla yanked her leg back, cheeks burning hotter than the tea.

“Mr. Regal, if you do not remove yourself from this table in the next ten seconds, I will personally pour what’s left of this cup down your shirt!”

Lorcan laughed — a low, delighted sound that did unholy things to her stomach.

“Threatenin’ me with a good time already? I like you, Rilla Mackenzie.”

“…How do you know my name?”

He winked again.

“I make it my business to learn the names of dangerous women.”

The waiter arrived at their table, looking as if he might faint.

“Sir—! You are bleeding on the establishment’s floor! And this is a respectable tearoom, not some dockside pub! I must insist you leave at once before I call the constables!”

Lorcan barely spared him a glance.

“Relax, mate. I’m behavin’. Mostly.”

He flashed the waiter that same crooked smile.

“And I’ll pay for any damages and a fresh pot of tea for the lady. Double honey. She looks like she needs it.”

Rilla’s ears flicked in embarrassment.

“You are not buying me anything!” she hissed… but then, after a moment of hesitation, she lifted her chin and asked, “You could have anybody you want, Mr. Regal. Any number of bold, willing girls down by the docks or in those smoky pubs you no doubt frequent. So tell me… what makes me so special that you’d stumble in here, bleeding all over everything, just to flirt with a grieving mouse who wants nothing to do with your sort?”

Lorcan’s ears perked at her question, and for a heartbeat the cocky grin faltered into something almost… genuine. He let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his less-injured hand.

“Straight to the heart of it, eh? You don’t pull punches, Miss Mackenzie.”

He leaned in again, voice dropping to that warm, rumbling tone that somehow cut through the growing murmurs of the tearoom.

“I’ve had my share of dockside girls and pub lasses, sure. They’re fun. They know the score. But you…” His green eyes softened as they traced her face. “You’re sittin’ here carryin’ real grief for your friend, dressed like a proper lady, sippin’ tea like the world ain’t fallin’ apart around us. You’ve got fire and heart. Most girls see the blood and the name ‘Regal’ and either run screamin’ or throw themselves at me for the thrill. You? You’re lookin’ at me like you’re tryin’ to decide whether to slap me or figure me out. That’s rare. That’s…interestin’.”

He flashed that crooked, boyish grin again, but there was a flicker of sincerity beneath it.

“Plus, you’ve got the prettiest eyes I’ve seen in all of Saltscratch. A lad could get lost in ‘em if he ain’t careful.”

Rilla’s paw tightened around her teacup so hard she thought the handle might snap. Her cheeks were burning, her tail flicking with a mix of indignation and something dangerously close to flattery.

Before she could form a reply, the waiter finally lost his patience.

“Sir! That is quite enough!” he squeaked, voice cracking. “If you do not leave this instant, I will summon the authorities!”

Lorcan sighed dramatically but rose to his feet, chair scraping loudly. He tossed a few coins onto the table — more than enough to cover the damages and then some — and gave Rilla one last lingering look.

“Seems our time’s up, love. But this ain’t the last you’ll see of me. Not if I’ve got any say in it.”

He offered her that same bloody-knuckled hand again, this time with a surprisingly respectful little bow.

“Till next time, Rilla Mackenzie. Try not to miss me too much.”

As he turned to leave, he paused just long enough to glance back over his shoulder with a wink.

“And if you ever feel like threatenin’ me with more tea…you know where to find the Hearts.”

The door swung shut behind him with a dramatic bang, leaving the tearoom in stunned silence and Rilla staring at the empty chair across from her, heart still racing.

She touched the spot on her sleeve where he’d dabbed at the spilled milk, cheeks still warm.

This was a terrible idea, she thought.

…So why did part of her already hope he’d be right about “next time”?

Rilla sat frozen for a long moment after the door slammed shut behind Lorcan. The entire tearoom felt as if it were holding its breath. A few older mice whispered furiously behind their fans. The waiter looked like he might need smelling salts.

She finally exhaled, pressing a paw to her still-fluttering chest.

Incorrigible. Absolutely incorrigible.

And yet… she couldn’t stop replaying the way his voice had softened when he spoke about Theresa. The way his touch had been surprisingly gentle despite all the blood. The way he’d looked at her like she was something precious instead of just another conquest.

“Miss Mackenzie?” the waiter asked timidly, snapping her out of it. “Are you…quite alright? Shall I fetch you a fresh pot?”

“I— yes. Please,” she murmured, her voice a little unsteady. “Double the honey.”

As she waited, Rilla stared out the stained-glass window, watching the rain streak down the colorful panes. Her mind raced.

A Regal. Of all the rats in Saltscratch, it had to be one of the Bloody Hearts brothers!

The very gang her friends had warned her about. The same territory where Theresa had last been seen.

And yet… he hadn’t denied knowing about the dangers. He’d actually sounded sorry.

And that crooked smile…

She shook her head sharply.

No. Absolutely not.

