#it’s actually really embarrassing how much less inclined i am to drink without needing to maintain the facade of only touching him when I’m

[eternalsummer2006]

he’s late it better be because he’s buying me flowers 🤨

[the-modernmary]

chess, not checkers || a. hotchner x f!reader

Summary: Cross-examining Agent Hotchner should have been a lot more simple than it had been. But when the questioning slips out of your control, you find yourself being profiled right there in the middle of the courtroom. Amazing how one stranger can know you better than anybody you've ever met.

Contains: SMUT! 18+ only, minors DNI. Fingering, (light) choking, semi-public sex, adultery, anger sex, enemies to lovers, edging, lawyer hotch <3

Word Count: 8k+

Comments: This is so heavily inspired by “charcoal grey” because we all know how hot he was in that scene. Thank you to @angelfxllcm for being an absolute godsend as I wrote this and being the most supportive friend ever. (If you haven’t read her work, you absolutely should!)

“Fucking FBI and their selfish ass schedules,” you grumbled as you hurried through the hallway of the courthouse, your intern Robin on on your heels. “Court gets pushed back for a week because Agent Hotchner just had to leave with them on a case instead of working remotely, and then expects us to drop everything to go to court the second he gets back to D.C. As if we don’t have jobs too. As if I don’t have six other cases sitting on my desk that now have to be pushed back because of him.”

 Robin scrambled behind you, nodding along to every word that left your mouth. “Does this happen with the, uh…”

  “BAU,” you supplied.

  “—BAU, right. Do court cases usually get pushed back for them?”

  You shook your head as you checked your watch. A glint caught the corner of your eye. Shit, your ring. You hadn’t expected to go to court, and completely forgot to leave it at home. You pulled it off and slipped it into the outside pocket of your bag, hoping nobody noticed.

“No. Most cases from the BAU never go to court,” you explained. “There’s enough evidence against the people they arrest that it’s almost always a plea.”

  The Bankers Box in Robin’s hands almost slipped as you placed another file precariously on top of it. “Then why is this case going to court?”

  Your step faltered as you processed her question, and you couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. “You did read the brief for this case, right?” you asked, unsure if you really wanted the answer, except her embarrassed blush and averted gaze gave you enough of one. “Seriously? Okay, well, first of all, because of that, you won’t be sitting at the attorney’s table with us. Instead you’ll be in the public seating. I won’t weaken my case because you decided to be unprepared. If this happens again, you won’t be welcome to join me in court at all, am I clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Deciding to take pity on the poor intern, you sighed as you started your explanation. “Our client claims that his arrest was unlawful and therefore none of the evidence they found should be usable. I’m inclined to agree with him, so we’re fighting all of the charges that were made with evidence found after the arrest.”

  “So you don’t think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t ask that question. I’m not God and I’m not his priest, I don’t need to hear his confession. I just need to get him out of unjust and illegal charges.”

  Robin’s eyebrows furrowed. “So he’s going to walk free? Even after everything he did? How do you sleep at night?”

  Fucking Christ, how did this girl even get into law school? You rolled your eyes, suddenly regretting your decision to take on an intern. “No, he’s not going to walk free. He’s going to get a lesser charge, because everything else was obtained illegally. And I sleep very well, actually, because my job isn’t some episode of Law & Order. Less than 10% of my cases ever go to trial. I’m not here to suddenly convince juries that the evidence is wrong. My job is making sure that everybody is given their constitutional rights, that the police are doing their jobs correctly, and that the State isn’t over-punishing. Any cop knows that, and if you ever come across one that doesn’t, you know that you should look into those cases even further. You have to realize, criminal defense lawyers—”

  “— are the last line of protection against a corrupt system.” You turned to see your assistant, Marcus, making his way towards you, briefcase and your spare blazer that you keep in the office in hand. “I see you’re giving her your famous anti-prosecutor lecture.”

  Marcus helped you slip on your blazer over your satin button up, his hands lingering on your skin for just a little too long to be considered professional, and it made you shiver in anticipation. “God knows she needs it. Thank you, Marcus, for bringing these so quickly. Were you able to get the physical copies of Agent Hotchner’s files?”

  Marcus held up his briefcase. “All right here. Although I have to say, I’m a little lost as to why you need his service records.”

  The three of you turned the corner to enter the courtroom, your heels clicking on the tiled floor. Robin obediently took her seat in the public viewing area while you and Marcus pushed through the swinging door to settle at your table. “I’ve heard stories of Agent Hotchner’s testimonies. He used to be a prosecutor, so he’s not easily tricked, but he is prideful and will defend his work. I’m going to use that to my advantage. It’s like I always say, practicing law means always playing chess, never checkers.”

  Marcus took the seat next to you, making sure to sit close enough that his knee brushed yours the whole time. “You know, I was thinking, this case is complicated,” he whispered, “And we haven’t combed through everything yet… It could take more time than we planned.”

  You smirked, knowing exactly what he was insinuating. “Agreed. I’ll tell Tony I have to stay late at the office tonight.”

  Before Marcus could continue his flirting, you were distracted by the door to the judge’s chamber opening, revealing the back of a man in a black suit. “Thank you again, your honor, for the continuance,” came the deep timbre of the man, and oh. You certainly weren’t expecting that. “A young girl was able to be reunited with her family this week because of it.”

  The man in the doorway turned, and your breath caught in your throat. He was tall and buff and expensive-looking and absolutely gorgeous. His suit was tailored to fit him perfectly, the sleeves of his blazer straining against his biceps. He carried himself with an aura of confidence, like he belonged in the courtroom, and he was making his way directly towards you. Unconsciously, you separated from Marcus, putting as much distance between you and your assistant as possible without raising suspicion.

  The man said something to the prosecution before turning to you, hand outstretched. He said your name as a greeting, and your name had never sounded so good. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

  When you stood up to shake his hand, you tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down your body, or the way the two of you held on just a moment too long to be considered proper. It felt as if he was looking right through you, learning all of your secrets as though they were written on your body. No, you knew that look. He was studying you. “Agent Hotchner, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Counselor. Please, call me Aaron.”

  You raised your eyebrows in Aaron’s direction, still shaking his hand, and it made your skin burn. You dropped his hand. “I’m just glad we’re able to get this case done and over with. Hopefully with no more delays.”

  His eyebrows quirked upwards in what could only be described as shock. “I see your reputation precedes you,” was his only reply before going to his respective seat, and if he noticed you watching his every move, he made no indication of it. That being said, you definitely felt his gaze on the back of your head as the judge entered the room and the session began.

  As the proceedings dragged on, you and Marcus continued to talk strategy, his hand finding its way to your thigh ever so often. You also continued negotiating with the prosecutor, both of you flashing Post-It notes of potential plea deals that you would be willing to accept, always careful to keep it out of the eyes of the judge and jury. By the time Aaron had been called to the stand, the offer given to you still wasn’t low enough. Fine, if the prosecution wanted to make a fool of themselves, so be it.

  You listened to Aaron’s testimony with the prosecution, completely enraptured. There was something about the way he spoke, so full of authority and confidence, that made the entire room drawn to him. He was incredibly intelligent, that much was clear, and despite the many years since he had actually practiced law, that prosecutor candor hadn’t left him. Staying focused on the case had proven to be more difficult than previously expected. You found yourself staring at his lips, and it didn’t take long for your mind to conjure up some obscene and explicit situations starring the man in front of you. 

  Eventually, his eyes caught yours, and he watched you, his lips — god, those lips — quirked up in a smirk. Aaron watched you expectantly, and in the light of the courtroom, his eyes were almost the color of whiskey, and you wanted nothing more than to drink it all in.

  A sharp “Counselor” broke you out of your trance. In the corner of your eye, you could see Marcus looking at you in concern, but he was the furthest thing from your mind now, especially as Aaron let out an amused huff of air.

  “Counselor, does the prosecution wish to cross-examine the witness?” the judge asked with barely hidden annoyance, making you think that it probably wasn’t the first time she had asked the question.

  You stood up quickly, smoothing down your pencil skirt as you did. “Yes, your honor. Thank you,” you said, trying your best to keep your voice steady as you noticed Aaron’s eyes trailing down your bare legs.

  The cross-examination started normally, and Aaron answered all of your questions with careful precision that only a lawyer could pull off. He seemed to know exactly where you were trying to go with your questions, and easily sidestepped any unflattering implication you were trying to make. Long, biased questions were met with short, clipped answers, not giving you anything to work with. Whatever move you made, Aaron was right there, two steps ahead with you. Never in your life had you met somebody who could follow you so easily or could match your wit without so much breaking a sweat.

  It was exhilarating.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you started, hands clasped behind your back. “Could you please explain to the court how profiles are used when finding and apprehending suspects?”

  Aaron sat up a little taller in the witness box. “Using behavioral research and past case studies, we’re able to construct what we call a profile of the perpetrator, or unsub. Anything they do can give us insights as to who they are — their victims, what weapons they use, even how they dispose of the bodies. Once we have a profile of who we believe is committing these crimes, we have our technical analyst run the parameters through her system. From there, narrowing down our search is easy.”

  You nodded slowly, pretending to mull over what he was saying. “For clarification’s sake, in layman’s terms, you build your profile off of assumed psychology, and not concrete evidence, is that correct?”

  The muscles in Aaron’s jaw flexed, a sure sign he was gritting his teeth. “Behavior analysis is a tool, just like any other—”

  “It’s a yes or no question, Agent,” you interrupted, and oh, he was not happy about that.

  His tongue darted out from between his lips. “The research we use for behavior is—”

  “Yes. Or no.”

  Aaron hesitated, his frustration building up to palpable tension that settled in the courtroom like a thick fog. You weren’t giving him a chance to explain or show off anymore, didn’t allow him to be seen as the smartest person in the room anymore, and that was getting to him.

  “Yes,” he conceded, grimacing as if admitting that was physically painful for him.

  “Thank you,” you replied, and he caught the unspoken that wasn’t so hard now, was it? even if the rest of the room did not. You walked back over to your table, snatching up a piece of paper and holding it in the air. “Your honor, the defense would like to submit Exhibit Seven into evidence.”

  Once the judge gave her express permission, you placed the form in front of Aaron with your left hand, perfectly manicured fingers splayed out in front of his eyes. You almost missed the way his head tilted ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed, like he was staring at a puzzle half complete. “Agent, could you please tell us what’s laying in front of you now.”

  He leaned forward slightly, eyes scanning the paper before meeting back with yours. “This is a part of our official report of the case. Specifically, it has the profile that was used to lead us to the apprehension of Mr. Mckenna.”

  “Does it say on that paper who had the final sign off on the profile before it was circulated?”

  “Yes, that would be me. As Unit Chief, my job is to sign and finalize any reports.”

  “And could you please read the profile, verbatim, as written on that report?”

  Aaron’s face remained neutral, with the exception of his eyebrows scrunching together. Slowly, he had started to piece together your strategy, and he didn’t like it. “The unsub is a white male, between 32 and 40 years old. He’ll most likely be unemployed and driving a van or truck — anything that would let him easily transport his equipment and victims. We believe that he’s also had run-ins with the law before, likely as a juvenile. He’ll come across as friendly, if not a little shy. We believe that this comes from a failed relationship in his past, one where he believes that he was manipulated and wronged, and now he’s going after surrogates for that woman. Killing these women is the only thing that gives him any sort of power. If we can figure out who this past relationship was, it will lead us directly to the killer.”

  You paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, your skirt tightening around your legs with every step you took. “Between 32 and 40 years old, unemployed, and killing surrogates… Except Mr. Mckenna is 22 and works part time as a bartender. How do you justify arresting my client with those inconsistencies?”

