#//He in particular favors pieces with pearls and lace; loves how it would look against their skin

[lustbcrne]

Diluc absolutely loves a partner who likes to/is willing dress up for him in the bedroom

[ot3]

hey kinda heavy ace attorney question ig but I agree with you on many things about aa and feel like you have a good understanding of Phoenix and Trucy so I really wanna ask. How do you think the creation of the bloody ace was handled? I’ve seen the idea that Trucy took matters into her own hands and made it as a failsafe without his knowledge, and that he then covered for her, but if that were the case I wonder how he knew about it and planned around it at his trial. I’ve also seen the idea that he made it himself, but gave it to her for delivery to Apollo; which maybe seems the most apparent but I really dislike it because…. It means he uses her to deliver forged evidence. In much the same way he was given the diary page, really. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve also seen some people suggest that he made it but only gave it to her for use at her discretion, which does give some agency back to her but I also question whether Phoenix would be right in placing that on her shoulders and making it her responsibility. Sorry this expanded into a ridiculously long ask but I really am curious about your take on it?

eoooh yes yes yes i love talking about phoenix and trucy lets goooooo. i actually have a scene from my (still pretty rough and probably never to be finished) wip longfic covering this scene, which ill sick below the cut, but i'll just give my generic thoughts here first.

i think phoenix asked her to do it. trucy having enough detailed knowledge of the crime scene and the events leading up to it and the actual mechanical operation of trials that would be required in order to come up with this plan just doesn't make any sense to me. phoenix is really the only one who could have theoretically concocted this particular move. but since he was presumably held in the detention center until trial, trucy is from there really the only person who could have actually done the thing.

phoenix and trucy are pretty notoriously codependent; i'm headachey and melting from the heat today so rather than doing what i normally do and trawling the wiki to find the quotes that back me up on broadstrokes statements like these so i'm just gonna pull a 'dude just trust me' moment here. the fact that she helps take care of her daddy is a point of pride for her. i don't think it strips trucy of any agency for this to be phoenix's decision because it's not like trucy spends her whole life (or even the entire game) blindly following other peoples orders. her (and phoenix's ) priority at the beginning of aa4 is each other and their own wellbeing, and the decisions they have to make in turnabout trump are indicative of that.

yes, it echoes her bringing the forged evidence to phoenix 7 years ago, but it's more of an inversion/reversal (one might even say a turnabout) than a repetition of past mistakes. in the past she was an unwilling pawn in someone else's plan where her life was collateral, now she's an active and conscious participant in the plan of someone she cares about that she's doing to protect the life she and phoenix have built for themselves. She's not being forced to do it, but i don't think there's any world where she would have said no either. she and phoenix are the most important thing in the world to each other. in their own words, if one of them falls, they both fall.

was it right of phoenix to ask this of her? was it okay for him to do this to apollo, too? obviously it's not a good thing. but it was his only option at that moment. phoenix found himself in a very difficult situation. as an attorney he promised himself to the truth, and that was the principle he lived by, but as a father what he lives by is the promise he made to trucy to never disappear on her. at that moment phoenix did what he had to do to make sure the trial ended the way he needed it to. truth had to take a backseat. his priorities have shifted.

i've also spoken before at length about how i don't think phoenix was plotting against kristoph in the longterm, at least not to the degree which popular fanon seems to agree upon. so really everything he did in turnabout trump was phoenix being backed into a corner using every tool at his disposal to try and snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat. was it right of him to get trucy involved? it's no worse than bringing 8 year old pearl along to crime scenes because he needed her channeling skills. phoenix cares about people deeply but he isn't capable of shielding them from all the harm the world has to offer, and he knows he isn't. half of his capability comes from his shrewdness and willingness and ability to take help when he can get it because he knows, even if its a strain in a short term, he's fighting battles that need to be won at any cost. if that makes any sense

anyway heres the little scene i wrote below the cut.

---------- APRIL 17TH, 2026 DETENTION CENTER VISITOR’S ROOM ----------

Trucy shows up on the dot as visiting hours begin. It’s funny, she thinks. The last time she did this she had a different daddy altogether. Only it really isn’t particularly funny at all, is the thing about it, and she’s going to have quite a few stern words for the man when he gets home.

She picks up the phone on one side of the pane of bulletproof glass and he grabs the other.

“Daddy,” she huffs. “You promised me you’d stay out of trouble.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, Truce.” He puts on an easy smile as he says it, and he uses the same affected tone of voice she had used to start the conversation off. Affected. Cautious, in the sense that it’s levity is entirely manufactured. A performance.

It had been like that between them for real at the beginning, both of them still unsure of each other, pantomiming something resembling a sitcom and playing the real feeling filled in as it went. Thankfully, it did, but the theatrics still lend themselves better to specific conversation.

“Well, if you’re sorry, I suppose I can forgive you! But this isn’t going to look good on your employee review, y’know. I’ll have to bring it up with HR.”

“I’m sure Charley can find it in his heart to forgive me, too.”

“He’s a gentle soul.” She nods.

“You should come watch the trial on Monday, I think it’d be good for you to see.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Trucy doesn’t like the courthouse. Daddy knows that. She never comes when he goes to use the library there. She also hates, hates the idea of watching her daddy sit in the defendant’s chair not knowing if he’s ever going to come home again. He knows that too.

