#all because my friend got a hip replacement and got multiple books like this as gifts

[rimeswithpurple]

Carry On Countdown

Day 1: Something Old

I've become deeply invested in aging Simon and Baz

@rainbowrowell

[boldlyvoid]

Wheels Up

Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader (Y/N), Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Savannah Hayes, Emily Prentiss, Elle Greenaway, Tara Lewis, Jennifer Jareau, Matt Simmons, Luke Alvez

Summary: JJ goes on maternity leave, Spencer falls in love with her replacement that he's supposed to be mentoring, Emily Prentiss and Elle Greenaway work a case together that brings Simmons and Alvez in for help...

Warnings: Genius!Reader, mutual pining, idiots in love, drinking, star gazing, lots of fluff, mentions of past assault, grooming, drug addiction, spencer's trauma, Abductions, Rape, Murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 9.4K

a/n: this is for @starry-eyed-spence and @simmonsmilf CM fanfiction week, Day One: Favorite Character... only I couldn't pick just one.

To say Spencer fell in love at the least opportune time was a bit of an understatement. Everyone he’s ever come close to admitting his love to has either left him or died. Now he’s stuck with loving someone in secret, keeping it to himself and hoping that one day she’ll love him back.

He fell in love with a co-worker once again… which wasn’t the worst thing, office romances happen and it’s quite frankly all Rossi’s fault that they even had to worry about fraternization policies. The part that makes liking Y/N so difficult is that he’s supposed to be her mentor, he’s 5 years older than her, and if he was to ever make a move she would feel inclined to reciprocate in order to keep her job because that’s the unfortunate truth behind office relationships with significant differences in positions.

And worst of all… she doesn’t like him that way at all. She’s called him the brother she always needed, a best friend, the best mentor ever. She wasn’t interested in him in the slightest.

“And why would she be?” He’s said this to everyone who knew about his crush on her. “I’m old and boring and she’s so cool?”

But he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that every time she asked him to hang back to help her file something, or when they would buddy up in hotel rooms to discuss cases all night and end up down some star trek rabbit hole instead, every time he talked to her she was falling in love with him right back.

It once again all circles back to Rossi, if it wasn’t for him, Spencer wouldn’t even know her. She wouldn’t have ever been introduced to the unit, he wouldn’t be attached to her at the hip and he probably wouldn’t be as happy as he is with her in his life. Even if she wasn’t his girlfriend.

He’ll never forget the day Rossi asked him to meet her, to help her settle in…

“Spencer, can I talk to you for a minute?” Rossi called him into his office.

He sighed, putting his book down and walking up the stairs to his office. He closed the door behind himself and smiled awkwardly, “what’s up?”

“Sit,” he gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, where Spencer pulls one out and proceeds to sit down, anxiously. “As you know, both Kate and JJ will be out of the field in the next few months to have their babies and we need to bring someone in to fill the void until they return, so I reached out to the academy to see if they have any up and coming Dr. Reid like agents that they could loan us.”

“Why?” Spencer laughs at the choice of words.

“Well, honestly, why get new 2 agents when we could have two Reid’s? JJ will be back after a month or 2, it’s better to have more brains than brawn.”

“So they found someone and you want me to be their chaperone?” Spencer clues in. “Who are they?”

“Y/N Y/L/N, she’s a wonderful agent, but she’s pretty quiet, I don’t know much about her personally.” Rossi prefaces. “She’s a genius, high IQ like yours and just a plethora of knowledge inside that mind of hers. You’ll like her.”

“Alright,” he nods. “When do they start?”

“When JJ’s water breaks, but I’d like you to meet them and maybe even have them shadow you for a day?” Rossi asks, “I’ve actually arranged for you both to get dinner at a friend's restaurant?”

“Is this an arranged date or purely business? Don’t send me in there blind,” he worries. “I need at least a week's prep before I go on a date again.”

“It’s not a date, kid,” Rossi laughs. “She's just a lot like you were when I met you, and I know from watching you all these years that it’s not easy to do it alone, so can you just walk them through it?”

“Of course.”

That first dinner Rossi set up for them was more exquisite than either of them prepared for.

They spent the whole night discussing dissertations and their independent journeys through becoming a genius. He understood perfectly why Rossi and the Academy would think she was a lot like him, she was a genius, but she was awkward. It took a while for her to break out of her shell and open up, but by the end of the night, he already knew they were going to be friends.

“So,” she smirks, “would you mind telling me honestly how hard this job is?”

“Why?”

She sighs, “I’ve heard a lot about Thee Doctor Reid and how you were the youngest hired to the BAU and all the shit you’ve been through.”

“What are the rumours these days?” He awkwardly smiles back, rolling his eyes slightly.

“That you were brain dead in a cemetery from an overdose and yet you’re so smart you came back from the dead to kill the unsub and escape…” she looks more and more disappointed in the rumour as she tells it.

His tongue hits the roof of his mouth as he opens it to speak, making a tsk noise as he shakes his head. “Well, I did OD but it was the unsubs main personality that resuscitated me.”

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

He nods, “what about you? I’m sure you have a reputation based on a rumour?”

She presses her lips together the way he always did, just as awkward. She sighs, huffing the air out of her nose and looking fed up. “I was groomed and assaulted by an older boy who then told kids I had a stalkerish crush on him so if I was to ever tell anyone what happened, then no one would believe me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer knows the words don’t make up for what happened. “I’m guessing that’s why you wanted to get into profiling?”

She nods, “I got away with some PTSD and trust issues, most girls go through much worse… they deserve someone who gets it to look into their cases.”

Spencer nods. “That’s how I felt after my kidnapping too. It took a while for me to look at crime scene photos and not think about how they felt, and wonder why I lived when so many die?”

“I’ve never been a religious person,” she prefaces. “But I do believe we are here for a reason. Whether you choseto be here after your last life or this is some learning opportunity, or God is actually real? And you’re supposed to do good.”

“In narcotics anonymous, they reference god a lot, it’s helpful for the addicts, but I never get into it,” he opens up with her more than he’s ever opened up with any friend. “If my Devine purpose is to suffer in order to relate to those I’m supposed to help that’s a load of bullshit… honestly, I can get pretty angry thinking about why I’ve gone through what I’ve gone through doing this job, but it’s not as bad as what happened to me growing up, and it leads me to believe that I probably wouldn’t have had an easy time no matter how I live.”

She nods, “I know, I get that.”

“Sorry,” he snaps out of it. “I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you.”

“It’s exactly what I asked for actually,” she reminds him with a soft smile. “If you can still come to work every day, after all that, you must be incredibly strong— and if I’m anything like you the way people say I am, I guess I can do it too.”

He had no idea she would end up being his best friend.

She shadowed him just once in the office, picked up everything right off the bat and immediately made a name for herself in the unit. Derek tried multiple names on her before one stuck, and they knew it stuck when even Hotch called her Baby Genius.

She brought a different knowledge base to the team, similar to Spencers but visibly younger. She fit in with the crowds of kids they had to interview, she understood why kids reacted the way they did to trauma and abuse, and she was still a kid at heart. It was the reason Spencer fell for her.

She allowed him to feel free again. They went out together outside of work, going to events he always wanted to go to with a partner but never had a chance. She loved all the same things as him, and she takes him to places he’d never imagine enjoying before her.

Like laser tag… that was an afternoon he’ll never forget with her.

When JJ went into labour, that’s when Y/N started full time and Hotch hired Tara Lewis in the same week. The team barely had time to adjust to being undermanned before they were restocked.

Joining Spencer every morning for every case, she waited out front of her apartment for him to pick her up most mornings, sticking to his side throughout the long days and nights until he drove her home again. Even at work, they were partnered up for everything: heading to the M.E. together, bouncing facts back and forth at the precinct, playing good cop bad cop with perverts, and her personal favourite… Making the geoprofile.

And Spencer liked doing that part with her as well. Because it typically meant they were completely alone in a room, spreading out a map and leaning in close to each other as they placed every sticker and marker. Brushing hands, bumping shoulders, longing glances as they made connections… he also just liked to watch her hands move.

She was delicate and careful and precise… and he was falling in love with everything about her as the days went by.

Everyone on the team had noticed. It was really hard not to when they’ve all known Spencer for almost 11 years now. He was so different with her in his life, he was happy and giddy and dressing even better than before. His hair was perfect and he was glued to Y/N’s side. Or she was glued to his.

Even though they were mentally similar, physically they were polar opposites. Y/N wore all black and was a lot more outgoing than they expected. Rossi thought she’d be quiet… But she was constantly talking. To Spencer, to other officers, to witnesses, she never stopped talking and starting conversations, and thank god she did because she’s cracked 4 cases that way.

The biggest surprise the team learned about her happened on a case in Florida, a shooting in a local park in broad daylight with lots of witnesses meant the whole team was on the boardwalk asking questions. She went out to do her thing, talking to the local skaters, asking them if they knew anything but they didn’t want to cooperate.

They were too cool for the feds.

“Can I see your board?” She asks, “if I do some tricks will you answer some questions for me and Doctor Reid?”

“Knock yourself out,” one of the boys laughs as he hands her his board.

She hands Spencer her gun and shoots him a wink before taking off to do a few tricks. The whole team watches in awe then as Y/N showed off. Cruising along the halfpipe effortlessly like she was a professional.

“Okay Tony Hawk,” Morgan teases her, “where did that come from?”

“Skateboarding is easy, it’s just physics,” she shrugs. “I can figure skate too…”

“What do you want to know?” The boy takes his board back. “We always see some sketchy guys around here.”

Morgan pats Y/N on the back with a smile, applauding her ability to get anyone to open up before leaving her to take the statement.

“Agent?” One of the girls pulls her aside just before they are about to leave, “how did you do that kickflip? I’ve been trying to learn and the boys won't help me.”

“Sure thing,” she takes the girl's board and demonstrates a kickflip first.

“So, you see as I start the kickflip I bend my knees?” She shows her another kickflip all while explaining it. “Much like the with an ollie, I’m building pressure so I can apply it to the tail, making the board pop. The one thing that makes this trick different from the ollie is that instead of sliding my foot up, I just flick my toe out to the right of the board, by doing this, the board flips in a 360-degree motion.

She demonstrates again and it’s another flawless kickflip, and a huge smile on her face as Spencer watches her.

“How fast the board spins depends on how much force I put into it when I flick it out. As soon as the board flips in a full 360, your feet should connect and drive the board back to the ground.”

She hands the board back to the girl, “your turn.”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her nerves out before taking off on her board, looping around and carefully bending her knees, she follows every step and it’s a flawless kickflip.

“Flawless!!” Y/N claps. “Those boys better watch out, you’re a natural.”

“Thank you,” she wraps her arms around Y/N and gives her a hug, “it’s taken me so long to be able to do that, you’re so cool.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles. “Good luck out there.”

She waves as she takes off on her board, leaving Y/N with a smile as she turns to Spencer. “I miss being that age and thinking everything is so cool.”

“You are really cool,” he agrees. Smiling softly as a blush fills his cheeks. “You’re always surprising me. Is there anything you can’t do?”

She laughs, “yeah the one thing I want to do the most.”

“Which is?”

She sighs, “maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

—

He’s sitting beside Penelope and Savannah, watching Derek and Y/N get drinks for what’s left of the group as the night drags on.

“When are you going to tell her?” Savannah asks.

“What?” Spencer pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“You have a crush on the new girl…” she pokes his cheek as he blushes and gives it away. “Tell her, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“She could feel forced to say yes because I’m a supervisory special agent and she isn’t and she wants to keep her job so she feels like she needs to,” Spencer worries. “I want her to like me back because she fell for me and I want her to initiate it because then I’ll know it’s not just a power dynamic issue.”

“Have you tried asking her, genius?” Penelope teases. “Because if you asked her then you’d know she has a crush on you and she’s afraid you’ll turn her down because you’re an SSA and she isn’t.”

“When did you hear that?”

Penelope pretends to lock up her lips and throw away the key, making Savannah laugh loud enough to get Derek's attention at the bar. When he and Y/N return, that’s when the questions start.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Spencer gets up and leaves the booth, walking out towards the smokers' exit at the back of the bar, getting a moment of semi-fresh air to think about what Penelope said.

“Spence?” She calls to him from the door, “are you okay? Can I come out here?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Sorry, I needed some air, it’s nothing.”

“Do you need a hug? I read it helps the most when people are stressed out,” she plays it off with a shrug.

“So you do have a crush on me?”

“She told you?” Her face lights with fury, “what the fuck, Penelope?”

“She didn’t mean to,” he tries to cover it up. “It was only brought up because I have feelings for you as well.”

Her eyes widen, her brows raise and her mouth slowly opens as she freezes.

“Y/N?”

She blinks a few times and shakes her head, “impossible. There’s no way.”

He laughs, “I’ll take that hug now?”

She lunges for him and wraps her arms around him so tight. Breathing him in, her hands wander his back as she takes in every second if it and he does the same. He can’t believe she’s that close to him, her hair smells nice and she’s so soft in his arms.

It’s quiet outside, they can hear the music behind the door, the people in the ally talking and the crickets in the night. It’s just them outside, holding each other in the smoking section with smiles on their faces, amazed that it’s finally happening.

“Can we keep this between us?” She whispers into his ear. “Just for a bit? I don’t want to go through all the paperwork and have to separate in the field if it doesn’t work out?”

“Wait,” Spencer pulls back. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

She nods, “well yeah isn’t that what happens when two people have a mutual crush? They date?”

“Okay,” he smiles, staring at her lips and then flicking his gaze back to hers with a blush. “I have more than a crush on you, I really, really like you.”

“Prove it,” she teases, “let's go on a real date soon?”

“You know what, let’s get out of here. I have something I want to show you,” he takes her hand and waits for her to nod.

“Take my lead okay? You don’t feel good and you’re going to wait outside while I say goodbye,” she has a plan right away

“After you,” he holds the door open for her and lets her inside first.

—

“I’m taking Spencer home, he’s not doing well,” she’s a much better actress than Spencer expected, patting his back and watching him leave the bar before her like she asked him to do. “He’s really anxious?”

Penelope looks worried, “oh no, I fucked up. I told him you like him.”

She just shrugs, “if he didn’t know that already then I guess he’s not as smart as he pretends to be.”

“See,” Derek looks at Savannah. “I told you everyone else also thinks he’s faking being that smart.”

“Shut up,” she shoves him and turns her attention back to Y/N. “Go make him feel better, he’ll like your company.”

“I’ll see you guys at work on Monday,” she waves them goodbye, surprised they bought it as she rushes her way back outside to Spencer.

He’s already in his car, engine running and waiting for her with a smile. “Come on,” he hurries her inside and is taking off down the road before she even has her seatbelt on yet.

“What’s the rush, Spence? It’s only 1 in the morning I’m sure tones of places are open still?” She teases.

“You’re going to like this, I used to go here all the time when I started with the bureau,” he explains, leaving the main road to take a back root, and eventually they’re driving on gravel.

“If you’re taking me here to murder me this is a dumb way to do it because they all know I left with you,” she teases. “At least when you go to get rid of me, do yourself a favour and dig 6 one-foot holes instead of one 6 foot hole…”

He laughs, “would you really give your murderer tips?”

She nods, “my goal would be to piss him off so much he either lets me go or murders me quickly. I don’t want to go through all the pain.”

“It’s not fun, that’s for sure,” he shrugs it off but she knows it hits too hard.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, reaching her hand out for his to hold by the gear shift. “I think you’re like the strongest guy in the world, you know that, right?”

“Why?” He asks as if that's a preposterous thing to say.

“I think if I got kidnapped and tortured at 24 I wouldn’t still be working in the FBI,” she admits. “I barely made it through the academy, I know this job is intense but I don’t think I could handle being in that situation.”

“If it’s up to me,” Spencer squeezes her hand tighter and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “You’ll never experience anything like that.”

He’s so good at making her feel safe that she almost believes he has the power to do that. He would do anything and everything to move fate for her safety.

He turns down another back road then, around the edge of a lake and towards a clearing. He follows old tire tracks and parks by the dock. “I found this spot one night on a random drive to clear my head.”

“I thought you hated driving?” She quizzes him.

He shrugs, “I like to drive at night when no one else is on the road because then I don’t really have to worry about anyone else. I hate driving because I can’t always anticipate other drivers' movements. If I could read minds, then I’d drive more.”

“Valid,” she nods, “now why is this such a special spot that you needed to show me right away?”

“Well, I have a telescope and it’s been in my trunk for the last 13 years so that every time I come here, I can look up at the moon…”

“You brought me here to look at the moon with you?” She swoons, “that’s so cute.”

“You think?” He looks like his heart is doing the same swelling as hers.

She gets out of the car before she can lean over and kiss him the way she wants to. In his trunk, he does have a telescope, and a blanket, which they set out on the dock and sit upon.

The sound of the lake, the loons in the distance, frogs and crickets and music travelling from somewhere down the lake. The moon was big, the stars were amazing, and this was the closest she has ever seen them. It's amazing, and of course, it was Spencer showing her everything.

He was everything to her.

And it didn’t take long for him to become everything to her either.

Joining the BAU was a dream to many at the academy, but Y/N never thought that she would get the job, overjoyed that she did. They were a family unit; they got the job done, they protected each other, and it was a wonderful environment to be a part of. She obviously liked Spencer the most out of everyone. He took her in, he made her feel comfortable and safe and she opened up more with him than she has with anyone she’s labelled a “best friend” in the past.

She liked everything about him. The way he talked with his hands, how his sweater, vest, shirt and tie always match, his gun looks a little out of place on his belt, like it’s too big for him, but it’s cute. His hair’s been getting longer too, sometimes he wears glasses and sometimes if she’s lucky, he doesn’t shave every day.

She can’t take her eyes off him when he’s busy and won't notice, just to then move her focus away when he stared at her. She only wishes she could see the way he stares at her in awe, because if it’s anything like how she looks at him, he must love her.

She keeps her hand in his, trading the telescope back and forth in turns, her face was close to his every time they switched and she kept getting bolder with each exchange. Letting Spencer look, she kept her face close to his, kissing his cheek softly as soon as he was busy peering up at the moon.

He turned to her with a gasp, “what was that for?”

“You’re cute,” she shrugs. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while.”

“How long?” He teases, leaning in closer and kissing her nose to make her laugh.

“Since you dropped me off at my house after that first dinner…”

“So this is me,” she nods out the window, “thank you for the ride, I appreciate not having to be in an Uber all by myself.”

“Anytime you need a ride, you can give me a call?” He asks. “Seeing as we’ll be going to the same place anyway.”

She nods with a smile, “I’d love that, do you live close to here?”

“Just up the street,” he nods. “So we could carpool?”

“I can drive some days if you want?” She asks, “I know you mostly take the subway, and I know that because I’ve seen you reading on there before.”

He can’t help but smile, “so you never thought to say hello?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “you looked peaceful, and I’m sure you don’t get many moments like that in your line of work.”

He sighed, knowing she was right. “If it ever gets to be too much for you, please never feel like you have to pretend to be okay? None of us expect you to be stone cold, none of us are either. The job gets to us, just tell me if it gets to be too much?”

She looks from his lips back to his eyes and over again, “thanks, Spencer.”

He does the same to her, “anytime. Should I walk you to your door?”

She shakes her head, “that’s okay you’ve done enough for me tonight.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs. “Have a good night Y/N.”

“You too, Spencer,” she smiles before she exits his car, smiling at him from her porch before he drives away.

“So it’s been mutual this whole time?” He shakes his head at the absurdity. “I’ve been so lonely for so long and then I found you and you make me feel like I don’t need to be alone anymore.”

“You complete me too,” she makes one more comment before connecting their lips.

It’s like the world stops then. It’s silent and serene and everything she thought kissing Spencer Reid would be.

She pulls back with a smirk, “oh no.”

“What?” He worries.

“I’m going to want to kiss you all the time now…”

“Good,” he mumbles the words against her lips before reconnecting them.

—

At work on Monday, it’s very hard for them to look at each other without remembering that they’ve kissed. Spencer’s practically glowing with admiration for her that he gives it all away. He’s overly happy, offering to do things for others, standing way too close to her and bringing her coffee all morning.

“Okay, pretty boy,” Derek takes him by the scruff of the neck and redirects him into his office. “What’s going on with you today, I know you’re not this happy for JJ’s return?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you get laid or something?”

Spencer laughs, “no, you know I don’t get laid. You actually remind me of that fact quite often.”

“You’re so happy I’m worried you’ve moved to crack,” he says it. “Okay, you were acting weird on Friday, you missed brunch on Sunday and now you’re waaay too happy.”

“I’m not on drugs again,” Spencer assures him. “I’m just letting myself enjoy my time with Y/N, if she falls in love with me in the meantime that would also be nice.”

“Oh, so you’re doing this to get laid,” Derek teases him again. “That’s good, I’m sorry if I triggered you by asking, but I had to make sure you’re okay.”

“No, no,” he places his hands on Derek's shoulders, “thank you for caring.”

“Always—“

“Guys!” They hear Hotch yelling from the bullpen, cutting the tender moment short, saving Spencer from spilling the truth.

Rushing back, he sits beside Y/N at the briefing room table. “We have a bad one,” Emily Prentiss of all people walks in the door, followed by Elle Greenaway.

“We’ll have time to mingle in a minute, right now there is a woman who needs our help,” he announces.

Spencer quickly reads over the case files, recognizing Elles handwritten notes, she was a private investigator now. “With Penelope’s help, I’ve been able to set up alerts in College chatrooms in the area so that I can help to missing and assaulted women right away.”

“She’s alerted when someone reports a missing woman and she has advertisements for people to reach out to her for help,” Penelope explained.

“I’ve been working on these cases for the last 9 years,” Elle announces. “This morning Aasia Desai called me saying her sister Bahni never showed up for lunch and it’s not like her, we know she went clubbing last night and so far Penelope’s tracked her down an ally and then she’s gone.”

“Her parents are British diplomats so Interpol has asked me to join, luckily I was just in Ontario so it was a short trip over,” Emily adds. “JJ will be here in half an hour for her first day back, and we will celebrate when we can, but I see we have some new faces here?”

“Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N,” she waves, still glued to Spencer’s side. “I’ve heard a lot about you both from Doctor Reid.”

“Doctor Tara Lewis,” she stands and shakes Emily’s hand, and then Elles.

“So it says here that the first missing case was in 2006 just after you left the BAU?” Spencer changes the subject before anyone can pry into why he would be telling her about the women who worked there before her.

“I did,” Elle nods. “I was too late for her, by the time her parents realized she was missing and called me in the case was cold. I started this as a way to get ahead of it.”

“How long has she been missing?” Tara asks.

“She was last seen at 1:07 this morning,” Elle confirms. “We have 25 hours, maybe, to beat the odds.”

“Reid,” Hotch cuts in, “I would like you and Elle to go check out the street she was last seen on, find any private cameras or anyone who might have seen something.”

He turns to Y/N who just shrugs in silence; “it’s fine.”

“Tara and Derek, I’d like you to interview Aasia when she and JJ get here, Garcia can you do a deep dive into Bahni’s spending and academic records?”

“Sure thing,” she starts clicking away on her computer immediately.

“And Y/N,” Elle looks at her. “I need you to go over the footage of the man who followed her to the alley and get familiar with his face. We’re using you as the face of the investigation to hopefully draw the unsub out.”

“How would she be able to do that alone?” Spencer gets defensive, a way he used to with JJ when she was the media liaison.

“If she goes on the news and makes Bahni seem like a person while describing the unsub as someone who can help solve the case, it will draw him out,” Emily explains for Hotch, who is glaring at Spencer for second-guessing the plan already.

“And she’s college-age,” Elle adds. “If that’s who he’s been going after all this time he will want to come in and talk IF he can talk to her.”

She places her hand on his leg under the table, “it’s a good plan.”

“It is,” Hotch agrees.

“What do you not have a saying to replace wheels up when they stay in town?” Elle teases him.

“Wheels away?” Emily joins her, “that works?”

“just get to work,” Hotch tries not to smirk at them.

Spencer stands up to leave with Elle, “can I just talk to Spencer before he leaves?” She carefully asks Hotch.

“Make it quick,” he agrees reluctantly and lets her follow him down to his desk.

Spencer rests his hands on the back of his desk chair, holding it tightly in an attempt to calm himself down.

“I’m going to be fine,” she assures him. “I don’t think the guy on the tape took her, we’d see him leave if he did.”

“Unless he lives in the alley,” Spencer combats. “Can you ask Penelope to do a background check on all the cars coming in and out of the campus and that street between midnight at 2 am?”

She nods, placing her hand on his gently. “Good luck out there, okay?”

He nods, “it’s been 2 days they’re going to know by the end of the week.”

She laughs, “so be it.”

He says fuck it right then and there, wrapping her up in a hug and kissing the top of her head as the team watches in the briefing room. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes you will,” she smacks his side as he lets her go. “If you’re going to make a scene at least give me a real kiss.”

“Hmm,” he teases. “No cause then I’d have to sign some paperwork and I’ve got to go…” he starts to back away.

“Coward,” she teases.

He just shrugs, meeting Elle by the door and heading towards the elevators in silence.

She doesn’t ask, not even when they get to the garage or inside the SUV. They’re driving down the road for maybe 2 minutes when Elle finally brings it up. “So—”

“What do you want to know?”

“It's that easy now? What happened to you?” She teases. “You’re so different from the baby Spence I left.”

“Well you missed my drug problem, my dad being a possible child molester, getting shot in the knee, getting shot in the neck, my girlfriend dying, and now my mom might have Alzheimer's so you know… I had to grow up a bit,” he lays it all out for her to ask any question she wants.

“Why don’t you ever call me? I would have been there for you through anything,” she reminds him.

“I know that,” he reaches over for her hand, “thank you. But I was a big fan of suffering in silence… and now I have Y/N and she makes me feel normal?”

“That’s good, you deserve some fraction of normal in your life and she’s really cute,” Elle smiles back at him before returning her focus to the road. “How old is she?”

“27,” he smiles. “She’s the best.”

“You love her,” Elle notices it.

He presses his lips together to fend off a smile as he nods, “I think I do.”

“Tell her, you deserve to hear that someone loves you back.”

—

She’s anxiously tapping her foot as she waits for the elevator to arrive with the suspect, Rossi standing just behind her. Only 15 minutes after being on the news, the man that was in the security footage contacted them. Making his way over for a voluntary interview.

He looks Y/N up and down with a smile, “I heard you were looking for me.”

“I sure was,” she plays along with it, smiling and making him think she’s interested as well. “I knew you’d get the message, we just need all the help we can get right now.”

“Of course,” he has his ego stroked so well that they can roll with it.

“Would you mind coming with me and Agent Rossi to talk about everything you saw?” She batts her lashes at him, really selling it.

“Sure,” he follows them down the hall.

Rossi opens the door and lets them in first, letting her get him settled and a glass of water. “So you can tell me everything from that night?”

“Sure,” he nods, explaining his taxi job, his run for the night and his alibi.

“So why did you step back into the doorway?” She asks as she sits in front of him. Straight-faced as she catches him off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“You stepped out of the way to let her pass and then followed her, she made no motion to say she wanted your services, so I’m just wondering why you would follow her before she disappeared?”

“Huh,” he suddenly feels played and his personality switches. “I thought this was just a chat?”

“I’m simply asking you questions? If you don’t have answers that makes you suspicious. An innocent person would have given me an answer,” she fights back.

“She’s right, you got very defensive very fast,” Rossi finally speaks up.

He shakes his head with a huff. “I was going to ask if she needed a ride, she looked pretty messed up. And then some guy came over and wrapped his arm around her and they walked off. They seemed to know one another. I thought she was safe in his hands.”

Only his tone doesn’t match the words. He sounds jealous— It’s not like she would have been a large tab, he wasn’t jealous because he lost a customer. No, he’s jealous like someone stepped in and prevented him from snatching an easy victim.

“Fair enough,” she pretends to believe him. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I can go now?” He changes right back to confused.

She nods, “I’ll escort you down if you’d like?”

“Thanks,” he stands and follows her to the door where Rossi stops her.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, “I’ll be back up shortly.”

She catches up with him by the elevators, “did you have to drive far to get here?” She makes small talk.

“Not really,” he shakes it off. “I like your necklace.”

She touches her necklace and her face drops, “thanks.”

“Necklaces are my favourite.”

“You don’t wear any?” She notices in the form of a question.

He shakes his head as the elevator opens at the ground level. “I think they’re nice gifts.”

She nods along, pretending that didn’t set off every ret alert and alarm in her mind, “well here you are. Thanks again for all the help.”

“No problem,” he goes to leave, turning to stop and block the doors from closing. “If you want, later tonight I can show you everything I saw at the alley?”

“Yeah, sure,” she agrees with no plan to go.

“8 pm? At Cafe Linda?”

“See you then,” she agrees and he steps back letting the door close and then she loses her cool.

Feverishly smashing the floor 6 button, and begging to make it back up to Hotch to tell him everything. But she also just wants to cry but she holds it in as she makes it to their floor matching past Rossi and right into the briefing room.

“He may not be our unsub but that man is a creep,” she announces. “He not only complimented my necklace but he asked me to come to the alley tonight so he can walk me through what he saw.”

“You’re not going,” Hotch announces.

“I didn’t plan to,” she snaps. “I think we need to look into him because he’s either giving little girls necklaces to keep them quiet or he’s taking necklaces after he kills women.”

“Kathy’s parents said she was in a necklace when she went missing,” Emily adds. “His connection to this case and being at NYU right before she went missing gives us enough probable cause for a search warrant.”

Hotch sighs, “fine. I’ll call a judge, you and Y/N can go and search his place.”

“So shouldn’t we arrest him before he leaves the building?” Morgan asks.

“He’s still in the garage, I’ve let the security know to stop him and arrest him at the gate,” Garcia adds, listening in and planning in advance.

“Thank you,” Hotch smiles at her, “you’re always reading my mind.”

Garcia smiles back at him, “always, sir.”

“Okay, let’s go,” she looks at Emily and waiting for her to turn to leave the room.

“Let’s,” she motions for Y/N to take the lead and follows.

The drive to his house is so weird… she doesn’t quite know how to talk to Emily, knowing only slightly about her and her knowing nothing about Y/N.

“So how long have you and Spencer been dating?” Her first question just gets right to the point.

She laughs awkwardly, “3 days…”

“Oh…”

She hums as she nods along, looking out the window and avoiding Emily’s eye contact. “It’s new, we’re both pretty infatuated with each other but we’re taking it slower than most people because I’m afraid to let my feelings change how I do the job.”

“Makes sense,” Emily replies. Her voice is so sweet, she has an aura of calm that follows her and lets Y/N feel safe. She gets why Spencer said she was his best friend on the team before her.

“The necklace comment… why did it make you so wary of this guy?”

“When I was in middle school a guy gave me a necklace while he was grooming me,” she whispers. Looking out the window and pretending it doesn’t bother her now. “It’s fine, I don’t have it anymore, but I knew this guy had that same vibe.”

Emily put her hand out, letting Y/N interlock their fingers and hold it. “I know I just met you, but you’re family now. I’m here if you’re ever suddenly not fine with it anymore…”

“Thanks,” she smiles. “Let’s get this fucker.”

—

By the time the warrant went through, Spencer and Elle had joined them to search the first suspect's house while Emily left to help the rest of the team with suspect two. Tracking all the license plates in the area like Spencer suggested lead them to a Chinese food delivery driver in the area.

That didn’t stop Y/N from destroying her suspect's house. They tore the house apart, searching every nook and cranny for any answer that would make sense. She was tempted to lift the floorboards up, call in SCSI to run ground-penetrating radar and search the fucking walls if they had to.

But then she found it.

A small metal box in the laundry room contained some tools and when she lifted up the fake bottom, she found 5 necklaces.

“Elle!!” She yelled through the house.

They both came running down the hall to her, “is this Kathy’s necklace?”

“Oh my god,” she whispered with a nod.

“I want to kill this guy,” she mumbles under her breath as she places the necklaces back in the box and closes it up.

“Spencer doesn’t need another girl he has a crush on to murder someone and get kicked out of the bureau,” Elle teases.

“What?” Y/N asks.

“Way to go,” Spencer nudges her.

Y/N stands up with the box and slides it into a large evidence bag before taping it up. “I guess he has a type then.”

“I don’t,” Spencer tries to cover up. “I mean, if I do then it’s people who are nice to me…”

She smiles at him, unable to even pretend to be jealous or mad. “It’s hard to be mean to you when you’re so cute.”

“Ew,” Elle announces her disgust as she leaves the room.

“Let’s get out of here before I end up kissing you in a murderer's laundry room,” Spencer teases, taking her hand and leading her out of the house as the rest of the forensics team takes over the bagging of evidence.

“Guys,” Elle rushes back to them with her phone pressed to her ear. “We have a bigger problem than we thought with Bahni.”

They rush into the SUV, putting the team on the speaker to hear the most unthinkable. “So I did what Y/N suggested and searched every single driver coming in and off-campus and the last street she was seen on,” Penelope explains back. “And I came across a man who was delivering Chinese food under the name Tom Larson… and it’s ironic his name is tom because he has a plethora of peeping offences and general creepiness alongside a metric shit-ton of abuse from his dad and dead mother.”

“Okay?” Elle follows.

“Tom Larson lives near Bahni,” Emily explains, “I was just at his house where I found him and his father had been murdered.”

“So we have not 1 but 3 creeps in this case, and none of them are who took Bahni?” Spencer rubs his eyes. “Please tell me we know who was in Tom’s car last night.”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Penelope says with the doles tones of keys clicking behind her words. “We were just contacted by the fugitive Taskforce because they believe one of the murderers they’ve been tracking took Bahni… but he has ties to a much larger scale global sex trafficking ring.”

Elle flies through the streets with their lights on, pulling back into headquarters and right up to the security check. “So who is this guy?”

“Once you get back up here, Agent Simmons and Alvez will explain everything,” Hotch confirms. “I’m taking Derek to see Cruze, we need to tell him what’s going on.”

“Sounds good,” Elle hangs up and throws the SUV in park.

Y/N hesitates, staying put and taking a few breaths as Spencer watches. Elle’s left the car and is already on her way to the elevator. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I just have a hug real quick?”

“Yeah,” he wraps his arms around her and holds her close. “Are you okay?”

She nods against him, “yeah it’s just good to have at least 8 hugs a day.”

“Hug me whenever you need to,” he whispers against her hair, kissing the side of her head before she pulls back.

“Kisses are helpful too?”

He smiles, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers, mumbling against them, “how many?”

She hums, “10?”

He pecks her lips 10 times and counts each one, making her giggle, it takes so much effort to hold her smile back to keep kissing him but she feels much better.

“Thank you,” she beams and she can swear Spencer's eyes sparkle as he smiles back.

She pulls him into another hug, “I hate that we have to go catch a killer right now.”

“Come on then, as soon as we get him we can go on another date somewhere?”

She shakes her head, “after this case I think we should take a nap together… I’m exhausted and I don’t want to let you go.”

Spencer shakes his head in amazement, “you really like me?”

“Yeah, maybe I do,” she teases him. “You should get used to it because it’s only going to get more intense and I will smother you with love.”

He just shrugs, “it’s about time—“

They’re startled with a knock on the window, “we get it you’re in love, can we go now?”

“Sorry!” Y/N calls back with a giggle, pulling him in for one last kiss before getting out. Spencer follows with a deep blush that everyone will see when they get back upstairs, but it looks cute on him.

Luke Alvez has been trying to catch one criminal for the last 2 years. Simon Garrett has been a pain in the ass for the FBI, the CIA and DEA. He first showed up on their radar when his DNA was found on 14 women’s remains, all of who had been missing for at least 5 years.

His DNA was then traced to his son in the foster system, who’s been off the radar for the last 10 years. Everette Garrett.

“Now he’s interesting because I’ve been investigating his sex trafficking ring between Canada and the United States,” Matt adds. “All 14 women his father's DNA was found on were thought to be in his ring, which means when they get too old he hands them to his father to take care of.”

Y/N shakes her head as she listens, “so if you’ve been looking for them for this long what makes you think we can find them in time to save Bahni?”

“We’ve been tracking him for a while, we knew that he had a new girl on his radar and when we heard it was Bahni Desai we knew it was time to get you guys,” Matt explains.

“So far we know that she has to be taken to this warehouse in Alexandria before she goes any further, we’re going to intercept them before they make it to the warehouse and then use their car to gain access to take the whole thing down,” Luke rolls out a map of the facility then.

“We need to have the place surrounded for any runners, SWAT is getting prepped, we’re going tonight at 3 am,” Matt adds. “Morgan, Hotch, Prentiss, Alvez and Myself will be running a team at each of the 5 exits. Once inside, each team's swat unit will deploy gas to carefully knock everyone out, from there we need someone to cuff everyone at least until we know who is a victim and who is working there.”

“We’re taking everyone alive?” Spencer makes sure he hears them right.

“We need to know what the step after this warehouse is if we want to rescue more victims,” Luke’s voice is gentle yet stern as he explains. “I’ve seen this man take too many women from good homes and ruin their lives, I’m not letting him slip out of my fingers.”

“We’ve had this planned for months, we just needed to wait for the next confirmed drop-off.”

“Who’s driving?” Y/N asks, having a feeling it was her and Spencer.

“He’s Reids age,” Hotch announces from the door as he walks in with Cruze, “so we’ll replace Everette with Reid and Bahni with Y/L/N.”

“Rossi and Elle will be there to apprehend Everette, we’re setting up a fake traffic spot to irritate him and inhibit him from running. You two will be in a duplicate car arriving at the warehouse at the arranged time,” Emily confirms. “We just have to prep SWAT and then we can leave.”

“Alright, let’s get ready.”

—

Pretending to be kidnapped in the back of a car driven by her boyfriend was possibly the weirdest way to spend a Tuesday morning. Driving the exact make and model as their unsub, her heartbeat was loud enough to cover the sound of the engine and distract her from the long drive. She was overly anxious, and rightly so, it was her first sting.

And she was doing it all without coffee. Tired but full of adrenaline, she wanted to close her eyes and drift off but she knew she needed to be ready to apprehend the men at the gate with Spencer.

She feels the large bump, indicating they just went over a speed bump and she knows what that means. The car slows and she can hear the muffled talking before swat steps in, soon enough Spencer is cracking the trunk open and reaching in for her.

“Are you okay?” He helps her to her feet and makes sure her bulletproof vest is on right before handing her, her gun and watching her clip it on.

“Yeah, what happened?”

“The guards are down, Swat moved in as soon as we arrived, now we have to stand here and wait for them to clear the building,” Spencer explains as they walk to the front of her car.

She draws her gun and keeps it pointed low, guarded as they watch the front entrance for anyone to escape. “Do you know if Bahni is okay?” She whispers towards him.

He nods, “they radioed in that they got her, she’s being airlifted to the hospital with JJ right now.”

She nods with a deep breath, “okay good.”

“It’s going to be fine, we have enough SWAT here to take the government,” he tries to joke, getting a laugh from one of the officers… very strange to see someone laugh while holding an assault rifle.

One of the swat side steps towards Spencer, “I’m hearing on the line that they’ve cleared every room. They’re cuffing everyone, you’re free to enter.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replies.

The high-pitched screech rubber gripping asphalt in an attempt to stop draws their attention backwards. Elle and Rossi jumping out with their guns drawn, ready to join even though the exciting part is long over.

“No runners?” Elle asks, holstering her weapon. “Aw man, I was excited.”

“Not a one,” Y/N adds, watching the front entrance for the rest of the team to start funnelling out with the unsubs.

Luke exits first with a big smile on his face, Simon Garrett cuffed and barely stumbling out the door in front of him. He finally got him.

“well done,” Elle congratulates him. “Let me help you get him in SWAT van.”

“I think she has a thing for Luke,” Rossi leans into Y/N to gossip. “she wouldn’t stop asking about him on the drive…”

“Ooo,” Y/N teases, getting more and more tired as her adrenaline drops. Her eyes are heavy and Rossi can tell.

“Why don’t I bring you and the good doctor home, I don’t think they need all of us for the wrap-up,” Rossi pats her back. “You’ve had a long night, kid.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, holstering her gun and turning with him towards the SUV. “I’m so exhausted.”

“Well you’ve been on the job for almost 24 hours now, you’ve officially made it through your first overnight sting op,” Rossi congratulates her like he’s her grandpa.

She turns back when she doesn’t hear Spencer following her, “Spence? Are you coming?”