  “As I mentioned before,” Aaron started, his voice dangerously low, “A profile is just one tool we use of many. Not every single part of the profile will fit every single time. Which is why we also rely on outside evidence to ensure that we have the best chance at catching the unknown subject as quickly as possible.”

  “Except you had no concrete evidence, which you admit in your own report!” You took two steps closer to him, getting as in his face as possible without risking being held in contempt. With every word that left your mouth, your voice got more and more forceful, and you got more and more under Aaron’s skin.

  “All of it was circumstantial at best. You had a hunch, an inherent bias against my client due to his previous conviction record, and you were frustrated at your own inability to get a good lead. But you can’t arrest somebody on a hunch, or because you’re angry. You had no evidence and the man you arrested didn’t even match the profile that you came up with!”

  Your eyes locked with Aaron, his gaze heavy, and neither of you dared look away first. “Objection!” came from the prosecutor behind you. Exactly what you wanted. “Argumentative and foundation.” You flashed Aaron a predatory grin.

  Two moves to checkmate.

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Withdrawn.” You tapped the witness bench, hoping to convey an air of aloofness and calm. Aaron scowled. “Agent Hotchner, before joining the FBI, you were a prosecutor, is that true?”

  Confusion flashed across his face for the briefest of moments, and it gave you a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that you had the upper hand. You knew the answer to every question you were about to ask, and he knew that. He just couldn’t figure out where you were going with this line of questioning, or what the relevance even was. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  You made a soft hum of approval. “Could you please walk us through your higher education?”

  “I attended George Washington University for both my undergraduate and law degree.”

  “What did you major in for your undergrad?”

  Aaron hesitated. “Political Science.”

  Check. “So all together, you’ve had about seven years in higher education. In that time, how many psychology classes did you take?”

  It was almost sadistic, the way you relished in the slight twitch of his face — the realization that he had been backed into a corner. The silence was deafening as Aaron’s scowl met your smug grin.

  “None,” Aaron said finally.

  “None,” you repeated, performative shock dripping from your words. “Do you have any academic background in psychology or human behavior, then?”

  Aaron’s jaw clenched, and as you made your way closer to the witness stand, you saw his thumb frantically moving back and forth over his fingertips. Clearly, you had struck a nerve. “The FBI has rigorous coursework in order to become a profiler, along with multiple exams and continued training as more research becomes available to us. The profiling classes are no easy feat and are written by experts in the field. Creating profiles has a long and respected history in detective work, and these profilers have caught some of the most prolific serial killers of all time.”

  You placed a hand over your chest in faux modesty. “My apologies, Agent Hotchner, I believe I wasn’t very clear. I’m not calling into question the validity and effectiveness of profiles. I’m calling into question the validity and effectiveness of you as a profiler.”

  You could practically see the cartoon fire spewing out of Aaron’s ears. He was so close to being in your trap, something he had to have known, too, yet he continued to toe dangerously close to that line.

  “A lack of formal education in profiling,” you continued, keeping your voice light, “and the blatant disregard for basic police and legal procedure as shown in this case with my client… I mean, how many other mistakes were made in your past cases? It’s hard to believe that you can read anybody, much less the hardened criminal that you have painted my client to be.”

  Checkmate.

  “Objection!” cried the prosecutor again. “Your Honor, this is —”

  He was cut off by the judge raising her hand. “Sustained. Counselor, I would advise you to tread lightly from here on out.”

  You raised your hands in mock surrender. “Withdrawn.” You turned around to make your way back to your table, ignoring Marcus’s look of complete disbelief. Baiting Aaron had been easy, and now all you had to do was wait.

  The courtroom was uncomfortably silent for one beat… two beats…

  “Not only can I read Mr. Mckenna,” echoed Aaron’s voice, “But I can also read you.”

  Once you got back to your desk, you turned around, hands resting on the cool wood of the table top, but you never sat down. Instead, you leaned forward, and arched your eyebrows in a silent challenge — one he was all too eager to pursue.

  “The red Harvard Law tag on your briefcase is a perfect match to your lipstick, and you wear the same one every time you go to court. Not because you’re superstitious the way most lawyers are, but because it’s your way of maintaining control in the courtroom, something you’re desperate to keep in every aspect of your life, personal and professional. I would guess that this need goes back to late high school, early college. But you’ve been worried about appearances and how you’re perceived for even longer than that.”

  You fought the urge to roll your eyes. So he thought you were Type A? Anybody could have guessed that by your anything. All they would have to do is look at your color coded case files or your daily schedule, planned down to the minute. You had only been trying to sway the jury when you insinuated that he wasn’t a good profiler, but maybe you were actually starting to believe it yourself.

  Except Aaron got a dangerous glint in his eye, causing your stomach to bubble with anxiety. Clearly, he was playing chess, too, and by the looks of it, he believed he was winning. 

  “In fact, you’re so worried about losing control, that despite your busy schedule, you refuse to hire a planner for your upcoming wedding.”

  That got your attention. The objection that you were about to call died on your lips, and all you could do was stare with poorly hidden shock. Next to you, Marcus turned pale as a ghost.

  Aaron, cocky bastard, continued his profile of you, with no clear signs of stopping anytime soon. “You have a tan where your ring usually is, and I know you’ve been wearing it recently as you subconsciously fiddle with where it would be whenever things in court aren’t going your way. Just like you’re doing now. You still have your maiden name, which you plan on giving up when you do get married because not taking his last name would arouse too many questions that you want to avoid. Just another way your concern of appearances is manifested. So you’re engaged.

  “I would say congratulations, but it’s not a happy relationship, not on your side, anyway. Younger female professionals will take their rings off in fear of not being taken seriously, but you’re an established and respected lawyer. You needn't worry about that. So if it’s not about you, it’s about the fiance. You don’t want to be associated with him.”

  You gripped the edge of the table, too angry to form words. Your nails dug into the varnish, and you were sure that your heavy breathing could be heard from across the room. This dick. This absolute, garbage, piece of shit dick. The worst part was how casual he sounded as he aired all of your dirty laundry for everybody to hear.

  “He’s holding you back, in all aspects of life, but mostly intellectually. He doesn’t have a sliver of your capabilities. The two of you are probably high school sweethearts, prom king and queen type, but while you grew up and matured, he never did. He can’t keep up with you. Still acts the same way he did in high school, only now with more access to alcohol and money. Career wise, he doesn’t have much going for him, probably some sports related pipe dream. But you stay with him because you know how to control him and how to use him to your advantage.”

  Aaron’s eyes zeroed in on Marcus, and all of the color drained from your face. The voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you to object, to get the judge involved, anything, before Aaron did any more damage, but you were frozen in your spot. For the first time in your life, you were completely and utterly speechless and spiraling out of control.

  “That need for control is also why you’re sleeping with your assistant. It’s casual for you, but not for him anymore. You should break that off. That’s nothing new for you, though. In fact, I would bet that if we looked back at all of your affairs since your engagement, we’d find a long string of men and women, all of whom are your subordinates or of lower status than you. It’s a win-win situation — they’re more than eager to have a chance with you, and you get to stay in control. Oh, you’ll stop when you actually get married, but you continue to push that date back, as well. So…”

  He leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling good about himself, and God, you could kill him. You could reach over the witness box and wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until his whiskey colored eyes popped out of his smug, beautiful face.

  Aaron lifted his chin, eyebrows raised in your direction. “Do you believe in my abilities as a profiler now, Counselor?”

  That snapped you back into action. You cleared your throat and unnecessarily smoothed down your skirt in an attempt to regroup your thoughts. “Well, Agent Hotchner, thank you for that little show and tell. It’s clear that you are very passionate about your career. However, just like your profile of my client, you have no evidence for any of your unsubstantiated accusations.”

  It was a pathetic attempt at saving face, and Aaron knew it, but it had to be enough for you. You turned your back towards Aaron so that you could face the judge, who, to her credit, had a perfect poker face the whole time. “Your Honor, I move to strike Agent Hotchner’s outburst” — not an outburst, Aaron was too composed to ever have one of those, but he grimaced at the word all the same — “from the record, as no question stands before the witness at this time.”

  The judge looked at you dubiously, clearly debating her ruling. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry, you were legally in the right, but there was always the chance that she wouldn’t be on your side. You noticed yourself fiddling with where your engagement ring would usually be, and you cursed yourself under your breath. How could Aaron have possibly known all of that?

  “Sustained,” she said finally, “I direct the jury to disregard the witness’s, uh, example when considering the evidence.”

  You let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t much of a win — everybody still heard what had happened, it was still in the back of their minds, like the ring of a bell echoing — but at least in regards to the case, you had the legal upper hand.

  The judge turned back to you. “Defense, the witness is still yours, if you have any further questions.”

  If you were a little more in your right mind, you would have cut your losses, but between your oath to defend your client to the best of your ability and that stupid self assured grin on Aaron’s face, you knew that you really had no choice.

  Deep breath in… Slow breath out… You’re at a stalemate now.

  “Agent Hotchner,” you said, causing him to perk him up in interest. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting you to continue. “Wouldn’t an ex-lawyer and an FBI agent be familiar with the rules of decorum in a courtroom?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand your question, Counselor.”

  “Let me rephrase, then. Would you say that you have a history of emotional outbursts and rule breaking in your line of work? And I’ll remind you that you are still under oath.”

  Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, I wouldn’t. Integrity is one of our core values, and we take that very seriously.”

  With shaking hands, Marcus handed you one of the files you’d had him print out on Aaron. “If that’s so, can you explain why, since your promotion to Unit Chief in 2005, you and your team have had seven disciplinary hearings, one of which being an internal investigation into the excessive force used by one of your agents, and another being a congressional hearing?”

  A sick sense of satisfaction passed over you when you saw him get visibly shocked, his poker face breaking for the first time that day. If he wanted to go for blood, you could fight back twice as hard. “I’m not at liberty to discuss either of those cases.”

  You shrugged nonchalantly. “Very well, Agent. So between the discrepancies in the profile, your inability to control your temper, and your history of breaking procedure, coupled with the fact that you arrested my client without any warrant by kicking in the door to an innocent civilian’s house, do you really believe that your arrest and the subsequent evidence that came from that arrest was obtained legally? Or do you just not care either way, as long as you’re able to prove that you’re right?”

  Right as he opened his mouth to speak, you turned your back on him and started to walk back to your table. Aaron wasn’t even able to get a peep out before you cut him off with a sharp “Question withdrawn. At this time, the defense rests.”

  “Our arrest was made on the grounds of—” Aaron tried, and you smirked to yourself. He must have been desperate if he was trying that move twice. You whipped around, gaze steeled.

  “I have no further questions, Agent Hotchner,” you repeated, only letting out the slightest hint of amusement. “But thank you for your cooperation with Lady Justice today.”

  Aaron’s eyes met yours, and a weight settled in the pit of your stomach. You should have hated him, but something about him had you completely and utterly entranced by him. Maybe it was the novelty of the case. Maybe it was the matching intellects and the fact that he was the only other person who could give you a challenge.

  Maybe you just liked the way you got to lose control with him.

  As he passed you, his arm brushed yours, and your whole body burned.

  “Very cute, Counselor,” he whispered, voice dripping with condescension. “How long did it take you to come up with that little switch up?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” you snapped. “I was playing chess, you were playing checkers, and that’s why you lost.”

  The rest of the session went on normally, if not a little tense. To your surprise, Aaron hadn’t left immediately after his testimony, and instead took a seat in the section for the public. Good. As soon as courtroom decorum wasn’t a factor, you were sure to give him a piece of your mind.