“Well, there are always interesting things to learn during a court trial. Plus, having you there would help me out a lot!” I need you to do something for me. She reads through the tone into his words’ real meaning. Her stomach clenches. A favor he can’t just outright ask for, not over the phone in the detention center, where every word would be recorded.

“Oh, daddy, no! I’m a magician, not a lawyer, although I understand the confusion.” She drapes a hand over her eyes in faux anguish. “I simply couldn’t, it isn’t my stage.”

“I disagree. I think it’s a perfect stage. Lawyers need cheering up too, you know! Back when I was a lawyer, I used to get really stressed out during cases like these. I bet one of your tricks would do the job.”

“Well what sort of trick do you want me to do?”

“Do you remember the first trick you ever did for me? It was the day we met, at the courthouse. You pulled a piece of paper out of your hat and gave it to me.”

“Yes,” she chirps, forcing a vibrant bubble into her voice. It feels like a pile of rocks in her gut and her pulse starts to quicken. “Of course I remember!”

“I bet if you did that trick again, it’d cheer up the whole courtroom! I bet I’d win my case in a heartbeat.”

----------

Her legs feel like jelly by the time the bus drops her off at the stop near the office. Daddy had kept on like that, loaded phrasing and a lopsided smile as he laced vapid banter with instructions. With warnings. She walks into the storage closet and grabs a deck of cards - one of his, the same style they use at the club, not hers for her tricks. Abruptly, she has a moment of panic as she realizes she’s not even sure what color she’s supposed to use, but then, just as fast, she forces her head clear and just grabs one of each.

They’re unopened. This makes it a cinch to find the card she’s looking for. Her stomach flips.

The worst part isn’t even what she’s doing. The worst part is that she’s doing it at all. Daddy knows well what this situation is making her feel and he’s asking her to do it anyway.

The only explanation left: he’s completely out of options.

She pulls her gloves off and grabs a needle from her sewing supplies. She pricks her finger, and lets a drop fall onto each ace.

----------

[forever-rogue]

Honey & Velvet - Part 5

Summary: Ruthless CEO Max Lord is about to meet his biggest match yet in another CEO such as cunning and biting as he can be.

A/N: Here ya go, Max whores (myself included). I hope you like this part ;) If you’d like to be tagged, please let me know, and as always, feedback and comments are always welcome! xx

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: mildest of smuts? idk, either way 18+ ;)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Glancing at the clock, you could see that it was nearing six o’clock. You pinned up a last few pieces of hair, completing the soft half updo you had created. Studying your face in the mirror, you decided you were happy with the result; simple makeup, leaving a fresh, glowing complexion, quickly finished off with the oxblood red you swiped on your lips. It was…elegant, seductive even. It was almost like the alter ego to the normally more crimson color you favored. 

Striding to your gilded full length mirror, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the scandalous outfit you were wearing. The lingerie gifted to you from Max was still as shocking as the first time you had worn it, and almost caused a blush to rise up in your cheeks. There was something almost innocent and pure about the white lace and pearls, but you were well aware that it would lead to anything but purity. It was the type of garment created only to lead to the most sinful and carnal of acts. 

A wicked little smile crossed your face as you grabbed the black shift dress off of your bed and slipped over the lingerie. It completed the look, adding a layer of innocence, but leaving enough to the imagination. Twirling, you turned around and studied your backside, deciding that it looked just right.

The heels waited for you at the foot of the bed and you slipped them on, admiring the expensive shoes. They absolutely exuded sex and you couldn’t deny the powerful feeling they instilled deep within you. Checking your watch and seeing that it was just about six, you finished everything off with a few bursts of your newest perfume. You wondered, briefly, how Maxwell had scheduled this particular one; had a previous lover he was fond of loved it? Did he just have the perfume counter girl choose one? But no - he was much more calculated than that. He probably chose it himself for one reason or another. Whatever the reason was, you decided that you didn’t care, and let the soft mist douse you gently.

Just before the clock struck six, you grabbed the expensive bottle of champagne that you’d gotten for the occasion and stashed it in your purse before exiting your apartment. You were nervous, heart fluttering rapidly inside your chest, but something in you was determined to do this. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Knocking on his door, a bolt of nervous energy ran through you with each rap of your knuckles against the well polished wood. Letting out a nervous breath of air, you wondered if this was a complete mistake and if you should just turn around and leave. Instead, you squared your shoulders and stood up straight, deciding you wouldn’t run away. After a few moments of tense silence, you heard a few footsteps coming towards the door, before the door was slowly unlocked and opened, emitting a loud creak, which served to make you more nervous. 

As soon as his warm eyes met yours, a small smile played on his features, despite how hard he tried to hide it. Shaking his head with a light sigh, he opened the door further and beckoned for you to come inside; part of you was surprised that he was even willing to let you in, but you shuffled in, not waiting for him to change his mind. Reaching inside your purse, you pulled out the bottle and held it out to him, as a sort of peace offering. 

He looked at curiously, one eyebrow raised in question, but he took it nonetheless, running his fingers over the label as he studied it. You slipped off your coat and laid it over the back of one of the bar stools at the counter, leaning against it to make sure he was able to get a proper look at you, “consider it a token of my gratitude…and to say I’m sorry.”