She was a respectable mouse from a good family. She did not entertain gangsters, no matter how charmingly bloody they were.

…Even if said gangster had remembered exactly how she liked her tea.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Later that evening…

Rilla had barely stepped through her front door when Charlene pounced on her, yellow dress swishing dramatically.

“Rilla Mackenzie! You disappeared again! Louella and I were worried sick. Where on earth— oh my stars, what happened to your sleeve?”

Rilla glanced down. A faint pinkish stain from Lorcan’s bloody knuckles had transferred when he’d dabbed at the spilled milk. She quickly covered it with her paw.

“It’s nothing. Just… an accident at the tearoom.”

Charlene’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“An accident? You look flushed. And you only get that particular look when something interesting has happened. Spill.”

Rilla hesitated, then sighed.

“You’ll never believe who barged into the Gilded Lily…”

She told them everything — the dramatic entrance, the bleeding, the terrible flirting, the way he’d known her name, the tail brush under the table. By the time she finished, both Charlene and Louella were staring at her with matching expressions of horror and delight.

“A Regal?!” Louella squeaked. “Lorcan Regal?! The mad one who’s always starting fights?!”

“He’s even worse in person!” Rilla said, pressing her paws to her burning cheeks. “And yet… he was almost sweet when he spoke about Theresa. For half a second.”

Charlene fanned herself.

“Sweet? That horrid brute? Darling, you’re in danger, and not the fun kind of danger!”

Rilla groaned and buried her face in her paws.

“I am not! I’m going to avoid the waterfront for the next month. That’s final.”

…She lasted three days.

Three days later…

Rilla was hurrying home through a light drizzle, clutching a small parcel of books she’d picked up for her mother, when a familiar voice called out from the shadows of an alley.

“Well, well… if it isn’t the dangerous mouse who threatened me with tea.”

She nearly dropped her parcel.

Lorcan leaned against the brick wall, looking far less bloody this time — though a fresh bruise bloomed across his jaw. He grinned that same crooked, heart-stopping grin.

“Missed me, love?”

Rilla’s heart did a traitorous little flip before she caught herself. She straightened her posture, lifting her chin with all the dignity she could muster in the middle of a damp alleyway.

“Mr. Regal,” she said coolly, though her voice wavered just a touch. “Are you following me now? Because if this is your idea of courtship, I must say it’s remarkably unoriginal for a gangster.”

Lorcan pushed off the wall and took a few slow steps toward her, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Following? Nah, darlin’. Pure coincidence. Saltscratch is a small city when you’re always pokin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.” His green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Though I might have asked around a bit after our lovely tea date. Had to make sure the pretty mouse who almost poured hot tea down my shirt was doin’ alright.”

He stopped a respectful distance away (for once) and tilted his head, studying her.

“You look better than the last time I saw you. Still sad, though. That Theresa business still weighin’ on you?”

Rilla’s grip tightened on her parcel. She hadn’t expected him to remember — let alone bring it up so gently.

“I… yes,” she admitted quietly. “It’s hard not to think about. Especially when I keep hearing rumors about your gang’s territory.”

Lorcan’s expression sobered for a moment.

“We didn’t hurt her, Rilla. I swear it. There’s a lot of bad blood in this city right now, and not all of it’s ours. But I get why you’d think the worst of me.”

Then the grin crept back.

“Still…you’re out here walkin’ alone again. Bold move for a proper lady. Or maybe you were secretly hopin’ I’d show up?”

Rilla let out a soft, incredulous laugh despite herself.

“You are impossibly full of yourself.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said with a wink. “But I’m also full of good intentions tonight. C’mon, let me walk you home. It’s gettin’ dark, and I’d hate for some other bastard to bother you when I’m right here offerin’ my services.”

He offered his arm — surprisingly clean this time — with an exaggerated bow.

Rilla stared at it as if it might bite her.

“This is a terrible idea,” she muttered under her breath.

Lorcan’s ears twitched.

“Probably. But terrible ideas make the best stories, don’t they?”

Rilla stared at his offered arm like it was a live grenade. The drizzle was picking up, little droplets catching in her fur and on the brown paper of her parcel. Lorcan stood there, tall and cocky and unfairly charming with that fresh bruise on his jaw, waiting like he had all the time in the world.

“You really expect me to take the arm of a known gangster?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in that perfect old-fashioned way. “After you bled all over me, spilled milk on my best dress, and then called me ‘dangerous’ like it was a compliment?”

Lorcan’s grin widened, slow and roguish.

“I do call it a compliment. And technically, I cleaned you up afterwards. I think that earns me at least one escorted walk home.”

He took one careful step closer, voice dropping.

“Besides…you keep sayin’ no, but you haven’t actually walked away yet, love. Makes a lad hopeful.”

Rilla’s tail flicked sharply behind her.

“You are incorrigible. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Many times,” he admitted cheerfully. “Usually right before they kiss me anyway.”

Her ears burned. She clutched the parcel tighter to her chest like a shield.