  Court adjourned for the day, and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You told Marcus to continue to push for a better plea option as you grabbed your briefcase and stormed out, pushing through the throngs of people until you could see the back of Aaron’s head.

  You sped up your steps until you were right behind him, and you grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

  You pulled Aaron into an empty conference room, hoping to get some privacy before you completely blew your lid. You already had one public humiliation because of him, and you did not need another.

  “What is your problem?” you hissed, locking the door behind you. “You had no right to put my personal life on blast like that.”

  Aaron placed his hands on his hips, swooping the sides of his suit jacket back, and you had to make a very conscious effort to not stare. “You questioned my profiling abilities, and I proved them.”

  “You didn’t prove shit,” you argued, folding your arms across your chest. “Except for the fact that you’re an insufferable bastard.”

  “Are you saying that my profile was off? Because if you didn’t want to be caught committing adultery, then you shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”

  You gritted your teeth and took a step towards him in a futile attempt to come across as intimidating. Even in your heels, he still seemed to be towering over you. You’d have to level the playing field somehow. You gripped his tie and used it to pull him down so that he was closer to eye level with you. “I don’t need your judgment, Aaron.”

  Aaron moved closer to you, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His Adam's apple bobbed and it captivated you. “I couldn’t care less about what you do,” he said flippantly. “Matter of fact, I don’t think this fit of anger is even inherently about your little secret coming out. Do you want to know what I think it is?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I think,” he continued, completely ignoring your protest, “You’re angry because as much as you can dish it out, you can’t take it.”

  Your grip on his tie tightened at his words. “Trust me, I can take anything,” you said, voice low and breathy.

  Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips — those kissable, red stained lips of yours. You hadn’t had to reapply your lipstick once throughout the day, and he idly wondered just exactly what it would take to muss up that perfect, pouty red lip. 

  “I also think that for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t have control, and you liked it.” He bent down a little bit more so that his lips brushed against your ear with every word and you could feel his breath run down your spine. “Aren’t you bored of sleeping with boys who are so far beneath you?”

  You’re not sure who initiated it, but the next thing you knew, your lips crashed against his, the two of you making out like it was the last kiss either of you were ever going to get. His hands felt impossibly everywhere all at once — gripping your hips, tugging at your hair, and even snaking under your work blouse to palm at your breast. His teeth nipped at the fibres of your lips. With every movement of his hands, little gasps escaped you, and you could feel the curve of his lips curling up into a smirk.

  His fingers trailed up the side of your body, past the curve of your neck, and tangled themselves in your hair before yanking it back, exposing the column of your throat. Immediately he attached his lips to your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

  “Aaron,” you whined, trying to regain the breath he stole from your lungs. You practically melted in his arms, going completely weak at the knees, especially as his tongue trailed across the underside of your jaw. You let his tie fall from your grip, instead bringing your hands up to cup his face to pull him in for another kiss. 

  His lips set a bruising pace, and it caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach. You had never once been kissed like this, never once felt so all-consumed by a person. Aaron’s cologne surrounded you, making your head spin. Bruises were sure to form from how harshly he was gripping your hips, but you didn’t care. He was addicting, and you wanted more.

  Hotch walked you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, his thigh shoved in between your legs, forcing your skirt to ride up. The position made his arousal obvious as he pressed against you. The way he held you was possessive, primal even, Unconsciously, you ground down on his thigh, hoping for anything to help relieve the ache between your legs. 

  Unfortunately for you, Aaron caught on to what you were trying to do, and he chuckled against your lips before pulling away just far enough to speak. “Look at you,” he whispered, and the raspiness of his voice only served to turn you on even more. He hooked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him, and his thumb traced your bottom lip, tugging at it ever so slightly. His other hand slowly trailed its way up your thigh, nails scratching at your skin. “Skirt hiked up around your waist, desperate to get off. Your little boyfriends aren’t doing it for you anymore?”

  He pressed his thigh further into you, ripping an involuntary moan from your throat. “Fuck,” you gasped, your hips still moving back and forth against him, not caring how needy it made you seem. “I need… I…”

  “What? Big, bad lawyer doesn’t have any more smart ass comments?” he cooed sarcastically, pushing your skirt up even higher. He replaced his thigh with his hand, and his fingers ghosted over your covered pussy, teasing you, not giving you nearly enough contact. “Fuck, you’re so wet already. Go ahead, needy girl, if you’re that desperate.” Aaron yanked down your panties in one fell swoop, and you blindly kicked them off to the side. “Be a good girl and show me how much you want this.”

  Without any more of a warning, one of his fingers entered you, and you let out a breathy moan that Aaron was sure to have on repeat in his mind for days to come. When the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your brain completely short circuited. You threw your head back as far as you could despite being pressed against the wall as his name clumsily tumbled from your lips like a prayer.

  “You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pressing you further against the wall. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

  Electricity coursed through your veins as he added a second finger, easily finding that spot in you that made you see stars. You rocked your hips back and forth against his hand, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. His lips trailed from your jawline, down your neck, and to your collarbone. 

  “Look at me,” Aaron ordered, tightening his grip on your chin, and your eyes shot right back open. Instead of the whiskey colored irises you had gotten used to, Aaron’s pupils were so blown that they made his eyes completely black. “I want to see you lose control all over me. Gonna make sure you come harder for me than you have for any of your boy toys.”

  That wouldn’t be very difficult. Nobody had ever made you feel the way you did then, Aaron’s fingers buried deep in your cunt and lips exploring every inch of skin he could access. No part of this was for his pleasure — from the curl of his fingers to the slow circles on your clit, it was all expertly calculated to bring you to the edge with as much intensity as possible, and it was all devastatingly effective.

  “I’m so close,” you whimpered, and if it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would have completely lost your balance. “More, fuck, please.”

  “More?” he mumbled against the column of your throat. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

  Coherent sentences were not an option for you at the moment, not when you were so deliciously overwhelmed with pleasure and with Aaron. Besides, how could you tell him that you wanted him to completely and utterly ruin you? That you wanted him to bend you over the conference table and pound into you until you could barely speak. You wanted Aaron to mark you and send you home to your fiance with reminders of every little thing he did to you for the days to come. You wanted raw and untamed passion. You wanted to be consumed, for him to settle in your lungs like smoke, and haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. 

  You didn’t want nice and calculated the way every other man you’d been with had acted — you wanted Aaron Hotchner to take control.

  You couldn't say any of that, so instead, you grabbed his wrist, the one that was holding your chin in place and, without breaking eye contact with him, you guided his hand down until it rested on your throat. “More,” you choked out, giving him an animalistic grin.

  That was all it took. Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and desperate and swallowing all of your incoherent moans as his fingers moved harder, faster.

  You clung to him like a lifeline as you felt your whole body tense up, your orgasm fast approaching. You were so fucking close and he felt so fucking good and, God, if this is what losing control felt like, then you and Aaron could do this forever and —

  His fingers were gone from you, and you clenched around nothing. You cried out in protest, which only seemed to amuse him.

  “Oh? Prom queen isn’t used to not getting what she wants?” Keeping his hand on your throat and you pinned against the wall, he made slow, teasing work of his belt buckle.

  Your chest rose and fell in a desperate attempt to catch your breath. “What happened to watching me come undone all over you?” you shot, trying to even out your voice as much as possible. It didn’t work very well. “Did you lose your nerve?”

   A dark, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry, Princess, that’s still the plan. I just never said where. I want to make sure you’re nice and wet and ready for me to turn you into a moaning mess on my cock.”

  In an attempt to regain some control of the situation, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah? And how do you expect to do that?”

  He smirked and released your throat. Wordlessly, he grabbed your wrist, and guided your hand down your body, further and further until you reached your throbbing pussy. He used his hands to press your fingers to your clit, and you whimpered softly. God, you were dripping, and the extra stimulation didn’t help your shaking legs.

  “By making you so needy and whiny that by the end of this, you're begging for me,” he hissed, lips brushing the shell of your ear with every word. He moved your fingers so that you were rubbing small, slow circles around your clit, although it wasn’t nearly enough to give any real relief. “Begging for me to come and fuck you over and over and over again. Because you know that your pathetic fiance and your string of affairs have never made you feel like this before.”

  Aaron yanked your hand away from your clit and you could sob. You wanted to cum so badly that you could barely put it into words. Still holding your wrist, Aaron brought your hand up to his face. He took a brief moment to admire the way your fingers glistened, covered in your arousal, before bringing them to his lips and sucking.

  Eyes wide, you made a choked noise as you committed the view of Aaron to memory. “Please, Aaron, fuck, I need you,” you whined, the start of a long string of incoherent begging. You needed him then and there, damn the consequences.

  He pulled your fingers out of his mouth slowly, and you moaned at the obscene wet noise it made. “So desperate,” he murmured as he began to unbutton his slacks. “All for me. All because I edged you once.”

  Aaron pulled down his pants just enough to pull out his dick, and you licked your lips involuntarily when you saw it, big and thick and leaking precum. Clearly, it gave Aaron a bit of an ego boost, because as he ran the head up and down your sensitive folds, he reminded you, “You did say you could take anything, Princess.”

  Your breathing came out shaking as you shivered, waiting for him to do something — anything. You were so empty and you needed him so badly. If you didn’t get his dick in you soon, you were pretty sure you would lose your mind completely.

  “Fuck me, Aaron,” you moaned, arching your back to press into him more.

  He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips in an almost intimate gesture. “Patience is a virtue,” he chastised.

  In your haze of arousal, you barely noticed him grabbing your briefcase and digging through the small pocket in the front. You especially didn’t notice his pause when his finger touched something small, round, and metal in the bottom of the bag. The only thing you cared about was him coming back to you, holding up a condom packet with a smirk.

  “I knew I’d find one somewhere in your briefcase.” You let the comment slide, the excitement at the prospect of sex with Aaron Hotchner outweighing any jackass comment he could make. Aaron made quick work of putting on the condom. The second he was done, one of his hands ran up your thigh, getting a good grip on it before pulling it up and around his waist.

  “Do you feel how wet you are for me? How willing you were to give up control? All for me? That—” Lips pressed to your ear, he pushed his cock into you, bottoming out with one thrust. You threw your head back in pleasure. “—Is playing chess, sweetheart.”

  Aaron dropped his forehead to the crook of your neck as he began pounding into you at a desperate pace. He had held off on his own pleasure for long enough, and now he was chasing his orgasm with a ruthless determination. One hand stayed gripping your thigh, the other one braced against the wall next to your head. Aaron nipped at your neck in between moans of praise for you.

  “I — oh, fuck — knew it,” he groaned, digging his fingers deeper into your thigh. “You wanted somebody to take control. Somebody who knows how to please you.”

  You wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You were an incoherent mess at this point, his name tumbling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. At that moment, it probably was. 

  “Finally, that bratty mouth of yours is good for something. You sound so pretty, moaning out my name. Say it again.” A particularly deep thrust caused you to tug at his hair. “Louder.”

  Never before had you met somebody like Aaron Hotchner, and you weren’t sure if you ever would again, so you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself get lost in the absolute pleasure he was providing. You memorized everything you could — the way the calluses on his hands felt against your skin, the way he moaned out your name, how deliciously full you felt, and how for the first time in your life you felt truly seen — so that you could suspend the moment in amber to preserve in the back of your mind.

  “Please,” you begged, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails. “I’m so close. Fuck, Aaron, you feel so good, please.”

  Aaron tore his lips from your throat, choosing instead to press his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours with every word he spoke, so close that you were practically kissing him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured. “Be a good girl. Be a good girl and come. All over my dick.”