He let out a warm laugh, as he set the bottle on the counter, hands moving to his hips as he gave you the once over and studied you from head to toe; it wasn’t lost on you that his gaze lingered on your breasts, the lace visible from underneath your dress. Coming closer, he put a hand under your chin and tilted your face up to look directly into his, “and just what are you sorry for?”

“I think you’re well aware,” a dry laugh escaped your lips as his thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip, “Ben…I’m sorry about how things ended up. Just because things didn’t work out, doesn’t mean I should have treated you like that. So…I suppose I’m sorry. I should have been honest if you from the beginning.”

“I’ve never given a reason not to be, have I?” Ben let go of you before you walking into the kitchen to grab two flutes from the cabinet, “besides, if you had been honest with me from the start, it wouldn’t have mattered. You want to fuck, then we can fuck. No strings, nothing attached, but just be goddamn honest with me, Y/N.”

“I suppose that’s fair enough,” you admitted, grabbing the bottle and uncorking it with a loud pop, filling up the glasses he had set in front of you. Ben grabbed his and tapped it against yours, “cheers.”

“Cheers,” he repeated as he took a long drink from his, watched as you did the same, “now tell me…is this the only reason you came tonight?”

“Yes,” you answered honestly. The whole outfit was a more akin to get yourself pepped up and ready to do this, versus wanting to have sex with him. Hell, you’d contemplated going to Maxwell after this, making him wait for you, just to turn up at the last second and making a grand entrance. But now…you weren’t so sure. But you were glad that at least you could make somewhat of an amends with Benjamin. He didn’t have to be your best friend, he didn’t even have to be your friend, but for some reason…you just couldn’t leave it where it had been with him. He deserved honesty from you, at the very least.

“There it is,” Ben shot you a quick, “brutal honesty.”

“And just how can you tell?” you asked with a giggle as you sipped the on the bubbly, grabbing a fresh strawberry from the fruit bowl he grabbed out and popping into your mouth, relishing in the sweet juice and how perfectly it combined with the champagne.

“You have a tell,” he admitted, “it’s just this tone you adopt. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s there. I’ve always noticed it anyway.”

“Perhaps I should be more careful,” you threw your head back with laughter, “can’t have people knowing everything about me. I suppose you can be my exception.”

“Don’t,” he said quietly, “it’s refreshing, honestly. No need to change yourself for others - remember that.”

“And here I was coming to say sorry, and yet I’m getting some life advice,” you sighed and hoped onto one of the bar stools, “what a strange twist of fate this past month has been.”

“Tell me,” Ben leaned across the counter and watched you intently, trying to figure out what was going on in your head. You were always so business oriented, so focused on things other than your personal life, that he found it odd that you were in this predicament, “come on, then. Tell me all about this Max that’s been on your mind.”

“Ben,” you sighed lightly as you downed the rest of the alcohol in your glass, reaching across the counter for the bottle; but Ben was faster and pulled the bottle just out of your reach, “oh come on! That’s not fair!”

“You can have more,” he promised, refilling his own flute first, “once you tell me what’s been going on. And don’t lie to me, there’s no reason to.”

“You’re a cruel man, Benjamin,” you signaled your reluctant agreement by pushing your empty glass towards him. He smirked but quickly refilled it, “where do I start with Maxwell Lord-”

“Wait…Max is Maxwell Lord?” Ben’s eyes widened as he set down his glass in surprise and you just shrugged innocently. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting…but he certainly hadn’t been expecting that, “like Lord Technologies, Maxwell Lord?”

“That one and only,” you agreed before meeting his eyes. You looked at each other for just a moment before bursting into laughter, “I…yeah…”

“How the fuck did you manage to do that?” he was incredulous, but leaned forward, eager to hear the story of how you made one man so weak, practically breaking him down without any effort.

“I have no clue,” you admitted with a heavy, “it all started at a board meeting we had when we signed a deal to work together and he was shamelessly staring at my tits.”

“They are something to marvel at,” Ben joked before you shot him a warning glare, “what! They are lovely…but go on…”

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was late by the time you left Ben’s house, far too late to make any sort of social call, so you opted to go back to your apartment, without so much as another thought towards Max. You could worry about him at another time. Right now you were just tired, with a happy buzz flowing through your bones from the bottle (and then some) of the champagne you had consumed. 

And surprisingly, you had stuck true to your word; nothing but friendly conversation had passed between you and Ben. Who would have thought? Maybe you were always destined to be friends, and nothing more. And for once…you were okay with that.

As you stumbled into your own apartment, you kicked the heels off by the door and stumbled towards your bedroom, not bothering to wash off your makeup, instead only slipping your dress off. You caught a glimpse of yourself in your mirror and laughed at the sight, which now seemed so ridiculous. But you didn’t bother to pull off the lingerie before flopping into the bed and crawling under the covers. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

By the time Monday rolled around, you were feeling wonderfully…refreshed, and reinvigorated. Your mind finally felt like it was so much more clear and focused than it had been in weeks, and an odd sense of peace washed over you. 