“Well, I have no intention of kissing you, Mr. Regal. I barely know you, and what I DO know is alarming!”

Lorcan tilted his head, green eyes gleaming in the dim alley light. He was close enough now that she could smell the faint scent of rain, smoke, and something warm and masculine that made her stomach flutter traitorously.

“Alarmin’, huh?” he murmured, voice low and playful. “Yet here you are, standin’ in the rain arguin’ with me instead of runnin’ home to your safe little life. Tell me, Rilla… when’s the last time someone made your heart race like this? Not out of fear. Out of curiosity.”

He reached out slowly and brushed a raindrop from her cheek with his thumb, the touch feather-light despite his rough knuckles. His gaze dropped to her mouth for just a heartbeat, then back to her eyes.

“I know I’m trouble,” he said softly, the cocky edge fading into something rawer. “But I think you like a little trouble tonight.”

Rilla’s breath caught. The air between them felt thick, charged. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could see his ears twitch forward as if he were hanging on her every reaction.

“You…” she whispered, voice barely audible over the rain, “are going to be the death of me…”

Lorcan’s crooked smile returned, but it was softer now. Hungrier.

“Only the good kind, I promise.”

He leaned in just a fraction more, giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

The rain fell softly around them, muffling the distant sounds of Saltscratch’s evening bustle. For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved.

Then Rilla made a small, frustrated sound in the back of her throat — half annoyance, half surrender — and closed the last inch of distance between them.

Lorcan met her halfway, and the kiss was not gentle.

It was rain-slick and impulsive, born from three days of frustrated tension and one very chaotic tea date. Lorcan’s large paw came up to cup the side of her face, thumb stroking along her jaw as he pulled her closer. His other arm wrapped fully around her waist, strong and sure, pressing her flush against the solid warmth of his chest. Rilla’s parcel of books dropped forgotten into the damp alley as her paws fisted tightly in the front of his shirt, tugging him down to her level.

He kissed like he fought — hungry, confident, and completely unashamed. When her lips parted on a soft gasp, he took the invitation, deepening the kiss with a low, pleased rumble that vibrated through his chest. His tail curled possessively around her ankle, while one of his paws slowly slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the damp fabric of her dress.

Rilla shivered, a tiny, involuntary sound escaping her as she melted into him. Her own paws wandered — one sliding up to grip the fur at the nape of his neck, the other pressing flat against his broad chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath her fingers. The heat of him cut through the chill of the rain, making her head spin.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Lorcan’s paw stayed at the small of her back, holding her close, while his other hand gently cradled her cheek, thumb brushing over her kiss-swollen lips.

“Fuckin’ hell, love…” he rasped, voice rough and low. “You kiss like you’ve been waitin’ to do that since I bled all over your tea!”

Rilla let out a shaky, breathless laugh, still clutching his shirt. Her cheeks were burning, ears flat with a dizzy mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. She could feel every point where their bodies pressed together — the solid strength of him, the way his paw spanned her back, the warmth of his breath against her damp fur.

“You are terrible,” she whispered, but her paws refused to let go of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have done that. I barely know you. This is… this is madness!”

Lorcan grinned against her mouth, stealing one more slow, lingering kiss before pulling back just enough to look at her. His paw stroked soothingly up and down her spine, leaving trails of heat in its wake.

“Aye, it’s madness,” he agreed, voice husky. “But it’s the best kind. And I’m not sorry in the slightest.”

He pressed one more tender kiss to her forehead, then another to her temple, nuzzling there for a moment as the rain continued to fall around them.

“Tell me to leave you alone and I will,” he murmured, still holding her close. “But if you don’t… I’d very much like to do that again. Preferably somewhere drier… and somewhere I can take my time with you.”

Rilla buried her face in his chest, heart hammering wildly against him. Her paws tightened in his shirt as another shiver ran through her.

She was in so much trouble.

And for the first time in weeks… she didn’t entirely mind.

Rilla finally pulled back just enough to look up at him, raindrops clinging to her lashes. Her paws were still fisted in his damp shirt, and his were still warm and steady on her back.

“This never happened,” she whispered, though the smile tugging at her lips completely betrayed her.

Lorcan chuckled, low and warm, pressing one last gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Whatever you say, love.” His green eyes sparkled with pure mischief. “But I’ve got a feelin’ this is gonna happen again. A lot.”

He reluctantly let her go, bending down to pick up her soggy parcel of books and brushing it off as best he could before handing it back to her. Then, with one final crooked grin and a wink, he melted back into the shadows of the alley as if he’d never been there.

Rilla stood there for a long moment, touching her still-tingling lips, heart racing under the rain.

Terrible idea, she thought again.

And yet…she was already wondering when she’d run into her terrible idea next.

#ratterrock #suzie guru #bajingo #welcome to ratterock #ratterrock fan content #rilla mackenzie #lorcan regal #tea rain and terrible decisions #Lorcan is the biggest himbo #and it's so funny #and very cute