  When you came, it was with a cry of his name as your whole body shuddered. You clung to him as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts began to stutter, and he took the opportunity to capture your lips in one last, scorching kiss, and you were all too happy to oblige.

  You think he moaned something as he came, but you couldn’t hear it over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. He fucked you through his orgasm, making sure that you felt every single inch of him. As if you could ever forget it. 

  The two of you stayed where you were for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of being full a little longer. Your walls fluttered around Aaron, which caused him to muffle his whimpers into your throat.

  “Aaron…” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the moment. “That was so—”

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I know.” He pulled back just enough to leave a lingering kiss on your lips, and your whole body burned. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?”

  You shook your head. “Not at all.” The confession lingered in the hair for a tense second because both of you seemed to remember where you were.

  Aaron slowly pulled out of you, an act that looked almost painful for him when you let out an involuntary moan at the feeling. He could have spent all day in you, if given the chance.

  The two of you adjusted yourselves in silence, both of you hoping to be able to leave the room with some semblance of professionalism. At the very least, the goal was to not look like you had just had sex in a courthouse conference room. Shame and embarrassment flooded you — what had you been thinking?

  Once you felt that you were presentable enough, you grabbed your briefcase and tried to ignore Aaron burning a hole in the back of your head with his gaze.

  “Well, Aaron, this was fun.” You cleared your throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around at some point.”

  You were two steps away from the door when you heard his smug, courthouse voice come back in full swing.

  “Forgetting something?”

  You turned around in a huff, ready to go right back to arguing with him, but what you saw made your whole body heat up in embarrassment. There was Aaron with a self-satisfied grin and dangling off his finger was your panties.

  “These are cute,” he mused. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to fully appreciate them.”

  You rushed over there, fully prepared to snatch them out of his hand. “And you never will,” you shot, but even as you said it, you didn’t make much of an effort to take them out of his hands. You just stared at him and his swollen lips and mussed hair, all your doing.

  Ever the gentleman, Aaron started to hand your underwear back to you, but instead of taking it back like you knew you should have done, you covered his hand with yours, closing it in a fist around your panties.

  “Who says you can’t?” you whispered, guiding his pantie-filled hand down to his pockets. “This way… You can keep it as collateral. To make sure I’ll come and see you again.”

  His breath hitched in his throat as you guided him to put your panties into his suit pocket, and you were glad to be the one surprising him this time.

  “I don’t care about your fiance,” Aaron started, and you braced yourself for the worse. “But I’m not interested in being the ‘other man’ to your affairs with your assistants, too.”

  “Consider it ended,” you promised, not caring how desperate or easy it made you look. You wanted to keep Aaron around for a long, long time.

  Just until the wedding, you corrected yourself.

  You slung your briefcase over your shoulder, wincing as it dug into a bruise that Aaron had left. It would be there for a while — you’d have to find a way to hide it from Tony until it faded. The thought made you stupidly giddy. “I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

  He nodded in goodbye, and you slipped out of the conference room on shaking legs. As soon as the door closed behind you, you reached into your bag, and reluctantly slipped on your engagement ring.

[jilytho]

Blind Dating and Miscalculating

Blind dating au where Lily is on a blind date and wrongly assumes James is her date

Read below or on AO3 :)

“Whew does Mary know how to pick ‘em!” James looked up in shock to see a woman, apparently under the impression some Mary somehow ‘picked’ James leering at him, teetering from side to side as she pulled back the chair opposite him and clambered into it, nearly knocking off the unused wine glass closest to her. 

Drunk. Drunk but also gorgeous. Red tendrils that likely at one point in the night were neatly arranged were now flung about her shoulders in partial disarray. 

“Scuse me, I’m not quite sure you’ve got the right-”

“I told her I didn’t want to go! I said,” she reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her, wide eyes locked on his. One look at her bright green eyes (beautifully green eyes, his favorite shade of green, actually) was enough to tell that while the lights were on, nobody was home. “I said, Mary!” She exclaimed, continuing to cradle his hand close to her while gesturing wildly with the other, “Mary I have no interest in dating, period. Nevermind getting set up with some random strange man. Especially with the name Mark. I mean, look, no offense Mark and other Marks of the world but it really is a rather plain name.” She paused to catch his gaping mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish before continuing. “That’s not to say that plain is always a bad thing or that extravagant names are a good thing,” she stumbled over the word extravagant and pushed right past it, “I mean I dated this bloke, Severus, once and I thought wow such an interesting name, fascinating. Nope. Dead boring and borderline stalkerish fellow as it turns out. So you’d think I’d like plain after an experience like that, wouldn’t you?”

She stopped abruptly, eyes staring at him expectantly, apparently waiting for some form of agreement. 

“Erm I suppose so?”

“Exactly! You’d think! But I mean, Mark. So mundane. I just assumed the person would be mundane as well. Probably an accountant or a lawyer, blech. Not to mention I was a bit nervous, been a little since my last date if I’m being honest. Not that there weren't offers.” She gripped his hand tighter, “There were offers, Mark. Don’t start thinking I’m desperate. I had offers.” She dropped his hand and folded her arms as if he had suggested otherwise. 

“I didn’t say- I’m not, I'm sorry can we back up for a-” his words and thoughts were a jumbled mess.

“Anyway,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and relaxing her arms, “anyway. Anyway, what was I saying? Mark! Yes, Mark. So as I was saying, I didn’t want to go on this date at all but Mary was all ‘it’ll be good for you! He’s so cute! We’ll get drinks first!’ and so I agreed to come meet you, but may have drank more than three margaritas but in my defense it was 2 for 1 and Mary was paying and I can never pass up a good deal. So that's why I’m late. But I am here. I am here with you, Mark, and you are far less boring looking than I expected. Yes, much cuter than any Mark I’ve ever met. Mary did well.” She nodded approvingly, sitting back in her seat and smiling constantly. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Sirius walk into the restaurant and see the woman in the chair Sirius had been meant to occupy. James immediately tried to signal with his eyes, “HELP, HELP, HELP” without alerting the redhead in front of him when Sirius, the bastard, winked at him lightly, turned on his heel, and left.

She hadn’t noticed his desperate face as she was busy scanning the menu over and when she wasn’t calling him Mark or yelling in his face she was quite pretty. Extremely pretty, actually. Like exactly the kind of person he’d want to have one a blind date. Or a non-blind date. Any date really. And the girl clearly needed food in her stomach to soak up some of her margarita, really it would be irresponsible to leave her like this. The least he could do would be to keep her company, pretend he was Mark to try and minimize her embarrassment, and then make sure she got home safe. 

“You know,” she met his eye over her menu as he spoke, “for someone who seems to have a lot of opinions on my name, I don’t believe Mary ever told me yours.” 

She laughed lightly, a beautiful wind chimey, tinkly noise that sent delight shooting down his spine. 

“Lily, Lily Evans.” She reached her hand across the table again, this time for him to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Pleasure is all mine, Lily, Lily Evans.” He shook her hand lightly and looked back at his menu. 

XX

Dinner seemed to fly by. Once Lily got some food into her system she sobered up rapidly, yet sobriety in no way impacted her ability to keep him completely enthralled and entertained. Each passing minute made him more inclined to legally change his name to Mark and live the lie for the rest of his days. 

Sure their life would be a lie, he thought as she threw her head back laughing over some asinine story he was telling of Sirius, red hair swirling around like flames, but it would be fun. 

Not only was she bold, she openly mocked his ordering bourbon, ruthlessly holding nothing back despite only knowing him for a matter of minutes, but she was also unbelievably sweet. Listening intently to every story he shared, telling multiple of her own where despite being an ass kicking journalist she somehow also found time to volunteer at the animal shelter and had fostered three different dogs in the last two months. Ruthless, for sure, as she batted her eyes at him over her water glass causing all sorts of feelings to start to stir. She would give James, correction- Mark, a run for his money and then some. Barely an hour of sitting across from her and he was pretty sure he’d take his dinner knife to Mark's throat if the bloke ever actually did show up. Whether it be from jealousy or fury that any human being could ever stand up this goddess in front of him. 

The conversation flowed easily. Leaping seamlessly from her parents professions to his childhood mischief to the time she dyed her sister's dog key lime green. Her dad had a thing for flowers, apparently, marrying a Rose and insisting on making their daughters Petunia and Lily. 

“You could keep up the tradition, you know. Get your kids some flower names. Maybe something unique,”

“What?” She scoffed, “and subject them to years of cheesy, thoughtless bouquets of a flower you hardly like just because it’s your namesake? I don’t think so.”

“Then make it a flower they’d want to get! Or an herb, like Basil. Everyone wants a Basil plant around.” He pointed his drink at her as she spluttered incoherently, “are you telling me you don’t love a basil plant?”

“You’re right, how dare I overlook such a top quality name as Basil.” She drawled out in a monotone, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose we’d go with something more colorful though, like Anemone!” She looked like the idea was pure genius and now he was the one spluttering in her face. 

He tried not to let his heart burst at her use of we. 

“I’m sorry, isn’t that the ocean thing? The Nemo thing? The sea anananamename thing where they live? That’s what you want to name your child?”

Her eyes were screwed shut as she clutched her chest, gasping for air through her laughs. 

“What?” He grinned at her, not caring if he had somehow said the wrong thing or appeared dumb when her laughter was so intoxicating. He felt a tingling run straight down his spine. 

“A sea,” she gasped out through choked laughs, “anemone!” 

“That’s what you just said!” He continued to argue. 

“Whew,” she wiped a stray tear from one eye, “truthfully you’re not that far off base at all. Same exact spelling. But they do have anemone for flowers that are on land as well as the sea. I’ve just never heard someone butcher a word so spectacularly.”

“Yes well, you know I’m quite good at that.” He leaned back in his seat as her eyebrow quirked up. “In fact, so good that I have been named the anti-Spelling B Champ,” he nodded matter of factly and continued on as if she wasn’t gaping at him, echo of a laugh still present on her face. 

“It’s true! Annually, all the people that hate spelling b’s gather and compete to see who can truly butcher a word the most. I’ve won every time. You’re sitting with a nationally ranked word ruiner.”

“Oh wow, however could I have not known. Do you have any secrets of the trade you could share?”

“I usually would never divulge such confidential information but just because you asked so nicely and because you are in fact stunningly gorgeous, I’ll give you one.” He leaned in conspiratorially, hitching a finger for her to do the same, and dropped his voice low. “To really put yourself over the top and seal that victory,” he looked side to side dramatically, checking for eavesdroppers before looking back on her, “is all about the silent Q.” He sat back again and watched her shoulders shake lightly with poorly concealed giggles. 

“Personally,” he grinned strongly, all pretense of secrecy gone, “I like to throw a minimum of three in there just to really set myself apart. Once I did a silent q followed by a silent x. I nearly sent the judge to an early grave.”

“You know I bet what would have really done him in is if you followed the x with a p but you pronounce the p like a-“

“Lily?” James reared back to find some bloke standing next to their table staring anxiously in between the two of them. “Are you Lily?” Lily nodded lightly, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, eyes flitting between the newcomer and James. 

“Um yes I am, I’m sorry do I know you?” 

A wave of cold dread overcame him, realization sinking into his chest. The newcomer, just about their age, polo and khakis, easily could have been a lawyer or an accountant. He had to explain before she realized as well and he looked like a total lying creep. 

“Lily, I can explain-“

“I’m Mark, I’m so sorry I’m so late. My car broke down and I didn’t have your number.” 

They spoke at the same time, the real Mark reaching a hand out to shake Lily’s. 