Walking into your office, you found Adina with a concerned look on her face. It was strange to see such an expression over her normally gentle exterior and even as you set down her morning coffee, she wouldn’t meet your eyes, “Adina? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No…” she answered after a few moments of silence. She grabbed her coffee and took a sip, swallowing the still scalding liquid without hesitation.

“Adina?”

“I just…there were a lot of blank messages this morning when I arrived. I tried to trace them, but couldn’t find out who left them,” she explained, “but I just…have an uneasy feeling. I don’t know, it’s like I can’t shake it, like something weird is going to happen.”

“You’re sure everything’s alright?” putting your hand on her shoulder, you gave it a tight squeeze as hoped you could reassure her, “if there’s something wrong, anything, you know you can come to me, right?”

“I know,” she grabbed your hand and managed a small smile, but the tension never left her face and the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just need to shake it off.”

“Right,” you remained unconvinced as you headed into your office, eyes still glued to the back of her head. Biting your bottom, you debated pressing the issue, but she clearly didn’t want to speak further about it, so you decided it was best to let it go. It still didn’t stop the light huff that escaped your lips as you walked into your office and shut the door behind you. 

But you had work to attend to, and couldn’t lose focus on something simply because you were distracted by…well, you weren’t quite sure what it was. You just hoped that if it was anything even remotely serious, she would come to you and let you know. 

Instead you buried yourself in paperwork outlining various deals and issues, getting so wrapped up in everything that you lost track of time. That was until you heard a slight commotion coming from the hall just outside your office. Tossing your pen down, you stood up and rushed to the door, trying to decipher what on earth could have been going on.

“Where is she?” the voice sounded angry…but also surprisingly calm. You recognized it immediately, and your heart plummeted to the bottom of your stomach. You’d expected you would hear from him...but not this soon. Not in your office, “where is she!?”

“She-she’s in her office, but she’s v-very busy,” poor Adina sounded as frightened as a child getting punished by a parent. You swallowed the lump in your throat before opening the door, “you’ll need to make an appointment with her before just coming over and -”

“Maxwell,” you tried to keep your voice firm and resolute as you stepped out, going so far as to put your hands on your hips to make yourself feel bigger. He turned his attention from Adina to you, his mouth curling into a grimace. It was not lost on you that he noticed you in the extravagant heels and the darker lipstick you sporting, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing here? You cannot just storm into my office and frighten my poor assistant.”

“There you are,” his words were cold, but calculated and spoken with purpose as he took a step closer to you, a dangerous look crossing his feature. For some reason it sent a delicious chill to run down your spine; what a time to get to turned on, “just the woman I wanted to see.”

Adina looked nervously between the two of you, unsure of what to do; luckily you just shook your head at her, signaling that you had the situation handled. Opening the door further and stepping aside, you motioned for Max to step inside. He cast Adina a small glance, almost disgustingly sweet as he stepped into your space. He’d never been here before, and took a moment to study everything as you closed the door behind you, locking it as you did so. You didn’t even know why you bothered to lock it, but a little voice in the back of your mind told you to do so.

“What the hell are you doing here, Maxwell?” you asked as you strode over to to him. He stared at you for all of about two seconds before grabbing your face with his large hand, his rings cool against your warm skin. His dark eyes stared into yours as you tried to swallow the nervous lump in your throat. A warm sensation started to flutter up in your belly as you tried to read his expression. 

“How dare you,” he said quietly, a dangerous edge to his voice as his chest rose and fell rapidly. You knew exactly what he was talking about; you had wondered if you’d hear from him again. You knew you would, deep down. It was foolish to think he would left something like that go, “how dare you insult me in such a manner, you foolish little girl. Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”

“Maxwell,” you put your hand on his wrist and tried to pry his hand away from your face, but it was no use. His grip was iron, just like a vice as he seemed to try and invade all of your thoughts, “let go of me.”

He stared at you at you for a few more seconds before finally releasing you, and turning away, running a hand through his blonde locks, “I don’t know what little game you think you’re playing, but you had better watch it. I am not an enemy you want to make.”

“Oh? And just who initiated this so called game?” you tutted as you leaned against your desk, looking at his broad back and how wonderfully his suit fitted him. There was…something that flowed through you whenever he was around, creating a sense of bravado withing you; one that you normally didn’t possess, “don’t play the game if you can’t handle it.”

“Last I checked you were the one who called me and asked to see me,” he answered as he turned around to face you, “not the other way around. I wasn’t the one who stood up you and made you look like a fool.”

“Listen…I’m sorry about that,” you sighed and hopped onto the edge of your desk, giving him a half smile. You couldn’t believe you actually meant those words. Who would have thought? He raised an eyebrow at you, but remained silent as he waited for you to go on, “I had…intentions of coming, but ended up a little sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked,” he repeated the word with a certain disdain in his voice as he stepped closer to you, leaving very little room in between your bodies, “by what? Or should I say whom?”

“I don’t think that concerns you,” you insisted, raising your chin at him and pointedly looking away. He scoffed as he stopped right in front of you, put his arms on either side of you body and trapping you between him and the desk, “I said I’m sorry, Maxwell, and whether or not you believe it, I mean it. What more do you need?”