“Um,” he has something to ask as he follows then but he doesn’t say it. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay, come sit with me in the back?” She asks, sliding in beside him and resting her head on his shoulder as soon as their seatbelts are on.

“Did you still want to have a nap together?” He whispers, feeling her nod against his shoulder before she pulls back.

“Come here,” she tugs him in against her chest, snuggling in as best as she could in their sitting position. Holding him close and feeling him drift off in her arms. She has no problem following suit.

When she wakes, Rossi is parked outside of her apartment, “here you go, Y/N.”

She hums as she comes to, shaking Spencer awake too, “Spence, come on, let’s get to bed.”

“He’s going with you?”

She nods, “don’t tell Penelope. She’ll have a field day, I just want a nap.”

“You better get more than a nap,” Rossi orders. “You guys need to actually rest before you come back to work on Wednesday.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she teases him. “We will.”

“Bye Dave,” Spencer whispers as he gets out of the car. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime kid,” Rossi waves them off, waiting for them to enter the building before driving away.

“Finally,” she sighs, dragging Spencer down the hall and towards her apartment. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“me too,” he barely says.

He follows her inside like a lost puppy, taking off his vest and shirt, slipping out of his pants until he’s in an undershirt, boxers and his mismatched socks. She’s amazed by how comfortable he is with her, but she has known him for 3 months, it’s enough time to fall in love with someone… right?

She’s loved him since she started working with him. When she realized he valued her opinions, he looked at her as a person and he genuinely loved her company. She felt a real connection with him, not just childish infatuation. He was everything to her.

She slides into bed beside him and snuggles in, wrapping an arm around his middle and resting her head on his chest.

“I guess I really can do everything,” she smirks.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She pokes his chest and giggles away the awkwardness, “the thing I wanted to do most, the thing that I couldn’t do… that was to fall in love with you, but I did it anyway.”

“Well, then I guess I can do everything too.”

She pulls away to look at him, “I love you, Spencer. I don’t know if it’s too soon, but I’ve loved you for a while.”

He pulls her in for a kiss, shocking her as he breathes her in and holds her there. “I love you, more Y/N.”

Permanent tag list

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[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (1)

(Hey guys! I finally got around to posting the first chapter of this! I hope you guys enjoy it, and please tell me if you’d liked to be tagged or want to read more! there’s also a mini-series of Journal Entries connected to this fic.)

Ch.2

Chapter 1: Happy Accidents

Rosemary Highschool, a private school for the truly gifted and the rich. Anyone who attended this facility was either poised and reserved, or uptight, or all of the above. Therefore, when a stuttering, stumbling raven-haired girl came tripping through their doors, it was only natural that the students became curious.

Felix couldn’t care less, if he was being honest. The girl was just another student, and he had better things to do than waste his time meddling in the personal life of a complete stranger. 

His friends, however, did not share his sentiment. 

“Did you hear?” Allegra asked as they walked to their lockers, her sky blue eyes wide with delight. She leaned forward slightly to catch a better view of their expressions, causing her golden braid to fall gracefully over her left shoulder. 

“About the new student? Who didn’t?” Claude replied, wearing his usual grin. 

“How do you think she got in?” Allan wondered aloud, fixing the green cap on his head in thought.

Felix rolled his eyes. His friends had always loved picking up on the latest gossip. He never understood why. Take this new student, for example. She hasn’t even finished enrolling in the school yet, but everyone’s already chattering relentlessly about her. Why? Because she was rumored to be clumsy? That was hardly an achievement, let alone something to be talked about by the entire school. So what was all the fuss about?

Allegra gasped, a smile lighting up her soft features. “Oh! We should show her around! This school is huge, so she’ll definitely need a guide. Plus, we can get the first scoop on her.”

“Absolutely not.” Felix finally cut in, giving her a sharp look. He refused to galivant around the school with a complete stranger while his classmates tried to pry into the poor girl’s personal life. 

“We didn’t say you had to go.” Claude pointed out.

“But you should at least say hi.” Allegra hastily added, a motherly tone coming to her voice.

Felix scoffed. Right. He would say ‘hi’, then they would ‘convince’ him to stay- i.e. drag him by the collar -and he would end up going around the school with them anyway. He’d gotten used to their tricks by now.

Allan frowned in disapproval. “Come on, Fe. It’s the polite thing to do. We are her new classmates, after all.”

“Yeah, Fe, don’t be a jerk.”

“When am I ever not a jerk.” Felix retorted.

Claude smirked. “He’s got a point.”

“Felix.” Allegra pressed, fixing him with a stern glare and putting her hands on her hips.

Felix groaned, irritation prickling up to the forefront of his mind. What did it matter if he saw the new student? He wouldn’t be talking with her often, and they would probably meet later on during classes anyway. Why did they have to be so pushy?

He reached up to rub his temples and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t see them, it helped him imagine that they weren’t annoying him to the point of insanity. 

“Alright, fine, but if any of you-”

Felix barely registered the hit. He heard his friends gasp, and the sound of his books and pencils scattering across the floor, and he felt the dull pain of someone smacking into him before he unexpectedly hit the ground.

Then his ears tuned into a light, yet panicked voice.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that- are you hurt? Do I need to call the nurse?”

Someone was talking to him. Well, they were more of rambling, really. 

“Pardon?” He said, interrupting the person’s ramble as he rubbed his back. He glanced up to see a young girl kneeling on the ground in front of him. She was scrambling around on the floor- gathering up his books, he realized -and appeared to be even more disoriented than he was.

His question spooked her, apparently, because she jumped, and her eyes darted upwards. They were an overwhelming blue, bright and sparkling despite being filled with anxiety at the moment. 

“I-I’m sorry!” She repeated, briefly setting the books down so she could nervously pull on the tips of her raven-colored pigtails.

Felix’s eyes widened. 

Raven.

Claude stifled a laugh behind him. 

“It’s not a problem.” Felix sighed, swiftly taking his books back from her and moving to retrieve the others. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. 

The ravenette furrowed her eyebrows, now bringing her hands down to play with the zipper of her black, half-sleeved jacket. “A-are you sure?”

He gave a short nod, scooping the rest of his books into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I ran into you. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry.” His tone was composed, calm, if only for the sake of dignity. Claude and Allegra were never going to let him live this down.

He picked up her small handbag, holding it out to her. “So, I apologize. I’ll be more careful next time, and I am willing to replace anything of yours that is broken.” 

A wash of color came to her cheeks.

“Oh, That- that won’t be necessary, thank you.” She insured, taking the purse and clutching it to her chest.

Felix didn’t reply, instead using the brief pause to look her over. With her light pink capris and child-like pigtails, she didn’t exactly give off the impression of being rich or poised. Perhaps a relative bought her tuition? That’s happened before. 

“Aw, look! Felix made a friend!” Claude’s snide remark broke Felix from his thoughts, and he shot the brunette a glare. That clown can never keep his mouth shut.

Allegra pushed past the two and extended a hand to the girl just as they got to their feet. “Hi! I’m Allegra. What’s your name?”

The girl smiled- which Felix found surprisingly pleasant -and took her hand. “Marinette. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Like the doll?” Allan asked curiously, stepping forward as well.

“Sort of, yes.” 

“That’s pretty cool. I’m Allan, by the way.” He introduced himself, also shaking her hand. He then pointed behind him, towards Claude and Felix. “The one in the blue striped shirt is Claude, and the stiff board you just ran into is Felix.”

Felix hunched his shoulders slightly, a scowl tugging at the corner of his lips, but Marinette only laughed. It oddly reminded him of the sound of tinkling bells. 

“You’re new here, right?” Allegra asked before Felix could snark off to Allan. “Mind if we show you around?”

A sigh of relief tumbled from Marinette’s lips. “Please do. This place is like a maze!”

Claude chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’ll make your head spin. We-”

“-Can start with the cafeteria.” Felix interrupted. The sooner they could start the tour, the sooner he could go home. “Then we’ll work our way around the classrooms.”

He spun on his heel, ignoring his friends’ smug smiles, and marched off. It wouldn’t take long for them to follow.

Allan was the first to catch up, throwing Felix a sly smirk as he whispered, “I thought you said you weren’t going to show her around.”

Felix shrugged. If he was going to suffer through the embarrassment of running into somebody, he might as well get something out of it. He would take her on a quick tour, and perhaps his friends wouldn’t feel the need to meddle in his social life for at least another month.

“We’re her new classmates, right?” He said. “We should exercise basic politeness and guide her through the school.”

Allan hummed. “Sounds like good advice. I wonder who could’ve told you that.”

“The name escapes me.” Felix replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He stole a glance over his shoulder to the rest of the group. Marinette was talking cheerfully with Allegra now, her previous show of anxiety all but gone. She even looked a bit confident with the tripping matter settled. Isn’t that strange?

“...What else do you know about her?”

~~~~~~

When Maman suggested that Marinette start attending Rosemary Highschool, reluctance couldn’t begin to express how she’d felt. She’d heard the rumors, how the kids were spoiled, snobby brats, how the classes were just a room full of fancy trinkets to keep the kids satisfied for a while. Marinette honestly didn’t want any part of it, but at that point, any school was better than her old school. She simply couldn’t stand Lila’s schemes anymore, nor Adrien’s relentless pursuit of having them get along. As bad as Chloe’s bullying was, Marinette almost wished that she could go back to that time. At least then she’d still have friends. (Well, calling her old classmates “friends” would be over exaggerating now. At least then she wouldn’t have to deal with getting bullied from everyone at school.)

Either way, Marinette chose Rosemary over Dupont in a heartbeat, despite her uneasiness, and found that it actually wasn’t all bad. The endless halls were a bit confusing, but the classes were more advanced than others had let on, and though a select few of the students could be considered snobbish, everyone else seemed quite nice. A small group even offered to show her around. (After she ran into their friend, that is. Only Marinette could make such an embarrassing introduction.)

“I think that covers everything.” The girl of the group, Allegra, said. “But in case you’re still confused, I have a map for you.”

“A map?” Marinette echoed. She didn’t think they presented those at the school, though they probably should.

Allegra nodded and pulled a folded piece of paper from her school bag. “Claude gets lost all the time. So I started making maps for him. I have multiple maps because- typical Claude -he loses the maps too.”

“How was I supposed to know that it got mixed in with my history homework?” Claude, obviously the jokester amongst them, defended with a flail of his arms.

“If you ever need help,” Allegra continued, ignoring Claude’s comment as she scribbled something on the map, “feel free to text me.” 

“Thank you so much.” Marinette smiled, peeking at the phone number that was now on the corner of the page.

“It’s the least we can do.” Allan, probably the most relaxed of the group, replied. 

“It’s not as complicated as it looks. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it within a week.” Ah, yes. Then there was Felix, the poor boy she’d run into earlier. He’d been extremely mature about the matter, even insisting that it was his fault and that he’d pay for any of her damaged belongings. Naturally, she refused the offer, but it was a thoughtful gesture nonetheless. 

“If not, you know where to find us.” Claude added, before scooping her hand into his and pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “But I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to you finding me for non-school related purposes as well.” 

Allegra rolled her eyes with a sigh, and Allan pinched the bridge of his nose. Felix just scoffed, especially when Claude winked at the end. 

Jokester and flirt of the group. Marinette thought with a smirk. In one quick motion, she slipped her hand out of Claude’s grasp and pushed him away by the tip of his nose. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said, flashing him a wry smile.

Claude stumbled back a step, clearly shocked by her reaction. Allan straight up laughed next to him, and Marinette, to her delight, caught a glimpse of Felix smirking.

“Oh, I like you.” Allegra snickered, slinging her arm over Marinette’s shoulders.

“So do I.” Claude grinned. 

Allan, once his laughs died down, stepped forward. “Do you mind if I give you my number too? I can’t imagine not hanging out with you now.”

Marinette blushed from the compliment, but nodded and handed him the paper. Claude eagerly jumped at the opportunity and wrote down his number too. Then the boys turned to Felix.

“What about you, Fe? Are you giving her your number now or are you gonna beg for it later?” Claude asked, his grin turning devilish.

Felix shot him a glare- which he apparently did quite often. “I don’t beg.”

Allegra- ever the patient friend -let out a huff and shoved the paper into his hands. “For Pete’s sake, Felix, just write your number on the dang paper.”

“O-Only if you want to.” Marinette interjected. She didn’t want to cause a fight amongst them on her first day.

Felix’s glare faded slightly at her input, and he sighed. 

“It’s fine. You would probably need it eventually, anyway.” He relented, plucking a pen out of his left vest pocket and jotting down his number on the paper too. Marinette smiled despite herself as she took the paper back. It was only her first day, but she’s already made four, lovely friends. She liked to think of that as a good sign.

“Have you gotten your class schedule, yet?” Allegra queried now that the phone number matter was settled.

Marinette shook her head. “I was actually trying to find it when I bumped into you guys.”

Claude snorted. “‘Bumped into’. Good one.”

Marinette giggled along with Allegra and Allan. She hadn’t meant it that way, but the irony was a bit humorous. 

“Let us walk you to the office.” Allan requested. “The school tends to overcomplicate things, class schedules included.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hold you guys up.”

Allegra waved her hand dismissively. “Classes are over for the day, and our drivers are paid to wait for us.”

Marinette furrowed her brows slightly. “Your drivers?"

“You know, the people who drive us to and from school and anywhere else we want to go.” Claude helpfully supplied.

So, like Gorilla. Marinette thought. It made sense. This was a school of kids who had fortunes of the same extent, if not greater than, the Agreste’s fortunes. If Adrien had a driver, then the students here would certainly have one too.

“You don’t have a driver, do you?” Allegra guessed.

Marinette glanced up at the blonde, a strange mix of surprised and embarrassed. Was it that obvious? Would it be weird in this school if she didn’t have a driver?

“Please don’t take that the wrong way.” Allegra rushed to add, noticing Marinette’s sheepish expression. “I’m just curious. We don’t get many students here who aren’t drowning in their own money.”

“That makes sense.” Marinette replied. The tuition for this school had been unbelievably high. “But no, I don’t have a driver. My family was granted an early scholarship for me to come here.”

Surprise flashed across the group’s faces, including Felix’s. 

“Well, isn’t that interesting.” Claude muttered. 

Marinette shrank back slightly. “I-I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t apologize.” Allan cut her off. “We’re just impressed.”

“Getting a scholarship here isn’t easy.” Allegra explained. 

“I-It’s only in the fashion section.” Marinette admitted, fiddling with the ends of her bookbag.

Claude gasped, a sparkle coming to his chestnut eyes. "You're a fashion designer?!"

“Uh oh.” Allan smirked.

Allegra shot her an apologetic look. “I’d say that there’s an escape to this, but I don’t want to lie straight to your face on our first day of knowing each other.”

Marinette held back a smile. Did that mean she would lie to her face when they knew each other better?

“How many outfits have you designed? Can you sow outfits too? I’ve had a few ideas, but none of the other art students listen to me-” Comments and questions started spilling out of Claude left and right. Things about smeared pencil drawings, pricked fingers, and his strange obsession with ruffled, prince-like sleeves seemed to explode out of his mouth all at once. Marinette knew her rambles could fall on the fast side, but this was a whole other level. 

“I’d have to look through my notebook, but I think the ruffles are doable.” Marinette managed to say when Claude paused to take a breath.

“Really?!” He exclaimed, going so far as to clasp his hands together with a grin.

She nodded, smiling herself. “I’m not sure how princely sleeves would fair on modern sleeves, though. They’d look much nicer on a full prince costume.”

Claude’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You would design a full suit for me?”

“I can’t promise that the fabric will be of good quality when I sow it, but yeah.” 

Claude threw his fists in the air in celebration, and Allegra took the opportunity to lightly pull Marinette aside.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” She whispered. “Claude’s not going to be too disappointed if you decide to change your mind.”

Marinette’s smile softened. “Thanks, but I really don’t mind. I needed a new project to work on, anyway.” 

Allegra studied her for a moment, then smiled as well. “Well, if you’re sure. He’s going to send you cars full of fabric though.”

She laughed. “Guess I’ll tell Maman to start clearing out the guest room.”

~~~~~~

Felix stared at his book, rubbing the corner of the page between his thumb and index finger. His phone buzzed relentlessly beside him on the arm of his recliner, no doubt the group chat that he'd been roped into. It was chaotic enough when it was just Allegra, Allan, and Claude, but now that they've added Marinette to the group, Felix wondered if his phone would ever be silent again.

He supposed he should have known better than to assume they would show Marinette around the school and be done with her. Allegra, Allan, and Claude were always overly friendly. However, he also couldn’t say that he minded having her around either. At least, not for the time being. She was considerate enough not to push his buttons and lively enough to keep the others occupied. No more on-the-spot activities from Allegra and Claude to cure their boredom.

"They're chatty today." Bridgette, his mother, commented from the loveseat couch to his right.

Felix hummed in agreement. "A new student arrived at the school today."

"Is that what they're talking about?"

He shook his head. "It's who they're talking to. The leeches have already adopted her."

Bridgette chuckled. “You mean Allegra, Allan, and Claude?” 

“Who else insists on sticking to me like glue?” 

She tilted her head in a “True” gesture. “Who’s the new student?”

“Her name’s Marinette.” Felix answered, flipping the page of his book.

“Oh, that’s a unique name.” Bridgette replied thoughtfully.

Felix hummed in agreement. “She said it was supposed to be similar to the doll ‘Marionette’.” 

“You talked to her?” Bridgette asked, surprise lacing her tone.

Felix resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew she didn’t mean to sound patronizing, but sometimes her questions irked him. For example, why wouldn’t he talk to the new student if Allegra and the others were? Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy human interaction, there was still such a thing as common courtesy.

..Which he supposed he didn’t usually have either.

Okay, maybe her question was more reasonable than he originally thought.

“Yes, I actually ran into her while we were walking down the hall.” He finally said.

Bridgette tried- and failed -to hide her laugh. “You ran into someone? That’s not like you, Felix.”

Felix sighed, slipping a bookmark into his book so he could close it. “I’m aware. I was trying to ignore Allegra’s prodding when it happened.”

“I see. What did Marinette say?”

“She actually started apologizing.” Felix admitted. “Even though it was my fault, she picked up my books before tending to her own things and asked if I was alright.”

Bridgette smiled. “She sounds delightful.”

He nodded without thinking. “Allegra even invited her to our routine luncheon tomorrow.”

Felix missed the twinkle in his mother’s eyes as she said, “Wow, to your personal lunch? They must really enjoy her company. You’ll have to invite her over here sometime.”

“I’m sure Allegra will arrange it eventually.” Felix replied dismissively.

“Then I shall have to thank her when she does.” Bridgette remarked, standing up from the couch. Her fingers ruffled through his hair as she passed him. “I’m glad you had a good day at school, sweetheart.”

Felix almost objected, since he hadn’t necessarily claimed to have had a good day at school, but decided against it. There was no point in arguing, especially when his day had, in fact, been satisfactory. He’d met someone new, someone that intrigued him. (A rarity, indeed, but it was true.) In the short time they talked, Marinette had shown herself to be both kind and anxious, but also witty and confident. It was an interesting mixture that stuck out to him. What type of life must one live to create such a paradox of a personality?

Unfortunately, Allan and the others knew about as little as he did when it came to her. She was a new student that had a passion for fashion and a bright smile. That was all. This was why he’d elected to remain silent instead of sharply opposing Allegra’s inviting Marinette to their lunch. (The sly smiles that were thrown his way by Claude and Allan afterwards were above irritating, though.)

Nevertheless, Felix felt she was worth the teasing for now, because Marinette, in short, was a puzzle.

And Felix loved his puzzles.

[dramaqueeenamby]

𝙎𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝗈𝖿 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 | seven

Parings: CEO!Chris Hemsworth x Stripper!OC // Words: 7.8K // Type: Series // Taglist: Yes/No (Inbox me to be tagged or removed) Warnings: Sexual harassment, racial themes, discussions pertaining to child death, miscarriage, alcohol/drug use, and suicide attempts. Angst.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the inexcusable delay in updates. This chapter is hella long and perhaps should have been split into two, but I promised ya'll some answers in the last chapter, so here they are!

“What is that haircut?”

“Why are you zooming in?”

Kaya said nothing, continuing to pinch her fingers to gain a closer look, her smile widening by the second. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. “

Chris rolled his eyes. “All children go through phases.”

“This is beyond a phase, my friend. Don’t even get me started on the outfit.” As she erupted in yet another fit of giggles, he took advantage of the opportunity to snatch the iPad away from her.

“Go to sleep.”

Quieting herself down, she wiped at her eyes. “No. Come on. I’m enjoying this, and like you said, you were a dumb kid. How were you supposed to know these photos would haunt you till’ the end of time?”

“Only if they get out.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, sir.”

Chris closed the app and looked over at her. “What about you?”

Kaya’s brow lifted. “What about me?”

“What about your phases?”

She snorted. “Absolutely not.” He continued to stare her down, prompting her to cave, a surprising move even for her. Kaya’s tenacity was typically much stronger than that. “Fine.”

She grabbed her phone and unlocked it, opening Google Photos and scrolling mindlessly. She knew that any horrifically embarrassing snapshots would be from as far back as her library went. The older the photo, the higher the likelihood she would regret ever caving.

It took roughly two minutes for her to locate a set, her eyes shutting and a small moan leaving her partially closed mouth.

He smirked. “Found it?”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”

“Without a doubt.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “At least you’re honest.” Blowing out a breath, she issued a formal forewarning. “In my defense, I was young and dumb.”

“How is that diff—fine, I will reserve my judgment.”

“Liar.” When he said nothing else, she took another deep breath and gradually pulled her phone away from her breast, twisting her wrist so that he could see the screen. “I give you, thebaddestputa69.”

She watched the corner of his lips lift upward as he fought off a smile in favor of a smirk. “Hotmail or aol?” Her surprise at his knowledge of the fallen email servers must have shown because he commented, “I’m old, not ancient.”

She matched his smirk and leaned over to whisper. “Hotmail. Definitely hotmail.”

“AIM username?”

“Come on, the same as my email. I wasn’t creative enough to have multiple aliases.”

He chuckled, grabbing her phone to examine the photo. “I certainly do not miss the peace sign era.”

“I’m pretty sure I used that same pose in all of my photos back then.”

He gestured to the plastered graphic that read ‘jealousy is a disease, get well soon’. “With the same masterful level of editing, I’m sure.”

“But of course, blingee and picnik were a staple.”

A comfortable silence befell them as he returned her phone, and she quickly swiped up to close the app. Kaya was grateful that he didn’t swipe right or left, something she was expecting him to do, if she was being completely honest with herself.

Kaya yawned and naturally laid her head on his shoulder as she reached over to grab the book she was reading when they somehow got on the topic of rebellious and wild phases of days of past.

“Are we th—”

“Finish that sentence, and I will personally throw you out of this damn plane myself.”

Kaya looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pronounced. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“No, it was a legitimate question. However, it stopped being one when you asked me the fifth time.”

“I’m just trying to keep the conversation going. Damn.”

“No, you’re just trying to pester me.”

“Look, it’s obvious you don’t want to hear me talk anymore, so I’m just going to shut my mouth for the remainder of the flight.” He snorted. “What?”

“We both know that’s not possible.” He finally broke his gaze from his phone as he looked over with that knowing smirk that she despised. “You always have to have the last word.”

“That is not true.”

“Kaya, you’re like a child.”

“Keep it up, and you’ll be the one who’s personally tossed from this jet.”

“See what I mean.”

Groaning, she threw her hands up and shook the book in her right hand. “This is the second book in this series.”

“And?”

“And I started the series when we were still on the taxi.”

He shrugged. “Read slower.”

“Chris!”

He laughed, reaching to place his hand on her thigh as she sighed while banging her head back against the headrest. “Relax.”

“Don’t you think if I could, I would?”

“You were doing great five minutes ago.”

“That was in the past.”

“Next time, we’re taking separate jets.”

She didn’t know why but hearing him refer to future happenings both excited and saddened her, for more reasons than one. She cleared her throat. “This is a work trip, right?” He looked down at her as she placed the book down on the ground and held onto his bicep. “You know, something for your company.”

He studied her for a moment and looked up, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the headrest. “I have the cover of this month’s GQ Italia.”

“Fancy,” she remarked, still unsatisfied with his answer-non answer. “So, I was right. This is a work thing.”

Chris thought about what she said, what she asked, as well as his response before he replied. “They offered to contract a photographer in LA.”

Brows scrunched, she had to ask, now more confused than she was just a few minutes ago. “So why go to them?”

His silence only irked her, the seconds dragging into minutes, which felt like hours. Frustrated and impatient, she called his name again. “Chris-”

“Jesus,” was all she heard before his lips were on hers, palm of his hand pressed against her cheek. Everything else after that was a sensual blur. His other hand moved to her hip, pulling her onto his lap, never once breaking their kiss. She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving a light squeeze, inching her body closer to his, close enough to feel the heat that always emanated over him.

And then, it was over.

Eyes fluttering and breath staggering, she nearly whined when he ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.

“This isn’t work for me.”

----

“This is our room?”

Chris looked up and chuckled, watching Kaya spin around the middle, eyes soaking in their suite. He placed her bag near the closet while crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“It is.”

Kaya nodded and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt, tugging it over her head. She extended her arm out and turned around, lifting a brow. “And we have maid service, correct?”

He eyed her. “Of course.”

Kaya smirked and let the garment fall to the floor.

Chris chuckled. “You wanna explain that?”

“What?” She played innocent, fingers toying with the waistband of her joggers as she began to shimmy out of them. “Staying in a fancy hotel where I don’t have t0 clean up after myself?” She walked toward him, moving to grab her suitcase so that she could find her next outfit. “Granted, we have the maid service at home, but—” Both Christopher and Kaya paused at her statement, equally surprised by how easily it flowed, but more so with the statement itself.

Defense immediately kicked in and Kaya cleared her throat. “I mean, ya know, your place.” She refused to make eye contact that exceeded ten seconds, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and dragging it in the direction of what looked like the bathroom.

“Dibs.”

Her feet weren’t moving fast enough for her liking. In fact, they were slow enough that Chris was somehow able to cross the room and grab her by her arm. She looked up, managing to remain calm while inwardly panicking.

God, please don’t let him ask anything.

“Don’t take too long.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

Her grip on the handle tightened when he moved his hand to her face, the back of it brushing against her cheek. Had he been paying close enough attention, he would have noticed the way she shivered at his touch.

“You want dinner, don’t you?”

-----

“This isn’t exactly what I meant.”

Kaya looked up from her pizza, pausing mid chew. “What? Pizza in Italy? This is goals.”

He intended to take her to a fine restaurant, one where only the elite could afford to dine. Instead, she requested pizza delivered to their room. Kaya never ceased to surprise him. “And why are you eating pizza with a fork?”

She shrugged, adjusting the thin strap of her shirt. “Because pizza is messy, and my life's already messy enough. I avoid when I can.”

Chris didn’t say anything, simply watching her eat. She caught his gaze and looked away. If she could, she’d go back in time and stop herself from ever saying what she did. It’d ruined everything. He’d been acting different around her since, and she hated that. She also hated that she hated it.

Since when did she give a flying fuck about what people thought of her? Let alone him.

It was out of character for her, and she didn’t like it.

She didn’t like it at all.

Similarly, Chris also found it difficult to focus on anything other than the encounter from earlier, but not for the reasons Kaya thought.

Not even close.

“So, what’s the agenda for this trip?”

He chuckled and brought the champagne to his lips. “And ruin the surprise?”

Her eyes narrowed as she replaced the fork with her fingers so that she could eat the crust piece by piece. “What surprise?”

“What kind of question is that? Who gives away a surprise?”

“Are you capable of ever just answering my questions with a straight answer?”

He pretended to think. “I could.”

“But?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You and fun? Never realized they were synonymous.”

“I’d like to think we have fun.”

“We have sex. Really, really, great sex.”

“You don’t consider that fun?”

“Fun isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.” He lifted a brow, and she scoffed, tossing a red pepper packet in his direction. “Stop it. I am trying to have a mature conversation here.”

“Not quite sure how possible that is when both parties are inebriated.”

“Bullshit. You know damn well neither one of us is drunk. You haven’t seen me drunk. Hell, I haven’t seen me drunk in a while.”

The way her tone changed toward the end of her sentence garnered his interest. “Why not?”

She looked at him, her smile faltering as she nervously cleared her throat. “I—uh—I get really bad migraines, and Excedrin is the only thing that works for me.” Telling him the truth, well, a fraction of the truth, felt strange yet relieving, probably because she’d spent so much of her life hiding and lying that the truth was unfamiliar territory. “Needless to say, meds and alcohol? Never really a good combo.”

“You’re drinking now.”

“I haven’t taken any medicine yet.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.”

She smiled sadly. “I will.” A beat. “It’s all I have.” Kaya snatched another piece of her crust and swallowed fully before explaining. “That’s why my sleep schedule, if you can even call it that, is so fucked up.”

He thought about it. “Excedrin has caffeine.”

“An insane amount.”

“It helps your migraines—”

“And keeps me up in return.” When he grew quiet, she offered. “Trust me. The insomnia is much better than the pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

She grimaced, eyes darting in either direction. “Why?”

He sighed and ran his hands all over his face. “That’s why you get so upset when I wake you up.”

“I wouldn’t say upset.”

“You threatened to slit my throat in my sleep.”

“Okay, maybe I was a little upset,” she confessed, and they shared a laugh before his tone grew serious again.

“I’ll be mindful of that.” Head tilted to the side, a sign she was still confused, he continued. “So that you can sleep.”

She smiled teasingly, abandoning the last bit of her food, and pushing her plate to the side. “Is that consideration I hear?”

“It is.”

The way he was looking at her, the lack of typical sarcasm in his tone, it was both welcoming and conflicting. Crawling across the floor, she moved his plate to the side and climbed into his lap.

Hands on his shoulders, she lowered her voice and whispered into his ear. “Well, I’m up right now.”

He made a sound and brought his hands to her hips. “You are.” Her eyes shut when his lips moved to her shoulder. “You should get some sleep.”

Immediately, she coiled back and glared. “Are you serious right now?” He laughed, which only upset her further as he stood up, her legs locking around his waist. “It’s been at least 8 hours.”

“You keeping a timer or something?”

“Look.” She waited for him to place her on the bed before she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugging so that he laid back on the mattress. She quickly climbed on top of him. “If there’s one thing I know about us, we are ideal intimate partners. Our sexual chemistry is astronomical.”

His eyes drank her in. “Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

His voice lowered. “Is that all you think we have?”

At that moment, Kaya realized a couple of things. This was wrong. She was suddenly very much uncomfortable. And this was a mistake. This was why she didn’t tell the truth. It meant putting yourself at risk for being vulnerable.

She was never good with that.

Clearing her throat, she climbed off him and flashed a crafty smile. “I’m gonna go shower.” She couldn’t handle seeing his face, so she turned around, purposely pretending she had to look around the room to search for her luggage.

“You should know I hate sleeping with blankets.” Kaya needed to redirect the conversation to another topic. This was becoming all too much for her.

He sat up and rolled his shoulders. “So, strip the bed? Got it.”

“Absolutely not. I could freeze.”

“You just said—”

Kaya stood by the door that led to the living room area and smiled sadly. “I’m a hot ass mess, Chris.” A beat. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

-------

We need to talk when you get a chance. Please?

No matter how many times she looked at the phone, a new incoming gray message never appeared. She waited and waited, even scrolling up only for it to bounce back with no change.

She missed Nia. She missed their banter. She missed making tik toks with her. And she especially missed the advice giving, of which she could desperately use right about now.

Something was happening between them. With her and Chris. Of which she didn’t know, nor did she understand. It drove her mad because it was a new experience, one where she didn’t feel as though she always had to walk on eggshells.

Being with Chris….

“God.” She ran her hand over her face. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t with Chris. Not like that, anyway. This was a business transaction. They were both using each other for selfish purposes.

Maybe it was the sex. Nia always warned her that behind every sexual encounter, there was at least some trace of feelings.

Kaya always thought that was bullshit.

Now….now she wasn’t so sure.

“You alright?”

She looked up from her chair and saw Chris walk in. She chewed the inside of her cheek as he sat down in the chair opposite of her. Kaya took in his wardrobe, so casual and laid back. She’d never seen him in denim before, but he looked good.

She didn’t even know the photographer, but she was a fan. A billionaire in Levi’s? Iconic.

“How does it feel to dress like us common folk?”

“Poor.” He winked as she glared. “We should be done soon.”

“Don’t rush on my part. The snacks here are delicious, and who knows, I could play dress up.” She wiggled her brows and straightened when there was a knock on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the photographer spoke up and offered Kaya a friendly smile. “You’re Kaya, yes? I’m Elena.”

Kaya was surprised by the fact that this woman was both speaking to her and actually knew who she was, so her response was delayed. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She offered her hand and noticed the woman was staring at her. Welp. It was nice while it lasted. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized but continued to stare. “It’s just...has anyone ever told you that you have amazing bone structure?”

Kaya sputtered. “Not unless they wanted something from me.”

Elena smiled. “Well, I suppose this is no different.”

“I don’t understand,” Kaya asked, looking over at Chris. He was surprisingly quiet.

“How about we get some shots of the both of you?”

She immediately protested. “Oh no. I—I’m just here for moral support.”

“You did say you wanted to play dress up,” he reminded. She glared. Of course he would choose to speak up now.

She turned her narrowed eyes on him and harshly whispered. “Not while being photographed.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Relax.”

Kaya remembered that they weren’t alone and therefore, had to keep up the act. Even if it was starting to feel less and less like acting.

“I’m used to people watching, not photographing.” He lifted a brow. Laughing, she slapped his chest and took a deep breath. She looked over at Elena. “Will I at least get to see them before you pick which ones to use? If any.”

“Of course.”

Kaya caved. “Fine.” He kissed the top of her head and mouthed a thank you. “You owe me.”

“Sure, I do,” he dismissed, slapping her on her ass as Elena grabbed her to drag her away.

“Time to make magic.”

-----

It was a bad idea, one of many that had occurred, Kaya realized.

When she joked about wanting to play dress—up, she didn’t think that it would actually happen. She didn’t think that she’d become involved in his shoot. Kaya especially didn’t expect to have as much….fun as she did.

And she hated that, too. The fact that she managed to smile and laugh more in one setting than she had in, hell, longer than she could remember. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

She really, really didn’t like the way Chris looked at her every time she walked onto set in a new look, and there were a couple of them. The way he focused on her, eyes taking in every bit of her form, all the way down from her shoes up to her hair. Like he didn’t want to look away. Like he couldn’t look away. She despised the way he held her when they were photographed together, often being the reason for her smile or laughter with his comments that he whispered into her ear, sneaking in a kiss against her temple or holding her against him.

It was all so domestic and sweet, and it made no sense.

He was starting to make no sense.

And she especially didn’t understand why she was putting off leaving the bathroom, having sat on the toilet for at least 15 minutes.

As if on cue, two loud knocks on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“I’m coming, damnit.”

“That’s what you said last time. Come on, Kaya.” She was both surprised and annoyed that it was Chris. She expected it to be members of the glam team that he’d hired to help her prepare for the GQ function he was invited to, and of course, she was forced to accompany him. Turns out he wasn’t just chosen for the cover. He was man of the year. “We’re going to be late.”

“Maybe you should just leave me behind,” she muttered.

“Maybe I can just kick this damn door down,” he countered.

“Then you’ll have to pay for the damages.”

“Then I’ll buy the damn hotel,” he shot back testily. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kaya.”

She scowled and rolled her neck. Kaya knew he was being serious. The bastard could buy his way out of anything.

If only….

Blowing out a deep breath, she swallowed and stood, holding up her dress. It was undoubtedly beautiful, gold, a slit in the middle of her chest and on her left leg exposing more skin than she would have thought appropriate. Her curls were styled in a fancy updo, and her makeup was equally as bold as her dress, finalized with a red lip. She knew that she looked good, and that’s what scared her.

Chris had been looking at her like that all day, and she couldn’t keep handling it.

If she could even consider it handling. Managing was perhaps a better term. Poorly managing was the perfect term.

Kaya ripped open the door and plastered on a fake smile. “Happy?”

And there it was, his eyes widened and softened as he gave her a onceover. “And don’t tell me I look beautiful, cause’ I already know it.”

Kaya figured if she said it for him, she wouldn’t have to deal with the weird and uncomfortable knotting in her stomach that she experienced every time he complimented her.

And it worked, he said nothing, only helping to hold up her dress as they walked to the SUV that would escort them. In the car, she was also pleasantly surprised that he didn’t attempt to make small talk with her during the drive. She was certain, however, that it was because he took at least three different work calls during that time.

She made drafted Tik Toks in the meantime.

When they finally arrived, Kaya nearly ran out of the car right then and there.

“Is that a red carpet?” Her mouth dropped. “What the hell? You said nothing about having to walk a damn carpet that is red.”

He chuckled. Kaya realized his hand was on the exposed portion of her thigh. “Stay close to me, and I’ll take care of you. You’ll be fine.”

Kaya was used to having eyes on her, but that didn’t mean she liked it, especially when it didn’t involve money being thrown her way. “I don’t have to say anything, do I?”

He squeezed her thigh. “You’ll most likely receive compliments.”

“I can handle that,” she spoke more to herself than him. “Just long as no one asks if I prefer cats over dogs or whatever shit they ask.”

He laughed quietly and looked at her. “You ready?”

No. “Yes.”

Chris climbed out the car first so that he could help her out of the vehicle, and as soon as she stepped out, she cursed to herself. There were so many damn people. People taking photographs. People being photographed. People helping both the people the photographed and the photographers. And then there was her. She felt so out of place.

If he wasn’t already holding her hand, she would have grabbed for his.

Kaya used her left hand to hold up her dress, while making sure that she stayed close to Chris who led the way, smiling for the camera while sparing her glances every so often to assess her level of comfort.

Kaya played along, evoking a smile as she posed with him for a few photos. That’s when it started again. Like the photoshoot from a few hours ago, she found herself feeling less forced and more comfortable. Like, it was natural.

Like it was real.

Kaya was eventually allowed to stand to the side as he gave a few interviews, some in English, most in Italian. She’d meant to ask him earlier when the hell he learned to speak so many languages. This was the third she’d learned of. She had a feeling at least one or two journalists asked about her, because he would look in her direction and shoot a wink or something of the sort.

Her smile was a natural reaction.

The process was less daunting than she anticipated, not that she’d ever admit that to him. It was once they moved inside that Kaya realized they’d yet to reach the hard part. That hardest part was “socializing” with the guests, many of which were white, spicy white at best. She spotted some minorities but found that they were just as distant as the rest.

The vim of the event was welcoming, however, which confused Kaya to some extent. She simplified it down to the event was nice, the people were trash, and Chris was both an ass and a gentleman for forcing her to come.

He’d introduced her to a few people, most of which spoke poor English. That, she could acknowledge, was nice. Not the strained English, but his obvious concern for her wellbeing. He was going out of his way to make her feel as comfortable as he could.

It was also irritating because it resurfaced those damn knots.

They were seated at a table, and he was texting someone when she leaned over and tugged on his sleeve. Kaya also took a moment to appreciate how nice he looked. The man was something sinful in a suit. “I think I know him.”

He looked up, immediately locking his phone. “Who?”

She gestured with her chin. “The guy over there talking to the girl with the green dress. But don’t look at them.”

His eyes lifted to the ceiling. Right before he proceeded to look right in that direction.

She laughed despite her irritation. “What did I literally just fucking say?”

“I’ll never understand why people want to do something without actually doing it. I don’t have the time.” She shook her head. He was so impatient. “And how do you know him?”

She lifted a brow. He asked with a newfound sense of urgency. If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed it came from a place of jealousy.

Kaya studied the stranger across the room again when her eyes widened. “I know. He’s that actor from that porn movie we watched.”

“We don’t watch porn, Kaya. We make it.”

“Stop it.” She leaned closer, hating that her smile contrasted the frustration she felt with how vulgar he was speaking in such a public setting. “And you know the movie where they…..ya know, basically the whole time, and he kept asking in that godawful delivery, are you lost, baby girl?”

Her equally terrible impression caused him to laugh quietly. “I think that is him.”

“I told you.” She spoke a little louder than she would have liked due to her excitement at being correct. “He looks better on screen.”

Chris glanced over at him once more and scoffed. “He’s scrawny.”