She didn’t take it. Instead she swiveled dumbly between the two staring accusingly at the real Mark. “You can’t be Mark. I’m having dinner with Mark. You must be here for someone else.”

“Lily, I really can explain if you’d just-“ James started again as Lily whipped around to face him. “You! You liar! Who are you?” She pushed back in her chair looking at him as suspiciously as if he had just announced he liked to moonlight as a serial killer in his spare time. 

“I’m sorry, your name is Mark as well?” The real Mark stared down at James politely inquiring, as if this was all perhaps a genuine mix up and not a case of an imposter stealing his date. 

“Not quite, its erm James. But truly if you think absolutely it the names are quite similar, the whole second letter being an A and the part about being in the Bible and what not.” Mark's eyebrows rose and Lily did not appear amused by his comparison. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to lie or anything, I just… you sat down and assumed I was Mark and I was actually meant to be meeting a friend but you were just so pretty and funny and I didn’t want you to feel like you’d been stood up so I thought I could come clean later but I just wanted to get to know you. I’m sorry, truly.” She looked at him, hurt and confused, and he just wanted to hang his head low and apologize another half dozen times. 

“I can leave so you two can get on with your date,” his heart sank as he stood, gesturing the open chair to Mark without quite meeting his eye. 

He forced himself to look up at Lily, “I really am sorry. It was really nice to meet you, have a nice evening.” 

He turned lightly and began to head out of the restaurant, feeling Lily’s eyes burning into the back of his head even while he heard Mark sit down across from her and apologize again for his lateness. 

He was barely out the door when he heard her yelling his name, his real name, from behind and spun back around to watch her jogging to catch up to him. 

He braced himself for her to yell at him or hit him or completely tear him a new one and gave her a forced smile. 

“Lily, I-“

“Is your name really James?” she huffed, somewhat out of breath. 

“Erm yes. Just James. No Jim or Jay or weird nicknames really…” his right hand came up to ruffle the back of his hair, still anxiously waiting for her to scream at him. 

She reached up on her tiptoes, hand snaking around the back of his neck (oh god she was gonna try and hold his head still so she could really hit him strongly) and used it to pull herself up closer and his head down and touch her lips lightly to his. 

The light kiss sent shockwaves down his body as he froze, processing what was happening. 

“I like the name James so much more.” She whispered against his lips, barely a breath away. That was all he needed to throw an arm around her waist and tuck her snugly against him, the other hand going to caress her cheek and bring his lips back to her, stronger than before. They kissed deeply and sweetly and he felt it down through his toes and in every single nerve in his body. 

When they pulled apart, still wrapped up in each other, and she lightly hummed his name against him, he felt suddenly very sure that there was no sound better than her saying his name. 

“So, I’d really like to do that again. And the date again. With you knowing my name the whole time preferably. Preferably right now. What's to say I go take care of the bill and you take care of the real Mark and we go get some ice cream, maybe?”

“What’s say we do.” She intertwined their fingers and pulled him lightly back towards the restaurant for a fresh start.

[astriiformes]

Behind on a whole backlog of neat things folks have tagged me in (hello, moving/job/freelance writing chaos), but I have every intention of getting to most of them so, here’s one @marypsue tagged me in last week (thank you!)

Rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better/catch up with!

Favorite color: Equally split between nice bold/dark/jewel-toned blues and greens, with blue maybe slightly winning at the moment, but I go through phases. I especially love them together, and am extremely excited because we actually get to PAINT THE WALLS in the new unit we’re moving into this week, and I am incredibly ready to use both of them decoratively.

Currently reading: Anything I am “currently reading” is very much in theory, but I have been dabbling in a couple books on trans history and, if I am really going to bear my soul here, a suspicious amount of Star Wars fanfiction.

Last song: “Starsoul” by Urban Tapestry!

Last movie: Fairly certain it was when Scribe and I watched The Mitchells vs the Machines a little while ago, which was a delightful choice -- highly recommend it to anyone who hasn’t seen it yet.

Last series: Uncertain if this is supposed to be the last one I dipped my toes into or the last one I finished, but for the latter, Critical Role (Campaign 2, at least), in an act of immense hubris because I stayed up until 3am to catch the entire 7-hour finale (worth it, absolutely worth it, especially for a story that has really meant a lot to me!)

Sweet, spicy or savory: Another equal split -- I swerve between wanting sweet and savory with wild abandon. As far as my body thinks though, it’s savory; I actually need to consume extra salt/electrolytes for chronic illness reasons and have been reaching for the kettle chips and cheesy garlic bread accordingly.

Craving: Hm, at this moment nothing in particular; I’m not really someone with much of an appetite or all that prone to cravings. Always down for some really good black licorice though, which might be the best answer for this one.

Tea or coffee: I want to be a tea person and drink it fairly frequently these days -- especially when we have syrups and foraged ingredients on hand, but I regret to admit that even now that I’m trying out ADHD meds that cause my anxiety to worsen on caffeine, I am still very much a coffee man. A fan of both, but inclined to hubris all the same.

Currently working on:

MOVING; you have no idea how ready I am to be unpacking instead of packing, and done with the endless chain of logistics the last few weeks have been. Even once we’re moved we’ll need to paint the walls and have some furniture projects to tackle (staining, changing out hardware), but at least there will be less emails!!

Updating my Fjord Criticalrole playlist, an endeavor that has turned out to be far more sprawling than expected. It’s getting there though! And I am excited to have it be my first playlist I crosspost on both Spotify and 8tracks now that the latter is fighting to stay alive again

The Back to the Future trans headcanon fic duology that occupies half my waking thoughts these days; progress is happening, they are just both going to be long and I am slow! I got some fabulous trans history research help from a librarian friend though, since I am stodgily committed to writing something that feels properly like a product of the 80s trans experience, not the modern one.

Also, Chapter 7 of I Breathed A Song Into the Air, my aro Legolas fic, which has been languishing without an update for an embarrassing amount of time. I had a burst of inspiration during an aspec Tolkien week that was going on in May, but it didn’t get me anywhere near the finish line, despite my deep commitment to seeing that fic all the way through.

Theoretically a High Rollers fic focused on Quill and Sentry before they met up with the rest of the party? The difficulty of confirming canon events in a smaller fandom with an in-progress wiki and a massive amount of canon to sift through has been a bit of a stumbling block, but it’s my third Google Doc existing as a pinned tab currently all the same.

Logistics for a couple of filk concerts (one virtual and one, surreally enough, in-person) that are rapidly sneaking up on us this summer. More to follow on that soon, actually.

Truly a hypothetical here, but getting back into cosplay after a long break. I want to keep a narrow focus even though there are so many projects I’d like to tackle, but finally getting my ANH Luke up to Rebel Legion standards is a primary goal for sure (I just need the right shoes and to buckle down and make my belt!!). I also am on the hunt for two denim jackets to cannibalize into a single horrible 80s one for Marty McFly, after the realization that his is decidedly more a relic of its era than people usually recognize. And last but not least, plodding away on Quill, especially after learning another coworker of mine is also making a bird(-ish) cosplay, so I have someone to talk wings/feathers with! First up might actually be his talons though -- I just need to stop being so intimidated by sculpting!

I am frazzled enough after a few days that have truly been Days that I think I’m going to skip out on tagging people, but if anyone else wants to pick this up, I am handing you the baton. Carry on!

[kinda-iconic]

The One Date You Should Never Forget

This fanfic was written for Day 11 of the Choices May Challenge.

Day 11 prompt: Birthday

Author’s Note: I’ve had this one in the works for a while, though never thought that I would be posting it here, for I didn’t think it was particularly good; but it fits my prompt, so after a bit of editing, I decided I was going to post it anyway!

Summary: It’s Amy’s birthday... but has everybody remembered?

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Amy)

Tagging (if interested): @bloodboundismylife​ @adrianadmirer​ @bbchoices​ @adriansbliss​ @god-save-the-keen​ @choicesfannatalie​ @shelley-parah​ @senator-adrian-raines-wifey​ @lexilooloolovessenatorraines​ @bellaraines​ @clansayeed​

Word Count: 3′400+ (Sorry in advance!)

Amy glances at the monitor, her eyes instinctively drawing to the bottom right corner as she tries to read the time; her shift is coming to an end, but as the minutes tick by, the young mortal can’t help but reflect on the events of the past 24 hours, or rather the lack of. She tries to refocus her attention on the pile of contracts that lay discarded on the desk in front of her, absent-mindedly skimming through its contents before retrieving an orange highlighter from the pencil pot; her eyes drift back to the beginning of the paragraph, re-reading each sentence as if trying to scan the paper for a particular collection of words, but soon finds herself unable to concentrate.

‘You look as bored as I am.’

She turns to the source of voice, a warm smile enveloping her lips as she notices him for the first time; Adrian stands in the doorway, leaning against the lintel as he drinks her in, tilting his head as if to get a better picture; his arms are crossed, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the folds of his elbows.

‘I thought that I was the only one who is allowed to mope.’

She giggles, her smile widening as he takes a step towards her.

‘I can’t remember that being in my contract…’

‘Oh it is there alright,’ he wraps his arms around her shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, ‘somewhere underneath the clause about how it would be inconsiderate of you to look this beautiful during work hours…’

‘I must have missed that,’ she responds with giddiness, leaning into his touch as he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, ‘I guess that must be directly under the paragraph that states that I am permitted to date my Boss.’

He chuckles softly, shaking his head in amusement.

‘Then I suggest you read over it again… just to see if there is anything else that you have missed.’ He flashes her a cheeky smile, ‘if I’ve learnt anything during my time as a CEO, it’s that you always read between the lines – and the small print.’

She quirks a brow.

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes,’ he nods in agreement, squeezing her gently, ‘small print can be sneaky.’

‘Like you aren’t yourself,’ she looks up at him with a soft smile, reaching up to touch his cheek, ‘you went straight to flirting… and I didn’t even get a hello.’

He tilts his head slightly, pouting in jest at her words.

‘Well I suppose, being the gentleman that I am,’ he kisses her cheek, ‘that I should remedy that.’ He turns away from her, linking his hands behind his back. She watches him in confusion, a nervous laugh escaping her. When she speaks, her words are soft and gentle, the intonation in her voice rising as she queries his actions.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘Starting this interaction again,’ his cheeky grin returns, accompanied by a wink, ‘as promised…’

He ponders back over to her, leaning in to kiss the top of her head; he opens his mouth to speak, but a bashful laugh escapes him.

‘Is this the part where I wish you a good evening?’

She shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curling into a bemused smile.

‘You really are unbelievable…’

‘Oh we knew that already,’ he runs a gentle hand through her hair, letting it rest on her shoulder as he gazes down at the papers in front of her, ‘so, what have you been up to in the past couple of hours?’

She follows his gaze back to the pile, her brows furrowed.

‘Annotating contracts,’ she places the document down, a defeated sigh escaping her, ‘though I don’t seem to be making any headway. This is the tenth one, but I just feel like I haven’t made enough progress tonight.’

‘That makes two of us,’ he hesitates for a moment before continuing, ‘but I’m afraid that it is something we must do, and not a job that we can put off for much longer.’

‘I know; I guess I just wish that there weren’t so many contracts to go through.’

‘There’s usually not this many, I must admit…’ he chuckles softly, retrieving one of the papers from her pile; he holds it at arm’s length, skimming over the details before looking back at her, ‘though I am rather excited to see what may come from our new business partnership.’

‘As am I,’ she taps the paper with the edge of her pen, ‘though just looking at all of these makes my head hurt.’

‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘Yeah,’ she glances down at her hands, nervously adjusting the hem of her skirt as it has begins to ascend slowly up her thigh, ‘I was…I was actually wondering if you wanted to go out for dinner tonight? We’ve been at this for hours and I think we could both do with some time away from the office.’