“Was it him again?” he asked softly, his face mere inches from yours, his warm breath fanning across your face. It was hard to focus on anything as you looked at his soft lips, his smell overwhelming your senses. Inadvertently licking your own lips, a cheeky grin appeared on his, “was it Ben Vasquez again?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insisted weakly, feeling his arms getting closer and closer to your body, his heat radiating onto you. You could feel the need between your legs increasing with every passing second.

“Tell me,” he brought a hand to your face and ever so delicately brushed his fingers over your cheekbone, “what can he offer you that I cannot? He’s a mere boy playing at the big leagues. Surely an ex-lover isn’t someone you really want to turn to, is it? Surely, he can’t please you like a real man can.”

“And you think you can?” you sounded small, almost pathetic, but Maxwell just grinned at you, a glint sparkling in his eye.

“I know I can.”

You wanted to come up with a witty response, you really, really did. But your mind came up with a blank; instead all you could focus on was Max and how close he was to you, how good he smelled, how delicious he would taste. And in your moment of weakness, you couldn’t stop yourself - your body was buzzing with want, with desire.

And so you crashed your lips onto his, wrapping your arms around his neck and carding a hand through his hair as you kissed him with every fiber of your being. Max had seemed surprised for a mere moment before he responded with just as much fervor, his large hands settling on your waist as he kissed you until you were both breathless. 

It was a dizzying mixture of teeth and tongue as you finally were able to get out the repressed tension that had been building up for weeks. You didn’t even bother to try and hide the small moans that escaped your lips as you got so lost in him, so tangled up that it was hard to tell where you ended and he began. Taking charge, he pushed you back until you were flat on your desk, staring back up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Max loomed over you, running a hand down your side as he kissed you passionately, taking his time to work along your jaw, and neck. Once he heard a few soft mewls coming from you, he nipped at your delicate skin, making it a point to leave marks that would remain for days and be a burden to cover up. When something belonged to him, he wanted to Max sure the world knew.

“Max,” his name was a mere whisper as it fell off your lips, soft and delicate, almost like a prayer for his ears only. You could feel him smirking against your skin as he undid a few buttons of your blouse, your chest becoming more and more exposed to him with his passing second, his large hands exploring your body as he kissed along the valley of your breasts. You tried to pull him as close as possible to you, wanting to feel him fully and completely, “please.”

He remained silent as he continued to kiss you, and you rocked your hips against him, needing more. He brought a hand to your center, gently touching and tracing his fingers over your heat, through the fabric of your trousers. You needed them gone; you needed him to touch you, almost desperately so. He seemed amused as you tried to undo your pants, but grabbed your hands with his and held them above your head. He chuckled before planting a few kisses along your collarbone, “such a needy little thing.”

You were ready to beg, almost, and pleaded silently with him as you met his eyes. You could feel his erection pressing against you, but instead of doing anything to alleviate the problem, he simply let you go and straightened up, almost as if nothing had happened. You looked at him with wide as you sat up, a confused and dazed expression on your face, “what the hell?”

He didn’t say anything as he looked himself over in your mirror, straightening his tie back out and making sure his hair wasn’t too disheveled. When he felt your eyes glowering into his back, he smirked to himself as he wiped away a bit of your lipstick from his face. Turning back to you, he gave you the cheekiest of smiles before shrugging, “what?”

“How dare you-”

“How dare I?” he countered and you couldn’t contain your eye roll. You could still see the strain in his pants and realized it must have taken every once of will power for him not to ravish you and then and there on your chest, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ms. L/N.”

“You can’t just come in here, do that, and act like nothing happened,” you abhorred how whiny you sounded as you started to button your blouse once again. You could already see faint blue and purple marks welling up on your breasts, “you’ve got some nerve, Maxwell Lord.”

“I suppose I’m learning from the best,” he gave you an easy grin and you weren’t sure if you wanted to slap it or kiss it off of his face, “consider us even after what happened, or rather what didn’t happen, this weekend.”

“I hate you, Maxwell Lord,” you sighed at him, narrowing your eyes for added emphasis, “I loathe you with every fiber of my being.”

“I’m quite sure that’s not true,” he insisted, easily calling your bluff, “if you really hated me, you wouldn’t be wearing that lipstick, or that perfume or those heels. Am I correct?”

Remaining silent, you crossed your arms over your chest as you glared at him, turning your head to look anywhere but at him. He headed for the door, a new bounce in his step, “I’ll see myself out. That lipstick really does look stunning on you. You are an exquisite woman, you know. Not just in your beauty. I’ll see you around…you know where to find me.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before you see me again,” you boasted.

“I’ll be sure to keep a coat with me,” he opened door and just before he stepped out gave you a final small glance, “I look forward to our next meeting. You always do know how to keep it interesting, it’s quite refreshing.”

“Get. Out.”

“Goodbye, Ms. L/N,” you sighed as he closed the door, leaving you alone in your office with just your thoughts. Walking over to the mirror, you took in your wild appearance; hair a mess, eyes wild, lipstick smudged, and a flush to your cheeks. While you were almost desperate to finish what he had started, or technically you had started, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. 

He made you feel…alive. Positively electric. 

Now you just had to figure out how to get him back. You weren’t about to let him just win this little game.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Merry Distractions

A/N: Just a bit of Ichabbie Christmas reading for you. You’ll find lots of longing with a sweet and happy ending and a smidge of Joe, Jenny, and Irving thrown in for good measure.