“Sir, not everyone is like you and built like a fucking tanker.”

“Not my problem.”

Kaya rolled her eyes and gathered her dress. “I’ll be back. I have to use the restroom.” She stood and leaned over, arms around him from behind as she whispered. “Try not to be too much of a dick while I’m gone, okay?”

He turned to look at her. “And where’s the fun in that?”

Turns out finding the bathroom was a harder task than she’d anticipated. She’d asked one of the servers while maneuvering through the crowd, but it also turned out that Kaya wasn’t the best with directions. She did find it, though.

Eventually.

Kaya was navigating her way back to Chris when she was stopped by a man in a suit along the way.

He was of average height, average build, and average attraction. She was immediately annoyed.

“Hi,” Kaya greeted with a tight smile.

“Hello,” he smiled. Add in average dental health. “You are very beautiful.”

Kaya realized he didn’t have an accent, either. American, most likely. “Uhh, thank you.” When she moved to walk past him, he blocked her. “Sir, I really should—”

“How much?”

Her eyes darted to either side. “I’m sorry?”

“Money is no issue, as I’m sure you can see, and I’d like you for a week.” He stepped closer, bringing his hand to trail it down her arm. “Longer even, perhaps.”

“Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about, and please do not touch me.” It wasn’t so much of a request as much as it was a demand. “Now, I really should—”

“You’re not American.” Kaya continued to be confused as hell when his eyes lit up with excitement. “That explains why you look so exotic.” Confusion easily morphed into rage as she finally caught on to what he was referring to. “I bet you feel di—”

“You’re disgusting,” she hissed, pulling away from him. “I am not a fucking prostitute—”

“Call it what you want, girl,” he dismissed. “I don’t judge. I can pay you well.”

“Go fuck yourself, you sick son of a bitch,” she cursed, turning away when he grabbed her arm. “Let me go.”

“You think that you’re special?” He’d taken on another tone, one that conveyed his anger at being rejected. “The fuckin’ stall I just pissed in is worth more than you, bitch.”

Kaya refused to allow him to see her cry, but she’d be lying if she tried to say that his words didn’t sting, especially his next verbal attack.

“You can slap on that expensive dress and let Hemsworth make you feel special, but I know, you know, and everyone else in this fucking place knows that you’re nothing but a cheap, illegal whore—” Panic arose when he moved his hand to the exposed skin of her thigh, squeezing tightly. His hand started to inch upward when Kaya acted on instinct. He cursed aloud while Kaya gasped as she realized that she’d silenced him with her fist dead square in the middle of his face. “You fucking bitch!”

Shock and fear took over as Kaya gathered the bottom of her dress and ran, as much as the gown and her heels would allow, that is. Certain he was going to chase her for retribution, she consistently looked back, unaware that she needed to be just as aware of what was in front as what was behind.

She shrieked and immediately went to pull herself away from the strong body she’d collided with.

“Kaya.” Refocusing her attention, she looked up and realized it was Chris. “Where the hell—” He stopped amid his statement when he took in her appearance and realized that she was crying. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Kaya looked down, speaking more to herself than him. Not that it mattered. He was judging based on what he saw instead of what she said. He’d learned by now that her words rarely matched the truth. “Let’s just go—”

“Kaya,” he repeated, softer. Chris brought his hands to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze as he asked again, slowly. “What happened?” A strike of anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Did someone touch you?”

“No,” she answered, quickly. Too quickly.

The anger escalated exponentially. “Who? Tell me.”

Kaya could have slapped herself. She wasn’t helping the situation. She was making it worse. “It doesn’t matter, I hit him, and now he’s probably going to sue you—”

“Where is he?” Chris was looking behind her, eyes flaming. He was livid. “Show me. Now.”

“No.” Speaking was becoming an increasing challenge, especially against the backdrop of overwhelming emotions. Everything she’d been feeling, preventing herself from feeling, and afraid to acknowledge was gradually bubbling to the surface. “Just—just let me go back to the hotel. I’m messing everything up for you.”

He calmed for a second, realizing what was happening. Chris was unfamiliar with this side of her. Unfamiliar with seeing her so vulnerable. “What?”

Kaya suddenly realized that her eyes were burning again. She was fighting back tears. “I’ll give you back the money for the day, it’s—it’s fine, you’re better off without me here—”

Her offer to pay him incensed Chris. This wasn’t about the money. It stopped being about the money a long time ago, even if he hadn’t realized that until today. “I don’t want the fucking money, Kaya.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Don’t—don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Please,” she plead. Control over her emotions was a battle she’d all but lost at that point. Her words, she was certain, would be next.

He raised his voice. Chris sensed, saw that she was uncomfortable, but he also realized that this was what she needed. A push. “Why?”

“Because this all about the fucking money, okay?” She matched his volume, accepting that her tears were going to fall no matter how much she willed them not to. She’d lost the war. “It has to be about the money, because if it isn’t then that means you care, and—you can’t, alright?”

He studied her, wondering if she realized this conversation was difficult for him too. He brought his hand to the side of her face. “Why is it so impossible for you to accept that I fucking care about you?”

She looked up, glistening eyes and wavering voice. “Because then I have to admit that I care about you too, and I can’t do that.” She spoke to herself, as if vocalizing it would cement a decision that was already out of her hands. “I won’t do it.”

“Why?” He pressed. Chris brought his other hand to the other side of her face, cupping it and moving closer. He gave zero fucks about where they were and who could have possibly overheard. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”

She pulled herself away from him, back colliding against the wall as she blurted, “because all I do is hurt the people I care about alright?” In that moment, Kaya realized she was so far gone that the point of return was no longer an option. Her mouth trembled as she struggled to form her next sentence, listing off names with her fingers as props. “Mami, Papi, Nia. Hell, my own brother is dead because of me.” A beat. “I’ll only hurt you, and I care about you too much to do that.”

“Kaya—"

A newfound heaviness started to weigh upon her chest, another blockade to her speech. “I’m standing here in a dress I can’t afford, a building I can’t even fucking pronounce, and with a man I don’t deserve.”

His voice lowered. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t deserve you?” Kaya looked at him, her eyes softening before she squinted, her face scrunching up in obvious pain.

He took note of this. As invested as Chris was in finally getting Kaya to open up about how she really felt, her wellbeing would always be his primary concern.

“Kaya.” He placed his hands on her waist, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” She blinked several times, blinding lights obscuring her vision. “I—can’t—" Kaya felt the firmness of his chest, inhaled the scent of his cologne, and heard her name on his lips before everything faded to black.

-----

She awoke on her side, body clutched against a pillow, and a thin sheet covering half her body. Never one to take her time returning to her senses, she forced herself to sit up, eyes still scrunched from the sleep.

Looking down she realized she was dressed in only one of Chris’s dress shirts, her dress discarded.

Memory returned as Kaya replayed the events that transpired prior to her slumber. The photoshoot. The party. The asshole.

Chris.

“I don’t care. Tell them to send it in the mail or something.”

She recognized his voice traveling from the living room area, prompting her to swing her legs over the bed, her toes submerging into the soft carpet. She’d never been in such a fine hotel where the carpeting probably cost more than six months’ worth of rent on her one-bedroom apartment.

“Evans, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that right now. You can handle it. I don’t care.”

Kaya contemplated remaining where she was, eavesdropping without being detected. She quickly decided against it. She’d done enough.

Her feet carried her out of the room, and she stood in the doorway where she saw he was standing against the massive window that provided a breathtaking overview of the city.

Again, she considered leaving him be, but he either had exceptional peripheral vision or caught her reflection in the window because he spun around. Kaya’s eyebrows furrowed when she realized he was still dressed in his suit, with the expectation of the jacket and dress shirt which were both discarded, leaving the white undershirt.

Uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, more concern than that, she settled onto the sofa, pulling a decorative pillow to her chest as she crossed her legs.

“I have to go,” he spoke briefly before pulling the phone from his ear and hanging up.

Kaya swallowed. He’d yet to speak, so she took the opportunity to do so. “Still don’t believe me when I said I’m a hot mess?”

“What happened tonight, Kaya?”

“Which part?” She knew that playing coy wasn’t the best route, but she was forever stubborn and would fight until she had nothing left. “Where I ruined your evening, assaulted a millionaire, told you one of my deepest secrets, or fainted in your arms? There’s a lot.”

“All of it.”

She looked away and licked her lips. Kaya felt cornered, absolutely trapped. Emotionally. She’d always assumed being physically stuck would feel far more suffocating and frightening. She was wrong.

Kaya considered her options, though far and few in between. She could deflect. She was a master at that. She could redirect blame onto him. Call him out on even making her go on the trip, for not telling her ahead of time what to expect, maybe throw in a few insults. And lastly, the most frightening of them all, she could be honest.

That was the scariest of them all.

“I lied to you.” The words spilled out before she realized it, but Kaya accepted the fact that she was tired. There was only so much she could carry, and she’d reached her limits. “My—my parents aren’t dead. They still live in the same house in Parlier that I grew up in with Denes. He’s—he was my brother.” It felt strange talking about, verbalizing what she’d quietly struggled with for so many years. And yet, there was a peace that accompanied the release. “He was such a beautiful little boy, but….different. He didn’t talk much, life skills were….hard for him, and he had these fixations on certain things. He didn’t like change.”

“Kaya, you don’t—”

“When I was eleven, and he was eight, my parents found out they were pregnant. They’d been trying for so long….they were so happy.” She roughly wiped at her face to do away with the silent tears that fell. The crying, however, was inevitable. “One day, they had a checkup appointment, and the babysitter fell through, so they asked me to watch Denes.” She nodded slowly, reverting to the same rush of emotions she felt that day. “I was so….mad, because my friend had just gotten Guitar Hero, and I was supposed to walk down to her house so we could play it.” To that day, Kaya felt a strong surge of rage whenever she ran across a throwback picture or read an article referring to that game. It was a trigger.

“My parents promised that I could go when they returned, but I just couldn’t wait.” Her nose turned up with disgust, disgust directed 100% inward. “I just had to go play that stupid fucking game.”

“Denes loved birds. They were one of his fixations. They think—they think he saw one outside our living room window or something and walked outside to see if he could catch it because, of course, I forgot to lock the front door.” She stared off into space before closing her eyes. “I had just walked into my friend’s house when I heard someone scream like I’ve never heard a scream before.” Kaya tugged the pillow closer to her chest and lowered her head. “I ran back so fast because I thought—I thought I could help him. I thought I could save him.” Her voice cracked. “—But there was so much blood, and he was so hurt—he died in the middle of the street, bleeding, terrified, and it was all my fault.”

Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. “Kaya—”

“They never found the driver,” she added quietly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “The shock of it all……it was too much for my mom, and she miscarried.” Kaya laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor. “I spiraled after Denes passed. Everything bad and terrible I could get myself into, I did. I—I skipped class, I partied, I drank, I tried drugs.” She scoffed. “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to some guy whose name I still don’t know because I was so drunk.” She leaned back into the sofa, staring at the intricate pattern of the rug. “I just—at the time, I thought if I did enough, I could make my parents hate me, because it’s what I deserved. But for everything I tried, they kept giving me chance after chance.”

“So, then I attempted suicide, twice, and I couldn’t even do that right.” She groaned and wiped at her eyes again. The cuffs of the shirt were nearly soaked. “I realized that God or the universe or whomever clearly wanted me to suffer and to live with my guilt, but in the midst of trying to punish myself, I failed to realize that all I’d done was cause my parents more pain.”

“Day of my high school graduation, I woke up at the crack of dawn to pack up my bags, told my parents that I was going out with some friends, but I’d be home by 7—and I haven’t seen or spoken with them since.”

She clapped and lifted her hands. “And there you have it. You’ve now seen me naked; you’ve seen me cry, and now you know that I’m a murderer—”

“You’re not a murderer, Kaya,” he was finally able to complete his sentence, still very much in shock over what she’d disclosed. “And what happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”

Chris watched her demeanor soften, shifting from her previous facetious tone to a more somber tone. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You were a child.”

She shrugged sadly. “So was he.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault.”

She turned away from where he sat across from her. She hadn’t even realized he’d moved from his initial position by the window. Untangling her legs, she moved the pillow to the side and stood in front of him. “Why are you so nice to me? You should be running for the hills.”

Chris brought his hands to her waist and pulled her in between his spread legs. “Why do you keep asking questions you already know the answers to?”

“Even after everything I’ve done?” She whispered, emotion betraying her for the umpteenth time that day. “You—you still—you still feel….like that about me?”

“You’re stubborn, impulsive, argumentative, flippant, and undoubtedly one of the most complicated women I’ve ever met.” He slowly stood up, never once breaking eye contact as he cupped her face, fingers brushing away the dampness of her flushed cheeks. “And yet, seeing you smile is the highlight of my day.”

She chuckled and nervously cleared her throat. “So, was today subpar? Like, medium light? Half-light? It all went downhill after 12pm.”

He shook his head and kissed her forehead. “You are, in fact, a hot mess.”

Her fingers grasped at his sleeves. “I really am sorry about ruining your evening.”

“You didn’t ruin my evening, Kaya.” He brought his hand to her hair, pushing back the tendrils that had fallen from her updo. “Thank you for opening to me. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It’s a lot easier opening up my legs,” she muttered, watching as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—you’re right. It’s—it’s not easy, and I don’t like talking about….feelings.” Her eyes lifted as she chewed on her bottom lip. “But, I do have feelings for you.” She shut her eyes and licked her top lip. “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”

His gaze softened. “Anything.”

It was so simple, the opportunity was available, the setting was perfect. She’d already told him the hardest part, now all she had to do was tell him the rest. The problem though, was that what she’d shared hadn’t changed much. It only helped him to understand her better. It would potentially improve their relationship.

This would destroy it.

She cleared her throat again. “If you tell anyone I’m capable of crying, I will smother you in your sleep.”

He chuckled and kissed her temple. “It’s late. I’m going to shower.” He studied her. “Try not to get into any more trouble, yeah?”

She smiled softly. “I make no promises.”

He gave her side a gentle squeeze before yawning as he walked back into the bedroom. Finally alone, she fell back onto the sofa and hugged the pillow against her body. Kaya felt both disgust and frustration. If there was a perfect moment to tell him, that was it, and now it was gone.

She was running out of time

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TAGS: @islandvamp @toni9 @destinyg237 @tashawar @valkryienymph @letsshamelessqueen-m @missyperle @kpizzletrash @brittyevans @mani-lifes @amorestevens @periodtcevans @hello-therree @shegoesbyarose @lettytheletdown @yanniebunnie @iwrite4poc @nycoledon @fangurlingismyforte @babe-im-bi @amirra88 @cocoamoonmalfoy @goldenrosexx @liquorlaughslove @ljstraightnochaser @jurneesjourney @bestyums-ever84 @notacamelthatsmywife @champagnesugamama @cest-la69vie @yanniebunny5151 @goldenrosexx​

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[leafs-lover]

Because Two People Got Drunk: 41

Chapter 41

Series Masterlist

A/N: As I mentioned this chapter is pure filth (18+). I honestly was going to start writing what was supposed to be 41 (now will be 42) when this idea came to me and I ran with it. It’s long and it’s dirty ;)

There are some flashbacks in italics. Basically the chapter starts with current time and will have some flashbacks to conversations over the last couple days. It flips back and forth a few times until the flashbacks catch up with the current situation. Hopefully it’s not too confusing…

Warning: Drinking, swearing, smut, oral sex (female receiving), public sex, anal, daddy kink, spitting, maybe a little cum play, NSFW, alluding to cheating 

Word Count: 11500

You continue to grind up against Allie, but you can’t take your eyes off of him. Even from this distance you can tell his pupils are blown with lust. You blow him a kiss which finally breaks his glare, a soft smirk spreads on his face. However it leaves as quickly as it comes.

“I’m gonna get a drink” you say after another song.

“Don’t” Allie whines.

“It’s my bachelorette I’m supposed to drink” you shimmy out of your friends embrace walking over to a corner of the club. You find Kyle and his group of friends, joining into a conversation with them for a couple minutes before you walk up to the bar alone.

“Your boyfriend let you out of the house like that” you hear a husky voice in your ear. His breath is warm as his hands grip your hips pinning you against the bar.

“My fiancé doesn’t get a say in what I wear” you snap back. His one hand leaves your hip to flag down the bartender and order a drink. You could take this opportunity to wrangle away from his grasp.  But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love how his knee is slotted between your thighs. Or how if you grind your ass back slightly you would feel his cock growing between the two of you.

“Fiancé" he muses pressing back against you. His cologne envelops the air around you, as his hand returns to your hip pulling you back against him. Your core heats up and your panties dampen and if he were to lift his knee just a few more inches you’d leave a wet mark on his dark denim.

You exhale and he presses back into you, pinning you against the bar, if he wasn’t pressed into you so hard your legs would give way. His lips ghost over your skin and you shudder at the feeling.

The sound of glass hitting the wood snaps you from your trance. He leans over you causing your breath to catch in your throat, handing you a shot. Your favourite shot.

“Babe why do I have to do a bachelorette party” you whine sitting down on the bed beside an open and empty suitcase.

Fred walks out of the closet with a few pieces of clothes setting them in a pile on the bed. He begins folding them, filling the suitcase “because I’m having a bachelor party so the girls said you had to have a bachelorette.”

“They are so outdated, the whole last night of freedom crap" you grab a pair of shorts and fold them setting them inside for him.

“Yeah I lost my freedom five years ago" he jokes causing you to roll your eyes.

“Babe all I wanted was to have some beers, play a little golf and have some steaks” he presses his lips to your forehead. “We don’t always get what we want.”

He chuckles and walks back to the closet, you following close behind. You lean against the door frame as he walks over to his suits scanning through them “so because Auston wants a stripper I have to have a party.”

You walk forward pulling out the suit you planned on him wearing to match you. You are flying to Vegas in a couple hours for the NHL awards which are tomorrow night, and then the following night is your bachelor/bachelorette parties. Auston argued that almost everyone would be there so it made sense to do them then, and the few remaining party guests could be flown down.

You however know that he wants to throw Fred a wild party, and Vegas is the perfect place for it. You tried to object but were quickly overruled by multiple members of the wedding party who all agreed. Now five of your friends are flying down to meet you and some of the WAG’s from players in Pittsburgh and also a couple from his time in Toronto.

“I told him no strippers" he laughs grabbing his garment bag to put his suit in.

“Really? I told Carlee I expect a stripper” you raise an eyebrow with a smirk. Fred stops what he is doing and brings his eyes up to you as he scans over your face.

“I can’t tell if you’re serious" he hangs the garment bag back in the closet.

“What if I am, would it bother you?” you ask innocently batting your large eyes at him.

He takes a few steps closer “I mean you’ve seen me naked right?” He scoffs moving his hand over his body, flexing his other arm under his t-shirt. His bicep bulges out from under the white cotton, and you use all your energy to not react.

“Yeah but you don’t put on strip shows for me" you grab a pair of socks from the folded laundry pile you have yet to put away and wander to the bedroom shoving it in the bag.

You don’t need the socks; your suitcase was packed hours ago. It’s bait. And you smirk when you hear Fred’s footsteps behind you.

“I can strip for you" he says pushing you back onto the bed. Pulling his phone out he scrolls through before finding a song and setting it down.

You almost choke when “pour some sugar on me" by Def Leppard begins to play on the speaker. “This is your stripper song" you tease.

“I picked a random playlist" he laughs peeling his shirt off as a blush hits his cheeks “shut up.”

He walks back to be a few feet from you and begins to rock his hips reaching for his belt. You lean back on the palm of your hands as he drags the leather through the loops. The sound of his buckle crashing on the floor echoes in your room.

Next he undoes his button and zipper. When he thrusts his hips forward your breath catches in your throat your entire body heats up. You smirk and playfully bring your hand to the side of your face pretending to fan yourself and he smirks, turning around his thumbs slide under the waistband of his shorts. Sticking his ass out he begins to toy with them, slowly pushing it down his glutes, letting you catch a glimpse of his navy blue boxers.

While his showmanship isn’t the best (he isn’t exactly known for being a good dancer); your entire body is on fire.

You want to pull him into the mattress and sit on his beard while your cum drips down your thighs coating his face. You want to pin him to the bed and ride him until your core can’t handle anymore and your legs are trembling. But before you can Elise’s cries come through the baby monitor causing Fred to stop.

“Not fair the stripper won’t have to compete with a crying baby" he does his zipper back up.

“No but he does have to compete with you" you stand up closing the gap. You breathe in his faint cologne putting your hands on his waist toying with the elastic of his shorts. “And there’s no competition babe" you press a kiss to his lips before heading to the door.

“Fred" you call out turning in the doorframe. “I said no strippers at mine either" you grin before leaving to head to the nursery.

“Bottoms up" he throws it back quickly as he watches you do the same, wincing slightly at the burn. Once your empty glass is on the bar his mouth is on your neck, cold and wet lips kissing your skin.

A light moan slips from your lips and you push your ass back, grinding against his bulge. He turns you around, hands on your hips dark eyes staring down at you. He parts his lips, tongue flicking over them; ready and waiting to be kissed.

His lips connect to yours as his nails dig into the thin material of your black dress. A kiss so fiery, it punched the breath from your lungs.

“My fiancé might see" you giggle pushing him away and taking a few steps towards a hallway. He grips your wrist pulling you back into his hard chest.

His eyes are dark and hungry with fire as your arms wrap back around his neck. Your head foggy from the alcohol you have consumed.

“Let him" he groans sliding his hands down your side before stopping on your ass walking you backwards down the hall.

“He plays hockey so he won’t hesitate to fight you" you groan and his mouth attaches to your neck. He has you pinned against the wall; the music in the club has the floor bouncing under your feet.

“I’m sure I could take him" he bites into your collarbone pulling a gasp from you. Your head turns and you lock eyes with Carlee and Allie. Their eyes narrow as they give you disapproving looks before you are dragged down a hall and around a corner before being pushed into a single bathroom, the door locking behind him.

Once the door locks you are immediately on him, hands running through his hair struggling to grab at anything, your tongue sloppily in his mouth. You can faintly taste tequila being masked by the whiskey on his tongue as he bends down to pick you up. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks further into the room. He sets you on the counter, one hand trailing up your thigh before sliding under the hem of your barely there dress.

“Do me a favor?” Fred is on top of you, a hand under your shirt, his shirt, lightly pressing circles with the pad of his thumb. He pulls it off throwing it aside and his mouth quickly attaches to your nipple replacing his thumb, his tongue flicking over it.

It’s the morning after the awards and you are enjoying a few more minutes with him before he leaves to go to his hotel room one floor down. You both agreed it made sense for you to have your own rooms for the night. This way all the women could drink and get ready in the suite before dinner and it has enough beds that your friends from back home can sleep there without needing to book a room. This way you wouldn’t have to worry about waking the other person up crawling into bed at the end of the night.

“What" you moan softly running your hands over his broad shoulder.

“Wear some baggy jeans” he sucks gently on your neck “a thick turtle neck" he gently nips your skin. “Hair in a bun, maybe skip showering today…”

“So you want me to go out looking terrible” you laugh gently.

“No” his head pops up. “You’re still going to look amazing like that. I just think less people will hit on you. I know what every guy will think if you wear something short and tight.”

“Fred” you groan.

“I know because I think it every time I see you in something short at tight. I won’t enjoy myself knowing that someone is thinking those things about my fiancé.”

“Uhuh" you groan as his hand connects to your nipple to gently pinch it. “I actually got you something so women won’t approach you. So they’ll know you’re taken.”

“Okay" he stops what he is doing, looking at you with blown pupils. You crawl out of bed and walk over to your suitcase pulling out a white tee and throwing it at him.

“Oh my god" he laughs opening it to see a custom shirt with a picture of your face printed on it. The words “back of ladies I’m taken” printed in big letters around it.

“I will wear this ridiculous shirt" he smiles. “But you" he pulls you back into bed hard causing you to squeal. “You have to cover these up" he gives your breast a soft squeeze. “And this" he reaches around to cup your ass.

His large hand presses into your thighs and his mouth ventures down your body finding the valley of your breasts. He licks between them before sucking on the curve of one; his thumb grazing over your clothed core.

“Fuck you’re so wet" he groans pulling the fabric aside so his calloused thumb can connect to your clit.

Your head falls back against the wall as he presses firm circles into you. Soft breathy moans fill the room and you practically feel his dick twitch at the sounds.

Your hands slide down his body, fumbling with his belt buckle before it finally gives way. You shove his pants and boxers down his ass a few inches, freeing his bulging cock. It slaps against his stomach and you lick your lips thinking about taking him in your mouth.

“Not now" he orders following your gaze. “I want to last, and if you wrap your pretty little lips around it I won’t.”

“I can’t believe were doing this" you eye around to the bathroom.

“What" he presses his pants and boxers down his broad thighs leaving them in a bunch at his ankle. His cock sapping against his stomach echoes through the room. “We’ve fucked in a bar bathroom before, been a bit but we’ve done it.”

He steps closer putting a hand on your hip as your legs wrap back around him, his hard member poking at your entrance.

“Last night of freedom or whatever” Fred smirks sinking inside your slick heat.

“Promise me something” you roll on top of him, hips straddling him.

“Anything babe” his thumb drawing soft circles on your hip.

“None of those last night of freedom dare lists” your hips roll against his throbbing erection.

“Dare lists?” he bucks his hips pressing it into your clothed core.

“Yeah those lists people do at their bachelor/bachelorette party” you grind down and he groans cupping your breasts in his large hands. He gently massages your breasts before rolling your nipple throw his two fingers.

He sits up bringing your nipple into his mouth leaving you gasping and forgetting your words briefly. “You know” you moan “get so many numbers…kiss someone…dance with a group of the opposite gender” you barely can form sentences through your moans. “Like a list of things to do on your last night as a single person. Like it’s okay to give out your number just because you’re not actually married.”

“I don’t think they do those at bachelor parties” he hums against your skin. “Think it’s more of a bachelorette thing” his teeth run across your pert nipple.

“But regardless I promise” he flips you on your back pulling your shorts down your legs.

Your black thong is hanging around your ankles, dress bunched up above your hips as he bottoms out inside you.

“Fuck Fred” you groan feeling him perfectly stretch you out.

“Du har det så godt (you feel so good)” he huffs in your ear.

His hand slides down your body connecting to your clit as your nails dig into his shoulder. He pulls back almost completely before slamming his hips into your pelvis. Beads of sweat roll between the valley of your nipples, the mirror beside you beginning to fog.

“Geez” you groan not having seen this side of Fred in a while. Your eyes drop down his body. Having not removed his shirt you only see glimpses of his cock beneath the fabric as it slams in and out of your wet walls.

“You didn’t think you’d get to go out dressed like that and not pay for it did you?” he asks thumb releasing your clit to slide around your body and grip the back of your thigh. His other hand harshly digs into your skin pulling you to the edge of the counter. You know he is leaving bruises crescent shaped marks on the back of your thighs, marks that are well below the hem of your dress.

He knows it too. A warning to any other man who thinks of looking your direction that you’re taken.

“No" Allie yells as you step out of the bathroom in black vegan leather leggings and a bright red loose and flowy top. You have a pair of black boots with a 3 inch heel in your hands to complete the look. While it is simple, the boots spice it up just enough for you.

“We did not come all the way to Vegas for you to dress like that” she scowls eyeing you up and down.

She walks to your closet and pulls out the little black dress you packed by mistake. You actually thought it was a different black dress, and it wasn’t until you unpacked it from your suitcase you realized. That’s when you decided to change your outfit and wear the leggings.

And when you say little it is very little. The hem stops inches closer to your ass than your knees and the cut is significantly lower than anything you’ve worn in over two years, maybe since before Oliver was born. The straps, well you don’t even know why they are there, so thin you think they could snap just by looking at them.

It’s something you had no problem wearing before Oliver. Maybe it’s because you are older now, or maybe it’s because you’re a mother but it’s just not something you wear anymore. Allie however doesn’t let you respond instead pushing you in the bathroom with the dress.

A few minutes later you fluff your hair and stare at yourself. The dress clings to your curves, being tighter than you remember, and the heels make the length feel even shorter.

“Damn" someone yells when you open the door.

“I can’t wear this" you try to pull the fabric down your legs only for it to expose even more of your breasts.

“And why not?” Carlee crosses her arms.

“I’m a mom"

“Yes and that makes you a MILF" she smirks.

“I told Fred -"

“Well it’s a good thing it’s your bachelorette party and your fiancé isn’t around” Steph grins from over her wine glass.

He hastily grabs the thin straps from your shoulders with his teeth exposing your breasts to him. His mouth attaches to your nipple, dragging his teeth along it.

Your moans fill the small bathroom, if the music wasn’t so loud you’d be worried about people in the hall hearing. He pulls away, lips puffy and swollen and you whimper as the cold air replaces with warm mouth.

His hips snap and his nails dig into your skin. You’re hanging off the counter, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth to try and suppress your moans. Pleasure builds in your core, as he thrusts relentlessly in and out. Each time hitting your g-spot.

“Look in the mirror” he brings a hand to your neck giving it a light squeeze as directs your gaze.

You groan vibrates against the hand on your throat. Since having twins your time alone was typically hurried, fear of one off the kids needing you. You forgot how much you love his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the oxygen from your lungs.

You almost forgot all the things his hands were capable of. Forgot how sometimes you just need to be at his mercy as he takes complete control.

“Watch as I fuck in and out of your pussy" he growls tightening his grip. “Watch your pretty little face fall apart” he muses admiring the mess you’ve become. The mess he made you.

“Next question" Carlee calls grabbing the sheet from Allie. “What is (Y/N)’s favourite thing about you?”

“Easy" you smile twirling your wine glass. “How amazing of a father he is.”

“Boring" Sarah yells with a smile.

“We specifically told him no answers about being parents. Those are too easy and basic" Carlee smirks.

“So besides being a dad, what do you think Fred thinks your favourite thing about him is?”

Heat hits your cheeks and your eyes go wide imagining what he would say. You bury your face in a pillow only to have it ripped from your hands and thrown at you with a giggle. You know they sent him this list while he was away on the road, so you know he had hours to sit around and think of the best possible answer.

“He probably said his dick game" you laugh thinking he would try to give some crazy answers just for the reaction of your friends.

The room fills with laughter “oh my god" you hear someone shriek.

“I mean there’s a reason we have four kids, he’s obviously doing something right.”

“No!” Carlee laughs. “He said his ability to make you smile even on your worst day.”

“Oh" you go quiet as your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink turning to your glass and pouring most of it down your throat.

“Do tell us about his dick game though" Allie yells.

Sweat is collecting along your hairline and you can feel it on your spine. Your mascara is smeared around your eyes, lipstick spread on his face. The lack of oxygen and the thrusting has your vision filling with white spots as your orgasm nears. You still try to bring your gaze to him in the glass, watching as he drags his thick member along your walls.

“You look so good with my cock inside you" he groans squeezing your neck again. You’re on the edge; your whole body feels hot. With a few more deep thrusts your legs seize, your nails dig into his shoulder as your orgasm hits you.

You clench around him and whimper slightly feeling him hit your cervix with each thrust. Your pussy flutters as warm juices drip down his cock soaking your thighs. With a few more thrusts he spills inside you, white coating your walls.

His hips finally still and his hand releases your throat. Before you can regain your breath you feel his lips on yours, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you towards him.

“Marry me" his lips press against yours as you try and recapture your breath.

“I am in a few weeks" you pull back smirking with a few deep breaths.

“No, marry me now. You should have been my wife already. Should have married you in Santorini" he presses his lips against yours.

“Wow this place is beautiful" you run to the open doors that overlook the cliff and the setting sun. The orange reflecting off the waves, the light salty breeze blowing the thin curtains.

“It really is" Fred says coming up wrapping his arms around you as you fall back against his chest. You both stand there speechless for a few minutes taking in the falling sun, basking in the few more minutes of warmth.

“We normally have the ceremony here, so that view is the backdrop of the photos. Sunset is the best time for pictures, and the preferred start time of our guests” a venue guide says to a couple as they walk through the space.

“We should get married" you turn to face Fred wrapping your arms around his hips.

“Yeah we will babe" he laughs putting an arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s do it now” You press a kiss to his sun kissed cheek. “You, me, the sunset. What else do we need?”

Fred’s eyes go wide almost popping from his head and he laughs into your hair.

“Ha you were terrified when I suggested it"

“I think I was more shocked you were suggesting it, you always seemed a step behind me. So for you to be the one to suggest it I was thrown off. But we should have done it" he pulls out slowly and smirks as you whine at the emptiness.

“The next day I suggested more kids. Obviously I wanted a forever with you, should have just married you then” his mouth gently sucks on your sweet spot millimetres from your ear. “Which is why we should do it now. No Elvis impersonator though, has to be classy.”

“The wedding we have planned in a few weeks will be classy" you smile pressing him off you. With a huff he helps you down off the counter. “Waited this long, what’s a couple more weeks.”

“Torture” you hear him mumble as he adjusts himself back into his dark denim pants.

You scan around the room and realize they toilet paper is empty and they have blow-dryers not paper towel. Fred smirks as he brings a finger to your folds, collecting some of the cum that has spilt down your legs and pushes it back inside your sopping core.

“Just helping out" he gives you a few thrusts with his thick fingers before pulling them from you and bringing them up to your mouth and you open allowing him to stick his long digits inside. You moan around his fingers tasting yourself as you eagerly clean it for him. His eyes roll to the back of his head as you swirl your tongue around him before slowly pulling it out.

You pull your underwear back up your legs and smooth out your wrinkled dress. “So was that on your list?” he smirks wiping his hands on his pants.

“I’m not doing this” you throw the piece of paper back at her. You’re sitting at your booth at the third club you’ve been to since finishing dinner. Apparently nobody could decide on where to go so they opted on a bar crawl, and apparently there is one more stop. But given the energy in the club, the large crowds and how much fun everyone is having you can’t imagine leaving to go anywhere else.

“When we made this we said we had to do it no matter what” she laughs

“Yeah but were not sixteen anymore. When we were teenagers we thought you’re supposed to have a wild bachelorette party. But this is basically cheating.”

You remember the day like it was yesterday. The three of you sitting on Allie’s bed coming up with this list, you all promised that each of you would complete it whenever your bachelorette parties occurred. You had no idea what types of things normally happen and went strictly off of movies for inspiration. Now you can’t imagine doing most of these items.

“Okay, we’re not saying make out with a stranger or dry hump someone on the dance floor” Carlee says folding the list in her purse.

“But you can easily do these things and keep it all G rated. Kiss on the hand, on the cheek still counts and that’s not cheating” Allie adds.

“Fine” you grumble scanning around the bar before landing on a group of men. There is about eight of them standing around the bar, one is leaning against it. He is tall with light blonde hair and is laughing at something his friends said when he sees you and shoots you a smile before turning back to his friends.

“I hate you guys” you groan taking the shot from the centre of the table. You wince at the burn, setting the glass upside down on the tray. “You’re coming with me” you grab their hands and pull them forward with you.

Upon approaching the group of men you discover they are there for a bachelor party. A bachelor party for Kyle; the man who smiled at you just moments ago. You inform them it’s your bachelorette party, and without even waiting for your prompting Kyle asks to see your bucket list for the evening. He tells you his fiancé sent him a picture of the list she has to do, and is more than willing to assist you. Knowing that he is there for his bachelor party and won’t make any attempt to hit on you; you feel comfortable doing these tasks with them.

“What’s next?” Kyle asks taking a sip, having just completed the kiss a stranger tasks (on the cheek obviously). He pulls the list from Carlee’s hands before you even have a chance to answer him. “Oh this one next” he grabs your arm leading you out onto the dance floor where a couple of his friends are.

“Dance with a group of guys” he explains pushing you into the centre.

Some of the guys step up closing the gap but still leaving space between you. You feel a pair of hands loosely on your hips as you all sway and dance to the music. But you also have this feeling you are being watched. Scanning around the club you see many groups of people, but can’t pinpoint the lingering gaze.

“Shots” Sarah yells carrying the tray towards the group. Handing them out to everyone, her and Carlee join in with dancing. A few songs have gone by and everyone is laughing and having a good time. That’s when you feel it again.

You feel a pair of eyes burning a hole in your head as you wrap your hands around Carlee’s neck. Her hands find your hips and she pulls you in close so you can smell her shampoo.

“Thanks for tonight” you tell over the music and she kisses your cheek in response “for making me do this.”

“Love you baby” she winks. You feel another pair of small hands on your hips and a body presses up behind you.

“You have an admirer” Sarah says from behind bringing her hand to your jaw moving your head to the side. You find a familiar pair of dark brown eyes, Fred’s eyes, watching your every move over the rim of his glass. You give him a soft smile and he doesn’t give one in return, instead his eyes narrow. He doesn’t pull his eyes from you as he leans over to talk with Mitch and you now realize the glances you felt were from him.

“He’s looks mad” Carlee says her head falling onto your shoulder. The three of you continue to dance the group of guys still around you. Slowly after a few more songs some of the guys filter off the dance floor until it’s just you and your group left.

You watch as a group of women approach Fred and his friends. You smirk when a blonde in thigh high boots wedges her way between him and Mitch and tries to talk to him but he doesn’t give her the time of day. Some of the guys in relationships at least humor the women to be polite but Fred doesn’t make any attempt to talk with her, his jaw locked never breaking his gaze.

Regardless she doesn’t stop and it ignites a fire in you. You turn so your ass is to him and begin to bend down shaking it as you go. You almost make it to the floor before snapping it back and working your way up. Steph laughs knowing exactly what you are doing as she smiles and waves to Mitch at the bar. Once back upright you look over your shoulder shooting Fred a wink, if you were any closer you know you would see his cock tightening in his denim.

Next you turn around and grip Allie’s arms pulling her up against you as you grind against her. Mitch and Auston are smirking at the bar as they watch while trying to engage in conversations with the women. But Fred he still hasn’t even glanced at the one beside him.

She attempts to capture his attention by touching his wrist, running her finger along his watch. You blow him a kiss which finally breaks his glare, a soft smirk spreads on his face. However it leaves as quickly as it comes.

You continue to grind up against Allie, but you keep your eyes on Fred. Even from this distance you can tell his pupils are blown.

“I’m gonna get a drink” you say after another song.

“Don’t” Allie whines.

“It’s my bachelorette party I’m supposed to drink” you shimmy out of your friends embrace stumbling away. Blowing past Fred and his group you find Kyle and a couple of his friends in the corner of the bar. You join them for a couple minutes never once staring over at Fred. But the weakness in your knees and moisture pooling in your underwear tells you he is watching your every move.

“You sure knew where this bathroom was pretty easily, take all your girls here?” you tease ignoring his comment.

He throws his head back laughing “I haven’t been in this club in easily six years. But no I never brought any girls here.” He brings his lips to your neck sucking on your ear lobe “before you I had never fucked in a public bathroom.”

“Really?” you smirk raising an eyebrow at him.

“What you fucked in bathrooms before me?” he asks somewhat insulted but also laughing slightly.

“No, never” you wink gripping his wrist and pulling him out the door. The loud music echoes down the dimly lit hall as you take a few uneasy steps. His hands find your hips as pulls you back to his chest, guiding you toward the echoing bass.

“So how many guys have bent you over a bathroom sink huh?” his mouth is so close you feel his beard rub against your skin.

“Fred” you warn.

“That many eh” you can sense some jealousy in his tone. The two of you long ago shared the number of people you’ve dated, and those you can’t quite call dating. But you never dived into the details of where, positions or how many times, mostly because that information wouldn’t achieve anything.

You stop walking and he almost knocks you over. Turning your head to the side your lips so close you can almost taste his chap stick “it doesn’t matter if it was one or five men before you. All that matters is you are the only person who gets to bend me over a bathroom sink from this point on.”

His eyes flick over your face “besides” you smirk “there is no competition. You’ve always been the best at it.”

“Fucking right” you hear him mumble as his arms tighten around your waist and he pushes you forward. You turn your head laughing slightly when you immediately feel him sucking on your collarbone. You try to watch where you are walking but you lose all focus allowing him to take charge. As your arousal rebuilds your eyes flutter closed.

Pulling his lips away briefly he mumbles Danish praises against the shell of your ear. The music gets louder vibrating the floor under you as his mouth returns to your exposed flesh. Before you know it you walk into another hard chest.

A second pair of large hands grip your forearms to hold you in place and you hear a deep seeded chuckle from the man behind you. Taking a step back your eyes open to find Mitch glaring down at you.