‘I want nothing more than to spend the evening with you,’ he runs a gentle hand through her hair, ‘but right now it’s...’

‘You don’t want to go tonight.’

‘It’s just… it’s not a good time,’ he sighs defeatedly, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, ‘when all of this is over, and I have confirmation that the trail is going ahead, then you and I will go somewhere; there’ll be no business calls…no deadlines,’ he inclines his head towards her, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. After a blissful moment, Adrian pulls away, his once sorrowful smile replaced with one of contempt. ‘I know it’s not ideal, but if any of that is to happen, then I need to buckle down; you know I can’t mix business with pleasure at the moment-’

‘It’s fine,’ she bites her lip, her cheeks reddening in her embarrassment, ‘we can just go another night.’

He responds with a curt nod, his gaze softening as he quickly notices her disappointment.

‘Thank you for being so understanding,’ he takes her hand, turning it over in his before pressing a tender kiss to her palm, ‘I honestly have no idea what I would do without you.’

She flashes him a sad smile before glancing back at the paperwork, now left begotten on her desk.

‘You would probably get a lot more done than what you are now,’ she tips her head subtly in the direction of the documents, ‘you might have managed to read over a couple more in the time that you’ve spent talking to me.’

‘Mmm that’s true,’ he kisses her hand once more, his lips ghosting her skin as they travel from the pad of her thumb to the inside of her wrist, ‘you seem to be quite the distraction.’

She collects the pile of completed contracts before pushing them against his chest, her voice taking an almost urgent tone.

‘Well, this distraction believes that it’s about time you go back to work, so that she too can continue doing the task that she has been set.’

‘Indeed,’ he sighs in feigned defeat, ‘these contracts won’t read themselves.’

He heads back in the direction of his office, but it is not long before he turns with suddenness, quirking a brow as he studies her questionable demeanor.

‘Was there a particular reason as to why you wanted to go tonight?’ He folds his arms across his chest, regarding her with a mixture of adoration and intrigue, ‘did they update the menu at one of the restaurants?’

She shakes her head, smiling faintly up at him before focusing her attention back on her work.

‘I just fancied a little break, that’s all.’

‘Okay,’ he tips his head in acknowledgment, though he is able to sense the slight irritability in her voice, ‘well make sure that you do take that break, alright? Even if it’s just to sit at your desk and create those little origami frogs that you used to make.’

She nods in haste, her smile appearing a little more genuine.

‘I will.’

He looks at her for a moment before retreating into his office, gently shutting the door behind him. Once she is sure that he has gone, Amy collects the paperwork from her desk, tapping the ends to align the documents, forming a neat pile in her hands. She opens the desk drawer in the hopes of finding room to store the papers, but a small card catches her attention; she reaches down for it, but stops abruptly as her ears pick up on the sound of movement in Adrian’s office. As the sounds begin to dissipate, she finds herself staring down at the card, decorated by images of flowers and cake. She gazes at it momentarily before tucking it away, letting out a despondent sigh as she watches it disappear from her line of sight.

‘Happy Birthday to me, I guess.’

Less than an hour later, Amy finds herself perched on the edge of Adrian’s desk, her legs dangling over the edge as she watches him read over her work, his brow furrowed in concentration.

‘Well?’

He looks up at her, his focused expression dissipating into one of contempt; he smiles, placing the document on his desk.

‘It is really good,’ he lets out a sigh of relief, ‘you did some incredible work; the attention to detail is exquisite,’ he raises a brow, ‘and the colour coordination is a nice touch.’

‘I thought you might like it,’ she runs her hand along her thigh, ‘I like to keep myself organised… and what better way to do so than having a system that, though can be occasionally flawed, has withstood the test of time and continues to impress the Boss.’

He chuckles softly, resting a gentle hand on her back, his fingertips slowly inching under the material of her jumper.

‘You could just make me a cup of coffee and I’d still be impressed by you.’

He shuffles closer, his hand travelling up her back; she gasps at the touch, playfully hitting his arm as she removes herself from beside him.

‘You do realise that your actions are not particularly professional right now, don’t you?’

He shrugs, his eyes glistening with mischief.

‘What you and I do behind closed doors is not exactly considered to be the business of my other employees, Amy…’

‘But we are still in your office!’

‘Yes,’ he smiles brazenly, his fingertips finding the curve of her waist; he pulls her closer, her knees mere inches from his chest, ‘but if my observations are correct, the door is closed.’

She quirks a brow.

‘But is it locked?’

He thinks for a moment, his mind lost in thought; after a minute, he sighs in defeat, removing his hand from underneath her clothing.

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘So… anyone could walk in if you think about it.’

He reaches up to caress her cheek, taking hold of her jaw as he moves closer, inclining his head towards hers; she subconsciously leans into his touch, meeting him halfway before connecting her lips to his. After a few seconds he pulls away, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as it lingers mere inches from her own.

‘Is that what you think? Or what you are hoping for…’

She smirks, capturing his lips once more; the kiss starts off as soft, but it is not long before Adrian deepens it, his fingers clasping onto her hair as he instinctively pulls her closer, moving her legs so that they are on either side of his hips.

‘Mmm…’ she sighs in contempt, ‘maybe a little bit of both.’

He rests his forehead against hers, a hearty laugh escaping him.  

‘One of these days, you are going to get me into trouble,’ he kisses the tip of her nose, ‘you know that, right?’

‘I count on it…Boss.’

The pair begin to get comfortable, but before long, the door to his office flies open, causing Adrian and Amy to break their focus; Lily enters the room, accompanied by a rather puzzled Kamilah. She takes a couple of steps forward before stopping, noticing the intimacy of the couple’s embrace. Her eyes widen at the sight, her mouth slightly agape in surprise.

‘Ah, well I see that this might not be the best time…’

Adrian clears his throat in annoyance, narrowing his brow as he glares at their unexpected visitors.

‘You know it is polite to knock, Lily.’

‘I know, but…’Lily shifts her attention between the pair, who stare back at her, the shock of the intrusion causing Amy’s cheeks to redden; she pulls away from Adrian, removing herself from his grasp, ‘I wanted to surprise Amy, and I thought that… well, knocking wouldn’t have the same affect.’

Adrian frowns in befuddlement.

‘Surprise her?’

She swiftly makes her way out of the room, returning only moments later with an abundance of parcels, wrapped delicately in brown paper. In her other hand, a lone balloon tied around her fingers, the helium taking it higher than originally anticipated.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMY!’

Adrian remains silent, focusing his attention on the young vampire as he regards her in shock and disbelief. He turns to look at Amy, his eyes widening as the realization of the date dawns, ‘it’s...it’s your birthday?’  

She nods bashfully, bowing her head as if trying to avert his gaze; she begins to play with the hem of her skirt, her eyes trained on the threading. Adrian takes a step towards her, placing a gentle hand on the curve of her waist. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He reaches up to caress her cheek, running his thumb across her bottom lip, ‘it is nearly over…’

‘You were busy,’ she whispers softly, ‘there was too much to do here; it wasn’t important.’

‘Amy…’

‘Wait a minute…’ Lily chimes in, holding up her hands as if they are helping her to process what is happening before her; she looks between the pair, her voice tinged with shock and befuddlement, ‘are you telling me that Adrian FORGOT your Birthday? And you didn’t think to remind him?’

Amy shakes her head, nervously tugging at the sleeves of her jumper.

‘We had a lot to do today, and I didn’t want to bother him.’

‘You didn’t want to tell your boyfriend that it was your birthday… because he was busy?’

Lily looks at the faces around the room, her brows narrowing in confusion as she focuses her gaze on Adrian; he shuffles uncomfortably on his feet.

‘I honestly can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

‘Don’t try to make him feel any worse than he already does,’ Kamilah interjects, regarding Lily with an icy glare, ‘when you’re a CEO of a billion-dollar company, it’s easy to forget things…’

‘Like your own girlfriend’s birthday?’

Adrian lowers his gaze to the floor, the upset of forgetting evident in his expression; he runs a dejected hand through his hair, his palm resting at the nape of his neck. He exhales slowly, training his eyes on Amy as he focuses his attention on her once more.

‘The new dress that arrived this morning…the invitation to dinner…’ she nods; he lets out a defeated sigh, his voice lowering to a soft whisper, ‘Amy I… I’m so sorry.’

She remains silent for a moment before responding, shrugging halfheartedly.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ her previous excitable smile has disappeared, replaced with a nonchalant frown, ‘it isn’t important.’

She turns her attention back to Lily, her bashful demeanor soon dissipating into one of intrigue and giddiness.

‘Can we just focus on something else? Like maybe how beautifully wrapped these gifts are?’

‘Amy, I…’ he takes another step forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the small of her back, ‘I…I really am sorry.’

‘It really isn’t worth worrying about, Adrian,’ she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, biting her bottom lip, ‘it’s just a day…’

‘But it’s the day you were BORN!’ Lily exclaims, her fingers loosening around the ribbon of the balloon as it floats up to the ceiling, ‘the day you were given to us.’

A bashful smile blesses Amy’s lips as she lowers her gaze to the floor, her cheeks a shade of crimson. ‘Given?’ She hesitates for a moment, a slight chuckle escaping her as she tries to conceal her embarrassment, ‘you’re making me sound like an object that you’ve gained over the years.’

‘Not an object,’ Lily skips over to her, energetically pushing a delicately wrapped parcel into her arms, ‘more like a gift.’

Amy begins to untie the ribbon, its golden threading shimmering in the light as she removes it from the package, fixing it into a bow around her wrist. She looks up at Lily, her words etched into her mind like a nostalgic pop song.

‘That’s so cheesy and you know it.’

‘Oh it is,’ Lily giggles, gesturing to the gift laid out before her, ‘but you know how poetically inclined I can be…’

Amy shakes her head, a soft giggle escaping her. 

‘You’re a goofball!’ 

‘Tell me something I didn’t know,’ she chuckles in excitement, gesturing to the present, ‘now come on, Ames; I’ve been waiting to give you this for ages! I even had to ask Kamilah to stash it away so that I didn’t cave in and move your Birthday forward a few days...’

Amy looks over at him, quirking a brow.

‘That insufferable, huh?’ 

‘She wouldn’t stop talking about it until I agreed,’ Kamilah runs her hand through her hair, cupping the nape of her neck, ‘and I didn’t want to find out what she had planned had I said no.’

‘I-’

‘I apologise for interrupting,’ Adrian takes another step forward, wrapping his arm around Amy’s waist, ‘but would it be possible for me to talk to Amy in private?’

Lily chuckles, clearly oblivious to his meaning.

‘Of course you can! We’re not exactly stopping you.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

‘I meant alone… in my office.’

Lily thinks on his words for a moment, clearly befuddled, but it isn’t long before the realization hits.

‘Oh!’ She gestures to the door, ‘you want us…to…’

‘Please.’

Kamilah places a gentle hand on Lily’s arm, carefully leading her out of the room. Adrian waits until they are out of earshot before closing the door behind them, swiftly turning his attention back to Amy.

‘Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’

‘Because you… you were so busy, and-’

‘That’s not an excuse!’ He runs an agitated hand across his face, his gaze softening as he looks at her, his eyes laden with guilt, ‘I love you, I… I should have remembered.’

‘We all forget things from time to time…’

‘But not your birthday, Amy,’ he shakes his head in disbelief, a humorless laugh escaping him, ‘I would have planned something special; a candle-lit dinner…a trip to that cocktail bar that you’ve always wanted to visit…’ he bows his head, ‘instead I dragged you to my office and handed you dozens of contacts to annotate!’