He'd watched her all night as she'd played hostess, flitting around filling glasses and snack bowls, changing the music when an unloved song sounded through the speakers, ensuring everyone had enough to eat, and making merry with the whole lot of them. Her festive attire, a silken, emerald green dress with gold flecks in it, lent her skin a rosy hue, and she'd pulled her crown of ringlets into a golden clasp at the back of her head, leaving her neck and dangly, Christmas light earrings exposed. The dress's short sleeves showed off her muscular arms, and the square neckline cut low but not so low it distracted him—or anyone else, he was happy to note. Not that it made much of a difference for him though: the woman was a walking distraction as far as he was concerned. Her large, expressive brown eyes twinkled at him in every one of his daydreams. Her hair, so versatile and stylish, begged him to brush it away from her beautiful face. And those full, Christmas-red lips she smiled with now would pleasantly haunt his dreams for weeks to come. Oh yes, most certainly a distraction, but tonight he almost felt safe with it. The handful of people roaming throughout the house gave him a buffer he didn't often have while working alone with her in the Archives or in the field or riding next to her in the car. As such, he freely 'checked her out,' a phrase Miss Jenny had used once that he'd mentally squirreled away. Much to his chagrin, he'd checked her out a bit too much this evening, and it’d left him feeling out of sorts. The new lieutenant on the force made her laugh easily, that wonderful smile of hers breaking across her face at something Mr. Muscular and New had said. The man's eyes twinkled at her, and a white-hot pearl of jealousy burned in Ichabod's chest, blooming large and ugly as Abbie’s new colleague gazed appreciatively at her, pleased and proud at the response his words had elicited from her. Not much of what he and the Lieutenant did as their day job made for amusement, but Ichabod felt ripples of pleasure when he could draw a laugh from her, loved watching the worries ease away from her beautiful face, that gorgeous, full-fledged smile and tinkling laugh filling his heart with gladness and his eyes with nearly more beauty than he could stand. None of her sheriff's department colleagues had acted so freely with her before—and she'd never responded so openly. Until this man. And it concerned him, more than he cared to admit. Seeing Abbie and Mr. Muscular standing next to one another, her hand landing lightly on the man's forearm as she laughed at his joke, raised his hackles. Not because he thought the man ill-willed or a foe to their cause, but precisely because he didn’t think those things. In fact, he couldn’t find a flaw in the man at all. The truth of the matter was...they made a striking pair: Abbie petite, stylish, stunning, and effervescent, and Mr. Muscular broad, powerful, and clearly amusing enough to hold the Lieutenant's unbridled attention. Further, Mr. Muscular exhibited everything he, Ichabod, did not: power, raw strength, position, and a gregarious personality. Gainful employment, modern style, shorn hair, and a tailor-cut suit. Together, the two of them looked like they'd stepped right out of the television box and into one of those yuletide films the Lieutenant indulged in on weekends. He, on the other hand, often drew strange stares and chuckles from strangers and acquaintances alike. He'd thought himself rather dashing this evening though, having traded his normal attire for a dark green shirt in his usual front-laced style with black breeches, his boots, and a fitted black tailcoat. This last piece had caused the Lieutenant to do a double take, and when he'd questioned her about it, she'd nodded with an appreciative eye and mentioned that it looked like a tux jacket. (He'd surreptitiously done an online search before the guests arrived to find out what a tux was and felt satisfied with his choice of finery, if only because Abbie seemed to like it on him.) But now, standing across the room from Mr. Muscular and Abbie, he questioned it all: how he could ever compare with a modern man who didn't need to be assisted with the mundanity of today's world, how he could have begun to think he was fitting in to the here and now, what he'd do without the Lieutenant by his side should she ever pair up with another man, how he'd thought he could have a chance with the beautiful, independent, strong, and wonderful woman who'd wrapped herself so intricately around his heart he'd have to surgically remove her should that pairing occur.