“No wonder you guys have four kids" Allie teases from beside you. You can feel some of Fred’s warm cum leaking down your thighs, past where your dress ends.

“You guys can fuck whenever you want, but you can’t even go a few hours without fucking in a bathroom” Auston says somewhat bitterly as he takes a sip of whiskey. He has a smirk on his face so you know he isn’t actually serious. Fred takes a small step back allowing you to put a few more inches between yourself and Mitch.

“Well you’re really not going to like what’s next" Fred replies wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “But we’re gonna leave and go fuck in our hotel.”

“What!” Mitch exclaims. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Our bed is very comfortable" Fred presses his lips to your temple and you lean back against his chest. Normally you would scold Fred for being so blunt but you’ve had just enough alcohol to bring you to a point of little concern. To the point where the words spilling off his tongue turns you on.

“Our shower is very big too" you grin at Mitch.

“You guys are unbelievable” Allie laughs.

“It’s after 2, if we stay much later neither one of us will be in any shape to do that” you raise an eyebrow laughing.

“And we don’t have any kids to worry about so I’m taking full advantage of that. Thanks for the party guys" Fred tugs on your wrist pulling you out of the club not giving anyone a chance to respond.

The streets are packed and loud, cars driving down the strip and music filtering out from the various bars. The cool Vegas air sobering you almost instantly. It’s not that it’s cold; it only dropped a couple degrees since you entered the bar. It’s just that the bar was filled with alcohol, dancing, sweat and body heat, none of that found on the sidewalk.

“Let’s get a taxi" you stop in your tracks squeezing his hand so he turns around to face you.

“It’s like a 10 minute walk” he stares at some of the people on the street as they walk by.

“My feet hurt" you eye down to the boots on your feet.

“Should have worn sneakers" he grumbles.

“Sneakers don’t really match this dress” you roll your eyes.

His eyes narrow and he turns back to you “maybe you should have kept your promise. Instead of dressing like a high class escort" he shoots you a devilish grin.

Your arms cross your chest and your eyes arrow “you just call me, the mother of your children a hooker?”

“High class escort” he grins. “Literally seven different men have checked out your ass since we came out here. And don’t get me started on how many did inside.”

You scan over his face and he chuckles slightly pulling you in to his chest. His arms warp around your back while yours remain crossed between you.

“There is nothing wrong with being a sex worker (Y/N). It’s the oldest profession in the world; I just don’t like when I hear strangers at the bar trying to figure out if my fiancé is one because of her outfit.”

“Men are the worst” you grumble. “I should be able to wear what I want.”

“Mhm I agree and for the record you look amazing. Maybe next time wear something a little longer to the bar and wear this around the house when it’s just us” he brings one hand to tilt your head so he can look down at you.

“I think this dress is perfect to make breakfast in" he smiles causing you to laugh.

“You want me to cook in this"

“Do you know what it would do to me to see you walk around our home in this?"

“Have an idea" you smirk feeling him getting hard against your leg as your arms wrap around him. “Still can’t believe you called me a prostitute.”

“High. Class. Escort” he emphasizes each word between brief kisses against your lips. “And as long as you come home to me I don’t care what you wear out.”

He nudges his head toward the hotel “let’s go.”

“My feet" you whine. “With four kids I don’t wear heels a lot.”

He shakes his head at you pulling the kid card on him and bends down for you to climb on his back, but as you do your dress rides up even higher.

“Never mind I’m fine" you pull the fabric down and take a couple wobbly steps. The alcohol and heels not mixing well with your balance.

“Babe…what?” he stammers out unsure of what happened.

You walk over to him “my dress is too short and was beginning to ride up. People will see my ass” you whisper as he throws his head back laughing.

“Baggy jeans probably sounds pretty good right now" he begins to unbutton his shirt pulling it off his shoulders leaving him in a white t-shirt.

“Oh my god you actually wore it" you laugh seeing your face on his chest.

“One of us didn’t lie about what we’d wear out tonight" he pulls the shirt over your shoulders. It hangs from your frame, one of the few times being so much shorter is nice. The shirt ends a couple inches below your dress and when you climb onto his back it hangs low enough to keep you covered.

Wrapping your arms around his chest, your chin lands on his shoulder. “You smell good" you say lightly taking in his cologne that is masking the faint smell of sweat.

Your head turns towards his neck and he must feel your warm breath on it. He gives your thighs a tight squeeze mumbling a warning under his breath but you still place a few soft kisses on him.

“(Y/N)” he warns digging his fingers into the bottom of your thighs. “One more minute” but you suck even harder than before.

You notice the bright lights surround you, and realize you are in the hotel lobby but you continue to pepper kisses along his pulse point. The elevator dings open and once inside he almost drops you on the floor.

He quickly has you pinned against the wall, bringing a hand to the inside of your thigh, his thumb grazing over your underwear soaked with his cum. He reaches beside you to hit the button, his body still pressed firmly against yours.

“Fred" you groan. The elevator doors still wide open, anyone can step in and anyone walking by can see. And you are leaving very little to the imagination in your current position.

“I thought you wanted this" he bites your neck as the door begins to close. “Outside you didn’t care if people saw.”

The door finally closes and you feel it shift as you go up. You grip the railing behind you with 2 hands as he begins his assault on your neck. His thumb pushes the strap of your dress off your shoulder, your breast popping out.

“You really do look phenomenal in this” he brings his knee between your legs, pressing his thigh into your folds. You instinctively roll your hips against his denim clad thighs, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He watches you with a hardened jaw, eyes dark with lust as you grind down on him, leaving a wet trail over his jeans.

His mouth finds your breast as his hands grip your hips, helping to rock you on him. Your moans get louder, drowning out the music playing in the elevator. Before anything else the doors ding and open to the floor with his room.

He firmly grips your hand pulling you out and down the hall as you stumble and try to adjust yourself to cover up. Once in the door you kick your shoes aside dropping his shirt on the ground.

“Babe" you call turning to show him the zipper. He walks over and puts his mouth on your neck sucking gently while he fumbles with the zipper. Slowly he drags it down your body as his mustache tickles against your skin. Once the zipper is down you feel him grab either side of the dress and pull. The sound of fabric tearing fills the room as he his lips curl upwards against your skin.

“Frederik" you huff

“Elskede you know you can’t call me that” he reaches for your underwear tearing it off next, leaving you completely naked.

“Besides this way I don’t have to worry about you wearing that dress out in public again" your shredded underwear lands in the pile on the floor.

“I want to press you against that window and fuck you so bad” he growls as you look out at the Las Vegas sky line. “That way everybody who happens to see in will know your mine.”

You roll your hips backward pressing your ass into his denim. You groan slightly at his words secretly wishing he would. You want to feel the cool glass on your back as sweat drips down your front, his cock deep inside you.

“On the bed" he orders pulling his mouth away and stripping his t-shirt off. You turn around to face him, watching as he reaches for his belt. He begins to remove it before bringing his attention back to you “(Y/N)” he warns.

“Frederik” you tease grinning at him knowing exactly what you’re doing. Anytime you say those three syllables he immediately is in your ear muttering what he is going to do to you.

There is something about the way his full name falls from your lips that unleashes the monster deep inside him, making it a move you often reserve for special occasions.

He takes a step forward and brings a hand to your ass, giving it a hard smack. You grunt as the air leaves your lungs your skin stinging at the contact.

“On the bed, legs spread" he pinches your nipple. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Yes sir" you yelp and walk away not wanting to test your luck.

You hear him chuckle and fabric landing on the floor. His footsteps echo through the room, sending chills coursing down your spine. You look up and are met with his naked body towering over you. With a dry swallow you take in his chiseled torso following his muscles down to his throbbing tip; your pussy clenching at the sight.

His body is sweaty from carrying you home, shimmering in the lights coming through the windows. You sigh when you see his hard cock, mouth-watering wanting to wrap your lips around his swollen tip. Your legs squirm rubbing together, searching for friction while his cum has hardened on your inner thigh.

He drinks you in with a predatory look in his eyes. He brings his bottom lip between his teeth with a wicked grin enjoying the sight of you splayed on the bed waiting for him. He bends down and pulls you by the ankles causing you to squeal bringing you to the edge of the bed, your ass hanging off it.

“You never did listen well" he mumbles falling to his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders. Before you can respond he bites the inside of your thigh, his hands cupping your ass pulling it closer to him.

He continues to nip your thighs while squeezing your ass to roll your hips higher to his mouth. He slowly trails closer to your heated core while your moans get louder.

“Fred" you groan feeling his beard rub against your thigh, his nose pressing into your clit. His warm breath is on our folds sends a chorus of shivers down your spine.

“Please" you whine as he pulls your hips closer.

“So impatient” he mumbles flattening his tongue he licks a stripe up your entrance.

Your hips buck up and he pulls away. He brings his hands to your hips holding you in place. Your head falls back into the pillow while he brings his mouth to your entrance.

His mouth wraps around your pussy and his nose presses into your clit. He sucks hard, nails digging your hips pulling a loud distressed whimper from you. He flicks his tongue in and out a few times before pulling away and climbing over you.

His thumb grabs your jaw pulling your mouth open. Hovering over you he spits into your mouth a mixture of saliva along with both of your cum.

“We taste good eh baby?” he releases your jaw and you swallow staring up at him.

“So good” you groan as one of his long fingers trails over your body and approaches your core. His eyes are dark as he climbs back off the bed throwing your legs back over his shoulders. His fingers dance around your entrance drawing figure eight’s as your back arches in response. Finally he slips two thick fingers in your walls and begins to pump them in and out of you.

“Hear how wet you are” he groans at the sound of his cum acting as a lubricant for his work. Easily he sets a fast pace before his lips return to sucking on your clit. Your hands find his hair and tangle in to the roots. He continues to suck on your clit as he twists his fingers inside you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he continues working on you, drawing your high closer with each thrust of his fingers. You belly tightens as his fingers massage your walls, curling them upward in search of your g-spot.

Your breathing is erratic and your hips lift off the bed, heels digging into his back as he brings your high closer with every thrust.

“You close skat?” he hums against you.

“Ye….yes" you breathe out. “So close” when he instantly stops. His fingers pull out and his mouth is gone, you were on the edge of the cliff and instead of falling over everything disappeared. You lift up on your elbows to look at him “Fred" you groan.

A large smirk crosses his face before he drops your legs wrapping one around his waist. Without warning he slams his hard cock into your folds. Some of his cum from before spills out around his cock.

“Fuck" you groan as he doesn’t give you time to adjust before pulling back and slamming his throbbing cock back inside you. He sets a past pace and your eyes close as your second orgasm quickly approaches. His thumb presses into your clit as he pounds into you. Each frantic pound of his cock bringing you closer to your release.

“You look so good with my hard cock fucking in and out of you” he hisses pulling your other leg over his shoulder. You grip the sheet below you for stability with the change in angle.

“Just like that, take me deep" each word is accompanied by an intentionally harsh thrust as he pulls on your hips drawing you closer to him.

“Freddie. I’m gonna cum" you pant.

“Cum on my cock" he orders. “Come on (Y/N). Cum for me.”

You grip the bedsheets, knuckle going white and you feel your walls flutter drawing him in. He groans feeling you clench around him but doesn’t stop his pace. He is relentless in his movements, searching for your high. He leans closer, pressing your leg down as he slams into you at a feverish pace.

Your juices spill around his cock and he keeps going fucking you through your high. His name rolls of your tongue along with scattered curse words before you finally fall silent, eyes opening to see his dark with fire.

Quickly he pulls out flipping you over with ease. You land on your stomach and he manipulates you to your hands and knees. You stick your ass out for him barely able to support yourself. His hand quickly connects to your bare skin causing you to yell while your skin reddens.

“What were you thinking wearing that out?” his hand connects back to the same spot as before. A tear pricks your eye as you grunt knowing bruises will remain tomorrow.

His hand runs over your skin softly while he waits for a response. “I was going to sneak into your hotel room after my party. Let you see me in it" you explain. “I knew you’d love it…But instead I ran into you at the club.”

“Good thing too, about 6 different men were eye fucking you” he seethes from behind you. His hand connects one more time, this one much firmer than the others. It pulls your breath from you as wetness drips down your thighs. You fall forward onto the duvet and before you can pull yourself up his hard member is spreading your folds once again.

One hand finds your hip, another on your back holding you down to the bed as he begins to thrust in to you.

“You feel so fucking good" Fred groans from behind you.

“I was made for you” you reply as your face rubs against the bed. Sweat is in your hair and dripping down your face, your makeup likely falling victim to it.

“Yes you were" he grunts pulling you back so your ass hits his pelvis. “Fucking perfect.”

His hand leaves the small of your back and trails down to your ass. He slowly draws his index finger over the skin sending shivers through you.

His hand stops at your hole and begins to dance around the entrance as he pounds relentlessly in your cunt. You are an absolute mess under him, unable to stop the loud moans and curse words that are falling from your lips.

His finger continues to play with the skin around your hole.

“Daddy" you whine turning your head over your shoulder to look at him.

His eyes immediately snap up to yours with the unexpected name, his pupils are dark and a wide smirk spreads on his face. You call him daddy all the time with the kids, but this is different.

His pace slows slightly “yes” he replies with an eyebrow raised. “What would you like?”

“My…" he slams into you hard causing your breath to catch in your throat and you trail off. “Your fingers.”

He smiles at you bringing them off your skin and into your line of sight. You nod quickly and he pulls out replacing his cock with his two fingers, pumping them in and out of your throbbing cunt.

“This what you wanted?” he asks but you know he is playing dumb.

“No daddy" you choke out though it does feel good. “I want your cock back there.”

“What about these" he thrusts them quickly in and out of you. You pull your bottom lip through your teeth trying to keep your eye contact. “Where do you want these?”

“My ass" you finally manage to choke out.

He gives you a few more pumps before pulling them out and replacing them with his hard cock. Groaning loudly as he fills you to the brim. He doesn’t move instead his fingers returning to your hole to tease the entrance.

“Daddy please" you whine.

“Because you asked so nicely" his hips resume their pace and your head falls back onto the bed. You feel warm spit land near your hole and he spreads it around before slowly sliding his two thick fingers in.

“Oh my god" you groan feeling them start to slowly move inside you.

You hear Danish begin to spill from his lips but you can’t focus on the words. From what you manage it’s mostly praises and he brings both of you towards your orgasms.

The feeling of being stretched in two places by him isn’t new to you, but it’s definitely not common. The two of you definitely dabbled in some stuff before, but it’s been a couple years since you’ve felt this way.

Every stroke if his cock nudges your cervix with alarming accuracy and his fingers increase their speed as well. You have never felt so full by him before as you cry out under him.

“Cum for daddy" he groans becoming erratic behind you.

“Daddy wants to feel you cum on his cock again" he adds. Unable to hold on you disintegrate underneath him. Your vision goes white as you feel warm liquid spill out round him.

A deep loud guttural moan leaves your lips as he works you through your high. Euphoria floods your veins as you clench on the sheets damp with sweat below you. When your orgasm stops you feel him pull out of both spots and with a few pumps of his hand he spills all over your ass and hole.

He falls onto the bed beside you and you carefully land on your stomach trying to not let any spill onto the duvet.

“Why did you" you start to say between your breaths. The feeling of his warmth inside you is one you’ve grown to love, yearn for over the past few years. Without it you almost feel empty.

“I need it for what I’m going to do next” he sends you a dark smile and kisses your sweaty forehead. Chills course through you as he grabs your hand and pushes it down his sweaty chest to his member.

Rolling onto his side he brings his fingers to your spine and begins slowly drawing circles on your sticky skin. Leaning in he brings his lips to yours, parting your lips with his tongue.

It starts soft almost hesitant until your hand begins to stroke up and down him. He applies more force his tongue sliding into your mouth. He still tastes of alcohol and a faint hint of you; your hand picking up its pace.

His fingers find your hole and begin to play with the cum he left behind. You gasp into the kiss as his fingers slide back inside and begin to pump inside your hole again.

You feel him growing hard under your grip and increase your pace. Mumbling a fuck against your lips his member is fully erect and he pulls away smirking at you.

He crawls out of bed, standing at the edge and pulls your hips closer to him. You rise onto your wobbly elbows and feel him poke at your entrance, though you doubt that’s where he is going.

Once you are situated, grinding back against him, his cock slides up from your folds towards your ass, coating it in a mixture of juices along the way. Finally he reaches your ass and his fingers leave you, his thick tip is pressing against it.

He collects some more cum from your ass, some has since fallen off your curved skin. He pushes it towards your hole and slowly presses in.

“Holy fuck" you groan as his thick head slides inside.

“You okay babe" he asks pushing in inch by inch.

“Perfect daddy" you groan as he continues to press in. Tears stain your cheeks as you grasp the duvet.

“Ugh" you grunt when his pelvis presses firmly against you, finally fully seated in you.

“That’s it, let me in princesse” he hums as you relax around him.

His thrusts are long and deep but also slow, not wanting to hurt you; giving you a chance to familiarize yourself to him there. After a few minutes you pull forward and press back on him. He grunts in response and snaps his hips to increase his pace.

“God I forgot how good this feels" his hands on your hips guiding you back onto him. His balls slap against you “you’re so fucking tight babe.”

Your breathing while it never fully recovered is erratic again. Your moans are whimpers, your body weak barely able to support itself. Every thrust hits you harder and deeper, driving you further into the bed. As he drives into your ass you feel each thrust deep in your overly sensitive core.

“Touch yourself” he orders.

“I can’t” you whine legs trembling under you. He grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your body up, your back pressed against his sweaty chest. One hand curls around your throat, gripping it tightly. His other finds your nipple pinching it hard.

“Daddy said to touch yourself” he growls in your ear slamming his hard member into your ass.” So touch yourself.”

His hand on your throat tightens, leaving you with just enough air as you manage a slight nod. Slowly your hand slides down your body and connects to your overly sensitive bud.

As you begin to rub circles his hand on your throat loosens its grip. You feel some of his cum and begin to spread it around your entrance as you work on your clit.

“Good girl" he praises sinking his teeth into your neck.

You gasp loudly and continue pressing into your clit; drawing soft circles. His hand on your throat has returned to your hip but his other is still pinching and playing with your nipple.

“Slide your fingers in" his breath is hot on your neck. His mustache tickles you but you don’t dare laugh or disobey as two fingers slide inside leaving you whimpering loudly from the back of your throat.

“Such a good girl for daddy” he kisses your sweaty collarbone and releases your nipple pushing you forward.

Your face lands on the duvet and you continue to thrust your fingers in and out at a slow pace, unsure if you can handle anymore.

His hands grip your hips, digging in to your skin likely leaving bruises. He begins to almost completely pull out and slam into you causing you to whimper each time.

“Feels good" he groans as you feel him stutter behind you.

“So good" you pant breathlessly.

“You need to cum" he grunts your breath catching in your throat as you briefly look back at him. His red curls drenched in sweat framing his face.

“I’m not cumming until you do" he growls. He is fast and hard with every thrust, you don’t actually know if he can wait for you.

“Please daddy I can’t" you whine each thrust of your fingers has your walls twitching from the contact.

“You can or I will do it for you" he spits out slapping your ass once again. You know that the second option will come with a series of punishments.

He will likely end up with his head between your legs bringing you orgasm after orgasm from you. Your legs will be trembling and you won’t be able to take anymore but he won’t stop. It’s been a while but he has spent hours between your legs relishing in your whimpers. You almost couldn’t handle it then and you don’t know if you can tonight.

Your fingers press in harder scissoring you open as your thumb finds your swollen clit. Your fingers work inside your warm walls and he rails in you from behind you.

Your back arches further for him “I can’t daddy" you cry considering pulling your fingers out.

“You can and you will" he forcefully thrusts into your ass but you feel it in your slick heat that is ready to snap in two.

You know he won’t last much longer, and you begin to feel your orgasm sliding in a third finger. Your mouth opens in the shape of an O while a silent scream falls from your lips from being filled in every direction.

Finally your orgasm hits you, snapping like a bed spring. Your walls flutter around your fingers, warmth spilling down your wrist onto the bed. Your body tenses at the feeling of him hitting every nerve deep inside you.

As euphoria fills your veins Fred fills your ass. Your entire body seizes and your vision goes black. You feel warmth spill onto your ass as he pulls out. Your entire body falls onto the mattress your fingers still buried deep inside.

Your eyes flutter closed and the bed shifts as he falls beside you. Your body is limp as he pulls you onto his bicep brushing some hair from your sweaty face.

“Hey” he smiles. Your eyes slowly open and are met with his golden brown ones inches away “wondering when you’d come back.”

You groan slightly noticing your fingers are still inside your walls. You shift your weight and slowly pull them out, involuntarily whimpering your pussy still hot to the touch. He presses his lips to your forehead and you drift off.

You don’t know how long it’s been but you can hear Fred whispering as his finger ghosts over your skin, mouth pressed against your sweaty forehead.

“How long was I–“ you trail off unable to muster the strength to open your eyes.

“A half hour or so.”

“I love you baby" you mumble your eyes still closed.

“Love you too" he runs his finger up and down your spine. “Let’s go shower.”

You groan not moving. Your body is covered in sweat, cum dripping out of your ass and down to the bed. You want to shower, need to but your body won’t cooperate.

“I got you" he hums in your ear carrying you to the bathroom setting you on the cool tile bench in the stand-up shower. He turns the water on stepping under the stream while your head leans against the marble wall catching your breath.

“You okay pretty girl?” Fred bends down in front of you having completed his shower while you watched frozen to the bench. Beads of water drip down his chest as he lightly grips your thighs.

“Mhm just enjoying the view" you sigh as he grins at you. “But I’m not sure if my legs work, still a little sore.”

“That’s a shame babe" his large hands firmly squeeze your thigh and he spreads them open slightly. His thumb grazes against your clit causing you to whine.

“You told Mitch we have a large shower" his index finger strokes over your swollen heat. “I was really hoping to use it" you winks at you.

“Tomorrow” you whimper while his nails dig into your flesh.

“I have other plans for tomorrow” he kisses the underside of your jaw lightly.

“I can’t stand" you groan as he plays with your folds.

“S’okay" he smiles “I can.”

He wraps your legs around his back and throws your arms around his neck.

“How are you still going?” you almost laugh.

“One your super-hot” he winks standing up. “Two there is many times I just want to bend you over the kitchen counter or tie you to the bed pulling orgasm after orgasm from you.”

You feel yourself dampen at his words causing you to shudder at the feeling. “But we have four kids so I’m lucky to get a quickey in because we don’t have time and are too tired. Guess you can say I have some built up sexual energy” he chuckles amusement thick in his tone.

“And three" he grips the back of your thighs “you know when I have the perfect amount of drinks I can just keep going.”

Your hands tangle into his hair while he presses you against the cold and wet tile “so I would say tonight I can take advantage of all three.”

“I don’t” you mumble out feeling him poke at your entrance. “I don’t think I can” you whine helplessly.

His mouth finds your neck sucking into your skin while he slowly pulls you down onto him “I know you got a little left baby.” One second you are empty the next you are completely full of his cock.

“Umph" is about all you manage through the familiar stretch.

“You’re okay baby" he smiles “I got you.”

Once he is fully settled inside you he stills and you whimper. You pull your lower lip through your teeth and he watches your face.

“I’m okay” you say after a few minutes bringing a large grin to his face.

“You sure baby?” he asks softly. You can tell this will be different than the others, softer and slower.

“Yeah” you whisper.

Fred immediately thrusts up pulling some curse words from you. Your nails dog into the back of his neck while his dig into your hips. 

He begins pulling back and slowly pressing back is as his lips connect to yours. He swallows your moans in a passionate kiss.

It takes just a few thrusts before your over stimulated cunt begins to tremble again, you know it won’t take much more for what you know will be an earth shattering orgasm washes over you.

“Still good" he asks pulling away to capture his breath. 

You open your mouth but no sound comes out, just nodding instead but he wasn’t waiting for a response. His eyes no longer full of fire instead passion and adornment. 

Fred uses his strength to pin you to the wall. His head lands on your shoulder and he firmly grips the back of your thighs, you know he isn’t going to stop until he fills your sopping pussy with his sticky seed. Your vision goes black and your nails dig into his shoulder and he curses in response.

“I love you baby” he mumbles to the crook of your neck and you can only whimper in response.

Next Chapter

[whump-town]

If The Lord Don’t Forgive Me

Bi!Hotch returns

I brought Charlie around for round two because sometimes you just need sweet, wholesome gay love. And it’s sweet baby (okay sweet like sour gummy worms but it is sweet and, hey, I cut the whump out just to keep it that way so you’re welcome)

There is cussing, the slight implication to sex (but not graphic and far more like “men sometimes have sex”), homophobia (I know, I know why can’t I let them live in peace?? but I have to get something out of this too and I LOVE angst), child abuse (ugh... :( sorry Hotch but if you’re showing that pretty face in a fic, I’m gonna bring up the fact that your dad hit you...), and probably something else but I doubt it’s that bad

Anyways-- cut to the gay shit but let me hit it off with some “Work Song” by Hozier because... I’m the author and I can do what I want 

My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

Despite it only being eight o’clock in the morning, Aaron Hotchner feels today has aged him immensely.

The morning started with Emily knocking over an entire bookshelf. The decision to move her into his apartment was stupid and on a whim but he’s never truly felt the consequences of that until today. Which is good considering she’s been living there for nearly three years (straight from “dead” in London to living in his house)  but that is not where the focus should be placed. No, it should be placed on the fact that the crash caused him to jump. A normal, knee jerk reaction but not good when in the middle of shaving.

So, he’d come running out of the bathroom-- face stinging because he’s just jerked a razor across it-- to find the living room in shambles. Emily standing on the other side of the room looking to the point of tears but only managing the barest morsel of containment and Jack, school clothes covered in milk from his cereal, lower lip trembling, and little fist clenched for some semblance of control over the tears pouring down his face.

Standing there, the three of them each taking each other in, had felt surreal. Bit by bit, they all came together. Emily wiped her nose and rubbed the tear that fell off her face. She went to get him a band-aid and he went to Jack. That setback was only a step in the wrong direction.

Truthfully, that old bookshelf needed replacement about twenty-years ago when he built it. Its bitter fall was only a matter of time and he has yet to mourn it. The mess of the shelf was easy to clean up. He’d need to take the larger pieces to a dump or ask Morgan if he knows what to do with it. The books just got stacked on the floor and the wood splinters swept up and Jack advised to stay away from there until he or Emily could really go at it a little better and make sure there was nothing left.

The hard things came afterward.

Fighting with Jack to wear other clothes. He’d picked his current milk-soaked clothes out and Jack is reliant on a schedule. Changing clothes is a deviation and no matter how patient Hotch had tried to be, he was finding it hard to keep his cool. So he’d caved rather than lose his temper over something as simple as a second grader’s clothes. So, Jack went to school today in green overalls and blue rain boots that are a little too big. He’d looked silly but he’s seven so it’s technically still cute for him to do.

As for the nice cut he’d dug into his jaw, Emily had come to inform him that the only band-aids in the house are scooby doo. So, he has wood splinters in his living room, blood all over his shirt, Jack in poorly matching clothes, and a fucking scooby doo Band-Aid on his face.

Coffee is the only thing he knows can fix this.

“Uhm--” Leave it for today to also be the day he is confronted head-on with the very repressed sexual attraction he feels for men. “Can I--” his palms are embarrassingly damp. “Can I just get a-- a large black coffee?” The muscle in his forearm flexes and he can’t really force his fingers to grasp his wallet.

The man in question raises his eyebrow but takes the order. “Alrighty,” he answers. “Do you want creamer? Sugar?”

Hotch can feel his throat tightening in and his face heating up. Thank God he’s never been the type to flush visibly or else he’d be in some trouble. He forces his eyes on to the nametag pinned to the apron over the other man’s chest. Charlie, it reads. Hotch glances back up. “Yes-- Yes, please.” If he were a blusher, he’d be beet red.

Charlie smirks at the stammered manners. It’s cute. “You got a name, suit?”

“Ho--Hotch.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at that but he’s not going to comment. It’s unprofessional and Hotch is more than likely a nickname. He lets it go. “Hotch” comes in enough that Charlie gets used to the strange nickname but to the staff of his shop he refers to the cute stuttering agent as “suit” and it’s easy to understand why.

“A-- A date?”

Charlie is gay but he’s not sure what “suit”/”Hotch” is. He’s thinking at least a little curious because getting the poor man into a stuttering puddle of anxiety and stammering is as simple as deviating from their typical “cream and sugar” discourse.

Charlie smirks, he thinks the stammering is cute. “Suit” is such a composed guy that it is cute. “Well, yeah. Unless the terminology has changed, yeah, suit, a date.”

Hotch’s throat feels impossibly tight. He’s aware of Charlie, very aware of him and his jaw and how hard the pads of his hands are and-- “I’m--” I’m not gay “Ugh, wh-when?”

Oh. Well, he wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. “Hmm, good question. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Charlie sucks his lip into his mouth, thinking. He snaps his fingers with a sudden idea. He bites the Sharpie’s lid off (the one he uses to write names on the cups) and hurriedly scribbles something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Text me and we can work that out.”

That was… months ago.

Things have been steady. Good.

Pulling in a deep breath, Aaron Hotchner plunges his head under the luke-warm water of his bathtub. Goosebumps have broken out across his skin but the cold kills the ache in his overworked muscles. Besides, he’s entirely too distracted by two things: (1) he’s too fucking big to fit comfortably in this bathtub. Knees bent, his thighs are out of the water making this bath entirely useless. (2) The very unnervingly attractive coffee shop barista who’s shop he goes to, all the time. Who just so happens to be on his way over right now, for dinner.

“Wow.”

Startled by the sound, Hotch jerks and gets a mouthful of water and suds. Coughing and pulling at his burning nose, Hotch scowls at the intruder. None other than Emily Prentiss standing at the side of the tub, one hand on her hip, and the other extending a towel to him. “Emily!”

She raises an eyebrow of indifference as if he’s the one acting oddly. “You can hold your breath for an impressive amount of time,” she says. She moves the towel in front of him, trying to get him to take it from her. He won’t move his hands from where he’s placed them over his groin.

“Emily, get out!”

“Why are you making this a big deal?” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Hotch I have seen you naked!.” She puts the towel near the edge, where he can reach it without it falling into the water or to the floor. She makes a show of planting her hand over her eyes and turning her back. “Such a baby,” she mumbles. “What is the big deal?”

He ignores her.

She hears the water moving with him as he stands, large splashes as he disturbs the surface. “You’re welcome by the way,” she mumbles. She’d thrown the towel in the dryer so it would be warm for when he got out. Contrary to his dramatics, she does love him. He’s her friend and in the same ways that he takes care of her, she makes sure someone takes care of him. “Besides,” she says, turning around despite his disapproving huff of a sigh. “I came to tell you Charlie is here.”

Hotch freezes. Ah… that’s why she’d come in. That deer in the headlights look that she doesn’t see nearly enough of. It’s silly, if not endearing, that Hotch gets so nervous for these dates. Charlie is pretty clearly head over heels for him and it’s a little surprising. Charlie all bright and cheery, a hard extravert. Perfect, always early to their dates, Charlie.

“He’s early,” Hotch stammers.

Emily nods. The date is at seven-thirty and it’s not quite six. “He knows,” she informs him, settling her hips back against the sink. She’s not watching him throw on his boxers but she’s just… standing there, talking as he drops the towel and makes quick work of drying himself off and pulling his legs into pants. “He also knows you’re in the bath so don’t go breaking your neck. I don’t want to tell your seven-foot-tall, beefcake of a boyfriend that you’ve managed to kill yourself in here.”

Hotch huffs, rolling his eyes. It would be just his luck that he breaks his neck in here while buck ass naked, with Charlie in the living room no doubt. Though, that is a bit of a ridiculous thought to care about.  Here Emily is standing, casually watching him pull jeans over his boxers, having already seen him in his full glory. Charlie, even, has seen all of what he has to offer. He’s spent the majority of his life in the company of Jessica. She’s seen him in hospital gowns, bare assed which is strangely humiliating (and there’s the bonus of the repressed memories of Jessica catching him and Haley multiple times).

They’ve all seen him naked but that’s still not something he wants to deal with.

“You really do look strange in jeans,” Emily informs him as he’s shrugging on his shirt. Charlie had warned him against his more traditional polo. Evidently, he’d look like a “stiff” if he chose to wear a polo to the park. He shoots her a glare but it’s true. No matter how many times she sees him in regular clothes… she just can’t get used to it.

Charlie isn’t mean to him when he wears jeans though.

“There you are,” Charlie greets when Hotch steps out of the bathroom. The strange, beautiful thing about Charlie is that he doesn’t really care that Hotch’s life is crazy. He’d been unsettled by the grisly things that seem to occur so brutally to Hotch but he was quick, startlingly so, to remind Hotch that none of what Charlie had just been told sounded like it was Hotch’s fault. Despite Hotch’s swayed narration.

He’d thought it might be a bit strange to have Emily living in his apartment but Charlie also knew about the details leading up to that decision. The loss of Haley putting a strain on Jack’s independence and pattern of life. Being a single parent and a federal agent pulling Hotch every which way. Haley’s father, Roy, falling ill and commanding more of Jessica’s attention. Then, the fateful fall out with Ian Doyle, Emily moving to London, and the internal bleeding that had almost killed Hotch.

The last of which had been the end all be all. Emily came home and she found herself drawn back here by the less than stellar track record of her family. The abrupt decision landed her here, with Hotch, and it’s been beneficial for everyone involved.

Charlie feels a little safer knowing that when he has to go back to his own apartment, Hotch has his own apartment full of Jack and Emily waiting up for him. Even though he’s only been with Hotch a short while, he’s becoming more and more aware of the trouble that seems to follow his partner.

“Your hair is still wet!” Charlie kisses Hotch, fingers slipping easily through the soaked hair at the back of his head. “I won’t take you out in the cold until you’ve dried it. The last thing I need is you getting sick on me.”

Jack nods seriously hearing this. He’s seated beside Charlie on the couch, the two having been discussing superhero comics. It was turning into an argument when Hotch had come out (who would win between Batman and Ironman-- Charlie says Ironman and Jack Batman). “You can’t get sick,” Jack informs him firmly. “You promised you’d make pancakes for breakfast Saturday.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “All I’m good for to you people is my cooking skills.”

Charlie sucks in a breath, making a I don’t know about that, sort of face. “Just your pancakes, Aaron.” Charlie pats Hotch’s thigh the opposite of tender just downright taunting. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

The chorus of grunted seconding of that statement behind him feels like a betrayal but he really is bad at cooking. And math. And remembering general the most basic things. So, true but hey! “I’m going to go dry my hair,” Hotch announces, shaking his head. Sure, laugh it up now. They all need him. It’s funny now… brats.

“Get some gloves! There’s a wind chill!”

Emily huffs a laugh and Hotch turns around to catch it. He smirks at the sight of his living room, melancholy swelling in his throat. His family genuinely looks like his lesbian best friend, his ex-wife’s older sister, his son, and his 6’5 ex-college football player turned coffee shop owner boyfriend. It’s a little crazy and yet… comforting because at eighteen when he’d packed up his meager belongings to go to college, he didn’t think he was capable of having any of this.

As Charlie pulls him out the door-- hair dry-- Jack’s actively talking to them both. Something pointless but childish and so, by reason, very important. Emily’s reaching into his jacket and stuffing a pair of gloves into his pocket, throwing a scarf at his head. Jessica’s calling after them too and as soon as the door shuts Hotch pulls in a deep breath.

“They’re smothering,” Charlie informs him as they step off the porch. He offers his hand out to Hotch, scowling down at the icy steps.

Hotch hums in agreeance taking Charlie’s hand out of necessity for touch not help. “You’ll get used to it.” The implication of his statement comes to hit him centerfold but Charlie seems unaffected and Hotch is reminded that not even ten minutes Charlie had said that he loved him. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Aaron? Did you hear me?”

Hotch blinks stupidly, looking up, and shaking his head. “No,” he mumbles regretfully.

Charlie shrugs it off. “I asked if you were hungry, yet.” Though a year is not altogether that much time, especially when compared to their ages, Charlie would like to think he has an understanding of Aaron. He does know that for certain, actually. He squeezes Aaron’s hand within his own and smiles over at him. He’s got layers, Aaron, and you have to pay a price to understand each and every one.

Somehow, that enchants Charlie. He loves it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give up to have another layer.

“No need to pretend to be,” Charlie explains as they separate to get into his car. “You either or you aren’t. I just wondered if you wanted dinner now or after the walk.” Charlie wants his opinion. He desperately wants to understand what is going on in Aaron’s head. The thoughts he has when he gets silent like this, his restless fingers digging and rubbing.

Hotch hums, reflexively drawing his arms to his chest after he buckles himself into the car. He fidgets anxiously as he tries to figure out the correct answer. What it is that Charlie wants to hear. Charlie likes to eat early, that’s something he’s noticed. However, if Charlie’s asking him then maybe he doesn’t want to eat early. Would Charlie be hungrier after a walk? If they eat now it’ll be cold outside by the time they can get to the park. Then Charlie’s going to be mad at him because it’ll be his fault for having chosen to eat early and go to the park late. Maybe then Charlie will finally realize how stupid this whole relationship is, that he can do better, someone who isn’t like him, and--

“Hey.” Charlie doesn’t reach out and touch him. That’s a lesson he’s learned over the last few months. Hotch doesn’t mind physical touch but he’s easily unnerved by it when he doesn’t know it’s coming. Considering how lost in thought he just was, there is no way he would have seen it coming. “We can just go after, okay?”

Hotch immediately calms, “okay.” His shoulders fall from where he’d slowly, stiffly brought them up. He nods his head, looking down to his lap, while Charlie drives. He has to calm down.

He looks over, catching Charlie’s smooth movement. His arm is on the center console, palm up in a common gesture waiting for Aaron to take his hand. He blinks for a moment, mind slowly turning over exactly what this is. Glancing at Charlie, Hotch slowly lifts his hand up and shyly slots his fingers between his. Smiling when Charlie doesn’t even react much more than a pleased grin.

Oh, he thinks calmly. He likes holding Charlie’s hand. He likes Charlie. The way that he just fills the silence without ever expecting Hotch to return the vigor. Simply requiring Hotch remain engaged with the occasional hum of understanding or scowl of confusion. And Hotch loves that so much more-- that he never has to find the words to explain that he doesn’t understand. Charlie just knows.

“You can’t.”

Charlie frowns, turning to glance at Hotch. “What do you mean?” That’s where the compensation occurs-- Charlie is awful at remembering things. He forgets his dry cleaning, appointments that he set up, holidays, birthdays, weekend plans-- everything. Hotch seems to forget nothing.

Hotch looks out the window of the passenger side, feeling the cold seeping in from the door, but docile and contently closes his eyes to narrow his attention to Charlie’s thumb rubbing lazy patterns on the back of his hand. “On the twenty-third you have interviews for waiters. Your morning, at the very least, is packed.”

Charlies frowns, well shit. “You know,” he says, giving Hotch’s hand a little squeeze. “If you just came to work with me, I wouldn’t have to have those interviews. It would fix so many of both of our problems.”

Hotch turns his head, smirking at Charlie. Not true. It would fix some of their issues-- how much time Hotch’s job steals from them, Charlie’s need for more staff. However, Charlie just wants him working there because Charlie thinks Hotch would look hot in the apron (actually, he knows Hotch is hot in the apron).

They arrive at the park and the two get out. Charlie immediately regrets coming out in this weather.

The grass crunches under Hotch’s feet but he enjoys the way the snow muffles so much of the noise around them. Leaving nothing but the few courageous birds watching them from their perches. It’s a safety Hotch finds entirely enrapturing. Enough to not mind the cold at all and how Charlie’s been fussing with his own clothes since they set off.

Hotch is just walking along. His hands are cold but not enough to ache and with Charlie’s covering the majority of his right hand, he can slip the left into his pocket. It’s not until Charlie squeezes his hand to get his attention that they stop, that Hotch pulls his attention to his partner and away from the scenery.

Charlie pulls him by the lapels of his dark jacket, turning him so that they’re standing facing one another. The toes of their shoes bumping together. “Come here,” Charlie instructs, words a cloud of condensation around them. He wastes no time in pulling the hat off of his own head to pull it down over Hotch’s. Smiling when it smushes his overgrown bangs against his forehead. “I don’t want you getting an ear infection out here. Gotta keep you healthy.”