‘It hasn’t been that bad…’

‘Hasn’t it?’ He looks up at her with suddenness, ‘I forced you to work, I… I told you that I was too busy to accompany you to dinner.’ He sighs, glancing at the present that lay discarded on his desk, ‘were you ever going to tell me? That I had forgotten…’

She shakes her head.

‘I pretty much knew that it had slipped your mind when you didn’t mention it this morning.’

‘And was I the only one? That forgot…’

She responds with a curt not. He exhales sharply, running a disappointed hand through his hair.

‘I am so sorry, Amy,’ he reaches up to caress her cheek, running his thumb across her bottom lip, ‘I will do everything in my power to make it up to you.’

‘You really don’t have to, Adrian. I told you it doesn’t matter.’

‘It does to me,’ he retorts, a rashness to his voice, ‘you mean the world to me, Amy; I cherish you with everything that I am, and I mean it when I say that I will make it up to you.’

She smiles sadly up at him, her fingers tugging at the lapels of his waistcoat; he wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. 

‘Is that a promise?’

‘Yes,’ he rests his forehead against hers, leaning in to kiss the bridge of her nose, ‘it most certainly is.’

[colorofmymindposts]

Heart Skips A Beat

Chapter Two

Fandom: Schitt’s Creek 

Pairing: Patrick Brewer/David Rose 

Characters: David Rose, Patrick Brewer 

Rating: Teen and Up 

Status: Incomplete, Next Chapter To Be Posted Next Week for real this time I promise it’s all written out. Chapter One can be read here or you can read the whole work on ao3. 

Word Count: 1748 for this chapter, 4402 for the entire story so far 

Summary: Stevie doesn't give into David's demands to let him stay at her place when Alexis has lice. So Patrick offered. Patrick Brewer with the straight leg denim. Patrick Brewer with the awful taste in decor and who loves poking fun at David. Patrick Brewer with all the help and business advice David needs to not run this store into the ground before it even starts. Patrick, who David is starting to warm up to despite his best intentions not to.

Tags: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Season 3 AU, Fluff, Flirting

Story:

It really was a gamble, this: inviting David over to stay the night. They hadn’t spent any time together outside of the store except for things related to the store itself, and Patrick just hadn’t worked up the courage yet to invite David out for a drink. In his defense, he’d done his research and found out that the only bar in the vicinity was a sleazy dive bar on the edge of town. That sounded more like the venue for a mindless hookup than a romantic first date.

Which, is this a date? Patrick really can’t be sure. Yes, David had accepted, but the man probably thinks his sister having lice is nothing less than a doomsday situation and would do anything to get out of it. But he didn’t blink an eye at Patrick’s pretty obvious attempts to wine and dine him, so at least Patrick is not being rejected outright. Even if David just considers them friends. Which is absolutely a hundred percent fine.

“So, in the interest of getting to know each other better, I noticed a member of the baseball in your room,” David says in a way that is so him. “If that is the baseball.”

God, Patrick is so far gone for him.

He has to curl his lips inwards to stifle a laugh before it escapes him. “Yeah, you got it right. Lou Gehrig was actually called a baseball player, just in case you were wondering.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”    

“Close enough,” he says, deciding not to get into the fact that Gehrig was a first baseman, not just a player. “I guess I’m just a bit picky about the terminology and everything since I played it all throughout school and for fun in college. I’m actually looking for an intramural club in town right now, if you know of any.”

“Were you trying to say ‘instrumental’?” David asks, his face scrunched up cuter than Patrick should find it considering the other man is trying to mock him. “Because the closest thing to that is the Jazzagals, and I have a feeling you’d have a hard time fitting in.”

“No,” he replies, not able to stop the grin that plasters itself on his face. “Sports that are done for fun are called intramural sports. It’s a real thing, David.”

“Right, right,” the other man stutters out, clearly embarrassed. He takes a long sip of his wine before continuing. “Do they at least feed you afterward? Because I don’t really see the point in getting all worked up and sweaty for no real benefit in the end.”

It’s a good thing Patrick is not eating or drinking anything because otherwise he would have choked. He almost blanks on the entire topic of conversation.

He feels it’s only fair to give it right back.

“Baseball is a good way to release a lot of pent up energy. I normally feel pretty great being sweaty after a round.”

The look on David’s face is priceless. His cheeks up to the tips of his ears are beet red.

“Umm...that’s. That’s good to know. I was dying to find out what that was like,” David replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  

Patrick offers softly, “Maybe you could with me?”  

David’s eyes widen to practically the size of their dinner plates. Fuck, he’s got to salvage this; he went too far.

“Be on the same team, that is, if you’d want to learn more about it. If I find one in Schitt’s Creek.”

“Oh! Right, well I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” David deflects with his classic smile. “I broke my nose playing basketball for ten minutes, so being athletically-inclined is not one of my strengths.”

With David, there’s always a story. However, Patrick decides not to embarrass David any further by delving into that tale.

“And what did you do, growing up?”

The man across from him almost lights up.

“I’ve always been drawn to fashion, the arts. Once my mother introduced me to the Avant-Garde style, I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. My friends and I were more into the anti-establishment free expressionist movement, so I wasn’t a part of any organized clubs in school or anything,” David finishes, as though the ‘anti-establishment free expressionist movement’ doesn’t need any further clarification.

Those words coming out of anyone else’s mouth, Patrick would think that they are just pretentious—and David absolutely is, make no mistake—but the way he tells it, his passion is there and genuine. It’s the same quality Patrick recognized when David first walked into Ray’s office, looking to set up a general but very specific store.

They finish dinner and a good bit of the wine (mostly thanks to David) quietly but comfortably. Patrick teases David to help him with the dishes even though he knows the man will balk at anything to do with cleaning, and he gets a good laugh out of David’s insistence that he is a guest, proceeding to complain that this is “practically like staying at the motel” where he has to clean up after Alexis “all the time.”

It’s so strange how close this feels to something domestic, as if they are together in a way, and yet not. Patrick is very much aware of the invisible barrier he establishes between himself and David. He’s careful not to brush by David as he passes him to put a glass back, always conscientious of where his hands are at all times. It’s just so hard at times like these when he wants nothing more than to hold this man in his arms.

Patrick’s got to act natural here though. After all, he was the one who invited David over. And they’re business partners. He’s got to learn how to stamp out his crush before it leads to him putting himself through anymore heartache and embarrassment.

“So, it’s only about 7,” Patrick starts, painfully aware of the still very early evening hour. “How about I put on the TV for a bit and then we can turn in for the night?”

“Okay,” David agrees without any fuss, a rarity for him.

Patrick goes through the channels, but David insists on watching 27 Dresses when it shows up on the screen.

“I heard from the director herself that Katherine Heigl was a terror to work with,” David says with an odd fondness in his eyes.

He’s been with David long enough to know it’s the look his business partner gets when he’s reminiscing about his life before Schitt’s Creek. But the longing for renewed celebrity status in David’s eyes doesn’t compare to when he talks about the store. A dazzling spark lights those dark brown eyes, and his hands become restless in clear excitement and agitation for the vision he’s building. Building with Patrick. God, he could write a song about those eyes.

“—but James Marsden makes it more than worth watching it for soo. Patrick? You still with me?”  

“Yeah,” he’s quick to reassure, snapping back to reality. He smiles warmly at the man sitting beside him and gives the most honest answer he can: “Always.”

David folds his lips on top of each other, looking away almost...bashfully? That’s not it. He’s probably just embarrassed that Patrick admitted that. There’s only so much Patrick can lie about to David though.

Luckily, there isn’t much talking happening. At least, not from him. David, however, chats through the whole film, giving bits of specific trivia and commentary. Patrick smiles along despite not understanding half of it. Still, just when he’s looking at the screen, it’s as though he can feel David’s eyes on him. But anytime he musters up the courage to gaze back at the man sitting next to him, David’s eyes are fixed on the movie, so probably he’s giving in to wishful thinking.

As the credits roll, David unwinds in a truly hilarious, exaggerated way, his arms outstretched in half arc while he lets out a big and adorable yawn.

“You must be exhausted after giving director’s commentary for two hours,” Patricks offers with fake sympathy.

“Hilarious, but as a matter of fact, I am a little worn out after today’s shift at the store,” David counters. “And I can go on way longer than that about a movie.”

He chuckles a bit at that, letting David win this one. However, as the man looks uncertainly between the couch and the stairs, Patrick knows instantly what’s on his mind.

“So I’m thinking we can put you up in my room—”

He stops when David gives a scoff, his eyes the size of saucers.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to be this forward,” David says, almost as if he’s scandalized.

Shit.

“No no no, David I wouldn’t—I’m taking the couch tonight, you don’t have to worry—“

He has to keep himself from spiraling because he’s so embarrassed David has confirmed he knows Patrick’s interested in him. But David has to know Patrick would never suggest they share a bed, let alone sleep together, when they have never even kissed. But that would only happen if David was interested. Which this has only made clearer that he can’t be.

Patrick takes a breath before continuing.

“I just figured with you having to stay at the motel most of the time that you’d like a real bed. You’re my guest.”

David at least has the decency to look slightly admonished.

“I um, right. Of course, I knew that,” David lets out quickly in a nervous laugh. “I was joking. Obviously. So I’m just going to...go. Sleep in your bedroom now.”

David nods along as he says the words as if he’s carefully considering each of them, and Patrick is at a complete loss to conjure up anything meaningful to reply with at this point.

David backs into the stairwell before righting himself, practically fleeing up the steps. Patrick moves to position himself at the bottom of the stairs so that the other man can hear him, but he’s not brave enough to follow after David now.

“I didn’t get a chance to change the sheets yet, so I can—“

There’s the sound of water running, so Patrick stops while he’s ahead. He pads up the steps and collects some clean sheets from Ray’s linen closet before refitting the bed.

He hopes David can sleep tonight because there’s no chance he’s ever going to be able to again.

Notes:  I am so sorry this update took literally 7 months; anyone who's been reading this and waiting for an update has the patience of a saint. Unfortunately, my life recently has been a series of hectic events, and I've had a massive case of writer's block. Plus the rest of the story went through about six different drafts before I was happy with it. The good news is that the story is actually all written out now, and I will be uploading the final chapter within the week! Let me know what your thoughts are! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! 

[imbruedinfear-a]

@undeadrphub​ asked: ALL OF THEM FOR JAY

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them? 

this man would kill to be taller in .0002 seconds if he could. he was bullied for his height, bullied for being severely underweight, bullied for feminine hips, for.. literally anything. he hates it all. as an adult, he’s managed to pull himself out of the underweight category, but it’s solely from muscle. he’s still incredibly thin and small, just as he’s always been. you can’t get him to be comfortable without an oversized hoodie to hide in. he vaguely cares about being attractive, but it’s more ‘i don’t want them to be embarrassed to be hanging out with someone as fucking ugly as i am’ than anything else. if he’s not working or going out with people, he won’t even think of trying to improve appearance.

🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it? 

dislike. who the fuck cares about their appearance that much? granted, he’s had a nose job, but it was so he could still fucking breathe rather than cosmetics. he won’t dislike you as a person for it, but he’s going to instantly find you unappealing. it just bothers him for some reason.

🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick?

stability whomst? he has two modes of health: sick once a year or sick every other week. it depends on how much food he’s been eating and whether or not he’s blown food money on beer. fuck doctors. his overall health is fucked. doctors cannot explain why he doesn’t have x problems and how he’s even still alive after all of the beatings he’s had, especially when it comes to the brain damage. he has seizures, sometimes an arm will stop working for a bit, sometimes he can’t hold anything, sometimes he’ll have a burst of amnesia. he’s a medical mystery to the point there are literal scientific articles on his case, and 98% of the time if he lands in the hospital for something they’ll just shrug it off. it’s gotten to the point he’ll break bones and still not go, because he learned how to fix that fucking problem himself when he was like 12.