Tamping down his vexation, Ichabod kept a neutral look on his face, though he doubted anyone noticed his clandestine surveillance. He hadn't much cared what people thought of him, of his strange (in this era) manner of speaking and colonial attire and his 'hippie hair-do' (another of Miss Jenny's colloquialisms). From early on but more and more now, he'd hoped someday the two of them might become something more than just 'the two witnesses.' Watching Abbie so carefree with another man, and one that clearly had his sights set on her, made him question whether that had ever or could ever be a possibility. After all, he would always be a man out of time, and the Lieutenant deserved more than he could ever possibly provide for her. No, he seemed a far cry from a good match for her, and the sudden realization soured his mood. The music ringing from the wireless Bose speakers (he hadn’t bothered to ask what that particular moniker meant) certainly didn't help his mood. In his day, Christmas music spoke of the birth of the Christ-child, the peace that accompanied his glorious arrival, and the hope of the world fulfilled. Now, much of the festive music focused on missing one's 'true love,' as every voice ringing around the room seemed to long for a lost or distant lover, crave the attention or presence of 'the one,' or be begging Saint Nicolas for a partner. He simultaneously cringed at the desperate, needy lyrics and felt them resonating in his heart as he watched the Lieutenant and Mr. Muscular continue to chat. Ichabod felt like a giant flaw in the evening’s festivities, suddenly overcome by feelings of inadequacy as the weight of his imperfections wrapped their maudlin tendrils throughout his mind. His reticence to assimilate more bothered him in a way it never had. Not when he'd first ran though the dark streets of Sleepy Hollow just having woken from a centuries’ long sleep, not when the Lieutenant and Captain Irving and Miss Jenny had harangued him about the past, and not even when Abbie had purchased modern day attire for him to wear and he'd handily refused. He believed now that'd been a mistake. He could never compete with the likes of today's men such as he was. A Captain from the Revolution with odd speech, hair, and mannerisms, and a significant (though improving) lack of knowledge of modern phrases, places, and ways? No wonder she laughed with Mr. Muscular: he was nothing less than perfectly suited for her. The melancholy of the moment settled over him, and Ichabod turned away from the happy couple across the room and made his way to the drink table. He downed a few shots of rum—the Lieutenant had bought his favored brand, he noted with a twinge of pain—and let them burn through him before he rejoined the festivities, actively avoiding the Lieutenant and her new friend. He did his best to forget the vision of her—and she was a vision—and Mr. Muscular, instead choosing to make merry with the Captain for a while, then with Miss Jenny and Master Corbin. Though he easily feigned happiness, his insides ached at the sense of loss that had solidified into his heart. Despite his realization that someone else likely held the Lieutenant’s affections, the party had gone well. Lots of laughter and some drinks, talk of family traditions and something called a white elephant gift exchange. (He hadn't had a clue what that was, let alone what to buy, so Abbie, ever his patient guide, had rescued him, purchasing his party gift for him.) He'd walked away from the game with a gift card to a local spa. There'd been jokes about him finally getting a proper haircut or soaking in a sauna, trying a steam room or getting a body wrap, which, to hide his already miserable thoughts about himself, had set him off explaining how his Native American friends, well versed in natural healing properties of steam and mud, had taught him the finer points of self-care. He'd meant it in all solemnity, but it'd left everyone laughing, much to his chagrin. Now, as people began to leave and amidst saying his goodbyes, he downed another shot of rum and slowly started cleaning up, putting the leftover food into smaller containers and throwing away garbage. "Crane." He turned at the sound of Captain Irving's voice to find him and the Lieutenant standing by the front door. Regardless of how he felt after this evening's revelation, his eyes were drawn to her—always. How could he continue to live here, under the same roof as her, and maintain a friendship that he'd hoped would become more, knowing it'd never progress beyond what they had now? How long could he keep pretending he was unaffected by her, knowing his heart nearly beat out of his chest when she stood near him, fell asleep against him while lounging on the couch, lingered in mundane conversations with him over their morning coffee? How could he watch her be with someone else? Abbie's eyes went wide, pulling him into the present as she pointed at the Captain, indicating he should say a proper farewell. Irving lifted a hand in a goodbye wave, and Ichabod swallowed down his heartache, wiped his hands dry on a kitchen towel, and rushed to see the man off. He avoided looking at the Lieutenant as he approached them but put on a smile. "Good night, Captain. I quite hope you enjoyed yourself this evening." Abbie smiled indulgently as Irving glanced at her, the Captain never quite comfortable with his formality but appreciating the man's earnestness all the same. Irving opened the front door. "I did, thanks. You two have a great Christmas." Ichabod dipped his head in military affirmation, the idea of spending the blessed holiday alone with the Lieutenant, mere hours ago an exciting prospect, now beginning to turn his stomach sour. "Merry Christmas, sir," Abbie called out as he headed down the porch steps. A loud whistle rang out as she closed and locked the door, and they turned in tandem to see Joe and Jenny, their last remaining guests, smiling broadly at them. Confused, Ichabod glanced down at Abbie, who returned his questioning look, and they turned back to the duo. "What?" Jenny's smile widened, and she pointed above them. "You're standing under the mistletoe," she sing-songed in response. Abbie peered heavenward as Ichabod's eyebrow arched up. God’s wounds, of all nights… He could’ve wished this a thousand times over, anytime, day or night. Except tonight. How had no one else gotten caught under the vine? He briefly wondered if the duo had set them up. "Go on," Joe encouraged enthusiastically. "It's tradition." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbie angle towards him, her expression wondering and... hopeful? Must be the rum, he thought, sure she couldn't be all that interested in dallying with him under the mistletoe. Besides, he'd tried this scheme once before and she'd handily brushed him aside. He didn't think he could handle her rejection tonight. Miss Jenny's eyes bugged wide as she nodded towards Abbie, and Master Joe, still smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, egged him on with a happily condescending "Don't be shy." Ichabod longed to return to the confidence he felt mere hours ago, before he realized the Lieutenant's interest might reside in another. Instead, he felt unsure and afraid of her dismissal, even as he knew he'd be more than willing to fulfill tradition's demand if she were amenable, despite the fact that they had an amused audience. He swallowed hard, steeling himself, and turned to face her. Her eyes danced merrily at him, the fun of the party not yet worn off, and the look on her face nearly took his breath away. She stared at him hopefully, lips parted slightly, the corners of her mouth lifted up in the early stages of one of those smiles that froze him in place. What he wouldn't give... His heart beat wildly, even as it ached and screamed at him to flee. But she looked so pleased at the prospect before them, so beautiful in the soft glow from the lit candles and Christmas lights adorning the room that he could hardly resist. The setting seemed perfect: warm from the rum, frosted lighting setting the mood, the Lieutenant staring at him expectantly and eager and so beautiful it made his heart ache. Why then did he hesitate so? How had witnessing one encounter of her with another man send him into fits of self-doubt? He really would need to revisit that later. At the moment, his Lieutenant stared up at him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd call that longing in her eyes. "Lieutenant?" He asked her permission on a soft exhale, needing her approval before he'd ever make so intimate a move. It didn't matter that he'd dreamed of this moment for years now, that he'd envisioned myriad ways this momentous event would occur. He would never step over boundaries she felt uncomfortable crossing; he loved and respected her too much. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Abbie," she commanded softly, that playful smile still tugging at her lips. Those lips that'd teased and taunted him nearly every day for years without ceasing looked luscious and full and as red as the blood pounding furiously through his veins. She was stunning, all smooth dark skin, feminine features, sultry gaze, and quiet confidence, anticipating his next move. He absently drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh, overcome by her proximity, her encouragement, her downright anticipation. Was this actually happening? That after worrying half the night about not living up to what she deserved, he—not some other suitor of hers—stood next to her under the mistletoe with their closest friends encouraging them to lock lips? And she appeared excited about it? He made himself move before the moment passed, doubt and affection warring within him, creating a maelstrom of wanton confusion, even as she gazed at him longingly. "Abbie," he whispered obediently, his gaze flicking down to her perfect lips as he slowly leaned in, his eyes dropping closed as his mouth finally, wonderfully, touched hers. He kissed her tentatively, softly, gentle in his respectful way, and he reveled in the feel of her plump lips against his, the realization of a million dreams sending his mind reeling, his heart free-floating into oblivion. She felt like fire, his lips burning deliciously where they met hers, liquid heat running through his veins as shivers tingled down his spine. Somewhere beyond them he heard a door slam shut, but he couldn't be bothered by it with Abbie's mouth attached to his. He didn't plan on moving for a while, maybe ever. She shuffled closer to him, her hands landing against his ribs and sliding achingly slow up his chest as her mouth pressed more firmly against his. She moved against him, the intensity, her urgency leaving his body thrumming and aflame, and he sunk into the moment, drowning in her. Her tongue slipped between his lips, and he heard a moan escape, though he couldn't be sure if it came from her or himself. Sensations swirled around and inside of him, more than he'd felt in centuries, and he put his hands on Abbie's hips, inviting her closer to him as he settled into the rhythm they'd found. She waited until she was starving for air before slowly easing away from him, her eyelids fluttering open to see him frozen in place, eyes still closed, a look of wonder on his handsome face. "Abbie," he whispered again before slowly opening his eyes to peer down at her in wonder. A satisfied smile graced her face. "I was wondering if you were ever going to do that." "Mmm," he hummed absently, still trying to restart his brain. She'd done a factory reset on him with her lips and tongue. His eyes went wide as her words finally found traction. "You were?" he heard himself murmur breathily above the sound of blood thrumming through his ears. She nodded, the pleased smile on her just-kissed lips nearly making his knees weak. "Wondering...and hoping," she admitted. "But I thought..." He'd started talking before he realized what he was about to say and forced himself into silence before he made a village idiot of himself, sans village. She tilted her head questioningly. "You thought what?" With his head still swimming, he couldn't decipher a way out of the corner he'd walked himself into, so he forged ahead with the God's honest truth. "I thought you might prefer...a more modern gentleman." Her quizzical—and if he wasn't mistaken, curiously amused—look remained, and she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. He forged again, sure if he’d had all his wits about him this conversation would not be taking place. "You know, more like your friend, the new lieutenant?" He attempted nonchalance but failed, and she smiled knowingly. "Ah, you mean Mark." Though the warmth from her kiss still burned his lips, her use of the man’s given name irked him. "Yes," he agreed with a clipped tone. "Mr. Mu—Mr. Mark." She inhaled a breath. "He does have the modern thing going for him,” she admitted, nodding thoughtfully. “And he’s easy on the eyes. Though I doubt his wife would be too happy if we started something up.”

“His wife,” he murmured in confusion, the notion of Mr. Muscular having a wife never having crossed his mind.

“Not to mention…I don’t make it a habit of dating married men.”

She looked at him pointedly, and the realization that she’d pined for him as long as he’d desired her washed over him like an overwhelming, cleansing tide. At times he’d wondered, hoped that what she’d just admitted could be true, but they hadn’t looked back after he’d returned from Scotland, and so had never spoken of their long-standing feelings towards one another. Though never in her presence, Master Corbin and Miss Jenny often teased him about the Lieutenant and…and where had those two gotten off to anyway?

He looked to where they’d last stood, but he saw no sign of them.

“Do you think they planned this?” he asked distractedly, realizing it was a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

“If they did, we should be thanking them, but nevermind them. If you’re going to get distracted, it should be like this.”

And with that, she took hold of his lapels and pulled him down to kiss her again.