Hotch shyly grins, looking down at the ground, “I’ll be okay.” He still turns his cheek into Charlie’s palm, letting him wrap that hand around the back of his neck, turning his chin up to kiss him. His lips are cold and the tip of his nose feels frozen. “It’s not that cold.”

Charlie shrugs and Hotch doesn’t pull the hat off.

“You outta be disgusted by yourselves.”

Hotch flinches, recoiling from Charlie and bowing his head rather than to look up and see who it is shouting at them. But Charlie is not new to this little game and he straightens his back and raises a questioning brow. “Oh? Should we?” He glares down at the woman on the track, it’s clear she’d been running before she decided to come nosing her way into their business. “I’d appreciate it if you left us alone, ma’am. We aren’t hurting anyone.”

She scoffs.

Charlie stands still, unwavering. They’re big men. Hotch may be a force to be reckoned with but Charlie is not, by any means, small. They’re the same height and the woman in question is a petite blonde. They’re intimidating. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head disgusted but stalks off. Whispering under her breath about hell and how their time will come.

“What a hag,” Charlie grumbles, rolling his eyes and reaching down between them to take Hotch’s hand. He steps to move on but he feels the resistance in Aaron. His hand now loosely holding on to Charlie, fingers lightly hooked together. “Aaron--”

Hotch forces himself to take a steadying breath-- drop his shoulders, unclench his jaw, inhale slowly. His eyes peel up off of the ground and he knows he hasn’t moved fast enough. Creases of worry have broken up Charlie’s handsome face, tension that doesn’t belong there. “I--”

Charlie shakes his head, discouraging Hotch’s lame excuse. “What she said…” Charlie can’t tell Hotch that what she said shouldn’t affect him. That he should brush it off and not worry about what a small minded bitch has to say about them but that’s not fair. None of this ever really is. Not when it comes to Aaron. “She doesn’t matter, Aaron. You. You matter to me, okay?”

Hotch furrows his brows, letting out an aggravated puff of air as he fails to work through the shame burning his chest.

Charlie looks around them, tapping his fingers as he contemplates what he should do. “Do you--” How, in all of Virginia did he manage to get the one DILF, Unit Chief with the inability to make a decision or admit what he needs? He means it fondly, of course, but sometimes he’d like to lovingly shake some sense into this man.

Taking a calming moment, Charlie knows that his ability to play out this next scene is vital to his afternoon. If Aaron detects even a fraction of impatience, anger, or frustration he’ll shut down and then Charlie is going to have to spend days if not weeks working Aaron back to where he is now.

“It’s cold out here,” he states calmly. Aaron glances at him, sniffling and rubbing at his wind burned nose. “I’m hungry, I-- I forgot my lunch at home this morning.” Even though Aaron bought him a bright, hunter’s orange lunch box that sits painfully on his kitchen counter so that he has to see it. “What do you say we turn back for the car and surprise Jack with an early return? Order pizza? Watch some Scooby Doo?”

Aaron sniffles again, glancing at Charlie and then to the path they’re clearly meant to be headed on. “But…” he clears his throat. He can’t stand being like this. The anxious partner. The fucked up partner. He was with Haley. Now he is with Charlie. And, well, everyone knows how Haley played out. “You-- You wanted to walk.”

Charlie shakes his head, smiling and playfully poking Hotch’s chest. “No, I want to spend time with you.” Though he’s terrified Aaron will recoil from it, he makes the careful decision to touch him. Smiling when Aaron just looks back at him, searching for something but Charlie isn’t mad so Aaron won’t find what he’s looking for. He strokes Aaron cheek, “I’m cold. You’re cold. We can walk if you want but…”

Hotch looks back down the trail and shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to walk.

Charlie feels pretty proud of himself. He’s pretty good at this.

And Jack is thrilled to have them back.

Hotch feigns hurt when Jack runs straight past him to Charlie. “Am I chopped liver?” But his light, fluttering chest betrays him and he can’t help a soft smirk as Jack holds Charlie’s hand. Charlie nodding, listening to Jack as he kicks his shoes off.

Emily appears at the mouth of the hall, frowning at the sight before her. She’s in different clothes from when they left. One of her dating apps having finally come through and delivered her plans for this lovely evening. She was just about to call Hotch to tell him she was going to have to call Jessica to watch Jack. “What are you doing back?”

Before Hotch can overthink the question Charlie smirks and motions over his shoulder, “it’s like ten degrees out there. Way too cold for a walk, don’t know what I was thinking.”

Good enough excuse for Emily, she doesn’t care. She has other things on her mind. “I have a date.” Both Aaron and Charlie look surprised. Which is annoying but she won’t engage them in conversation because she’s better than that. “So, I will be out of your hair this afternoon.”

Well, kind of. She steals some of their pizza before she leaves. Even sits down for an episode of Scooby Doo before her date texts and says she’s ready.

“Well, boys,” she leans down and kisses the top of Jack’s head. Wishing him a  good night and a whisper to make sure he’s extra good for his father when Hotch puts him down tonight. “I’m off. I will see you in the morning.” She offers Charlie a cordial head nod and Hotch gets his hair messed with as she passes.

“Be careful,” Hotch calls as she shuts the door.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to fall asleep and Hotch can feel himself slipping with Charlie leaning against him, his hand on the inside of Hotch’s thigh. Warm and comfortable, he doesn’t want to get up. But he manages to get Jack to bed with minimal fighting-- they agree to keep his nightlight, the hall light, and the bathroom light on. Emily even sends a text to confirm that she hasn’t been murdered by her date, he rolls his eyes but appreciates the sentiment.

It’s a good night, all things considered.

For a while, at least.

He’s in bed. Boxers shifted low on his hips as lays atop his beaten, threadbare comforter. The thick, heavy heat of an August night settling thickly over his bones. A blanket of sweat shining on his chest, just barely visible from the light of the hallway peaking into his cracked door. Downstairs, his parents roar on. He can make out every word spoken but if he hums just enough and presses his fingers into the thin mattress until it hurts he can numb out the world.

Nothing.

He thinks about Scott from his biology class. His booming laughter, already having hit his growth spurt and though only sixteen standing over them all in a man’s body. Thick with muscles that Aaron had felt when Scott had pulled him in for a tight, jovial bear hug. Perhaps he’d imagined it but for a split second Aaron had seen a flash of something-- warmth that he, himself, still can not name.

Closing his eyes, he brings back the heat of his stomach. A smile pulling at his lips as he thinks about how it felt pressed to Scott’s chest. Swallowed by the other’s boy’s body. The ache between his hips increases. It’s bad and it’s ugly but it’s Scott that he thinks about. It’s Scott that he wants.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Aaron scrambles upright, both hands planted on the bed as he scurries away from its edge and anywhere near where his father might be able to grab one of his frantically moving limbs. Still, a rough hand is thrown out and Aaron yelps in surprise as his body is yanked to the edge. He can’t hear the words being thrown at him, just looks at his drunken father screaming. Sees his mouth move but knows nothing of their meaning.

He’s wrenched up and out of bed, scrambling to keep up with the direction in which he’s pulled down the hall. To the large, cast iron clawfoot tub in the bathroom. He’s thrown chest first into it’s cold edge, his fingers wrapping tightly around the biting cold of the rim. He knows his fate long before his father’s broad hand grabs onto his hair and hauls him up just enough to push him down into the cold, soapy water.

His ringing ears hearing the slurs being thrown at him. Faggot. He screams as his father punches his exposed chest, causing him to gasp, the bubbles of air hitting his face. He’d used that word before. Thrown it at another boy the way rocks had been thrown at him for doing the same thing-- being too small, wearing weird clothes. He wonders exactly how it is that he can change because he tries. Good Lord, he tries so hard.

“Aaron.”

His vision blacks out for a moment and he’s lifted from the water. Everything feels strangely familiar. He can’t feel the cold water. Can’t feel the water dripping down his face.

“Aaron!”

He can’t expel the water in his throat. The hand on the back of his head tightens as water and his dinner come up, hot and wet against his chest as he’s moved mid-choke. His head goes under and he screams, grabbing frantically at his father’s hand on his head.

“Aaron--”

Screaming Aaron fights weakly against the hands touching him. It takes a moment for the uncoordinated sweeps of his arms to connect with nothing. For him to get a proper amount of space to breathe. The ringing numb of his ears slowly dies and he feels the world creeping back in around him. He blinks into the darkness, chest heaving  First, the dull clicking of fan in the corner of the room. It sweeps left to right, pauses, and comes back right to left. Then the hobbling, swinging of the fan above him. Cold air.

He’s not there in that tiny, suffocating town. In that too-big house with too many places to be seen and not nearly enough to hide.

“You fucking scared me,” pants someone behind him.

A large hand plants itself between his shoulder blades, the bed dipping as weight is moved across it’s top. His body flinches but he’s only minutely aware of the physical movement and, slowly, the rest of him leans into the warmth of the palm. Tears swell as he turns over his shoulder, eyes closed, and going blindly where he knows arms will enclose him. Protect him. “Charlie,” he finally recognizes. His face finds the other man’s shoulder and he feels, rather than hears, the sob that leaves his grimacing lips.

Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

Hotch gives himself over, leaning completely into him. Gently, Hotch feels Charlie moving parts of him to adjust them back onto the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie lays back, pulling Hotch’s knee so his hips cant against Charlie’s. The inner side of Hotch’s thighs lies laying across his. There’s no need to open his eyes, to fight. He knows he’s safe.

His tears have slowed but there’s no denying something big has happened. Lately, Hotch has noticed Charlie pushing for him to open up more but Charlie and Hotch’s childhoods are nothing alike. It’s hard to tell him about the dozen times his father put him in the hospital, each time with a better story than the last, and always Hotch’s fault. Had the whole town believing Hotch to be some miscreant kid.

And he was bad but not the sense that was ever true. He’d smoked and drank but that was small-town stuff. Everyone gets into that sort of thing one way or another. He’d had sex but no one he and his partners knew about that, his male partners, anyhow. The first time he’d slept with Haley he’d been proud to have fallen for a woman.

There was an old run-down barn that he’d take boys out to. There was one wall, facing the woods, that was strong enough to support weight and you could lean up against it. He’d been caught only once and the old farmer had beaten him with the wooden end of a rake. The other boy had managed to run off. Hotch’s pants had pooled against around his ankles and the other boy hadn’t taken his completely off his hips. That was a mistake Hotch only made that one time. Not that it would have mattered.

After that day, everyone knew what he was.

Which is what bred his nightmare. Though, that night had gone nothing like his dream. He’d come home with welts and broken ribs from the beating that old farmer gave him. As soon as he opened the door, he knew what was waiting for him. It was from the first floor that his father had dragged him, by his hair, to the second floor. Where Sean’s dirty bathwater sat cooling all afternoon.

But Hotch won’t tell Charlie about that day. It’s not worth it. So he changes the subject. “We need to clean the sheets,” Hotch finally sniffles. His voice is rough from the night’s activities and he remembers what they’d done before he’d fallen asleep and knows that surely did not help. Under his left hip, there is dampness to the old cotton sheet, like something wet has been drying. Sheets probably should be replaced but these are the back-up sheets and the goods ones are in the dryer.

Charlie hums, a vibration that Hotch can feel all the way down to his toes. “That would be your mess,” Charlie informs him matter-of-factly. Pressing his lips to Hotch’s forehead. “I did try to clean you up if you recall.” Charlie’s fingers have wrapped protectively around Hotch’s body, thumb lazily rubbing back and forth over his bare hip. “You told me to fuck off so…”

He remembers. He was still sensitive, shaking with exertion, and hadn’t taken kindly to Charlie dragging a slightly too cold wash rag over his ass. First of all, it was way too wet and secondly, it was cold. What was he to do other than protest?

Charlie’s chest shifts underneath his head as he bends to look at the clock. Yawning deeply Charlie pulls the blankets back over them both, rubbing at Hotch’s hip. “Let’s get some sleep,” he mumbles around another yawn that manages to overtake his breath. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up,” Charlie mumbles. “I want you to wake me up, capeesh?”

Hotch closes his eyes and turns a little more into the warmth of Charlie’s body. Trying to think of nothing. To slow the rapid progressions of his thoughts. There is no way that this was a good idea. A relationship. A life. He brought Haley into his world and looked at what happened. He’s a swirling storm of trouble, sucking in the best parts of the world and ruining them. He’s a liar.

“I love you, Aaron,” Charlie whispers, straining his neck to kiss the top of Hotch’s head. His hand holds Aaron still against him. “I don’t want you to be lying here suffering afraid to talk to me.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. That’s not good. It can’t be. He’s not worth that. Charlie is great. He’s gentle and he’s kind and he’s loving and Hotch can’t even decide when they should eat. If a walk in the park is better than a movie.

“You have not tricked me.” He wonders how Charlie sees so clearly into his mind. It’s not mind reading, Charlie can feel his pounding heart and tense muscles. He’s always so tense. “I love you completely, entirely, enchantingly by choice.” Charlie sighs softly. Content. He wishes desperately to bring Aaron the same peace that Aaron brings him. It's a content, pleased sigh that leaves his mouth and that confuses Aaron so much. No louder than a whisper, seemingly more to himself than to Aaron Charlie whispers. “There are worse life sentences than to be tricked into falling in love with you.”

[loquaciousquark]

I’m not very good at keeping up with life updates. I don’t know why! I never have been!

Carol moved out August 9th, about a week extra over the original two months we’d agreed on. She got an apartment about five minutes away, which is about 40 minutes from her job. I recommended getting an apartment closer to her job to ease the commute, but she said she strongly preferred being near to her friends and the city center. (She also had the option of a $650/mo lease for a year or $1100/mo for a six month lease at this complex, and opted for the shorter lease even though she couldn’t afford the $1100. She also insisted on a two bed 1.5 bath apartment instead of a much cheaper one bed one bath, and I don’t know why. Her financial choices continue to bewilder me.)

I helped her move, because she has a number of physical disabilities and a fairly total inability to accurately predict the scope of a job like this. She insisted to me multiple times that all she was picking up from her estranged mother’s home was a few books, a desk, a chair, and a small round end table. She came back with a fifteen foot Uhaul packed top to bottom with dozens of pieces of (often very heavy) furniture, tubs upon tubs upon tubs of books (not small boxes, like 40 gallon tubs immobile with books) and a lot of...I don’t know how to describe it.

Honestly, it reminded me of a hoarder’s home from those TLC shows. She had so much stuff, and almost all of it was...garbage. Like, stained, discolored, moldy, dirty, dusty furniture and blankets and clothes that were covered in mouse droppings and bird crap. An ancient armchair that she called “antique” but was made of very cheap very damaged veneered pressed wood and whose upholstery was of an indeterminate color because of how stained it was. A “display piece” of an old suitcase she picked up in some thrift store that was locked shut with what felt like twenty pounds of bricks inside, but the outside wasn’t even attractive - just an ugly brown box with no care or craftwork that was scratched and torn and stained with mouse poop. It honestly made me uneasy to touch it, and she was putting it in her apartment to use.

I don’t know how she thought she was going to be able to get all of this stuff down the half-flight of stairs to her apartment by herself. I helped her unload for four hours before I had another obligation, then came back after that finished for another hour or two of unloading to get it in her apartment securely. It was...very tiring, but also very exhilarating to be physically closing that chapter as well as mentally. I don’t intend to do it again.

--

My job (professor) started back in person on a regular basis the following week in August. We’ve now been in class for almost two months and no students that I directly interact with (my 46ish 2nd year students) have had any exposures or at risk scenarios. A small handful of 3rd and 4th years have had exposures, and I think one student actually tested positive, but none of the exposures or positive results were from our clinic or labs; they were all from community transmission (wife/husband/child/roommate caught it from somewhere else, student had to quarantine).

I have been almost draconian with my 2nd years about the thin line we’re walking in being allowed to have even our minimal, limited in-person labs, and have warned them that if we have an exposure breach in our clinic, there is zero chance they graduate on time in a few years. They seem to be taking it extremely seriously, which I like a lot. All students, staff, and faculty are given new surgical masks daily, and everyone who interacts with patients gets a new n95 mask every 10 days. We have decontamination stations throughout the building, temperature guns, digital “passports” that they have to update daily to be allowed on campus, and plenty of spray bottles with high level disinfectant for surfaces and hands. It’s honestly as safe as we can make it, and I feel we’ve hit a good balance between staying safe and getting them actually trained on real human beings.

That said, we are having more students than I’ve ever had fail exams and practicals across the board, and I honestly think it’s an artifact of the remote lectures (all lectures are remote unless specified for particular reasons, and then they only take place in distanceable classrooms, which are at max like 70% of the class). God knows I wouldn’t have learned as well at home - I’d have been on my phone or playing games and kind of half listening in the background, and if nothing else this has made me more of a proponent of mandatory attendance once it’s safe again to do so, because the drop I’m seeing is almost precipitous. Either this class is unusually full of students incapable of completing the program, or COVID’s striking again. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.

On the other hand, we’re FINALLY making up the Injections course material that got stopped dead in spring, and the first run of it went very well last Saturday. I unequivocally resent that I have to give up an entire Saturday to do so (and will have to do so thrice more to get all the students done this semester), but it’s at least one chunk of incompletes that are now passes (and in fact, mostly As).

We just got the notification that hybrid courses will continue through spring. It’s so exhausting. We can do it safely, and we are, but it’s so hard.

--

Went to get a drink last night before bed and noticed the tea was a little warm. Went to grab some ice cubes from the freezer and discovered the ice cube tray was full of water, and the chocolate ice cream in the door had melted and spread across the entire unit.

Managed to get a repair guy out this afternoon, who charged $228 to replace the ...relay overload array capacitor, or something. He showed me what it was--a little black and white box that he said was bottom of the barrel cheap from China, which I fully believe, and installed a new one then and there while I had a remote test review with a student over Zoom. I put on headphones for her privacy, but she cried several times. It’s usually a pretty rough awakening when students who never had to study in college realize how difficult this program is and the study time required to pass, let alone succeed.

Anyway, the freezer’s chucking out cold air like it was made for it, and the fridge seems to be slowly working its way back down. Had to throw out everything from the freezer (chicken, steak, ground beef, bacon, veggies, frozen meals--and some pizza rolls) and I’m not looking forward to the grocery bill it’ll take to restock the fridge either, but at least it seems to be functioning again.

I just checked; the freezer’s made six ice cubes in the last three hours. I’ve put them all in my tea to celebrate.

--

Edit: just checked again and the fridge is slowly cooling off, thank goodness! Of course, I somehow managed to fall down the four stairs of the hall between here and there and bruise the royal bejeezus out of both hips and somehow the inside of my left foot, so I’m ordering in for dinner, because nuts to that.

[fangirl-1523]

My Sworn Brothers [Luffy x Crossover!Sister!Reader x Ace x Sabo]

A/N: Hey, so I want to write a High School AU of the many, many anime I have watched/ read. Bleach, Blue Exorcist, Devil is a Part-Timer, Durarara, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, High School of the Dead, InuYasha, Kill La Kill, Magi, My Hero Academia, Noragami, One Piece, Ouran High School Host Club, Pokemon, Saiki K, Sailor Moon, Seven Deadly Sins, Soul Eater, Sword Art Online, Vampire Knight, Your Lie in April, and Yu Gi-Oh. And I was wondering who would you like to be apart of your friend? And would you like to have a relation to any of the characters of the world. 

Summary: [Y/N] is the oldest sworn sister to Luffy, Ace, and Sabo. And after finding Ace and Sabo aboard Luffy’s ship, the Thousand Sunny, she explains to them who she is, her other sworn brothers and sisters, embarrasses the three of them (a regular Tuesday for her), and threatens them with a chalkboard for interrupting her. Multiple times. In this story, most of the anime I am into is in the same world (Bleach, Blue Exorcist, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, InuYasha, Magi, My Hero Academia, Naruto, Noragami, Seven Deadly Sins, and Sword Art Online.  I might do a part 2. 

Warnings: spoilers for the above mangas and animes, also, even though this is along the timeline of after the time skip (at some point), I took the creative liberty to have Ace alive during this meeting for a quad family reunion, might be language

Word Count: 1, 668

“How the hell am I suppose to believe that my three idiotic brothers would be in the same place at the exact same time I’m trying to find them?” the girl with [H/C] hair, old enough to be Luffy’s age, maybe a year younger or a year older than him. 

“[Y/N]!!” the rubber boy flung himself at her in a hug.

She fell down on her butt from the impact of the hug. She groaned before pushing the boy off of her and standing up, dusting herself off. “Geez, Lu. I was on a job, just finished, and I heard something about a Straw Hat, a Fire Fist, and a blonde with a top hat that put the mad hatter to shame. I just came to see if the rumors are true.” 

“What job did you have, sis?” Sabo said as he sipped a smoothie created from Vinsmoke Sanji. 

“Well, you see. In the ten years I’ve been gone, I’ve been busy. Both with being lazy and being diligent.” the girl explained. “I am a member of Fairy Tail. Dragon Slayer Magic, particularly fire, water, earth, air, and plant. Requip the Knight. Some space jumping there and vortex opening here.” 

“You got the two mixed up, kid.” Ace said from his spot next to Sabo. 

The girl grinned an evil grin. “Oh, did I, Ace of Clubs?” 

The raven haired pirate groaned at the nickname while Luffy’s crew members wondered after the nickname. Ace kept giving her the don’t-tell-them-anything look with a cut-it-out motion. She, like most people she knew, did not listen to reason. 

“Well, when we were younger, I attempted to teach the pour unfortunate souls that you call Luffy, Sabo, and Ace golf. And we played mini-gold. First hole we went to, the club flew out of Ace’s hand and crashed into the window where the pour lady working the club stand was clonked on the head and fell unconscious. Another fun fact: I’m overly competitive and therefore master of mini gold. Luffy on the other hand... beat my bowling high score of just a little over four hundred points.” [Y/N] explained. 

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU PLAY GOLF, YOU IDIOT!” Usopp shouted at his captain. 

“Ace was a lot worse. However, on the eighteenth hole, got a hole in one. Although with team sports, I always sided with Luffy ‘cuz he was the baby of the family.” she explained. 

“Never play Volleyball with her unless you’re Luffy.” Sabo warned the Straw Hat Pirates. 

“Could you... possibly.... explain who you are?” asked Nami. 

“That’s an easy and excellent question, m’lady. I am [Y/N] [L/N], the daughter of the Demon King from the Demon Clan, Niece of Solomon, adoptive daughter of the great dragon, The Curse of Depravity, a mage of S-Class ranking, the best older sister anyone can have, a Shinigami, and the Pirate Fairy.” [Y/N] said with her hands on her hips like wonder woman. 

“You’re not wonder woman, dumbass.” Ace muttered. 

She scowled at the boy (who was now physically older than her). “I know that, asshole.” Ace shrugged his shoulders at that. “Anyways, I should get going. I’m here with my teammates. And Salamander will have a cow if he finds out I’m on a Pirate Ship. Which may or may not include Natsu asking you all to fight him at once for his sister.” [Y/N] shrugged. 

“SISTER?!” Luffy screeched. 

“YOU ALREADY REPLACED US?!” Ace and Sabo said in unison. 

“This is why I never took you to Amusement parks or sat next to you on a ride.” she clenched at her swollen ears.  “No, I was merely saying that I have something called [Y/N]’s Council of Brothers. They’re basically a band of boys I feel need my protection, wisdom, and power to embarrass them until they’re six feet under and rotting.” 

“She’s dark.” Nami said. “But can you explain this whole Council of Brothers thing. Because I’m not sure they,” the ginger pointed to the three brothers, “understand.” 

“Alright! I will go over a lesson here!” and suddenly a white board appeared by her side with writing already on it. 

“Where did you get the white board?” asked Luffy. 

“That’s not important right now.” she scowled. “Yes, Sabo.” 

“Was that Whiteboard always there and we just never noticed it?” the blonde asked. 

“No. Ace if this is a question about the white board, I will smack you with the same gold club that flew through that window. All questions about the stupid whiteboard will be answered after I explained everything. Got it?” 

The three brothers grumbled out a, “Yes.”  

“Good. Anyways, to start it off I have two half-brothers. Meliodas and Zeldris.” she slapped a pointer stick against the whiteboard. 

“Did she always have that?” Ace asked, whispering it to his two brothers. 

“I don’t know. I’m just glad someone noticed it besides me.” Sabo murmured back. 

“SILENCE, YOU INSOLENCE FOOLS!” and she threw a frying pan which hit Ace in the head. 

Why does she have a frying pan in her requips? Sabo wondered in his head, not wanting to get hit in the head with anything else she might have to throw at them. 

“Anyways, Meliodas and Zeldris are my half-brothers. Zeldris is the captain of the Demon Clan’s ten Commandments while Meliodas is the captain of Liones’s Seven Deadly Sins of which I am co-captain and the Phoenix Sin of Darkness. To be fair, I look more like my mother and I think the only thing me, Meliodas, and Zeldris share is our dumbassery we inherited from our father. Second off, my cousin is Magi Aladdin since my mother is his father, Solomon,’s sister. Now, that’s enough of my actual biological family. Now, I won’t go into detail about those three. Because you already seem well-acquainted with one another. Anyways, onto the next one. The next one on my list of brothers is a half-demon named Rin who is the son of Satan along with his younger brother, Yukio, but he doesn’t really need protection. next is Kazuto Kirigaya also known as Kirito. I prefer to call him that. He got stuck in a game where if you die there, you die in real life, but he defeated them. next, we have Satan himself, a king of demons, Sadou Maou. He works as a part-timer for a fast food chain which is sad to be honest. Next, we have Alibaba Saluja, a prince and a king’s candidate, also my cousin’s best friend. He wields the fire djinn, Amon. Also, he’s trying to be a gladiator while figuring out his feelings for Fanalis and former slave Morgiana. Next, we have actual God Yato who is a former god of calamity and a current god of war. I think. I’m not quite sure. But he and his two regalia, Yukine and a Nora named Kazuma, but also Kazune under Yato, must be protected by me at all cost. Then, we have Edward Elric, a alchemist missing both a leg and an arm because he wanted to see his mom’s smile again which kicks me in the heartstrings whenever I hear it. His brother, Alphonse, is an honorary member of the Council of Brothers. And he used to be entirely a soul attached to a suit of armor. No joke.” 

“Does no one else notice that they are mostly raven haired or blonde?” Nico Robin commented. 

The Straw Hat Pirates turned to the three sworn brothers who just shrugged their shoulders at that. “I admit I am guilty for that. But my actual brothers are raven headed and blonde, so that may be the reason. Anyways, off to the next people. Now, this person could make Luffy look like a genius. Sometimes. Natsu Dragneel, a salmon haired fire dragon slayer, is the brother of Zeref Dragneel, the black wizard, and also simultaneously END, the most powerful demon of the book of zeref which makes him one of the top fifteen most powerful demons. Next, we have strawberry boi, Ichigo Kurosaki, a shinigami who I’ve been helping train. He could see the dead and then he discovered his spiritual power, stole the shinigami powers of Rukia Kuchiki, and started to exorcist hollows and send souls to the soul society. Then, we have my favorite band of brothers since they could literally be in a band. Broccoli Boi, Izuku Midoriya, kinda has a power augmentation quirk, best way to describe it without giving too much away, Porcupine Katsuki Bakugo who can blow things up with help from his sweat. Zuko Wannabe Shoto Todoroki who can wield fire and ice. Also, his brother Touya may or may not be Dabi. Then, Pikachu Kaminari Denki who can utilize elctricity, but too much and he makes Luffy look like a genius. No joke. Well… maybe… I don’t really know. Anyways, then we have speedster Tenya Iida. Oh, there’s sharkboy Eijiro Kirishima. He can make himself go as hard as rock, but he has limitations. Then, we have spidertape Hanta Sero that can shoot tape out of his elbows. Then, half-demon InuYAsha who is the son of a dog demon and a mortal woman. There’s also Shippo who is an adorable little kitsune. And I think I got everyone.” the girl looked at her board before smacking it again as she noticed Luffy had begun to doze off while Ace had totally fallen asleep. 

The action alerted the two boys to wake up at once and glare at their older sister. And then, a silver haired undead man with a flying blue cat landed on the floor of the ship. “Thank goodness we found you. C’mon. We got a mission and you and your ‘Team Natsu’ have a job request from the old man and a princess.” 

“So Hisui and Bartra both agree to have us do something, but what is this so-called mission?” asked [Y/N]. 

Ban smirked. “We’re fighting slave-trading pirates.” 

“I want in!” Luffy cheered.

[rightsockjin]

Meet Cute

Summary: Jimin is at a wedding alone. This doesn’t bother him. He’s got the best friends he could ask for, a booming career and a family. He was set. But as one of his best friends danced with his new wife, Jimin couldn’t help but wish he had someone special too. That’s where you come in with a mouth full of sass.

Warnings: A little angsty.

Length:1,591

Rating: K

~Admin OperaNickle

It was beautiful. The bridesmaids were dressed in maroon and the groom’s men in dark navy blue. Accents of gold littered the large room that the bride and groom had rented out and bundles of Buckeye Bells, Earl Grey roses and Baby’s Breath sat at the center of each table on top of beautiful crème colored table cloths. Around the circumference were elegant gold plates with delicate creme china on top, rimed with a fine gold line. Goblets of crystalline glass that reflected the golden light from the lanterns that hung from every corner stood at attention in different states of fullness with varying liquids.

       Jimin’s was empty once again after he’d refilled his glass with wine from the open bar, this being the third time that night and that was before the bride and groom had even made their entrance as newlyweds at the event place. Jimin knew he should probably slow down. If the looks that his friends were giving him were any indication, he really should stop, but he was the only one at this damned party alone in his whole friend group so screw their judgment.

       That’s right. Taehyung, Yoongi, Jin, Hoseok, Namjoon (who’s wedding he was currently attending-plot twist! Jungkook was right. Namjoon was the first to marry) and Jungkook were present alongside a partner. It was only him, Jimin, that was somehow still single. Somehow still alone. Somehow going stag.

       Was he bothered by it, one might ask. No. Of course not. He was Park Jimin. International super star. Millionaire. Dancer, singer. He was coveted by many a lady and many a man. He had his pick of whomever he wanted. At least…that’s what he would say, and has said on the multiple occasions that he’s been asked by his friends, parents, and fans about his relationship status. He’d say he was in no hurry. He had a full life ahead of him and he always had his original soul mate-Tae.

What else could he possibly want?

       In reality, it did bother Jimin to some extent. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was something he was missing. Something he wasn’t understanding about love and relationships the way that his peers did. But he never let himself dwell on it. Instead, he focused on being happy for his friends and bettering himself in every way he thought possible. The problem was that he had been doing that for so long that it was getting boring.

       When was it his time?

       The chatter in the room suddenly subsided. The laughter of happy family members who were fortunate enough to be invited to this wedding (because N/W/N had insisted on having a Korean wedding and a wedding of her own culture and the Korean wedding had happened in Korea) were shushed as the lights dimmed. It was replaced by the excited mumbles of friends. The rumble of what he assumed was music was building subtly in the background. He could feel it in his chest and a gargle of butterflies clambered around his stomach.

       He was happy for his hyungnim. Not to mention that he genuinely liked Namjoon’s girlfriend-now wife. It wasn’t a surprise to him or to any of the Bangtan members, who were sitting all at the same table,their girlfriends and fiancee’s sitting next to them, to see that tears had sprung to his eyes. It was expected in fact.

       The DJ held a mic up to his lip and asked for a round of applause in English for the newlywed couple. Then the doors opened and just like in the ceremony before, it was like the room lit up with the happiness that radiated from Namjoon and N/W/N. She looked beautiful in a nature themed dress that made her look like she was wrapped in flowers and vines. Her hair tumbled down her bare back -- he’d relieved it of the messy bun she’d had earlier. Her bouquet of flowers was held tightly in her left hand. The roses made from books and letters that were important to the couple caught his eyes once again. She was a creative one, that N/W/N. Her other hand was held firmly in the enormous hand of his leader. He could only see a third of Namjoon’s wife’s fingers but he could clearly see  the wedding band on Namjoon’s. Something he knew Namjoon would probably never, for the rest of his life, take off.

       Namjoon looked handsome as well, Jimin thought, checking out his friend. N/W/N had drawn the line at him wearing a white suit because she deemed it to be tacky, which Jimin completely disagreed with, but now that he saw the tux that he had eventually settled on, he had to admit that he looked striking. His maroon tie was gone, leaving his creme, flower embroidered, button up free. The collar stood tall against his neck and a button undone. His navy suit jacket was closed tightly, a thick belt of fabric sat low on his hips accentuating his wide shoulders. As Jimin looked down, he noticed that Namjoon’s Italian dress shoes were replaced with what looked like maroon high-tops. If he wasn’t mistaken, N/W/N had them on under her dress as well.

       Tears streamed down Jimin’s cheeks as one of their old songs blasted through the venue. Jimin knew that it was leading up to their first dance and tried to force the tears to stop. He and Hoseok had worked way too hard on the choreography for him to miss the execution.

       It was difficult, and while N/W/N wasn’t a professional performer like him and his group, she had kept up with Namjoon and he had hopes that it would go well. In the end he was worried for no reason. The first dance went off without a hitch, switching from multiple fast paced songs and ultimately ending in a slow fox trot. It was then that couples began to join the newlyweds. Hoseok was the first to get up with his girlfriend who smiled from ear to ear. They both loved to dance and Jimin wouldn’t be surprised If they had practiced just for this. Next was Yoongi and his fiancee. It was his Fiancee that had gently pulled at his suit and Yoongi, being the true softy he was, stood up and let her lead him onto the dance floor. Slowly, the couples trickled off until Jimin sat alone. He sighed and slumped in his chair.

       He had half a mind to ask someone, anyone to dance. Just for this song. Jimin wasn’t shy but as he watched the people swaying on the dance floor and caught a glimpse of Namjoon and his wife, it didn’t feel right.

       He grabbed his empty cup and sipped on the small puddle of wine that had stayed behind , tilting it up to his plush lips. There was a subtle buzz in his body. The alcohol tasted familiar and comforting. Just as he was about to stand up to get another glass full, he felt a pair of eyes trained on him.

       Carefully, he put his glass down and glanced around at the empty tables. It took him all of three seconds to connect eyes with a girl two tables away. She was wearing a stunning light blue dress and her hair was pulled up and away from her face in an elegant twist. In the darkness of the room, Jimin couldn’t see her very well but there was a soft beauty to her being that seemed to draw him in. He realized quite quickly that she seemed pretty sad as she looked between him, her table and the dance floor. She seemed to be in the same situation as him.

       Maybe it was the wedding or maybe It was the fact that he was well on his way to tipsy, but Jimin decided he’d ask her to dance. It was just one dance right?

       He stood abruptly and determinedly walked over to the single woman. On her part, she watched him with a mixture of what looked like fear and surprise. Jimin smiled at her, trying to ease her worry. She returned it in a much smaller scale but Jimin considered that a win.

       Finally, he was before her, looking down as she stared up at him. She had bright eyes and long lashes. There was a soft rouging on the apples of her cheeks and a sparkle on her nose.

       Jimin was momentarily taken aback. It might have been a good thirty seconds before he realized he was rudely staring. He cleared his throat and carefully leaned in. The woman didn’t move, instead she leaned in so Jimin didn’t have to yell over the music which had now shifted to another slow dance.

       “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re alone,” he started then quickly continued, “I was wondering if you wanted to dance?”

       The woman blinked up at him, looking him up and down a couple of times. Sizing him up. Jimin felt a bead of sweat form on his temple. Something about her made him feel nervous. Like it didn’t matter that he was Park Jimin. It didn’t matter that he was world famous, or that he had money. Jimin felt small in a way that he hadn’t in years. Like he’d been in the cosmos for a long time and he’d finally touch down on earth once again. Gravity pulling him down. He was small. One person. Just him.

       “That depends,” she answered, crossing her arms, “are you going to step on my toes?”

[theendofthematerialgworl]

Swing Makes The World Go ‘Round-Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have to learn how to swing dance for a mission. Bucky teaches you.

Warnings: Gunfire, I guess? Maybe some swearing.

Word Count: 1,175

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You raised an eyebrow at Fury's hologram, looking up from the file. "Swing?"

"Yes."

"The party is 1940's themed?"

"Yes." Fury said gruffly, seeming to get annoying.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Sykes is 87. Ask him."

"The 1940's was in the middle of World War II and the Great Depression."

"Yes, yes it was."

"I will never understand old rich men."

Fury sighed. "Just go prepare. You have a week until the party. Use that time wisely."

You nodded, grabbed the mission file, and left the room, heading to the elevator. From there, you made your war to Bucky's room, where he was lying on his head, reading. You flopped down next to him, groaning.

Bucky Barnes: Your best friend and resident Soft Assassin Baker™. See also: Extremely hot and one of the nicest people you had ever met. He was, in short, the man of your dreams.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking up from his book.

"Due to the absolutely horrendous decision of one Mr. Kyle Sykes the first, I now have to learn how to swing dance."

Bucky looked at you strangely. "You do know that I know how, right?"

You looked up in surprise. "You do?"

He chuckled. "I was alive in the 1940's, doll."

"Huh. Sometimes I forget that. You so young for someone who's a hundred years old."

He laughed. "Thanks," He stood up, extending his hand. "You have...?"

"One week." You deadpanned. "Because, of course, Fury couldn't tell me sooner."

"One week to learn how swing dance, then. And I am going to teach you."

"You sure you can do that? Not gonna bust a hip?" You asked Bucky, taking his hand.

His grin grew, and he tugged you up, spinning you into his chest. I'm sure. In one week," He spun you out again, "you'll be swing dancing with the best of 'em."

A week passed, and Bucky had been right. By the time the party came around, your swing dance had replaced your waltz as your best dance. Bucky had been an amazing teacher, and you were incredibly grateful.

"Thanks again, Buck." You said, having stopped by his room on your way to the party.

"Anytime, doll." He said. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Your target, the 25-year-old grandson of Kyle Sykes (he was named Kyle Sykes III), had asked you to dance within your first five minutes at the party. You had no idea why. You had just been standing there elegantly, drinking a glass of champagne, after all.

"I hear you're set to become the next CEO of Sykes Tech?" You said, in an attempt to make small talk. It seemed to work.

"Yes, I am." Kyle said, puffing his chest out haughtily. You nearly threw up in your mouth.

"There's talk that you're going to stark making nuclear weapons?"

"Yes, I will be."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you making nuclear weapons?"

"To defend our country."

"But doesn't making nuclear weapons tell other countries that we mean them harm? And that we're ready for a nuclear-level attack?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You ask a lot of question."

"And you're surprisingly arrogant for someone who's going to be running a company."

"I didn't come here to be disrespected like that."

Suddenly, you saw a very recognizable man step through the doorway.

"I'm sorry, I have to use the restroom." You said, effectively cutting off Kyle's rant. "I'll be right back."

You ran over to Bucky, who met you a few steps down the stairs. You then dragged him down a corridor and into a broom cupboard.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You hissed.

"I was assigned to this mission."

"Don't lie to me."

"Can't I come see you dancing?"

"That's a lie, too."

"Fine. I wanted to make sure the mission went well, so I got myself a ticket and came."

"I can take care of myself." You growled, picking up on his insinuation, or what you thought he was insinuating.

"I know that. I just...didn't want you to get hurt."

"You could have just told me you were coming."

"You never would have let me."

"You at least could have tried." Bucky gave you a look. "Yeah, yeah, I still wouldn't have let you come, but it was worth a shot."

"Not really."

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, I can take care of myself, okay? Now, I'm going to get back to my mission, and you are either going to leave, or stay out of my way."

Bucky didn't seem to like it, but he agreed. "Fine, I'll-"

Suddenly, the door flew open. Kyle (the III, of course) was standing in the doorway with multiple security guards, all of them pointing guns at your heads.

"You can take care of yourself, huh?" Bucky muttered to you in Russian.

"Not the time." You ground out, also in Russian.

"Going to the bathroom, eh?" Kyle asked, grinning. "Who's this? Your boyfriend?"

"No. Just a friend." You said, hand slowly moving to where you had hidden a gun.

"A friend who's here to stop me from making nuclear weapons?"

"No. He wasn't supposed to be here."

Bucky had stepped forward slightly, and you were doing your very best to keep him back without them noticing.

"Is that why you're trying to protect him?"

Crap. He noticed. "What are you going to do to us?" You asked.

"I don't know." Kyle shrugged. "Probably kill you."

"Not if I kill you first!" Within a second, you had whipped your gun out, firing it at Kyle and shooting him in the chest. "You know, I really didn't want to do that."

From there, it was a blur of fired guns, bodies dropping, and you and Bucky running. "This was supposed to be a recon mission, damnit!" You huffed, as you and Bucky slid into the limo you had taken. "Drive, fucking drive!" You yelled at the chauffeur, who sped off.

"Well," You panted. "That didn't go as expected."

"No shit." Bucky said. "If you had just let me-"

"You weren't even supposed to be here!" You interrupted. "There's no 'if you had just let me help.' There's no 'if you had just let me do this.' There's none of that, because you weren't supposed to be here! It was my mission, Bucky! Mine! And it would have gone much, much better if you hadn't tried to 'help'!"

"As you had been yelling at him, your face had gotten ever closer to Bucky's. You had not realized this, and were now thoroughly red.

Bucky, you were pretty sure, was staring at your lips. He licked is own at you stared at them, then leaned forward slightly. You met him halfway, and it ended in a kiss filled with a quiet passion and energy. It was soft, but it conveyed more emotion that could be put into words.

When you pulled away, mainly due to the pressing need for air, Bucky used his metal hand to press your foreheads together. "You're blushing, doll." He whispered.

"Oh, shut up."

[jovialyouthmusic]

Girls’ Night Out

A multiple AU piece of fun featuring my female LIs

The girls get ready to go out on the town - and the boys wonder what they’re up to.

Word Count 1381 - it’s a mini fic!

A/N I’m going for short chapters as it’s such fun to write. Things will ramp up soon, promise! Lizzy will have her eyes opened.

2 Preparation

Elizabeth looked at her reflection dubiously. She didn’t recognise herself at all. The dress Sophia had chosen for her felt positively unseemly with its plunging neckline and hem only halfway down her thighs. She was used to bare shoulders and décolletage, and Lucy had grinned to see her in her favourite ballgown, making a lewd comment about her cleavage that made her blush furiously.

But her legs! She now knew that Lucy’s legs were not bare, but covered in the thinnest gossamer material that hugged her contours, and she had been shown how to put on a pair without damaging them. Sophia had referred to them as ‘tights’ and she thought the term completely appropriate. She felt positively naked under the hem of the indecently short dress.

‘You’ve got a great figure Lizzy, show it off’ Lucy had appraised, and even Charlotte had nodded in approval. True, the fashion in her period had been to hint at the female form by draping the body in thin translucent muslin, but under that she usually wore loose legged bloomers, not this fabric that reminded her somewhat of sausage skins.

‘I’m not sure about this’ she said dubiously ‘It looks very much like something John would wear with his breeches’

‘It’s called a Tuxedo dress, sweetie’ said Sophia ‘You’re exactly right, it’s modelled on a man’s jacket.’

‘But surely women should dress in a feminine way’ she protested.

‘Nobody would mistake you for a man in that dress darling, trust me’ Lucy piped up. Charlotte stood and walked over to the looking glass, smiling at her as she turned and looked at herself in the looking glass.

‘It’s empowering’ she said ‘You could always wear a suit – you know, a jacket and trousers or pants’ Elizabeth frowned again.

‘Women wear trousers? That is puzzling. I’m not sure which is more strange – exposing my legs to male scrutiny, or covering them like a man’ she mused.

‘Well you look spectacular’ Lucy asserted ‘You’ll really turn heads’ Lizzy muttered in exasperation at yet another puzzling utterance from the brunette.

‘Okay, now the shoes’ Sophia said, indicating her feet ‘I suppose you’re used to wearing flats’ Lizzy frowned for a moment, then goggled at Lucy, who coughed and extended her legs to show the most impossible footwear she had ever seen. She had worn shoes with heels of an inch or so – she and her sister had giggled at one of her father’s friends who had not been blessed with great height and wore leather buckled shoes with heels of a good two inches in order to make up for the lack. But these must be four inches, she thought.

‘However do you walk in those, Lucy?’ she burst out, and languidly the other woman rose to her feet.

‘Like this’ she drawled, and walked the length of the room with a sway to her hips that made her feel hot again. She turned, hand on hip and smiled alluringly ‘The boys can’t resist me when I wear this, they make my legs and backside look spectacular’ she winked. Lizzy gulped

‘Your world is indeed very different’ she said ‘I think I might turn my ankle wearing something like that – and it looks indecent to me’ Lucy shrugged

‘Different times, different values’ she said ‘It’s our culture – in some parts of the world women have to completely cover themselves from head to foot in public’

‘Oh I’ve seen pictures in travel books’ said Lizzy ‘I’m sad to hear that’s not changed’  

‘Now then’ Sophia interrupted ‘perhaps just a little heel – two inches perhaps?’ She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated, and a pair of black pointed shoes with a heel appeared in her hand.

Lizzy was trying to get used to the way things kept appearing and disappearing. Because the others had been self aware for a little while, they were well practised at changing their appearance instantly or conjuring up an item of clothing for her. They could just imagine an outfit with their eyes closed and they would be wearing it in the blink of an eye, though they said it was tiring if they did it too much. She herself had to physically put on the garments that the others brought into existence for her, hence the lesson in how to put on a pair of tights or ‘pantyhose’.

Next, she sat by the dressing table and Sophia styled her hair into what she called an ‘updo’ which wasn’t very much different from the way her maid arranged it for dinner parties. The only difference was the soft stretchy bands used to fasten her hair, though nothing seemed to have replaced the hairpins used for the final touches. Altogether it was much more comfortable, and to finish up with her new friend produced a metal canister which produced a strange smelling spray that made her hair a little sticky and held it in place.

Her mother used rouge to redden her cheeks whereas Lizzy usually just pinched them to bring a little colour to them, but Sophia produced a whole array of coloured creams, powders and paints that she referred to as ‘make up’. She set to work painting her face and making her eyelashes dark and sultry.

‘You don’t need much’ she said as she patted powder onto her cheeks ‘You have lovely skin and your eyes are already enough to melt hearts at a glance’ She stood back ‘There, all ready to go out on the town. Stand up and show us the whole effect’ Lizzy did as she was told, stumbling a little on the heels she wore.

‘Perfect’ said Lucy ‘Now can we go? There’s a cocktail pitcher calling my name’

------

‘Hey Bas, why did you call this meeting?’ Drake asked. The guard paced the virtual waiting room anxiously.

‘Something’s up’ he said ‘Sophia isn’t answering my calls’ Drake snorted.

‘She’s her own woman, Bas, you can’t be in each other’s pockets all the time. Maybe she’s acting out another fic’

‘But then why aren’t I with her?’ he scowled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully ‘and when did you last hear from Lucy?’

‘I uhh – hmm, neither of us have been active until recently, but…’ He screwed his eyes up and concentrated ‘She’s active right now’ he said

‘Hey guys. What’s up?’ Brad appeared suddenly, making Bastien jump. Drake frowned

‘Okay, so if Lucy’s active, and our Brad is here, just what is Lucy doing? At least one of us should be with her’

‘I told you something odd’s happening’ asserted Bastien ‘I’m going to call Charlotte’s Drake and find out if he’s seen her’ Brad groaned

‘This is going to get very confusing with two Drakes’ he complained.

‘Well we’ll have to give each of them nicknames’ Bastien suggested ‘How about Lake for Lucy’s Drake and Chake for Charlotte’s?’

‘Fine by me’ he shrugged ‘as long as I don’t get called something stupid like marshmallow man’ Charlotte’s Drake materialised.

‘Bas!’ he said cheerfully ‘long time no see’ He looked at Brad and… ‘Oh – this is weird’ he muttered.

‘Hi, Chake’ Lucy’s Drake grinned ‘Bas suggested nicknames – I get to be Lake – neat, huh?’

‘Whatever.’ he said dismissively ‘What’s happening, Bas?’

‘Have you seen Charlotte recently?’

‘Uhh, we had a few readthroughs lately, someone was bingeing, but just now…’ he wrinkled his nose in concentration ‘That’s odd. She’s definitely active, but I’m not with her’ he shrugged ‘I guess there are one or two chapters without me in’ Bastien sighed in exasperation.

‘Well, all Les’s female MC’s appear to be busy, but none of us are’ he said ‘What do you think they’re doing?’

‘Isn’t she writing some odd spinoff?’ asked Brad ‘I heard it was a period drama with a certain Captain Lykel’ Bastien frowned.

‘That’s right. Maybe we should look up the Captain, see if he knows anything’

‘I doubt if he’s self aware’ said the newly named Lake ‘He’s not been around very long. Remember how long it took all of us?’

‘Yes, but it’s happening faster just lately’ said Chake ‘It’s like we’re being read much more – there’s lot of spare energy floating around’

‘Well, whatever his state of awareness, we need to talk to him’ Bastien said. ‘We have to get to the bottom of this’

[almondharry]

you look so good : two

you look so good [9.1k]

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. 

Arnold’s Singularity Theory

October 26, 2019

Her back was hunched over the wooden desk beside her bed. The high pitched ringing of her alarm snapped her eyes open at six in the morning. The sky was a navy blue; she could make out the few dog walkers on the street. It was her only day off, but the piled work on her table argued otherwise.

Genevieve was alone in her freezing apartment. The heating was broken and when she told Mr. Goldwin, her landlord, he didn’t have his hearing aid on. She had a routine for Sundays: Wake up. Do practice problems. Make a cup of tea. Sleep. 

A dull ache prodded between her shoulder blades, her spine was sorely unaligned. Her face was all sunken cheeks and shades of grey. The sweater bought last month suddenly became a few sizes too big. 

The sun created hues of orange and reds. The blue that slowly peeked out at the sides made it seem like a bowl of dirty paint water being stirred. The evening stillness in her flat was interrupted by the sudden roar of an engine. As she looked out the window, a car zoomed down the road with a blaring radio. An animated lightning bolt was left behind, its speed meant it was gone within a blink. An unsettling feeling made itself a home in the pit of her stomach. She pictured it as swirls, starting off as small slow circles, and eventually growing into sharp hurried edges. 

It was probably nothing, maybe university kids having a laugh, but she didn’t have the time to mull over it because the swinging of her front door and jingling of a bundle of keys sounded loudly. 

Meena opened the door to her refrigerator and the only thing there was a flickering light bulb and an empty box of orange juice. A high pitched shrill followed.

“Gen!” 

Genevieve was out of milk, eggs, and cereal.

She wouldn’t have given it another thought and might’ve ordered take out or popped in at the Smalls’ to split a pizza with Jonah, the neighbour’s kid who she tutored every once in a while. He was the only child of a single dad who worked too many hours at the construction site to make rent. He wasn’t home often and they had a silent understanding of popping in every couple days to keep an eye on him, much like Meena liked to keep tabs on Genevieve. Except, Genevieve wasn’t a scrawny teenage boy who needed to be looked after, something which Meena would refute without a shadow of doubt. At the current state of Genevieve’s flat, the jury would easily side with Meena Ahmed.

Meena had a hand on her hip, her lips pressed in a firm line. She took a deep breath, pinching the carton between her thumb and index finger. “Gen-e-vieve!” 

Meena put her foot down and opened the trash can only to find it overflowing. She held back a gag. 

“Genevieve!” 

After some rustling and movement on the other side of the wall, her feet stumbled out of her bedroom. An unimpressed snarl on her face, Genevieve’s body leaned against the doorway.

“I think by now everyone in this bloody building knows my name,” she said with a textbook in one hand and a pen in the other. She had not looked away from the pages. She hurriedly scratched an answer to her practice problems before it could float away from her brain. “That’s exactly the information they need to kick me out.”

Meena was in her work out clothes, a bright pink neon top with matching trainers. She looked straight out of a healthy living ad. She had glossy black hair, almond shaped eyes, and always smelled of fresh daisies. She had that all American smile and pearly whites that were blinding. She was into juicing, kale, and art history. 

“What is this?”

“What’s what?” Genevieve inquired, her eyes glued on the next problem.

When a moment of silence went by and no response was given, her head shot up.

Her eyes flickered from the trash can—she thought she saw something move in there— to the open door of her empty refrigerator. Her lips fell into an O shape. 

“When you told me you went to the shops on Tuesday, I didn’t know you were talking about two bloody weeks ago,” Meena huffed as she bent down to tie a knot on the black bag, her nose scrunched up. It was atypical to hear her accent try out British sayings, but amusing nonetheless. “Have you been eating?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I do have instant noodles on the shelf. And I mainly eat at the diner.” Genevieve shrugged, her attention migrated back to her pages. What at first glance looked like to be ten simple problems turned out to be a mess of numbers and formulas that weren’t making any sense. 

“That God awful place serves nothing but heart disease! It takes a whole stack of napkins to soak up that grease!” Meena scoffed as she replaced the bin with a fresh bag. On multiple occasions, she had cornered a frightened Walter to discuss his technique and may have even manipulated him to add a vegan alternative to his infamous pancakes. Thanks to Meena, Flo’s now served gluten-free, vegetarian, and no sugar added options. Genevieve firmly believed Walter did it out of fear, but he won’t admit it. “And instant noodles are not a meal, we have talked about this.”

“‘Course they are! An efficient one too.”

“What happened to ‘We’re gonna change things this year, Meena! Real changes! You won’t recognize me by the time I’m done’?” 

If there was one thing Meena Ahmed took seriously, it was New Year’s resolutions. She kept every one ever since she was old enough to make them. She hadn’t missed a gym day for the past three years. When she said she would take on meditation, she actually did. When her mind became set on studying abroad in London, on January first, she was boarding a plane. 

So when the following December 31st hit and Genevieve was one too many drinks in with Meena, she found herself making empty promises of eating better and taking care of herself. Little did Meena know that to Genevieve, resolutions were much like a two-week free trial. As soon as that time frame was up, you could up and go. 

“I put in a solid effort for a week, and that’s what counts!”

“We need to go to the shops. You have nothing here. You need a list.” The pen between Genevieve’s fingers was swiped and the tearing of paper was quick from her notebook. She was also very much into being intrusive. “Let’s start off with the basics. Eggs, milk, bread. Do you want tea?”

“I can do my own groceries! I’m not a child, Meena!”

“Could’ve fooled me. By the looks of it, you’ve been living off frosted flakes. Do you even know where the closest store is?”

Genevieve scoffed and propped herself on the counter with the back of her elbows. “Of course I do, I am very much capable of taking care of myself.”

Meena paused. Her body turned towards Genevieve with her full, utmost attention. Her eyes scanned her from head to toe, Genevieve was being appraised.

She didn’t put effort to hide the worried crinkle forming between her brows. “Have you showered today? Changed your clothes?”

Genevieve wasn’t a slob, but she did let herself go at times. It was something that Meena, who religiously went to get fresh manicures every two weeks, couldn’t quite grasp.  

“Oh, sod off! I was just about to run myself a bath before you came barreling in.”

She wasn’t, but Meena didn’t need to know that.

“Hm, what type of tea?” Meena asked after rolling her eyes dismissively. 

“Green, please.”

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. She sighed, getting Meena to budge was a faraway dream. She rubbed her strained eyes as Meena listed off something about the lack of vitamins in her diet. She was now on a tangent explaining how an increase in omega-3 and healthy fats in her diet could be beneficial when Genevieve's front door knob jiggled. There was a grunt and a strategic kick to the door, and it flew open.

“Gen!” he panted, his tongue slipped out unintentionally like a dog. His cheeks were flushed a cherry red, probably from the trek up the stairs. Jonah’s backpack was twice the size of him. He wore a shirt with his favourite comic book character, its armpits a shade darker than the rest of his shirt.

He had a ghost white face and his left eye twitched. “Hey, bud, you alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

Little lungs took in a heavy breath, quite like pulling the handles of a bicycle air pump up.

“I don’t get the trigonometric equations! I have a test tomorrow! Mrs. Hansuld was going over the review in class and it looked like she was speaking Russian— and I know I should’ve been studying last week but they just released the new version of Triton Galaxy X and it was just so beyond cool, Gen. I am already on level twelve, and, well, now I have a test and I don’t know any of it. Nothing. Zero. I don’t think I can even add numbers anymore.”

Genevieve looked at Meena. Her mouth was parted from shock as she blinked at the frazzled boy in front of them. “You’re so tiny… but you, you speak so much and so fast.”

“Um, actually, you’re mistaken.” He raised an accusing finger. His height was a sensitive topic. He was at the stage where all his friends were getting growth spurts and growing like weeds, whereas he had yet to experience his own. “I am almost five foot and that is within the normal height range on WebMD, Docs4You and according to my pediatrician.” 

Genevieve found it amusing that his voice reached a higher pitch the more defensive he got. He was a whistle by the end of his sentence. It also didn’t help that his last name was Smalls and kids in school could be cruel. 

“‘Course, yeah, I’m sorry. My bad.” Meena nodded quickly. She knew she hit a nerve as she backed up slowly. She scratched the back of her neck. “Um, well, Gen and I were planning on picking up groceries, but I’ll go grab ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll go take my books out.” Jonah dragged his bag like a potato sack into the living room.  

“You really don’t have to, Meena.” 

“Gen, it’s no big deal,” she brushed off. “Anyway, I don’t think your pal wants me around much. I need an escape and maybe a magazine too.”

When Meena gulped uncomfortably, Genevieve shook her head. She pushed herself off the counter. 

“Here take my card.” Genevieve shoved the plastic rectangle into Meena’s hand. A comforting squeeze was given. “If you get him one of those milk chocolate bars, he will forgive you in ten minutes tops.”

“Right,” Meena laughed. “I’ll be back in no time.”

***

October 27, 2019

There was a buzzing.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the crescent moon that hung behind the window didn’t provide enough light to warrant a quick search. It was enough of a reason for Genevieve to shut her half opened lids.

Except that the buzzing began again. 

Genevieve groaned into her pillow until the nuisance came to a full stop. Whoever was beckoning her attention could do without it until the sun came up. There was an ache in her neck from the poor posture that her body folded in. To top it off, she had an 8:00 a.m. class. There were not enough hours in the night so she was clinging on to any thread of peace. She tossed and turned until she got the sheets pooled around her in just the right way.

Just when Genevieve was about to slip into the blissful state of unconsciousness, the aggravating buzz started once more. The less than pleased frown on her lips could surely make fresh flowers wilt. Her limbs were heavy with sleep as she moved her duvet to find the pesky device. Genevieve lived in a shithole. Labelling her room a shoe box would be bordering glamorous. Although, it did make it easier to find things. 

It took a couple of shuffles and twists to hear the thud of a screen colliding against the floorboard. The damn thing was still ringing. The brightness on the unknown caller screen made her face glow blue and the back of her eyes burn; she shut them while blindly hitting the green circle. 

“Hm?” Her voice croaked. 

“You know the time I got you out of a thing?”

Their words were slurred and the glowing digits on her windowsill read 5:26 a.m. This meant one thing only. “No, sorry. Wrong number.” 

Genevieve brought the phone away from her face, and just as her finger hovered over the red circle, a needy yelp cried out.

“Gen! Don’t hang up!”

Her eyes rolled with an aggravated sigh, fingers reluctantly pressing the device to the side of her head. There was sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes and she had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the darkness.“What do you want, Niall?”

“You see, I’m in this predicament… and I might need someone sober and with a car.”

“Then call a bloody Uber. Who do you think I am?”

“Look, I thought that. But—”

There was rustling on the other side. After some bickering, another voice spoke through the line. 

“Gen, come get this tosser or else he will pass out on my floor. I swear, I’ll lock up with him inside.” 

“How bad is he?” Genevieve was already pushing aside textbooks on her floor in search of a pair of trousers. With one leg inside and the receiver pressed between her cheek and shoulder, she hopped on her bedroom floor. 

“Not good. He is a right mess.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Just keep giving him water, please? Thanks for the ring, Ted.” She knew Niall well enough to know that this wasn’t his bright and shiny idea. If it were up to him, he would pass out on a park bench. 

“Got your number scratched on the wall for a reason.” The click sounded on the other side, then the line dropped afterwards.

It was true. If you looked hard enough you could make out the chicken scratched scribbles right under the faux payphone mounted inside The Cabinet, where the beers were cheap and Niall Horan was reachable at the slightest inconvenience that struck his life. Last week, it was because he had failed his mid-term. This week, the problem was blonde and walking across campus and shared one too many of his courses.

“No, Gen, she’s just too gorgeous, it’s unbelievable. I think I am in love.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to happen, but congrats.” 

Ted adored Niall immensely when he was bringing more business to the pub and getting the word out, not when he was a blubbering mess on the sticky countertops. He sipped his drinks like water to the point that Ted would morph into a psychiatrist. This happened so often that it had become a ritual. The day Niall stopped burdening him with his problems was a day that failed to exist. 

Much like her room, the small flat didn’t have the lights on. Genevieve didn’t need them to navigate her path, her fingers haphazardly pulled on her boots and plucked the bundle of keys from a mug. 

Her car, a well-loved hand-me-down, was nothing lavish. It got her from point A to B without much resistance on good days. Her foot eased on the gas, with the route was well versed and memorized. After a couple of stop signs, her destination would be reached. The streets were empty and not one car was spotted at any intersections. 

A light breeze roamed around and brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. She should’ve brought a sweater, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. Her dark hair was haphazardly twisted into a bun and rested on the top of her head. The car door shut behind her as she quickly jogged across the street to where the pub was located. 

The street was lonely. 

There were only a handful of people that would be up at this hour. This subgroup of people definitely did not include her. She thought she was still partly asleep when there was a familiar figure pacing down the sidewalk towards her. Maybe it was the dark, but even after she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, the slope of the person remained familiar. As they got closer, the once blurred image sharpened, and she felt her stomach flip. 

A slight panic arose in Genevieve’s eyes. He was too close of a distance for her to dash through the doors, and it would’ve been clear that she was making a run from him. She doesn’t recall when exactly their encounters began to turn dreadful. But the reality of the situation wasn’t how, it was the fact that they had. This was the second time he stood across from her. The rate of their reunions was at an all time high after years spent apart. It made a heavy weight rest on her chest, her own personal Sisyphus boulder. 

Tiptoeing and maneuvering their way around each other was the hardest part. There wasn’t a book in the world that taught you how to stand across someone that you once spoke to every day. There was a time Genevieve could tell what each tilt, rise, and fall of Harry’s face meant. How do you go from sharing friends, laughter, a life, to becoming nothing short of hollow strangers? As they stood across from each other on an empty street, they only shared blank stares.

“Hi.” His breathing was a bit uneven, and Genevieve saw the beginnings of roses bloom on his cheek under the streetlights. His moose coloured hair was tucked under a beanie and there was a slight stubble on his chin.

“You are running?” Genevieve squinted at him. Navy gym shorts hung off his hips and a full sleeve athletic shirt was on top. “At five in the morning?” 

Genevieve hated how Harry looked brand new. In the midst of a mountain worth of chaos and hurt, how he managed to look shiny, pre-packaged, and unopened was well beyond her. She had to hold herself together with her bare arms when her seems unravelled. Harry was happier before Genevieve and it was something she had to be okay with. There was no specific reason why. It was just how reality worked. 

“By the time I’m done, it will be six. I’ll have to get up anyway.” His shoulders rose and fell in a mindless shrug. Genevieve brought her arms to fold across her chest, her fists cuddled under her armpits to trap heat.

“You’re insane.” Genevieve shook her head. The neon trainers he had on rivalled the brightness of the open sign hung on the doors of The Cabinet. When Genevieve thought she had made enough of an effort at a civil conversation, she turned around to push the heavy glass door. There was nothing else to say to him.

Conversation with Harry wasn’t always a chore. She was able to speak without having to think twice or second guess herself. Now, it seemed like every word led to a dead end of an inescapable maze.

Genevieve accepted that Harry was no longer the person she came to with her favourite songs, books and a cup of tea. She wondered if whatever reminiscent memoir she had in her memory of him served true till today. Her Harry was never the sober driver or the early bird runner. She did not expect him to stay the same. No, that would be cruel. But a small part of her wanted to know if she had known him at all. 

Before her weight gave to the door, his voice chimed up.

“You’re drinking?”

“God no, I’m, um—No. I’m here for a friend.” Genevieve paused, a deep breath circled her lungs and helped her string some words together. “He’s gone a bit over the top.” She chuckled. It wasn’t soft and light, but rather felt like sandpaper. 

“Oh, right. ‘Course.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck with his fingers. He blinked to the ground, the cracked concrete suddenly became much more of an interest. “I wasn’t— it’s just, I run this route every morning and I never see you and maybe I thought—”

“It’s okay, Harry.” He began to run his fingers through his hair, the beanie scrunched in his left hand. “I really need to help my friend, yeah?” 

“Right, I’ll see you around?”

Genevieve left his question hung in the air like forgotten laundry on a washing line. She thought it was better than saying I hope not. She didn’t want to mention that she tried to avoid him to the best of her ability. Genevieve knew his habits, his patterns. She had knowledge about places he went to, so, naturally, she didn’t. It was a triumph for her to go without months of seeing him. But there was only so much she could do. Juggling probabilities of his whereabouts would never assign her a one hundred percent assurance of erasing him, even with a ninety-nine percent confidence interval.

“Genny?” he called out again. The rational part of her wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him and walk through the door. Instead, she took a breath through her nose and turned around slowly. She wrapped her arms tighter together as the temperature dropped by the second. “Um, do you think we could talk sometime?”

There was a frailness to his voice. He was nervous. Genevieve knew this because he had made a mess of his hair with the number of times his fingers combed it back. 

The next words off her tongue painted a sad smile on his raspberry chapped lips. He looked exhausted, the grey shadows under his eyes beckoned her to not beat around the bush.

“We are talking, Harry.”

Confrontation was a foreign concept to Genevieve. Brushing it under the rug and forgetting about it seemed the best way for her. If it is out of sight, it will be out of mind. But Harry had other plans. He wanted to strip the house down and uncover every corner Genevieve thought to be her hiding spot. It was an intrusion and she didn’t want him to come knocking down doors. 

“No, I mean—”

“It was nice seeing you,” she said, her mouth set into a thin, straight line as she held eye contact. They were still the same deep green with golden flecks. She had seen them angry, hopeful, teary, but right now they were desperate.

The slight tilt to her head told Harry not to push it. To leave things as they were. He served as a walking reminder of loss and all the things she wanted to forget. Their situation did not have to go back to a normal distribution; their data was skewed, and the standard deviation was large enough to wedge a significant distance from their past to present.

Change was good, even if it was different. Over time, the further apart she was from him the better it was for her. And she hoped it was the same for him.  

No one warned Genevieve that holding a grudge required discipline and so much energy. She felt drained, her bones became weak enough they could snap in half. There was no brochure that outlined the ins and out of the process. Your brain worked overtime to disguise clenched jaws and tight fists without any compensation.

On the surface, everything appeared smooth and stonelike. Beneath, lied the hot white anger. That type of anger was something no one wanted to intentionally claim; it was an orphan. It builds and builds and builds until you cannot see through it. You’re blinded, you’re revengeful. 

“Yeah.” Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He teetered on the balls of his feet and toes with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. He was debating on what to say next, and Genevieve wished it would be something short and quick. She wanted him to say a casual goodbye that was heard between strangers in a coffee shop or book store. Something that didn’t make her want to burst into a river of tears. “One more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Nice shirt.” There was a quirk to one side of his mouth where a dimple had coined itself on his cheek. It was an innocent compliment. Something a friend might say to another. Before she could give a reply, he had turned around and broken into a light jog.

Genevieve watched his figure become muddy until the darkness hid him completely. It was an odd thing to say, her appearance was something she could give less of a shit about at five in the morning. She had literally gotten out in the clothes she slept in. 

Genevieve brushed his words off. She wanted a dry goodbye and he delivered. It was nothing more.

Without thinking twice, she pushed the doors open and warmth from inside greeted her. The pub remained looking the same since she had walked in with her two best mates three years before. It was a hole in the wall, fixed in between a thrifting and convenience store. It littered with mismatched chairs and alcohol stains, a pool table and dart boards lined the further corner, and a random sports channel glowed on the box TV. Niall’s blond hair was easily spotted; it laid on the century old cherry wood bar. The posture his back was slumped on the stool insured neck cramps.

The doors behind the bar came swinging open as the bells above chimed of her entrance. A rag rested on his shoulder and he wore a well loved band shirt from his touring days. For someone who was found frowning on most days, Ted beamed a smile at Genevieve. 

“Good! You’re here!” His shoulders dropped in relief as she made her way closer to her friend. “He’s been miserable.”

“Gen? Is that you?” Niall grumbled from his position. “Oh, shut it, Ted. You’re giving me no option but to take my money elsewhere,” Niall slurred as he lifted his head off the wood. There were lines indented on his cheek from his possible snooze. 

“Those are empty words.” Ted rolled his eyes easily and used his rag to clean up the surface that Niall previously occupied. 

“You know what else is empty, Theodore? This glass!” It rattled against the countertop when Niall dramatically set it down. 

Ted’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, crinkles lining the corners of his eyes. “I’m not pouring you another drop, mate.”

“Who said it was for me? Have you seen Gen? She looks proper in need of a few.”

With a deep sigh, Genevieve took the stool beside Niall. Her head slowly turned to scan the pub. A place that was the heart of loud laughter and cheers was dimmed down since they were the only ones. With her elbows propped up on the counter, she pressed her index fingers to her temples. 

“You do look a bit poorly. Under the weather?”

“No, not at the moment,” she sighed.

“Well, you look like shit,” Niall blurted.

“Thanks, Niall, really.” Genevieve glared with a frown. “Remind me to never do a kind thing for you ever again. Sorry I wasn’t in full glam when you called at ass crack of dawn.”

“Did you see a ghost or something? You look sick.” Niall squinted his eyes and pinched her cheek between his thumb and index finger. It was rather quickly slapped away with a snarl. “Ouch!”

“Nothing a pint can’t cure.” A tall glass slid in front of Genevieve. Condensation dripped and pooled on the counter. The frothy foam rested on top and sat at the rim without tipping over. “On the house.” 

A Stella didn’t sound like a bad idea to Genevieve. She felt like she deserved one. After all, two encounters with the person she disliked the most was beginning to become exhausting. The car keys weighed down in her pocket, her bones ached and her temples pulsed. A tired yawn stretched her face as the drink laid rested on the cherry wood. 

Niall scoffed as Genevieve stared at the drink for a moment too long. “If you don’t take it, I will!” 

His fingers crept to grasp the glass, and Genevieve batted his greedy hands away. “Paws off, Niall.”

A cold drink couldn’t hurt, she decided. The first sip eased the tense muscles in her shoulders. Niall found a basket of chips to pick at in the meantime. He probably ordered them to soak up his alcohol intake.

Genevieve could hear Ted in the kitchen. The shifting of pots and pans meant that he was officially closing up for the night. She thought the least she could do was flip the remaining barstools on the counter. 

In the two seconds that she had abandoned her glass, she had turned to see Niall gulping like fish.

“No more!” He made a strangled sound as the rim was pulled from his lips. “Don’t need your puke in my car.”

Genevieve threw back what was left of the drink. “You could just pull the window down and I’ll mind me business.”

Genevieve squinted her eyes to catch a better look at Niall and she noticed he was turning a few shades greener. He had on a dopey grin and his eyes were almost shut. Niall became whiny when he got sick, and if Genevieve were to let that happen in the pub there would be no chance of him leaving.

“How about we get you to an actual sink, yeah?”

With an arm thrown over her shoulder and Niall almost near collapsing on her, she yelled a farewell to Ted. He was more preoccupied with rubbing the stove clean but he got the message, yelling muffled goodbye of his own.

The car parked across the street never felt further away. Niall was in his own world, mumbling some drunk words into her hair. Genevieve caught some that thanked her for taking care of him. She took each step slowly. 

Getting Niall into the passenger seat was a process, one she thought she had got down pat. She had done everything as planned, put his head to the right, made sure he had enough room to stretch his legs and of course, double checked to see if he had his phone and wallet on him. Apparently, this was taking too long and Niall reached over to slam the door shut.

Genevieve had jumped back just in time that no fingers were caught between doors. She sighed in relief before shooting a glare at Niall. He looked at the fabric that stretched from her stomach. “Oops?” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Niall, who burst into giggles because it turned out everything was more hilarious at 5:00 a.m. She tugged at the material.

It was old and ratty. It was two sizes too big and hung off her frame, there were stains, holes, some she never remembered putting in herself. It took her a moment, with the fabric bunched between her digits, the gears in her brain set into place. The sharp intake of breath hit the back of her throat and the air on the street suddenly froze.

***

October 27, 2019

“It’s stupid, Gen.” The clicking of a game controller didn’t halt. The animated character on the screen ran towards a glowing torch. Jonah adjusted the headpiece he had on over his ears, probably muting himself so the other kids wouldn’t hear Genevieve lecture him. Beside him sat a bowl of finished popcorn on the sofa, like his player two, and unpopped kernels rattled every time he enthusiastically surged towards the TV screen.  

“This is due in two days, Jonah,” Genevieve emphasized. She had unzipped his backpack. His agenda was hard to read, his chicken scratch writing almost made Genevieve mistake a significant date for scribbles. It was for his English class, something that he had yet to mention, which Genevieve found odd because he always told her about his school work. Okay, it was more like Genevieve made sure he told her, but same thing regardless. “How are you planning on starting and editing and finishing it?”

She knew better than to talk to boys in the middle of a game. There was no use. Her experience regarding it only went one way, everything went in one ear and out the other. It was fascinating, really; their eyes would glaze over and for a short ten minutes the real world wouldn’t exist. They would become so immersed in whatever universe was in front of them. It had been once explained to Genevieve as almost the same thing as reading a good book, but with the exception that the player was put in charge of the main character’s decisions. 

His tongue poked out at the side and the Playstation keys were innocent victims to his quick jabs. His shoulders deflated when the message on the screen informed him of the scoreboard. He grumbled something under his breath before his miniature joystick highlighted the option to opt for another round. “I’ll edit it while I’m writing it.” He shrugged mindlessly. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” 

“What’s up with you? You usually love finishing your assignments for Mrs. Yu’s class.”

“Look how stupid the prompt is,” Jonah grumbled. Genevieve’s fingers were already pulling out a crumpled rubric and pressing it flat so it stayed without folding in on itself. Eyes scanned the short blurb of instructions which Jonah soon summarized. “Pick a month and personify it. What type of pretentious—”

“I think it’s very neat. Creative. Have you selected a month yet?” 

“Sure.” His flat tone said otherwise.

Genevieve rolled her eyes at his antics. “If you don’t spend enough time on this, she will give you an easy fifty. That will bring down your average and universities look at that. What will you do then?”

She reached over to the table to take a sip from her water bottle.

The Smalls residence was the same layout when compared to her flat, so it didn’t take long to get familiar to it. Granted, it was more furnished and had Jonah’s gaming consoles already hooked up to use. The latter being the deciding factor of Jonah’s executive decision to procrastinate his work for another week. Usually, Jonah would pop in after school to Genevieve’s, but she had just returned from a shift at the diner and his door was cracked ajar.

Like many days, his father left for the construction site and wouldn’t be back until after dinner, and the only appliance Jonah knew how to use was a microwave. Genevieve had some food which Walter packed for her and it was more than enough to share with a growing boy. His diet was worse than hers. He could go weeks on Pop Tarts and Twizzlers from his cafeteria vending machine. Plus, he wasn’t bad company to have around. 

“Easy. Play the dead mum card. Works like a charm.” 

Genevieve spluttered the water out, coughing since it had gone down the wrong tube. 

“Jonah!”

Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened, a slight worry arose. She wasn’t well versed on the ins and outs of parenting—she preferred to see him as a younger sibling— or child trauma, but even she had a hunch that there was something troubling and incredibly off about the way he had referred to the passing of his mother so nonchalantly. 

“What?” Jonah asked, dumbfounded. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“‘Course I can. You have no idea the amount of pity and sympathy they throw at your feet. At first, I despised it, because obviously I wasn’t a knocked over puppy like they were making me out to be.” His character on the screen jumped to deflect an obstacle. A triumph smile was the direct result. “But then, I was like what the hell, you know? Like if it’s there already, why not play my cards right and score some sort of advantage from it?”

Genevieve blinked. She tilted her head to attempt understanding his analogy. 

“Well, that sure is one way to look at it,” she said after a short pause. “But I am not gonna let you do that to Mrs. Yu. Something tells me you’ve already done it one too many times.”

He paused his game and finally turned to her, giving her more than his side profile at last. A hellish grin split his face. “How else do you think I got a month extension on that book report and a perfect score on our last quiz?”

“I don’t know… I had assumed hard work and honesty?”

“Wake up, Gen! This is the real world and the rules are different in this game!” 

“Alright, bud, you’re cut off from this game.” Genevieve pushed the power button on the TV remote that laid limply to her right. The screen became black with a click. Jonah’s back hit the backrest of the sofa, the bouncy cushion slightly propelled him further before absorbing his weight. “Let’s at least get started on a rough copy, how does that sound?”

He groaned with his head tilted back and eyes shut. “Excruciating, torturous, maybe illegal.”  

“I’m asking you to get a start on your project, not abducting you.” His pace to grab the rest of his belongings from the table two meters away from him could rival a snail. “Now, do you have a month in mind?”

“I was thinking maybe like February, December, or even October.” He opened an empty page in his notebook and clicked the top of his mechanical pencil to give away some lead. “Because, like, it will be easy to build a character off them because they all have some sort of festive holiday thing to them.”

“That’s a great start. But don’t you think it’s a bit expected? It is a creative piece, so let’s maybe brainstorm something out of the box. Try picking a month that doesn’t have a holiday attached to it.”

He sighed deeply through his nose. The thought of putting in a smidge bit of effort was like pulling teeth.

Jonah had started to doodle in the margins. He drew three tallies, evenly spread, and added another row of them. He then connected them in a way which Genevieve recognizes to be the symbol on a superhero’s chest. 

“August?” 

Genevieve swallowed a bug.

“Why did you pick that? What significance does it have to you?” Genevieve doesn’t miss a beat, it aided to mask her surprise. 

“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You said pick one, so I did.” He pointed out, his tone reminded Genevieve of how a middle schooler says “duh”. 

“Come on. Think a bit.” 

“It’s like... sort of like the last month of summer and it brings in fall. Which is the season where we witness life slip away, but barely because it happens so slowly.” 

Genevieve’s heart swells for two reasons. Jonah was a bright kid, well beyond his age. It was something he hid and purposefully tried his utmost best not to let shine through. Genevieve had guessed the reason behind his reluctance was mainly because Jonah was at that age where he just wanted to fit in and not stand out like a sore thumb. But every once in a blue moon, he would slip up. When he allowed himself to think out loud, his ideas lined in a way where it wasn’t just the tip of the iceberg anymore. The depth gave away his brilliance. 

The first time Genevieve was left speechless by him was when he analyzed one of his favourite comic book characters with an intensity that put the burning sun to shame. Then again when he asked her to edit his essay on a world issue. And once more when he asked her how to approach a girl in his science class that he clearly fancied. Genevieve tried to define this tendency of his as a recurring variable in Jonah’s equation. 

In many more ways than one, August held an importance like no other to Genevieve. It was a month that was easily overlooked because it was caught in a war for attention between the summer months and upcoming winter holidays. Its propinquity to strong competition was something that made it easy to forget. If it was a person, she was sure it would be a quiet boy around her age. Probably with a penchant for befriending girls and breaking hearts so slowly that you don’t even know it’s happening. 

Genevieve hummed in agreement with Jonah. 

“Go on.”

“Let’s say if I were to go with this month, I wouldn’t focus on death because that would be something colder, like December or January or like the first snowfall.” His pencil sounded against his notebook. A string of notes were effortlessly coming together as Jonah continued. He suddenly stopped writing and his face scrunched in thought as he stared at the blank TV screen with as much focus that could convince you it was on. “I think August is knowing you’re losing someone or something without the assurance of finding them again... and letting it deliberately happen.”

“Isn’t that almost death?” Genevieve raised a brow. 

“Almost, but not quite.” He tapped his pencil to the metal like coils that ran down the side. “August is loss, parting away. You know, something along the lines of donating old clothes, a friend becoming a stranger, even placing car keys somewhere different.”

Genevieve knew exactly what he was talking about. She couldn’t really describe the feeling of losing a friend in words with sharp precision. It was the same as repeating a word again and again until it came to the point you deluded yourself into thinking it belongs to another language completely.  

Jonah peered up, awaiting a response or another prompt to further his development. Instead, Genevieve smiled sadly and shakes her head. 

“What?!”

“Nothing.” She laughed softly, a bit winded.

There was just something about him that was light years ahead. Something so pure and good and applaudable that made you think about the character that so many adults lacked and how it was sitting in front of you in a corked up bottle of a preteen boy. He had lost his mother, his father wasn’t around, he didn’t have many friends at school, and he picked the month of August. He had hit the nail on what it was so eloquently that Genevieve could burst into tears. But she refrained, instead opted to narrow her eyes jokingly his way.

“You’re just too smart for your own good, is all.”

That night she went to sleep thinking about August.

How he probably wore wrinkled shirts so effortlessly, with his hair in a gentle disarray. People would make a note to comment on his ridiculously long eyelashes, but she favoured his eyes. They were round and shiny and reminded her of a cloudy marble, the colour of slate. He was charming but had an air of coyness about him that was inviting and deliberate. With skin the colour of oat and a smile like rain, it came or it didn't, he was a knockout. She hypothesized the variable that contributed to his allure had less to do with his looks and more with how he made you feel. 

He made you feel wanted, he made you feel like you were someone. 

***

October 31, 2016

It didn’t take long for Genevieve to spot him, his back was slouched against the red brick wall of a tall building. A pair of old wayfarers sat on the bridge of his nose and his arms pretzeled over his chest easily. His jaw went slack then tight, this pattern repeated like clockwork until Genevieve got close enough to notice he was working a piece of gum lazily. With his head tilted to the sky and one leg crossed over the other, he was imitating textbook boredom. 

“Do you have it?” Dried leaves crunched beneath the sole of his boots as he unravelled his legs and stood up straighter than before as Genevieve’s figure approached near. She could tell he was raising his brows, but they didn’t make an appearance, still hidden behind his frames.

“Yeah.” Genevieve dipped her index finger and thumb to the front right side pocket of her jeans. It took some wiggling to pluck out a piece of metal, smooth on one side and teeth jagged on the other. The metal was warm when dropped into his open palm. “Why the sudden need for it? Have you finally taken up my advice on actually locking your doors yet?”

It was natural for him to give Genevieve a spare key, a strategy that had served him well on multiple occasions. He had lost his more than once within the span of the first two months of getting his flat. This habit had come to a point that recovery was not an option; he preferred to keep his door unlocked anyway. Genevieve pointed out it was a safety hazard, but he liked to call it being efficient. In between locking himself out or forgetting his own key, Genevieve was a dependable solution.

“Not quite, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” She had seen his long black eyelashes hit the inside of his sunglasses, a clear indicator of him rolling his eyes. “I need it for a friend. He doesn’t have a place to stay for a while, and I offered the couch. Are you done with your lectures for the day?”

“I’m afraid not. Got one more and I’m free,” Genevieve sighed defeatedly. She shifted her bag from her right shoulder to the left. Today, she only had her laptop and one textbook, but the strap of her bag still created red dents on her shoulders from the weight. “Did you end up going to your tutorial?”

He gave her a look that was enough of an answer. His glasses rose on his face as a result of him scrunching his nose up in disgust. The tips of his mouth pulled downwards as sourness glazed his features. 

“If it’s before noon, I’m not going; you know this, Genny.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his finger. “Can I tempt you to skip by offering the first round at The Cabinet?”

“It’s like…” Genevieve glanced at her wrist watch. “One.”

“I’m not hearing a no.” He grinned, a smile pressed deeply into his face. “Come on, Gen! You’ll get to meet my pal too. I think you’ll get along really well. And Ted is offering half off today. It’s a win-win. What could be more important than good company?”

“Dynamic Systems Differential Equations, unfortunately.” The course name was a mouthful and her dull tone was enough insight into what it was like.

“That sounds like a migraine.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” She laughed sans humour already picturing the formulas needed for her practice problems. “Speaking of migraines, what are we doing as costumes for Hannah Morton’s party?”

He squinted his eyes and paused for a moment. Migraine Morton was a nickname that stuck onto the bottom of your sneaker like chewing gum. “Is that tonight?” 

“Well it is the thirty-first of October.” Her arms stretched to gesture towards the building she had exited from. “Do the carved pumpkins and the stick on ghost figures not make that obvious enough?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” He winced in reply to her previous question. A fingernail scratched at the corner of his forehead. “I was thinking of piggybacking off whatever you’re dressed as.”

Genevieve’s brows creased and her head tilted. “What do you mean?” 

“If you’re Frankenstein, I’ll be the doctor.” He pointed to Genevieve and then to himself. “Bonnie, Clyde. Sherlock, Watson.” 

“You want to go coordinating? Isn’t that a bit…”

“What?” He prompted with a laugh spluttering from his lips. It was fresh and bright, and Genevieve didn’t know exactly when it would stop sounding like this. He had amusement glittering in his gaze, there was a youthfulness about him that was so prominent and bold. He leaned closer. “Are you too cool to go coordinating now? Don’t tell me you can’t sit beside me at the lunch table too.”

It was ironic because they both knew Genevieve had always chose him to split her fruit roll-up candy since pre-school. In return, he would never pick up the red smarties whenever they shared a pack because those were her favourite, despite the number of times you told her the colour doesn’t affect the taste. 

“I don’t know, a bit coupley? I mean, it worked well when we were eight. Would you think Hannah would mind?” 

To this, he scoffed.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Why would she?”

“She’s clearly into you, like a lot, and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. And I hear she’s going around saying that she’s your girlfriend.”

He closed his eyes gently and breathes out a sigh. “She’s not my—”

“I know that! You know that! But does she?” 

His phone buzzed and the question hung in the air until his fingers stopped their dance on the screen. He looked over her shoulder as if waiting for someone. 

“Doesn’t matter, she will soon enough.” He shrugged, his voice was distracted and far away. And that was one thing about him that Genevieve couldn’t shake off no matter how hard she tried. He broke hearts knowingly, and did it anyway. “What time do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’m done with class at five. I’ll have to stop by Party City at six, then do my modules so that will take me till nine, then I—” Rolling tires sounded loudly against the pavement as they approached behind her. The closer they got, the less time she had to finish her train of thought. The radio was a few notches down from its max setting.

“Be ready at nine. No later.” He gripped her shoulders with both hands, brought her close and pressed a messy kiss against her hair. He smelled of cigarettes and toothpaste and beer. 

“No, I won’t be, I have to do my laundry and—”

“Great. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” 

And he was gone. He opened and shut the passenger side of the beat up Honda Civic in two seconds. The driver was familiar to Genevieve, it was another blonde, not Hannah, with thick eyeliner. She was a regular turn up at every monotonous party thrown each weekend. She had seen her get too close to him on more than one instance. He convinced Genevieve to poke in at a few, but the scene was like a broken record and her lack of interest dwindled in them too quickly.

It once even prompted her to bring her textbook to do practice problems to keep her from falling asleep as drunk students lit up a joint around her. Every once in a while he would trap grey smoke in his cheeks and blow it directly on her face to elicit a scowl, something he found beyond hilarious when his inhibitions weren’t intact. 

The girl’s hair was knotted and she had a less than pleased demeanour, probably nursing a hangover of her own. She stomped her foot down on the gas. He didn’t even have his seatbelt done before their bodies lurched backwards and the car zoomed out from the parking lot of the mathematical sciences department building. The radio became only a faint sound away the longer Genevieve stood there. 

By the time she got to Party City, the student working behind the counter gave her an apologetic look. All the decent costumes were sold out. He led her to the back of the store where the remaining costumes were kept. Being a university student meant she couldn’t break the bank for something so trivial. In the plastic bin lied a pair of fangs and a deflated witches hat that had a tear near the rim. There were masks, but she would be better off by taking a paintbrush to her face. 

She sighed deeply, her lips pursing in thought. It was obvious her plans of coordinating were a dream far away. That was until she turned around. 

A long hat cowered in the corner. It had thick red and white stripes, she pictured it with eyeliner drawn whiskers and a cat ear headband from last year. Maybe even a red bow around her neck. What really sealed the deal for her was the red shirt hung on a hanger right above it. It had a white circle right in the dead centre. The font within the circle was a recognizable outfit from a famous children’s book character. Bonnie and Clyde, Sherlock and Watson, and now Cat in the Hat and Thing 1.

The relief that came along with not trying to maneuver creating an outfit at home was enough to get Genevieve to run to the till. Arts and crafts were not her strongest suits.

The same guy’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at her quick decision making. He shut his latest issue of Men’s Healthy Living and leaned his weight off his elbow. He scanned the items and Genevieve handed him the crisp bill. Before he could finalize the sale, Genevieve thought back to the couch friend that would be accompanying them tonight. Did he have a costume? Inferring from the fact that he didn’t have a roof of his own, a lousy Halloween costume was the least of his worries. But Genevieve found her feet trailing back towards the shop and grabbing the shirt that said Thing 2. The guy added it to her final bill and packed her belongings in a black plastic bag. 

He was late and Genevieve was thankful that her laundry was dry and folded neatly. 

---

© 2019 almondharry All Rights Reserved

Okay, I think I’m done introducing the main characters. We have quite the cast list, don’t we?

Let me know what u think! I’d love to hear your favourite parts and predictions!

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for the banner! 

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas @adoremp3 @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 Ayesha and Hamna! Without them, this would be a jumble of fucked up grammar bc I write at 3am. If you want to beta, shoot me a message!

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[nebris]

Hating Valerie Solanas (And Loving Violent Men)

by Chavisa Woods 

My fourth book, and first full-length work of nonfiction will be released by Seven Stories Press in June. 100 Times (A Memoir of Sexism) is a 240-page memoir, written as in-scene vignettes, telling the stories of one hundred experiences of sexist discrimination, sexual harassment, and sexual violence I have personally experienced and witnessed, beginning at age five, through the present day.

I recently shared an excerpt of this book on social media, and immediately an old friend who I’d long ago lost touch with, a man from the Midwest, began arguing with me, and compared me to Valerie Solanas. I could tell from the tone of his comment, he expected me to recoil at the mention of that name — Valerie Solanas — the direst of insults; queer female hysterical violent “femi-nazi” insanity personified. This name was meant to summon shame in me, like invoking some Goetic demon to bate and restrain my crazed feminism.

He’s not the only one who sees her that way. When so many people think Valerie Solanas, they think, “bat-shit crazy, violent, murderous, ridiculous, woman.”

In a recent season of the popular television show, American Horror Story, for instance, Solanas was depicted by Lena Dunham as a demented serial killer who led a cult of murderous feminists to kill heterosexual couples — kids hooking up in cars, happy newlyweds and such — in a bloody, nationwide feminist murder spree. This, of course, is a completely fictional narrative, and for the purposes of this show, Solanas’s epitomal work, The Scum Manifesto, was interpreted as a literal, earnest text. Dunham portrayed Solanas as a frumpy, grumpy, clownish homicidal lesbian.

In the mainstream media and collective consciousness, Solonas has been written off as a worthless artist, and remembered only for her violent act against Andy Warhol.

All of this got me thinking about unconscious bias, and what it takes for us to denounce a female artist’s historical worth, versus what it does for a man.

William Burroughs shot and killed his wife while drunk and high, playing a game they called “William Tell,” wherein his wife placed an apple on her head, and he shot it off. He missed, killed her, and later wrote about it, implying it was possible he subconsciously wanted to kill her, because he was gay and resented having a wife. He served only two weeks in jail for this slaughter. Because the homicide occurred in Mexico, and through a combination of bribery and fleeing the country, he avoided serving any prison sentence.

Burroughs, of course, is still widely celebrated as a great author. I, in fact, had a poem published in a literary magazine a few years ago, the cover adorned with a photograph of him holding a rifle. This image was considered darkly humorous.

Almost every other author I’ve spoken with about the ethics of celebrating Burroughs and his art points me in the direction of compassion; he had a drug problem, he and his wife were “in it together.”

After the murder of his wife, he served as a member of the prestigious American Academy of Arts and Letters. His body of work still remains relevant, is widely taught in English and Writing curriculum in colleges, and is written about reverently in current scholarly articles and in major media outlets worldwide. He is generally thought of as good man. In his bio on Wikipedia, the slaughter of his wife doesn’t even come in until the sixth paragraph. (I am citing Wikipedia, because it represents the most current, popular, collective opinions of the general public, not as a scholarly reference.)

Valerie Solanas, on the other hand, shot Andy Warhol, not killing him, but severely injuring him. He died twenty years later from health complications possibly exacerbated by the injury, as well as a speed addiction.

Solanas and Warhol had a documented horrible working/personal relationship, rife with insult. She saw Warhol as constantly demeaning her privately and publicly, even after featuring her in one of his films.

Warhol agreed to look at a play she’d written, possibly to produce it. She gave him the only manuscript to read, and he (claimed he) lost it, though she believed he threw it away to spite her. This was the catalyst for the shooting.

Pablo Neruda raped a servant while he was visiting her country as a diplomat. He wrote about it quite matter-of-factly and unapologetically in his memoirs (I Confess that I have Lived, first published in 1974, in English in 1977):

One morning, I woke earlier than is my custom. I hid in the shadows to watch who passed by. From the back of the house, like a dark statue that walked, the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in Ceylon entered, Tamil race, Pariah caste. She wore a red and gold sari of the cheapest cloth. On her unshod feet were heavy anklets. On each side of her nose shone two tiny red points. They were probably glass, but on her they looked like rubies.

She solemnly approached the toilet without giving me the slightest look, without acknowledging my existence, and disappeared with the sordid receptacle on her head, retreating with her goddess steps. She was so beautiful that despite her humble job, she left me disturbed. As if a wild animal had come out from the jungle, belonging to another existence, a separate world. I called to her with no result.

I then would leave some gift on her path, some silk or fruit. She would pass by without hearing or looking. Her dark beauty turned that miserable trip into the obligatory ceremony of an indifferent queen.

One morning, I decided to go for all, and grabbed her by the wrist and looked her in the face. There was no language I could speak to her. She allowed herself to be led by me smilelessly and soon was naked upon my bed. Her extremely slender waist, full hips, the overflowing cups of her breasts, made her exactly like the thousands year old sculptures in the south of India. The encounter was like that of a man and a statue. She kept her eyes open throughout, unmoved. She was right to regard me with contempt. The experience was not repeated.

No one remembers him for this.

Charles Bukowski is on video kicking and punching his girlfriend during an interview about his writing, and was said to have been physically abusive to multiple female partners. He is still celebrated worldwide as a great poet.

Louis Althusser strangled his wife to death in an act of cold-blooded murder. In his Wikipedia bio, he’s described as, “A French Marxist philosopher, whose arguments and theses were set against the threats that he saw attacking the theoretical foundations of Marxism.”

As I write this, the murder of his wife doesn’t receive mention until the last paragraph, and then it simply says, “Althusser’s life was marked by periods of intense mental illness. In 1980, he killed his wife, the sociologist Hélène Rytmann, by strangling her.”

He is widely celebrated. The murder of his wife is mentioned only in the context of his mental illness.

Valerie Solanas suffered from Schizophrenia. She was also a victim of childhood incest. Her father repeatedly raped her, and then she was sent to live with her grandparents as a teenager, and then her grandfather raped her, and then she ran away from home and became a sex worker.

The shooting of Andy Warhol is currently the first sentence of her Wikipedia bio. She is widely regarded and repeatedly portrayed as a worthless, angry, bat-shit crazy piece of human garbage. Where is this compassion that we are asked to have for male artists, for her?

She was a brilliant artist. The SCUM Manifesto is a masterwork of literary protest art, which is often completely misread. Much of it is actually a point-by-point re-write of multiple of Freud’s writings. It is a parody.

In his essay The Psychogenesis Of A Case Of Homosexuality In A Woman, Freud suggests that a good treatment for lesbians would be having their (most likely already hermaphroditic) ovaries, and genitals removed and replaced with grafted “real” female genitals.

Freud’s exact words:

The cases of male homosexuality which (have) been successful fulfilled the condition, which is not always present, of a very patent physical ‘hermaphroditism’. Any analogous treatment of female homosexuality is at present quite obscure. If it were to consist in removing what are probably hermaphroditic ovaries, and in grafting others, which are hoped to be of a single sex, there would be little prospect of its being applied in practice. A woman who has felt herself to be a man, and has loved in masculine fashion, will hardly let herself be forced into playing the part of a woman…

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas posits that a good “treatment” for straight men is to get their dicks chopped off: “When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman (males as well as females think men are women and women are men), and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen) and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse sexual feeling from ‘being a woman’. Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female.”

Freud’s texts are rife with suggestions of female castration and hysterectomies as treatments for all sorts of psychological troubles suffered by women, and in response, The SCUM Manifesto is infamous for suggesting castration might improve the behavior of men.

Freud posited that heterosexual women are sexually passive, engaging in sex only because they want children. He invented the theory of “penis envy.” He claimed that because girls do not have  penises, girls come to believe they have lost their penises, and eventually, seek to have male children in an attempt “to gain a penis.” He believed women, on some deep, subconscious level, viewed themselves as castrated males. In his theory of psychosexual development he posited that for women, sex (with males) may also be a subconscious attempt to gain a penis.

In his essay, The Taboo of Virginity, Freud writes: “We have learnt from the analysis of many neurotic women that they go through an early age in which they envy their brothers, their sign of masculinity and feel at a disadvantage and humiliated because of the lack of it (actually because of its diminished size) in themselves. We include this ‘envy for the penis’ in the ‘castration complex’.”

Solanas, replaces the envy of the penis, not only with envy of the vagina, but most often, with women’s emotional openness, complexity and individuality as the focus of men’s envy. She writes of men: “The female’s individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which he doesn’t comprehend, and isn’t capable of relating to or grasping emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. “

At the time of the writing of The SCUM Manifesto, Freud was a celebrated figure in psychology, and his theories were being widely touted in academic and popular spheres alike. Solanas took issue with this, and wrote The SCUM Manifesto as a parody, mocking the popular, sexist, and hetero-centric thinking on gender and sexuality at the time. But the text is a reversal. In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas directs everything Freud said with an equal amount of vigor and confidence back at men. So, instead of “female motherhood” being a primary drive, she reverses this to attack/analyze the “male sex drive” through the same line of thinking as Freud.

In his essay, Leonardo Da-Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood, Freud hypothesizes that homosexuality in men stems from their relationship with their father and mother. He proposes that homosexuality (which he assumes is a bad thing) is caused by a relationship with a mother who is too tender to her son (as in all his texts, he repeatedly states that children are naturally sexually attracted to their parents of the opposite sex), and a mother who is, at the same time, too assertive and independent in relation to her own husband (the boy’s father.) This causes the boy to see his mother figure, who’s also an object of his  sexual desire in childhood, as a man, not a woman. And this makes the boy gay. He writes:

In all our male homosexual cases the subjects had had a very intense erotic attachment to a female person, as a rule their mother, during the first period of childhood, which is afterwards forgotten; this attachment was evoked or encouraged by too much tenderness on the part of the mother herself, and further reinforced by the small part played by the father during their childhood. Sadger emphasizes the fact that the mothers on his homosexual patients were frequently masculine women, women with energetic traits of character, who were able to push the father out of his proper place. I have occasionally seen the same thing, but I was more strongly impressed by cases in which the father was absent from the beginning or left the scene at an early date, so that the boy found himself left entirely under feminine influence. Indeed it almost seems as though the presence of a strong father would ensure that thee son made the correct decision in his choice of object, namely someone of the opposite sex.

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas takes this analysis and flips it on its head through an extreme feminist lens, where becoming a “real (straight) man” is already assumed to be a bad thing. She writes: “The effect of fatherhood on males, specifically is to make them, ‘Men,’ that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity, faggotry, and of desires to be female. Every boy wants to imitate his mother, be her, fuse with her. So he tells the boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, not to be a sissy, to act like a ‘Man.’ The boy, scared shitless of and respecting his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of ‘Man’-hood, the all-American ideal — the well-behaved heterosexual dullard.”

While Freud accuses the mother of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a homosexual, Solanas accuses the father of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a straight man.

As you can see from the above, The SCUM Manifesto in many places is an almost line-by-line mockery of Freud’s writings on women and homosexuals, and was never meant to be read as a literal, earnest text throughout. This does not mean it is intended as a joke or to be taken lightly, though. As some may have noticed in the above text, it is not without serious, meaningful and resonant critiques of patriarchal institutions. There is a lot of truth in this parody. It is a political satire. It is simultaneously dead serious, yet written with a nod and a wink. In keeping with the protest art of the time, if you didn’t get it, she wasn’t going to explain it to you. She was happy to make cocky comments, like, “I mean every word of it,” knowing, and indeed, hoping that the “squares” who didn’t understand the sarcasm inherent to the foundation of the text, would be that much more shocked at her effrontery.

Valerie Solanas just said, in a modernized (now dated) vernacular, exactly what Freud had said about women, only about men, and everyone freaked out, because when we talk about men the same way men have talked about women for centuries, it reads as grotesque and insanely violent, un-compassionate, and shocking, which was exactly her point.

Her work is still misinterpreted as a literal text by many to this day.

After shooting Andy Warhol, Solanas turned herself in to the police. She was charged with attempted murder, assault, and illegal possession of a gun. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and pleaded guilty to “reckless assault with intent to harm,” serving a three-year prison sentence, including treatment in a psychiatric hospital. In a darkly ironic twist of fate she was subjected to a nonconsensual hysterectomy during her hospitalization. Shortly after her release from prison, she became homeless, and never published another work.

Michael Alig, known for being a famous party promoter and club kid in the 1980s (in the film about his life, Party Monster, he was played by Macaulay Culkin), brutally murdered his friend, Andre “Angel” Melendez, over an argument about a drug debt.

Alig cut his friend up into pieces and threw him in the Hudson River. He’s been released from prison and is currently working as a club promoter in New York City.

Since his release, he’s also appeared in an indie film with artists I know personally, called Vamp Bikers, in which Alig plays a homicidal sociopath who slowly, brutally murders his friend.

I accidentally watched this at a film screening I attended in Brooklyn years ago, having no idea what I was getting into. It made me want to throw up, seeing him happily take part in a campy fictional portrayal of a murder so similar to the one he actually committed, and being celebrated for this. Many people around me were excitedly saying they hoped that Alig might attend the screening.

His website, michaelalig.com describes him as an “artist, writer, curator.” You can hire him to produce your party, or buy one of his many pop art paintings for $500 a pop.

I think this is all abhorrent. I’ve had debates with friends over this, and have been asked, “Well, he served his time. Shouldn’t we have compassion? He was young and on a lot of drugs when he did that. Don’t you think he should get a second chance?”

Perhaps. Perhaps a chance at living as a free person again, yes, perhaps that, but definitely not a chance to be celebrated for being the famous club kid who murdered his friend. And it’s not lost on me that the person he murdered was a poor, lesser known gay man of color, and I wonder if he would have gotten out of prison so early if he’d been the one who murdered Michael.

Perhaps more shocking than this, is the life and reception of essayist and novelist Norman Mailer. When speaking about feminism and women’s liberation Norman Mailer said: “We must face the simple fact that maybe there’s a profound reservoir of cowardess in women that had them welcome this miserable, slavish life.”

In his book Advertisements for Myself, Mailer claims that a writer without “balls” is no writer at all:

I have a terrible confession to make — I have nothing to say about any of the talented women who write today. Out of what is no doubt a fault in me, I do not seem able to read them. Indeed, I doubt if there will be a really exciting woman writer until the first whore becomes a call girl and tells her tale. At the risk of making a dozen devoted enemies for life, I can only say that the sniffs I get from the ink of the women are always fey, old-hat, Quaintsy Goysy, tiny, too dykily psychotic, crippled, creepish, fashionable, frigid, outer-Baroque, maquillé in mannequin’s whimsy, or else bright and stillborn. Since I’ve never been able to read Virginia Woolf, and am sometimes willing to believe that it can conceivably be my fault, this verdict may be taken fairly as the twisted tongue of a soured taste, at least by those readers who do not share with me the ground of departure — that a good novelist can do without everything but the remnant of his balls.

I would argue that Norman Mailer spoke and wrote just as violently, grotesquely and shockingly about women as Valerie Solanas did about men. But he was not saying any of these things or writing his sexist texts as a parody or protest of his own subjugation.

Norman Mailer is still widely celebrated for both his fiction and essays, including numerous works that take a stand adamantly against feminism and women in general. In 1968 and 1980 he won the Pulitzer Prize. In 2005, he won the National Book Award for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. In 1960, he attempted to murder his wife by stabbing her multiple times in the chest, barely missing her heart.

While his wife lay in the hospital in critical condition, a day after the stabbing, Mailer appeared in a scheduled interview on The Mike Wallace Show, where he spoke of the knife as a symbol of manhood. He was briefly arrested two days later, though his wife refused to press charges, saying that she feared for the safety of their children if she did so. She did, however divorce him once she recovered.

The parallels between Mailer and Solanas are as astonishing as their differences. The only reason I can find for the differences in how they are popularly viewed is that Mailer was a man, speaking and acting violently against women in a sexist society, and Solanas was a woman, doing the reverse in this same society.

I can’t help but conjure Solanas’s legacy when looking at the current questions that keep popping up on the subject of violence, art, and who we celebrate today. Do we forgive Louis C.K. for serially masturbating on countless women he worked with? What does forgiveness mean? Does it mean he continues to enjoy the same level of reverence and celebrity as before? Can we still enjoy Michael Jackson’s music knowing that he had ongoing sexual relationships with what seems to be an endless stream of young boys? Should we still be patronizing Woody Allen’s films? Is it alright to feel heartbroken over the loss of the Bill Cosby so many knew and loved? What of the beautiful works of so many beloved male authors I have spoken about above?

I do not have clear answers to these questions, nor do I think there is one rule of response that is correct for every situation, but I do know that the social hammer has come down hard on women who commit similar acts of violence, especially when those acts are directed at men. I do know that sexist bias has judged one of my artistic heroes much more harshly than her male counterparts.

I do not condone or celebrate Valerie Solanas’s shooting of Andy Warhol. But when people bring up Valerie Solanas as if she is a horrendous, murderous, bat-shit crazy, worthless, hysterical, violent criminal whose literary artwork is as valuable as the ramblings of a madwoman, suggesting that she should be written off as nothing more, I always think to myself, “Well, that’s exactly what she would have expected from this society.” Much less has changed since she first released the book in 1967, than I would have hoped. Those opening lines still remain eerily significant: “Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore, and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation, and destroy the male sex.”

http://www.full-stop.net/2019/05/21/features/chavisa-woods/solanas/

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Meet Me at the Chalet || day three.

Eventual pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jenessee Borosi)

Word count: ~3.1k

Summary (I suck at these): Jenessee goes on a solo vacation after the release of her first novel. She got a little more than she bargained for when she gets snowed in with her biggest celebrity crush.

Warnings: So much freaking fluff, swearing but blink and you’ll miss it, depressing thoughts (THIS chapter), mental breakdown (THIS chapter), Tom being Tom

A/N: This chapter contains very personal experiences for me. I wanted the main character to be flawed (because we all are), and the only thing I could write about that would be authentic was something that I’ve gone through myself. If you have troubles with mental breakdowns and depressive thoughts, either proceed with caution or skip this chapter all together.

night one. || day one. || day two. || day three. || day four. ||

“Good morning, darling.” He greeted once he heard me enter the room. “Did you sleep well?” He finally looked up to take in my appearance. I fully expected him to flinch. There must be dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, my hair must be a mess from running my fingers through it in frustration when I couldn’t find the word I was looking for, my clothes wrinkled from the constant position changed they endured through the night- in other words, I look like a wreck. But he didn’t seem to notice or care. He still watched me, waiting for me to answer.

“I actually haven’t been to sleep yet.” I dragged my fuzzy sock clad feet over to where he was standing getting a delicious whiff of the pig fat that was frying in the pan.

He slipped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me to his body. “Oh yeah? Were you writing?” I nodded, leaning into him welcoming the warmth it brought me. I lazily wrapped my arms around his narrow waist, surprising myself by how natural this all feels. This physical contact is new to whatever this is we have going on here, but I like it. I like having his strong arm around me, keeping me close to him like he actually wants me there. I tucked comfortable under his arm as he draped it over my shoulder. I would have buried my face in his neck but I didn’t want to push it. “Well then, let’s get your beautiful brain some food before you go back on up to bed.” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before he returned his attention to the stove. He watched me consume the three strips he gave me before escorting me back up to my room. He cleared off my bed before tucking me in. I was out before he shut my door.

By the time I woke up, my room was pitch black. I found Tom downstairs reading on the couch. “Why did you let me sleep so long?” I questioned as I plopped down on the opposite end. “Now I won’t sleep tonight.”

“Because, darling, you were exhausted and you deserved to rest.” He set his book down next to him before standing up. “Shall I make you some dinner? I’m having a real hankering for some grilled cheese.” The cheesy (pun-intended) smile he plastered on his face was heart-stopping. How could anyone say no to it? He came to stand in front of me, holding out both hands. I happily took them as he pulled me up.

“Again?” I giggled. He started walking backwards, bringing me along with him since he hasn’t let go of my hands yet. They sent warmth throughout my entire body as all of the blood rushed to my face.

All traces of playfulness disappeared reminding me of the pictures I’ve seen of him as Loki. “Oh yes, darling. You’ve created a monster.” He stopped, yanking me to him. My body collided with his, with him catching me like I weighed nothing at all. His arms captured my waist as my arms were crushed between us as I had braced myself for impact. His eyes stayed locked on mine as his voice dropped a few octaves. “A bacon and pickle grilled cheese loving…” His head bent down towards my ear. I could feel his hot breath against my neck. I had to restrain myself from shivering. “Monster.” He almost growled into my ear.

And in one split second, he went from sexy God Tom to playful “Loki’d” Tom as his large hands attacked my sides. The initial contact warranted a very loud shriek, but it was quickly replaced with cackles and pleas for him to stop. I wiggled my way out of his grip and ran into the kitchen to take refuge in. He chased me around the place until I complained of a side ache from too much running and laughing at the same time. We called a temporary truce until I sneakily decided to kick it up a notch. I’d seen them happen multiple times in movies and TV shows and have always wanted to be a part of one. I figured now would be the perfect opportunity. I found myself in the pantry, looking for the perfect weapon to use against him. It can’t be something too big that it’ll hurt him, but I want it to make a mess. Flour is the obvious choice, but I also don’t want to be cliché… Oh to hell with that. I grabbed the huge tub of it and hid it behind a cupboard for future use. I scooped a handful into my hand for my sneak attack. I spotted my clueless victim as he prepared the bread. I went right up to him, hiding all trace of my impending betrayal.

“What were you doing in there?” He asked when he noticed my return.

“Planning my next move.” I brought my flour-filled hand up to his face as he looked at me confused. I blew as I opened my hand, covering his entire face with the white powder. His mouth and eyes snapped shut, flinching away slightly. We stayed still while he processed what just happened. When he finally opened those beautiful blue eyes again, there was vengeance written all over them.

“Oh it’s so on.”

Ten minutes later we were sat on the floor covered in flour, laughing at how ridiculous the other looks. The white powder stuck to our hair, turning it all gray, it clung to our clothes and every single surface it came into contact with.

“I think I have flour in places flour should never be.” He commented, shifting his hips against the floor causing me to fold over in continued laughter. My tears mixed with the flour on my face creating a paste-like substance that will be impossible to wash off later. But right now I didn’t care.

I looked over at the man in front of me who was equally covered in white. His ginger locks and beard were now gray, making him age 30 years right in front of my eyes. To say he will be a hot silver fox is the biggest understatement of the century. I couldn’t help but picture us in that 30 years reliving this moment in our own kitchen, our grandchildren playing along with us, getting scolded by our kids when they came to pick them up. But then I would look at him, all gray-haired and perfect and know that I-

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you…” He trailed off breaking me out of my fantasy. I didn’t realize we both stopped laughing and silence had filled the room until he spoke. He was fidgeting with his hands in his lap, his gaze locked on them. When I realized what he had said, my heart dropped slightly. Panic was lingering, not knowing if it should rear its ugly head or if it would be premature. He took an abnormally long pause which only made it worse. It is the same feeling when someone texts you saying “Can I ask you a question?” and then taking forever to respond to your text back. Agony. Pure agony. “Are you… spoken for?” He finally met my eyes, probably to gauge my reaction. Did he think he was crossing the line somehow? Did he think it was too personal? Was he afraid I would get emotional due to a recent break up? Who knows…

Am I spoken for? Who in the world phrases it like that anymore? Why don’t we speak like that nowadays? We’ve gotten so lazy. Everyone is all about the quick fling or get straight to the physical stuff. No one courts anymore. No one writes long, handwritten love letters anymore. I’m not saying we should talk like Shakespeare, more like in the early to mid-1900s. Going on long walks, bringing her flowers before a date, picnics in the park, then escorting her to her front door, giving a sweet good night kiss before parting ways only to have a smile on your face for the rest of the night.

Like Tom said in an interview a few years ago, “This generation has lost the true meaning of romance,” and how he is an “old-fashioned romantic.” It’s sad that he hasn’t really been given the chance to show that side. And if he has, it hasn’t been appreciated like it should.

Am I spoken for? The only person that could possibly make that sound like the most romantic thing in the world and not at all old-fashioned is sitting right in front of me, covered in flour.

“Okay, first of all, who says that anymore?” I voiced my previous thoughts. He chuckled, breaking the serious façade he put up.

“Well pardon me for being old-fashioned about it.” He placed his hand over his heart in offense. “I am a self-proclaimed romantic.” He stated confirming what he has previously said.

“And second of all, no.” I shrugged, “I’m not spoken for. I am completely unattached.” I shudder thinking about how long it has been since my last relationship and how painful it was. That heartbreak has kept me from opening up again for years. I didn’t want to feel that kind of earth-shattering feeling again. It’s only partly to blame for my perpetual singleness, but a big part nonetheless.

“I find that quite surprising actually.” He admitted.

“Why? Because of my winning personality and devastatingly good looks?” I flipped my current non-existent long hair over my shoulder for effect. I don’t think I have either so I know those are also parts of why I’m single and have been.

He chuckled at my sarcasm. “Why, yes actually. You are beautiful, you have a phenomenal sense of humor,” he gestured around us at everything covered in flour, “you know how to have fun, you like having relaxing nights just sitting on the couch reading, or in your case, writing,” he smiled, “you’re obviously independent since you are on vacation alone-”

“Well that’s not necessarily true.” I interrupted. “My friend would have joined if she could have gotten off work.”

“Alright then.” He conceded. “I still stand by your independence though.” I nodded, not arguing with him. I know I’m independent, sometimes to a fault.

“So, you think you got me all figured out after knowing me for 3 days?” I concluded from his compliments.

“Oh no, darling. I believe I’ve just scratched the surface.” He intensely gazed at me. “And I’m eager to see what else there is to learn about you.”

I found myself asking him “Why?” Why, out of all of the people in the world, is he eager to learn more about me? I’m just a woman from the Midwest that is as complicated as anyone can be. “There’s nothing special about me.” I confessed wholeheartedly. Even if he knew I’m a published author, I still don’t see what’s so interesting that someone like him would want to get to know me? There are so many issues that I’ve buried deep beneath the surface that no human should have to bare or anyone else should have to endure. Dark thoughts that only comes out at night thanks to a trigger… No one else deserves to carry the burden of knowing I have those thoughts. Especially Tom.

“Do you truly believe that?” He asked with a hint of sadness I never wanted to hear or even expected.

“How can I not? When there are so many others out there that are more successful, prettier, skinnier…” I wrap my arms around my stomach, one of my many trouble spots. I’ve always been self-conscious about the way I look. I compare myself to everyone around, no matter what. I always have and I more than likely always will. I know it’s not healthy. It’s just one of my countless bad habits. “It’s hard to see myself as anything more than ordinary. I mean, I know I’m not a-” I use air quotes- “’hot girl.’ I’m probably never going to take anyone’s breath away or impress anyone with the way I look, but I can make you laugh and make you feel wanted, and sometimes I can be really fucking cute. I just wish that could be enough. Just once.” I shrugged again, wanting to change the subject. The way he’s looking at me with such sadness when mere moments ago he was filled with pure joy, I want that gone. So I stood up. “Shall we eat or clean up first?”

For the rest of the night, there was something… off. Like there was a dark cloud hovering over us and was persistent for the entirety of the time we spent together after we peeled ourselves off the floor. I knew the reason for my dark cloud, but even he seemed to be thrown off too.

Not being able to deal with the new weirdness between us, I excused myself and retreated to my room. The heaviness continued all night. I found myself just staring off into the distance as my mind raced with topics I haven’t thought about in years that love to surface at the most inconvenient times, like now. They put me into a funk for hours until I fall asleep, only to wake up like nothing ever happened. I can only hope this is one of those times and Tom forgives me for being sucky company.

More often than not, I will work myself up so badly that I will have a mental breakdown, crying myself into hyperventilation. Unfortunately this time is no exception. My thoughts latched onto the topic that guarantees waterworks and a lot of them. My sobs literally shaking my entire body to the core, gasping for breaths in between, asking questions no one will be able to give me answers to. The kinds of questions only sink me deeper and deeper into the darkness.

Light knocks on my door broke me out of my depression bubble.

Crap. He must have heard me… Well, I haven’t exactly tried being quiet. I banked on the walls being thicker than standard hotels and for him to be a deep sleeper. Both seem to be wrong.

I lay there going over my options: I could ignore him, I could answer and lie about why I’m emotional, I could tell him the truth but that’s not something he needs to worry about…

There’s no way I can ignore him. He was kind enough to leave his room to come and check on me. The least I could do is let him in. However I don’t want him to see me. My eyes are no doubt bloodshot and puffy, along with the rest of my face. I can’t lie to him or tell him the truth. I decide what the easiest option is and unwrap myself from my cocoon of comfort. I slide my room key under the door before returning to the warmth. 

Seconds go by before I hear the door gently opening. I see his shadow in the light of the doorway then it’s dark again. The bed dipped behind me then his hand rested on my shoulder, pulling me back to face him. I lie flat on my back now like he wanted. I bite my lip to keep it from quivering; I tried to even out my shaky breathing without much success. I didn’t want him to think I’m weak for crying for God-knows how long… but those walls have long since been shattered; my strength being abysmal at the moment.

Even in the pitch black room, I can see how close he is. His outline was only mere inches from me. His hand caresses my cheek as I feel his gaze all over my face as if he can see right through me. His thumb wipes away some of the moisture that had remained there. I didn’t bother to try to wipe it all away if more tears were going to flow eventually.

“Oh darling…” He whispered as he slipped his other arm under and around me, pulling me into his chest, tucking me under his chin. An overwhelming sense of comfort- of home- filled my entire being, which only brought on another wave of tears. I’ve never had anyone around during my breakdowns, always suffering in silence. For him to immediately want to comfort me in my time of need… it means more to me than I could ever explain.

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured against my hair before pressing a tender kiss on my head. He runs his hand softly up and down my arm just like my mom used to do on my back. His touch created goosebumps all along my arm.

“What could you possibly be sorry for?” I ask just above a whisper, not trusting my voice at the moment.

He sighed, “For all of the pain that is in your heart that you feel you have to suffer with it alone.”

No more words were exchanged after that. How could I when he says something like that?

What I didn’t anticipate him doing was he took care of me. He got me the Kleenex box so my nose could empty out. He rubbed my back whispering soothingly, encouraging me to let it all out. He even went as far as starting the shower for me after I was sure the floodgates were closing. I stepped in letting the hot water relax my muscles and wash over my face, eliminating any evidence of the past few hours. I washed my body with my peach body wash before getting out. I smiled, noticing my bag that was now sitting on the vanity. I rummaged through it to find a different pair of pajamas to get back into.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Tom was waiting for me on the bed. I climbed in and he immediately wrapped his arms around me, pulling me so close there was no space between us. I inhaled the faint smell of his cologne, instantly lulling me into a new sense of calm which terrified me to no end. How can I feel so safe and secure with someone I just met a few days ago? How can he give me everything with no questions asked?

It wasn’t long before I felt myself slip into unconsciousness. There was only one thing on my mind by the time I finally fell… I don’t deserve him, but I sure as hell want to.

day four...

Permanent taglist: @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @hiddlephile @naniky

[mf-despair-queen]

Your Yoda? More Like Han Solo! - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 6,834

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Unprotected Sex, Bondage, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Doggy, Make Outs, Genital Stimulation, Many Star War jokes and pick up lines that’ll make you cringe and/or laugh

Notes: Written in roughly 9 hours, this was SUPPOSED to be out yesterday, May 4th, to celebrate Star Wars Day. But, it’s fitting too to come out on Revenge of the Fifth. Hopefully y’all like this. It’s just... relatively cheesy and something so Stiles, it hurts. Thanks to @savage-stilinski for editing for me as I went. And @malia--stilinski for suffering with my small snippets late last night. 

The school doors swung open with a loud clatter, Stiles Stilinski strutting through them with a loud, rippling grumble. The sound itself vibrated as it rumbled through the crisp May air, students stopping to send the senior weird looks. He put his hands on his hips, the sunlight hitting his back, giving him a glowing aura as he peered down the hallway at the confused spectators.

“What? Haven’t you ever heard someone say ‘good morning’ in Wookiee?”

The people staring at him turned away, rushing down the hall. Well, closer to sprinting away from the man. Stiles scoffed, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, good morning to you too!” He called out, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re welcome!”

Stiles’ slight frown was replaced with a look of gratification as he strut forward, greeting everyone he passed by with a quick ‘May the Fourth Be With You’ and a wink. He ignored the scowls, stares and glances he got from people crammed at the lockers, trying to avoid interacting with the spastic man. Stiles didn’t care. He was elated.

May fourth gave him the perfect excuse to adorn himself in every bit of Star Wars merchandise he had, the day being effective known to nerds and fans as Star Wars Day. He woke up early specifically to shower and dress himself in his best star wars outfit: a white, long sleeved henley that was open at the chest with a blue sleeveless vest overtop, blue jeans that hugged his form perfectly to show his round ass and impressive package despite being limp, black boots that ended just below his knees that he was glad he found at the thrift shop, and a criss-crossing belt set up for his ‘gun’, which was a simple water gun because of Beacon Hills High’s weapon policy. He had swapped his normal Maverick backpack for a Star Wars themed one that jingled with random keychains he had collected over the years. He had packed a Star Wars shirt for his weight training after school, the off season between cross country and lacrosse meaning he had to keep himself somewhat in shape, even if he would only manage a few push ups before keeling over in agony.

He was content with himself the second he walked out the door, not caring what people said or thought when they saw him jumping out of the jeep in the school parking lot or even the Starbucks down the street. The coffee he had bought sat in the netted drink pouch on the side of his bag, sealed tight to keep from growing cold or spilling as he bounced down the long hallways. Stiles loved - like, REALLY loved - this day just because it gave him and excuse to live out his favorite movies in multiple ways.

Sure, some people find it odd, but he knew he was. He embraced it, letting everyone know what he liked.

He pushed a locker shut, smiling widely. “Good Morning Princess,” he grinned, pulling the coffee from his bag. He held it out, giving a small wink. “May the fourth be with you today. Am I right?”

You gave him a blank stare, taking the coffee quickly before reopening your locker, blocking his face. “Morning to you too, baby,” you said, continuing to pile your books and binders into your bag. You popped the top of the coffee, sipping the scalding hot liquid, smiling to yourself. He always knew what you liked. “So, care to explain?”

“Explain?” he wondered aloud. “Explain what?”

You slammed your locker shut, leaning against it. You eyed him slowly, taking in every bit of his appearance. In all the years of being friends with the Stilinski boy, it never surprised you the extent he would go for this day. But this was a new look for him. Maybe it was the fact that you were going on four years of dating the man, but he looked unexplainably handsome dressed up the way he was. You fought the urge to lick your lips, not wanting to ruin the lipgloss you applied that morning already, and the desire to pull him into the nearest empty classroom to barricade the door and strip him. Your body was on fire just from looking at him, your loins throbbing with want.

“This,” you gestured. “And slamming my locker shut, nearly taking my hand with it.”

“At least it wasn’t Vader cutting it off with a lightsaber, am I right?” he snickered to himself at the lame joke he made. You rolled your eyes, humoring him with a small laugh of your own. “You know what it’s all about! It’s Star Wars Day! AKA the best day of the year!”

“Better than Christmas?” He nodded. “Better than your birthday?” He nodded again. “Thanksgiving?” Nod. “Our anniversary?”

He hesitated, knowing the implication behind your words. “That’s not nice,” he whined. “We know how good our anniversary is. Because Stiles gets to do many naughty things that day. In many different positions. How can we compare that to this?”

“Because I’m making you choose.”

“Y/N,” he whined, dragging out each syllable of your name. “That’s not fair. Sex and Star Wars are not on the same plane of existence. It would take jumping through hyperspace like… a million times to reach the same level!”

“Oh my God,” you groaned at him.

“Fine. This is the second best day of the year,” he huffed. “But, you never told me what you thought.” He dropped his backpack, doing a small spin before posing, almost stumbling in dizziness. “How do I look?”

“Um…” you paused, trying to find the right words. “Good? Handsome? Sexy?”

“Seriously?” he grumbled lowly.

“What?” You asked. “I’m confused. What are you wanting me to say? I don’t even know what you’re dressed up as!”

“How am I dating you again?” he asked quietly. “I’m Han Solo!”

“Why aren’t you Yoda?” You asked. Stiles’ lips pursed into a tight line.

“Because I’m trying to be the Han solo to my Princess Leia?” he said as if it were more than obvious. You stared at him blankly, making him roll his eyes. “Fine. If you want me to be your Yoda, your yoda I will be. Speak like this all day will I.”

“Please don’t,” you pleaded.

Stiles grinned, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together. “You very much I love. Now, go to class let us.”

He tugged you down the hall reluctantly. “Alright, you can go back to Han Solo-ing!”

“Han Solo I will not.”

“Oh my God, Stiles!”

~

He made jokes throughout the day, swapping between his ‘yoda-speak’ and normal star wars jokes, trying to impress you as if he were truly Han Solo. You bit your tongue the entire time, not wanting to ruin his happiness.  Admittedly, you hadn’t fully made it through the Star Wars franchise, something come up every time Stiles convinced you to sit down to watch them. Most of the times were because you would get called by your parents to return home early, their pissy attitudes ruining the mood to watch movies anyway, you fell asleep on Stiles’ lap while he ran his fingers through your hair, or you would end up making out through the important parts of the plot. Because of this, most jokes went over your head, leaving you lucky if you were able to decipher some of the things he uttered.

But you let him have his fun, knowing how much this day meant to him. Between school and supernatural events, it was rare to have some fun in Beacon Hills these days. The last thing you wanted to do was snap at him because he was going overboard, no matter how tempting it was. Everything he said was Star Wars related - he even made a Star Wars lunch. It was growing irritating, but you did you best.

His happiness comes first, you told yourself at least once an hour, the smile on his face brightening your mood the slightest bit.

It wasn’t until the bell rang at the end of the day that you were at your breaking point.

You and Stiles headed to the library to work on homework, Stiles giggling immaturely when you found a dark corner to yourselves.

“Welcome to the darkside, young Skywalker,” he spoke deeply as he collapsed into the chair, leaving you gritting your teeth.

“Would you rather follow the light?” you asked, Stiles beaming.

“But the darkside is awesome. We have cookies!” he laughed, pulling out a bag of your favorite cookies - Oreos. You blinked at it.

“How long have you had those?”

“All day.”

“How long have you been waiting to make that joke?”

He froze before saying, “All day.”

“I’ll forgive you this once,” you said quicky, snatching the bag before sitting next to him. You pulled out your books and pencils, Stiles following your lead.

“I didn’t want you to think I was playing you,” he hummed. “Then you would have just screamed ‘IT’S A TRAP’ at me for it.”

“Alright,” you sighed, nudging him. “Time to work.”

He flailed slightly, acting as if the light nudge to his side was a powerful shove. “Woah, princess! Careful!” he laughed, catching himself. “The force sure is strong with this one!”

The hold on your pencil tightened. “Stiles, seriously. It’s time to do homework. I want to get this done while we have time.”

He leaned on the table, staring at you. “You do know it’s Friday, right? We have all weekend to do homework.”

“I’d rather get it done now,” you huffed at him, leaning closer to him. His eyes darted to your lips a few times, struggling to maintain his gaze on your eyes. “I don’t want to fall behind. And if we get it done now, together, we can use the weekend for ourselves. My parents are going out of town for business, so…”

Your lips brushed his softly, both of you closing your eyes at the sparks and fireworks going off. It was a tender and brief kiss, but it let you wanting more. And you knew it was doing the same thing to Stiles.

“I’ll jump in my Millenium Falcon and travel through space to see you.”

You backed away, brow furrowing. “Stiles. Seriously?”

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “Moment ruined. I get it. Won’t happen again, princess. I swear.”

“It better not.”

He licked his lips slowly, rubbing them together. “If we finish the math homework, can we make out?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, looking down at your book to avoid his stare. “Yeah, we can make out.”

Stiles grinned, running a hand through his soft hair, pulling out a pencil to start on the assigned math problems. He was eager to get through them quickly, the promise of afterwards weighing heavily on his mind. The sooner I solve these equations, the sooner I get time with Na-boo. He laughed to himself at his thought, choosing to stay quiet for the time being.

Rushing through the assigned math, he slammed the book closed the second he was done, turning in his seat towards you. You were still diligently working, Stiles couldn’t tell if you were purposefully taking your time to tease him or if you were struggling. He wanted to belt out all of the answers to speed up the process, his foot tapping anxiously as he kept a close watch on what you were doing. Finally, you shut you book, the problems left unfinished.

“You aren’t done,” he pointed out.

“I am for now,” you mused, turning towards him, moving your chair closer to him. “You know, it’s kind of hard to concentrate when you’re staring daggers into the side of my head.”

“I couldn’t help it. You’re simply Endor-able.”

You fought the frown that wanted to appear. You should have known that he would make another joke. You shook the pit inside you away, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Is that so?” He nodded slowly, his lips puckering with anticipation. Yours brushed over his softly as you spoke, never pressing against them fully. “Well, I’m glad you think so. And since you willingly complied with homework time, I will show you a better time now.”

You pushed your lips against his completely, his lips naturally overtaking them. His head tilted to the right, yours to the left, to get better access to the kiss, the low sound of lips connecting and disconnecting hovering around you. His hand met your waist, pushing up the end of your light blue ruffled top. He tugged you as close as he could with the restriction of the library chairs, your legs tangled together under the table. Your hands tangled in the hairs at the base of his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

Hs tongue passed over your lips, sneaking through a small opening to trace the lining of your cheeks. You mewled quietly into him. Hands moving down his shoulders to play with the buttons on his henley shirt. His own hand moved up your shirt and under your bra, the pads of his fingers skimming over your nipples. You both knew this wasn’t the place to do anything, though it never stopped you before. It wouldn’t be the first time if you found yourself between bookshelves, Stiles desperate to dig himself deep into you. But you wanted to keep yourself at bay, staying tame until later.

That didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun and enjoy yourselves.

He broke the kiss for air, a small string of saliva connecting your mouths. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice deep and husky. His nose bumped yours, nuzzling together affectionately. “Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

“You know, you haven’t,” you laughed. “It’s always pretty, gorgeous, or beautiful. Never hot. So,” you mused, kissing him softly. “Tell me, Stiles. How hot am I?”

“You’re hotter than the flames of Mustafar,” he quipped, pressing his lips to yours. On instinct, your bit down on your lip, finding his instead. He yelped in surprise, pulling back and placing his fingers to it. It was red and swollen from the kisses, a tiny bit of blood coming out.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you panicked.

“It’s fine,” he said gently. He pulled you closer, playing with you hair. “Accidents happen, princess. No harm, no foul.”

“You sure?” you asked.

“Of course, princess. I could never be mad at you,” he confirmed, giving a small smile. You returned it, pulling him close to resume your kisses. “You’re the Obi-Wan for me.” You froze. “Now, let’s get hoth and heavy with this make out. I love when you kiss me baby. But, I feel a great disturbance in my pants… But don’t worry. Unlike Han, I won’t shoot first.”

You pulled away roughly, Stiles looking rather shocked. “Alright. This needs to stop, Stiles. This is getting ridiculous! I get that you love Star Wars and it’s May fourth, but this is getting…” you paused, biting your lip. “Annoying. I’m sorry to say that, but it is! All I have heard all day is Star Wars jokes! You’re killing the mood by using Star Wars pickup lines. Yes, you look incredibly sexy dressed like this, but you’re dressed as Han Solo at school. You swapped your stud muffin shirt for Star Wars. There is a line, Stiles, and you crossed it hours ago! I’m just… I’m just tired of it.”

His face fell, his eyes glazing over with unshed tears. Your heart broke at the look on his face, your mouth opening to apologize profusely. But before you could, he was already throwing his stuff in his bag, zipping it closed. “I-I should go,” he croaked, his voice cracking. He stood abruptly from his seat, gnawing on his lip. “I-I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I’ll talk to you later.”

He ran off before you could stop him, your hand reaching out and barely missing the sleeve of his shirt. You frowned deeply, watching him furiously wiping at his eyes as he pushed his way through the doors. You slumped back in your chair, biting at your nails - a bad habit you seemingly picked up from the spazz you called a boyfriend. You felt horrible for what you said, the look on his face devastating. He meant no harm yet you threw it all back in his face.

“Damn,” you whispered to yourself, ruffling your hair. You stared at your books, your heart no longer in it to finish all of your homework. You didn’t care how it landed as you swept your belongings into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “I will make it up to him. I have to.”

Hours later, Stiles sat on his bed, watching The Empire Strikes Back for the millionth time. His focus wasn’t on his laptop though. His eyes were red, a pillow hugged to his chest. He was hurt by what you said, though he understood why you said those things. It just broke his heart to actually hear it. He didn’t want to cry, but he did. He wanted to forget, but he couldn’t.

His phone chimed from his table, the spazz turning to look at it. The screen lit up, a sad smile appearing on his face. He grabbed his phone, looking at the picture of you o his lock screen blowing a kiss at him. He let out an inaudible sigh, unlocking to read the message he got.

[Princess Leia 💞: My dearest Han Solo. It is I, your Princess Leia. Years ago, you asked me to be your girlfriend, and in that time, I have failed to do one simple thing for you: watch the Star Wars movies with the man I love. Now I beg you to forgive me in this struggle against May fourth and couples quarrels. I have placed information vital to this mission in your hands because frankly, you already own the movies. I will be by tomorrow at noon sharp to have a Star Wars marathon with you, the goal being to get through the originals. This is our most desperate hour - my most desperate plea. I’m sorry for what I said and I want to make it up to you. It’s no May The Fourth Be With You, but we can certainly have Revenge of the Fifth, right? Please, Han Solo (I CAN’T SAY OBI WAN KENOBI, IT RUINS THE MOOD), you’re my only hope.]

Stiles found himself laughing, more tears sliding down his cheeks, this time happily. You tried so hard to apply his love of Star Wars to your apology, planning to make a concerted effort to make it up to him, finally watching the movies from start to end. He placed his phone down, using the collar of his worn Yoda shirt to wipe his tears, shaking his head.

“God, I love you,” he whispered. Grabbing the phone, he took a deep breath before replying.

[Han Solo 💞: Bring popcorn.]

[Princess Leia 💞: Already bought it. And M&Ms.]

[Han Solo 💞: The Force is strong with this one.]

~

You shut the door behind you, kicking off your shoes before treading further into the house. You glanced at yourself in the hallway mirror in passing, adjusting the Star Wars shirt you bought last second that morning. You had to admit: you looked damn good. It hugs your form perfectly and you knew Stiles would love it no matter what. Satisfied, you continued into the house, calling for your boyfriend.

“Stiles? You here? I let myself in with my key!” you said.

“Living room!”

You walked in, finding the couch transformed into a comfort lounge. He had dragged every blanket in the house down, laying them out to make a comfy cuddle spot, the fleece Mets blanket ready to be draped over your forms. The pillows lined the back, more for Stiles than you. He was your pillow. He has cans of soda on the table, a bowl prepped for the popcorn and candy. The movies were on the tv stand, A New Hope on the tv already and ready to play.

“Wow,” you bemused. “You transformed this place.”

“Only the best for my girl,” he smiled, rushing over to hug you. Your bag hit the ground with a thud, returning his tight embrace. He pulled away, playing with a strand of your hair before taking in your attire. His breathing stopped, his eyes flickering. “I-I… Fuck.”

“What?” you hummed playfully.

“Just,” he breathed. “The way you’re dressed.”

“Just for you,” you laughed, spinning to show off the shirt you bought. “Though, I’m disappointed in you. You aren’t matching now. I dressed up just for you and you’re not showing Star Wars pride.”

He rubbed his lips together, backing towards the stairs. “Just. Make the popcorn and I will be down in a minute.” He tripped over the steps, stumbling to walk up them. “One minute!”

You giggled, picking up your bag and heading for the kitchen, making the popcorn as requested. He was back in the living room when you were done, wearing a black Star Wars shirt that almost matched your own. You grinned, flopping onto the cuddle couch. “That’s better. Now, come cuddle me so we can watch these movies.”

“Fine,” he chuckled, flicking off the lights, grabbing the remote, and dropping next to you. You curled into his chest, the popcorn dumped into a bowl on his lap. “No sleeping, princess. Alright?”

“I know.”

“And what’s the rule on kissing? Is it proper etiquette to kiss you? Or push you away to watch the movies?”

You glanced up at him, kissing him softly. “Between movies.”

“Fair.”

The afternoon flew by watching the movies, the second movie having just ended. As promised between each movie, you found yourself in a heated kiss, the empty bowl of popcorn resting on the table in front of you. Your bodies were curled under his Mets blanket, leg over his lap to press yourself together together. Your arms wound around his neck, tugging at his dark locks, occasionally massaging at his shoulders under his shirt. His were on your waist, keeping a searing hold on your already hot skin.

Your heads tilted in opposite directions, furiously kissing at each others lips. You didn’t care that your noses brushed with each movement or your teeth clashed. Your tongues swirled together between your cheeks, soft moans vibrating his throat. The noisy kisses filled the steamy air of the room, smacking together with every disconnect. Your chests were pressed to each other, hearts pounding hastily against your chests.

He pulled away from the kiss, running his hand over your breasts through the shirt. “So smart. So beautiful. Fuck, how did I get lucky with you?”

“I question that every day with you,” you told him, smiling against his lips. You dropped a hand under the blanket, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding in to feel his erection. He grunted softly, hips ucking into your touch. “You are so amazing, Stiles.”

“Don’t tease,” he whimpered slightly. You grinned, stroking him inside his pants, his breathing picking up. “I dunno if I can make it through the third movie, princess. I think we need to move to the bedroom. I need to be deep inside you. Fuck, I’m so horny for you.”

“Stiles,” you whimpered. His hand moved from your chest to your own jeans, following the lead on unbuttoning them. His hand slid between your legs, ghosting through your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. His cock twitched in your hand, wanting more. “I can just picture your wet little cunt around me. Oh god, I need it. Even if you ride me right here, I need you.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” you whined, two fingers dipping into your core. “God, Stiles. I’m so wet for you. I can already feel your giant cock inside me, thrusting as fast as you can. You hit all the right spots. You make me moan. You spank me. You pull my hair. Hell, choke me, baby. I don’t care. I just want to cum and feel you cum inside me.”

“Holy god. I love your filthy mouth,” he grumbled, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongues visibly battling. You stroked him faster, his own fingers speeding up. “I want to fuck you, princess. Right here, right now.”

“I know,” you told him, pulling away. He fell face first in the couch when you hand pulled out, his hand pulled free and your body vanishing from his hold. He pushed up quickly, finding you fixing your pants. You fixed your hair, straightening your clothes. “Unfortunately, I have to run a few quick errands right now. It should only take an hour or so, but how about you meet me back at my house to watch the last movie.”

“But-”

“I love you,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, bolting for the door. Stiles followed after you, attempting to fix his pants, the bulge highly evident. He palmed himself, standing in the entryway with you.

“You’re really going to leave me with this?” he asked, forehead wrinkling. “You turn me on like this and leave? What am I supposed to do with this little problem?”

“Stiles, baby. How do you normally get rid of an erection?” you joked, pulling on your shoes.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Porn. Or your naked body.”

You pat his cheek, kissing his lips softly. “And, on your laptop, you have a private file of nudes that if I find out get leaked will result in your immediate downfall. By which I mean your balls ripped off painfully. Now, do me a favor, and don’t get off too much. Save some for later.”

You winked, slipping out the front door, leaving a flabbergasted boyfriend behind. He rubbed his face with his hands, making for his room. He wondered what you meant - what you had in store - but didn’t bother to stress about it. His focus was on the erection between his legs first.

~

He unlocked the front door to your house, the darkness inside overwhelming. He was confused. Your car was out front, but the house showed no sign of life. “Y/N?” he called, earning no response. He glanced at the time, a little over an hour having passed since you ran out on him. He run his hand through his hair, shutting the door behind him regardless. “Baby, are you home?”

Maybe she went on a stroll around the block? He tried to falsely reason, knowing it was not even close to being true. Using his phone for light, he weaved through the house to your room, furrowing his brow when he saw the light peeking out from under the door.

He knocked once. “Y/N? You awake?” No response. He furrowed his brow, knocking louder. “Y/N?” He shuffled between his feet, becoming more anxious by the second. He wasn’t sure what to do. Finally, he knocked again. “Baby, I’m going to come in, alright? If you’re asleep, I’ll leave.”

Earning no response again, he cracked open the door. Candlelight flickered on the walls, rose petals strewn across the floor. The low hum of Han Solo and Princess Leia’s Love Theme played through a wireless speaker perched on the computer desk in his sight. Stiles cocked his head in confusion, pushing the door open wider. Hs footsteps were slow to enter, but he froze the second he got in entirely.

You were laying on your bed, a fuzzy black blanket under you. You were resting on your side against some black pillows, a mountain of pillows behind you with a blanket thrown over it. There was a sign tape to the wall, an arrow pointing at the mound that read ‘This is supposed to be Jabba’, making Stiles stiffle a loud chortle. You had put up printouts of C-3PO and R2D2, Jabba’s minions,and even Boba Fett taped to the wall, attempting to recreating the scene from Return of the Jedi.

What caught his attention most was that you were clad in the familiar gold bikini Leia wore in the movie. The red, slowing veils covered the front and back of the g-string thong, the veil having shifted just enough to show off your ass. Your hair was tied in a tight braid that rested over your shoulder. You had done your makeup to perfection, rubbing your lips together. And to complete the package, you had a chain around your neck that was clasped to the metal grating headboard you had.

“Holy shit,” he breathed lowly. You gave a seductive grin, drawing circles on the fuzzy blanket.

“You’ve come to save me, my Han Solo,” you whispered, Stiles’ body flaring from simple words. He took small steps forward, unsure of himself. “Or, are you my Yoda? What should I call my savior from the cruelty of Jabba the Hutt?”

“Your Yoda?” He let out, licking his lips. He pulled his shirt over his head as he walked, dropping it to the ground without remorse. His biceps flexed and his pecs tensed, the hair on his chest and stomach deliciously dark. He unbuttoned his jeans as he inched forward, letting them hang low on his hips, showing off his v-lines. “I’m definitely your Han Solo, princess.”

“Then, don’t stand there frozen in carbonite. Save me, Han.”

He rushed forward, pushing the mound of pillows off the bed, rolling you onto your back. His lips found yours, kissing you fast and hard, the kiss far from clean. Your hands traced his torso, winding around his neck to tangle in his hair. He was tugging at the straps of the golden top, trying to rip it from your skin. He had to pull you from the bed to pull it over your head, the straps tangling before he got it off, leaving it dangling on the chain around your neck.

He went back to kissing you, palming your breasts in his hands, massaging the nipples between his fingers. You mewled into the kiss, letting his lips dominate yours completely. Your tongues tangled together, practically salivating into each others mouths. He pulled away to leave wet kisses down your neck, laying you back to the bed with his mouth attached to your chest. He rolled the nipple between his lips, flicking the hard peak with his tongue before kissing it swiftly. He growled against them at the sounds of your moans, kneading your other breast in his hand.

“God, Stiles,” you whimpered loudly, arching into him. You tugged at his hair, pushing him into your chest more. “I find your lack of nudity disturbing…”

He pulled away with a pop, a laugh replacing his ragged breathing. “Seriously?” he asked, looking up at you. You nodded with a smile, making his widen. “You have a completely different tune than yesterday.”

“I told you I wanted to make it up to you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“I know,” he chuckled. He kissed down your body more, licking along the g-string. “You know, I should be saying that to you. You need to be more nude, princess.”

“I’m pretty sure I have less on than you,” you quipped. “I’m in a thong, Stiles. Waiting for you to spank me.”

“Holy God,” he groaned. “So hot.”

“Just remember, Stiles,” you let out, pushing up into him, connecting your lips. Your lips skimmed his as your spoke, your words seductive once more. “I like it rough.”

“Jesus,” he groaned. He slid down your body, tugging down the g-string and red veil that covered your core. You were dripping for him already, Stiles going slack jawed. “God, I definitely like this side of you. This… nerdy girl that I fell in love with when I was ten. And she’s all mine. God, you can’t be real.”

“Well, I am,” you hummed, trying to tug at his jeans. “Now, I suggest you shut up and fuck me. I’m quite ready to do what I was ready for over an hour ago.”

“Well, sounds like a personal problem considering you left me,” he snickered. “But, I get why you said not to jerk off more than once. Trust me, it was tempting. Those pictures I have of you are phenomenal. I love you. I love your body. I love your personality. And fuck, I could have easily came three more times.”

“Well, hopefully you can cum that many times inside me,” you said, voice tight. “I won’t be nice again, Stiles. Fuck. Me.”

“Such a foul mouth you have, princess,” he grinned. He rolled off the bed, droppings his jeans, shoes flying in different directions. His boxer briefs came next, erection slapping his stomach as it stood proud. The tip was red with want, precum oozing through the slit. He stroked himself slowly, watching the look on your face contort with desire. You licked your lips, ready to pounce if needed. The was taunting you, showing off the cock you wanted inside you this instant. “How should you be punished?”

You stared at him, a mischievous smile growing on your cheeks. You shifted positions, your legs spread wide to give him a full pussy shot. Your fingers ran over your folds, Stiles eyes narrowing on your actions, his orbs almost black with lust. “However you want,” you told him firmly.

He practically flew across the room, claws bared when he collided with your form. You let out a loud moan, Stiles buried deep inside you without much effort. He didn’t waste time, wrapping your legs around his waist, pounding himself into you rapidly. You moaned loudly, arms slung around his neck, head falling back into the pillows that were scattered across the bed. Your nails raked across his back, red marks lining his muscled skin.

His lips met yours, vehemently thrusting into you, his cock pistoning in and out at God-like speeds. Your moans vibrated your body, your form shaking under his hold. Even though he had barely started you were at your wits end, ready to cum multiple times from what he was doing. The way his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust made your body shudder, your core growing wetter with time. It made it easier for him to push faster and harder, the slick fluids coating his skin aiding his thrusts. His length rubbed against your walls, the sensitivity at max from the erotic circumstance you found yourself in. Whatever he did to you made you claw more at his skin, letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

“Fuck!” you cried out. “Fuck me, Stiles! Oh god, more!”

“You’re so dirty, baby,” he growled, sucking dark marks to your neck and collarbone. His thrusts got faster, panting from the way he pushed. “You like me pounding your sweet little pussy? You like me pleasing you?”

“God, yes!” you cried out. “Do whatever you want to me, Stiles. Just make me cum until I can’t see straight.”

“God, I love you,” he grunted, pulling out of you. You whimpered at the loss, feeling him flip your body to your hands and knees. You watched him scurry forward on the bed, unhooking the end of the chain around your neck. He shook free the bra from earlier, wrapping the chain around his hand until it was short and taut. He resumed his position behind you, smoothing his hand over your ass slowly. “You also have a fine ass.”

“I can say the same about you,” you hummed. “Yours is nice and round. And it has these cute little moles everything. And man, I love to smack it.”

“Like this?” he popped out, smacking your ass with a sickening crack. You squealed, whined and moaned at the same time, pushing your ass back against him.

“Again,” you pleaded, repeating the noises louder when his hand connected to your skin again.

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he grinned, his cock sliding your your folds teasingly. He carefully pushed in, pulling out completely to leave you crying for more. He repeated the process a few more times before stilling inside you, listening to your drawn out moan. “My dirty girl. She likes when I do her from behind, huh?”

“I do,” you whined, glancing back at him. “It the best feeling, Stiles. Now, please. Make me cum.”

He nodded, slowly building up his speed until he was pounding against your ass, the slapping of his hips against your skin loud around the room. His balls smacked against your folds with each thrust, Stiles fervently pounding into you. He tapped you sweet spot without trying, hearing you scream his name loudly.

He tugged on the chain, slightly restricting your airway. Spots formed in your vision, the lessening of air intensifying the feeling of his thrusts. You whimpered for him, pleading through broken words for more, telling him to do whatever he wanted to you. His hand connected with your ass, bright red hand prints stained on your skin. He pushed himself into you, chest heaving and cock twitching.

He darted forward, pulling the rubber band fro your hand, ruffling your hair free from the braid to grip it tightly. He tugged at it the same way he tugged at the chain on your neck, your moans freely filling the room. He grunted in satisfaction, pushing even harder than before.

“Go, Stiles! Yes! More, baby!” you screamed, Stiles more indistinguishable noises in agreement. He glanced hazily to the side, peering your forms in the vanity mirror in your room, licking his lips. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your eyes tightly shut and your face displaying a look of pleasure. He could see the red lines across his back and the red on your ass, feeling fulfilled. The only thing he wish he could see as a cherry on top of the sundae would be you playing with your clit, but your shaking body told him that was impossible.

Maybe next time.

“Cum for me, princess,” he huskily spoke, goosebumps forming along your skin. You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet his thrusts, clapping skin growing louder. His thrusts were growing sloppy, both of you close to your end. “Cum, baby.”

You whimpered, body collapsing against the blankets and pillows in a fit of quakes. Your walls hugged him close, limbs giving into the orgasm that washed through your pores. Your knot inside you unraveled, toes curling repeatedly. You gripped at the bed as much as possible, your juices splattering your walls and down his cock. His own thrusts slowed, sliding in and out easily from the moisture along his length. You were warm around him, the tightness overwhelming him. He, too, snapped, grunting as he came. Strings of his hot seed spilled into you, mixing with your arousal in your core. Your walls hugged him close, milking him for every drop of the liquid you craved. He rode you both through your highs, prolonging your orgasm as much as he could.

Pulling free from you, he collapsed face first on the bed next to you, silence consuming the room. Your hand reached blindly for him, finally finding his and lacing your fingers together. You turned your head towards him, giving him a lazy smile.

“Hey, Stiles.”

“Hm?”

“Have I told you that I love you?” You pondered. He nodded. “Well, I’m glad. I hope you know how much I love you. Because, you stole my heart like the rebels stole the Death Star plans.”

Stiles laughed, turning to look at you. “I love you so much, just for that.” He shuffled closer to you, kissing you gently. “A girl after my own heart. Smart, beautiful and can quote Star Wars.”

“Only for you,” you told him. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you. I wanted to make it up to you, so I binged all since movies last night after I got home. And came up with this. Decorated, dressed up, and planned all of this. I wanted to show you I do care.”

“I know you do,” he whispered. “And this was fucking amazing, baby. It really was. I’m glad I have you.” He slowly unclasped the chain from your neck, kissing your neck. “I love you, Y/N. You are my Princess Leia.”

“I love you too. Thank you for being my Han.”

He grinned, kissing you again. “Now, can we watch Return of the Jedi? I was promised all the originals!”

“Needy bastard,” you grumbled, rolling away from him and off the bed. You blew out the candles, flicking on a light as you left the room. Stiles sat up, watching you leave, his mouth wide open.

“Baby?” he called. No response. “Princess?” Nothing. “Y/N!”

“Let’s go, loser!”

Stiles smiled, uncaring for his nude state. He ran after you, the two of you cuddled for another Star Wars movie to mark the year’s Star Wars Day.

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[doomonfilm]

Ranking : Top Films of 2018

Here we are... that moment that every critic simultaneously loves and dreads : the Year-End Top 10 List.  At worst, we are forced to scrape the creative dredges and cobble together something that resembles a best of list that will bring glory and honor to the year.  At best (like this year), we are forced to leave personal favorites in the dust and judge the larger quantity of offerings on a much tougher scale in order to truly represent the top quality work of the year.

As I’ve said in many pieces this year, 2018 was a joy in terms of being a film-lover.  This list was not an easy undertaking, and it more so resembles a snapshot of how I’ve felt over a judging period than it does a concrete group of selections in a fixed order.  Take this list as more of a jumping off point for discovery than you do the gospel of DOOMonFILM. 

Note : I am not sure when I will get a chance to see Vice or The Favourite, which I am sure will skew my results once I do see them... I will address those films in their respective reviews, however.  Forgive me in advance.

Honorable Mentions

Damsel Even if the Zellner Brothers weren’t representing Austin beautifully with this gem of a film, it’d still be on my radar simply for the fact that it is a unique twist on a genre that most figured had seen every presentation imaginable.  Add to that a strong female lead character, and you’ve got a winner on your hands.

The Endless A science-fiction modern day classic, and apparently part of a possibly bigger line of stories (with some of the best integration of aspects from another film I’ve ever seen).  This film is chilling in its approach to the concept of cults, as well as its use of the concept of ‘the danger that lurks just off-screen’.

Isle of Dogs Had this year not been full of stellar animated films, this one probably would have made the main list.  More groundbreaking animated films, combined with personal feelings about the films of Wes Anderson, however, regulated this one to Honorable Mention status.

Mid90s I was all set for Eighth Grade to be my bit of nostalgia, or my reflection on what it’s like to be a kid again, and for what it’s worth, it was a great film.  The thing is, Mid90s directly spoke to me in a way that Eighth Grade unfortunately could not, simply because Mid90s was like looking in a time-traveling mirror. 

Thoroughbreds I really wanted this to be on my top 10, but ultimately, it was too ‘quiet’ of a film to make it in a year full of big noise.  Thoroughbreds will certainly be a future favorite for public screenings and friend viewings, but a couple of films this year hit the same notes on a higher frequency.

Black Panther The cultural impact of this film is one that cannot be ignored.  It took February, a month that is generally a box office bust, and it put up unparalleled numbers that not only lasted throughout the year, but were topped from within rather than by another Hollywood studio.  The respect given to the characters and their African heritage did not go unnoticed, either, as several think-pieces and a number of curriculum were spawned from those researching elements of the production design.  The narrative is strong, and it righted the Marvel villain boat prior to the big MCU bombshell that was lying in wait. 

The Favourite I really wanted this to make the top 10 of the year... I thought long and hard about what film I should remove or replace.  What I came to realize, however, is that despite The Favourite being a world-class comedy and production, it simply falls short in the realm of the spectacular : it does not contain visual innovations, it is not a reflection of the times, and it didn’t completely break my brain.  That being said, on any given day, I’d happily name this one of the top 10 films of 2018... it’s essentially like having 11 cakes on the table and having to pick the 10 best.

Avengers : Infinity War This movie was the true film event of the year.  Marvel has been building up to this singular event for nearly two decades, and in my opinion, the payoff more than succeeded.  Thanos tiptoed the line between anti-hero and villain with purpose perfectly, and the rapport between characters worked both in terms of advancing narratives and being mined for humor.  I am definitely looking forward to Avengers : Endgame this April, and I know the masses are right there with me.

10. BlacKkKlansman

Not that I ever doubted Spike Lee had it, but after a few abstract offerings and documentaries, one wonders if their style can translate into an ever-expanding world of film language.  Luckily for Lee, it seems the world has grown into his cinematic vision, with an older true story serving as the perfect backbone for many of Lee’s trademark tricks to be implemented for maximum effect.  The ending will put you in tears if you have anything closely resembling a soul.

9. Blindspotting

This film really deserved a bigger run than it got, as it hit race relations of today on the nose without coming off as preachy or heavy-handed.  Daveed Diggs proved that his charisma translated on both stage and screen, and his integration of hip-hop into both realms will hopefully have positive long-lasting effects.  The chemistry between all members of this cast is kinetic, the story is told with perfect pacing, and the movie rides visual highs that match the narrative ones.  I would love to see this movie receive some high-degree nominations.

8. Annihilation

I came into 2018 with high expectations for this film, as I’d spent the previous 16 months or so completing the Southern Reach trilogy in its book form.  Then I started hearing things about the production and the release that gave me a bad feeling : a Netflix distribution deal that seemed to all but kill a true theatrical run, trepidation from the studio in regards to the director’s vision, and other whispers that attempt to sink a film.  Then I saw this movie, and was taken away to a completely different world.  We may not be getting a faithful, trilogy-length adaptation of the series anymore based on what happens in Annihilation, but if these are the moments I’m left with, I’d consider myself happy in the long run. 

7. First Reformed

It took me longer than I intended to get around to this one, but knowing that Paul Schrader wrote and directed it made it a must-see.  The film was drawing comparisons to Taxi Driver (not a surprise, based on the aforementioned Schrader involvement), and surprisingly, it more than lived up to that hype.  The tension is equal, but updated to reflect the times in a way that could impact any of us.

6. Suspiria   

This movie will make it extremely hard for me to blanket-debate against remakes simply because it does all of the right things in regards to updating a classic.  The film does not rely on existence as a new millenium version of an old film... rather, it boldly takes concepts only touched upon in the original and fully embraces them, presenting a true psychological horror gem in a year full of them.  The film also looks amazing on top of everything, which was a high bar to meet considering the original movie is basically driven by its visual style.  A 2018 must-see, film buff or not.

5. Spiderman : Into the Spider-Verse

Easily the most fun I’ve had in a theater all year.  I was blown away by the animation, and can’t wait to see further installments of the Spider-verse specifically to see how that enhances over the years.  There was such a high volume of homage and Easter Egg placement in this film that it warrants repeat viewings, and it was one of a handful of films that I wanted to instantly own as I was walking out of the theater.

4. Mandy

Like Spider-Man : Into the Spider-verse, I wanted to own this movie the second I walked out of the theater as well.  The trailers intrigued me, a recommendation of Beyond the Black Rainbow fully sold me, and the final product did not disappoint.  This film certainly is not for everyone, and funny enough, the two biggest aspects that would place it on that ‘not for everyone’ list sit in opposition of one another : the film is a bit indulgent on the style at the sake of what would be considered normal pacing, and it has some extremely violent moments.  That being said, Mandy is easily one of, if not THE, most beautiful films of the year.

3. Roma

This seems like the closest thing to a Fellini film that us modern day film lovers will ever get.  The story itself is intriguing, as it juxtaposes class issues, political issues and the barrier of trying to raise a family in a crazy world all in an intriguing tapestry.  The cinematography is calculated, observational, and the choice to film the movie in black and white adds an instant timeless quality to it.  Director Alfonso Cuaron even manages to get in a little cinematic and visual humor, albeit mostly subtly, but it definitely pays off if you’re in tune to what he’s doing.  Easily one of the best pictures of the year, worldwide, and a party that I was certainly late to.

2. You Were Never Really Here

If Mandy is a bit too over the top for your tastes, then You Were Never Really Here may be the jarring experience you need in 2018.  This film is almost as visually stunning, but the narrative is far more calculating, deceptive and intriguing, both on the surface and as you dig deeper.  The hectic camera setups, editing and score put you in such a disjointed state of mind that Joaquin Phoenix becomes the only thing you can hang on to, and your involvement in his journey is completely immersive.  In a year of performances that focus on the anti-hero, this film found a way to scrape to the top of the pile.

1. Hereditary

Something strange is happening here... who would have thought that a horror film would be my favorite film of the year?  Hereditary is no run of the mill horror film, however... it treats its audience as intelligent, and there is so much texture in the film that it’s impossible to see it all without multiple viewings.  The close of the first third of the film is horribly unsettling, but it propels the narrative forward so abruptly and intensely that you’re locked in from there out.  A genius film, and an instant classic.

(Editor’s notes)

- Original post date : 12/27/18 - Revision date : 1/8/19 (Roma added to position 3, Black Panther moved to Honorable Mentions) - Revision date : 1/10/19 (The Favourite added to Honorable Mentions) - Revision date : 1/22/19 (Suspiria added to position 6,Avengers : Infinity War moved to Honorable Mentions)