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy? 

:^) he’s gotten away with murder ( though it was self-defense ) through the insanity claim, which is actually really fucking hard to use. that should give you an idea of his scores on mental exams. but again, he has brain damage, and every single psych he’s ever interacted with has mentioned that they can no longer determine what’s an actual mental illness or what’s just his brain being physically unable to function correctly. he’s never been to therapy, but he’s been tested several times. his scores changed every time, for every section. the only thing anyone’s certain on is PTSD. Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder, and Schizophrenia have been heavily considered, but even professionals argue with each other. he’s a medical mystery even in mental health. he needs therapy, but his disorders make him extremely avoidant of it. that is not to say everything i listed is true, nor is it to say there isn’t anything unlisted here.

🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?  

oof. how anxious is he? if he’s anxious, he’ll fix himself 1000x times. if he’s not doing anything special, he’ll walk out the door without a second thought. he doesn’t spend a lot of time on anything, but he does make sure he’s well groomed and put together. it should be noted, though, he doesn’t look in the mirror. his own apartment doesn’t have one, and he avoids public restrooms like the plague. his own reflection is a fucking trigger. this is probably why his eyeliner is always smudged.

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  

confusing as fuck. he’s lonely as hell and constantly wants to hangout with people, but he also will have periods of avoiding them like the fucking plague. he loves hanging out! he fucking hates being out! who knows! for the most part, he has a lot of friends in a lot of places and will gladly drink with any group of strangers, but he’ll yeet the fuck out if you try actually getting close to him. he’s alone, always, at home and only around people when working or getting fucked up. having other people around too often, like a roommate perhaps, will make his mental health act the fuck up.

🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood? 

in his words, it was a great big pile of horseshit on fire. he literally has brain damage from it. he can’t leave his own room without convincing himself it’s going to be his living room, not his childhood home, and sometimes he’ll open the bedroom door and see his father standing there, and then he’ll fucking yeet back into bed. obviously it’s impacted him just a smidge. definitely not full of self-hatred and constantly fighting himself to do shit he likes, absolutely most definitely not traumatized in a million forms and continues to trigger himself because how the fuck do you go about your day not panicking half of the time. IN OTHER WORDS, he was a fucking parent to his brother when he was only 4, he would rather die in the most slow, most painful death than return to childhood. is he even still alive bc he doesn’t know

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart? 

if you knew him before his skull was caved in, you would call him a freak for how fast he could think and solve problems. he was the type of genius you’d only heard about in stories, and he pissed off his teachers because he never even needed to be taught. show him the super simple problem once and he knew how to do everything for the next three weeks. he grew up on the streets and read shakespeare for fun. he lost it all. it now only shows rarely, on really good days, when the stars want to align.

🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why? 

summer. he literally lived outside most of the time since he was a kid, and summer nights were easiest. outdoor concerts, parties late at night, cookouts and campfires. he also loves storms.

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them?

which personality is showing most at the time? he’s gotten accused of rape for helping a woman once. let that sink in. but also, he’s helped so many people he’s protected by half the city’s underworld. who knows.

🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes? 

o k a y listen. these r getting too hard i literally don’t know ok can i asked which disorder or which personality is showing most at the time for this bc IT CHANGES like everything always does. mostly, he’s,, weird. he actively seeks it out in the sense he’ll go on dates regularly, but he’s not actually trying to find a girlfriend. he’s carefree. also traumatized. really wanted romance until his heart was ripped to shreds and now he’s convinced himself he’s not lovable, too complicated, extremely undesirable, and especially undeserving of it. he won’t let it happen. no one should have to suffer by having to deal with him. if you’re including things that were just for fun and both parties knew it wasn’t serious, he’s had a few girlfriends. if we’re only including serious things, then he’s only had (1) serious boyfriend. They were together for nearly two years, and they split solely because Jeremiah a) didn’t want sex as much and b) didn’t want to try any kinks. def no trauma from that, absolutely doesn’t panic abt not being good enough or wanting it enough or being pleasing or being fun or attractive or too scarred. nope. also totally doesn’t do shit he doesn’t even like / triggers him just bc they want it gotta give it to them. perfectly fuckin’ fine after one relationship.

🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them? 

our options: 1) aggressive 2) smooth n flirty 3) soft n adorable. he is all of the above. if you’re from the city and connected to the drug world at all, there’s a big ass chance you’re aware he was a major dealer at one point, the son of a psycho serial killer, and connected to damn near every gang in some way. there are few people who would be stupid enough to hurt him, just because there’s probably some member somewhere who’s going to get revenge for it. his rep is pretty positive if ur aware he basically turned the outskirts of the city from a shithole to a really good community. otherwise, u probably just think ‘criminally insane deliquent’. he doesnt rly care about it unless u start asking about his fucking dad.

🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits, interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it? 

b r u h i dont fuckin know im skipping this one, he’s just obsessive compulsive about the oddest things

🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?  

no diet. no food. eat if money, starve if none. remember to eat who?? o u mean eat everything. who fucking knows. he can cook really well, sometimes, maybe. pizza and taco bell 4 life. fuck vegetables. fruits are delicious and to be treasured. he mostly eats like shit, if he eats at all.

🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero? did they move away,  or do they wish to?

none. no fucks given. still here bc no money to move. would happily fuck off to Paris or something.

[sushigirlali]

Happy Accidents (A Reylo Fanfic)

@reylo-week-2019 | Day: 04 | Prompt: Time Travel

Day 01 | Day 02 | Day 03 | Day 04 | Day 05 | Day 06 | Day 07

——————

Happy Accidents

By: sushigirlali

——————

Staring at the back of Rey Niima’s sable head like a Seer peering into a crystal orb, Ben attempted to puzzle out what was going on with her. They’d developed a friendly rivalry since first year, so quelling his natural inclination to tease her for falling asleep in class was difficult, but the dark circles blooming under her expressive eyes everyday had become down right concerning.

But every time he’d tried to broach the subject with her over the last few weeks, Rey automatically assumed he was insulting her and became defensive. “I suppose I should be used to it by now, we’re not technically friends after all, but still, I…”

“That’s enough for today,” Professor Flitwick informed the room, interrupting his train of thought. “You’re all well on your way to acing the N.E.W.T.s. Go enjoy what’s left of your Saturday!”

Several people cheered at being released from exam prep early, but Ben didn’t mind the weekend class. Rey had signed up too, after all.

Keeping track of the girl in question out of the corner of his eye, Ben shoved his spellbooks and parchment haphazardly into his bag while Finn Johnson shook her awake.

“He doesn’t have to be so rough with--never mind.” Ben hid a grin as Rey shoved her best friend right back, nearly knocking him into his girlfriend, Rose Tico.

“I was just trying to wake you up, Rey, no need to go feral on me,” Finn joked.

“I’ll show you feral,” she glared, scrubbing her face with her hands. “Did I fall asleep again?”

“Yeah,” Finn frowned, exchanging a look with Rose. “You know, we’re getting kind of worried about--”

“Not this again!” Rey said, standing up to gather her things.

“Yes this again,” Rose insisted. “You’re barely getting any rest at all, on top of worrying about--”

“Shh!” Rey whispered, scanning the room.

Ben looked away before she caught his gaze, but he could feel her eyes on him.

“Not here, please,” Rey said. “We can talk about it in the common room.”

“You’ll only disappear on us again if we don’t discuss this now,” Finn said stubbornly. “Listen, about that...sensitive matter we discussed the other day, we were thinking maybe you should just tell him. It’ll be one less thing to lose sleep over, and I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? I’m sure he--”

“Will. You. Shut. Up?!” Rey snapped, sounding incredibly embarrassed.

“What’s this now?” Ben wondered, intrigued by her show of temper. “Tell who what?”

“Rey!” Rose reprimanded.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Rey deflated. “Can we please talk about this later? I want to hit the library before dinner.”

“Alright,” Finn softened. “We’re heading back to the common room to drop our stuff. Meet us in the Great Hall in an hour?”

“Sure,” Rey smiled. “See you then!”

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while the trio said their goodbyes, Ben waited a beat before following them out of the classroom. With her friends splitting off to head up to Gryffindor Tower, Rey descended the stairs toward the first floor, and presumably, the library.

But just as he was about to call out to her, Rey ducked into an empty classroom instead. “What the hell?”

Stalking to the door in a few long strides, Ben peeked through the stained glass insert just in time to see Rey tug a thin gold necklace from under her robes. Ben recognized the circular pendant from a book about time travel, but couldn’t believe that Rey would have such a highly regulated magical item in her possession.

Barging into the room without so much as a knock, Ben startled Rey into looking up. “Is that a time turner?” he asked without preamble. “Is that why you’ve been so tired lately? You’ve been messing around with time travel?”

“What?” Rey said, dumbfounded by the accusation. “How did you…? Wait. Were you listening to us?” she demanded. “Because that’s a complete invasion of my—”

“Are you serious?” Ben replied incredulously. “No, I wasn’t listening to you. Or, I wasn’t trying to at least. But that really isn’t the issue here.”

“No?” Rey folded her arms and leaned back against a desk. “Enlighten me then.”

“This is about what ever scheme your merry band of idiots have concocted. Out with it, what are you planning to do with that?” Ben indicated the golden timepiece still clutched in her hand.

Rey stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Oh, Solo, you have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, striding forward and impulsively plucking the time turner from her grasp.

“Wait!” she cautioned as the hourglass flipped on its head. “Ben, don’t--!”

But it was too late, time was already spinning around them.

Trying to keep his head as students and teachers filtered in and out the room at light speed, Ben marveled at the experience of traveling through time; studying magical theory and living it were definitely two different things.

When reality came back into focus and they were alone again, Rey jerked the necklace out of his hand and stuffed it back down her shirtfront. “How many times did it turn? Did you count?”

“What? No.”

“Great, just great!” she fumed, rolling up her sleeve. “Okay, my watch says it’s 5:57, which means we have three minutes until the clock tower chimes. That should at least tell us what time it is, even if we don’t know what day yet.”

“Huh? I don’t--hey!” Ben yelped as Rey grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the door. “What the hell, Niima? You can’t just--”

“Shut up!” she hissed, cracking open the door.

“Excuse me?! I will not--mmph!” Shocked into silence as she clamped her hand over his mouth, Ben froze as two familiar scarlet figures rushed past them.

“Shit, we’re going to be so late!” Poe Dameron groused, hastily pulling on his Keeper’s gloves as he passed.

“It’s your fault,” Finn reminded him. “You’re the one who busted out the fire whisky.”

“And you’re the one who decided to drink it,” Poe replied.

“Like you gave us much of a choice! You said we’d all be kicked off the team if we didn’t have a drink or seven with the captain,” Finn baited.

“I said no such thing!” Poe protested. “Unless, of course, I did, in which case…”

As their voices faded away, Ben stared down at the slender fury holding onto him. “Rey?” he tried, muffled by her warm palm. “I think they’re gone.”

“Oh, thank god!” she exclaimed, releasing him. “We can’t be seen!”

“Together you mean?” he frowned at the insinuation.

“Yes, obviously,” she said hastily.

“Ouch, Rey.”

“Okay, if Finn and Poe are heading to practice after the party last night, then it must still be Saturday.” She started pacing. “I’ll be there too, so we don’t need to worry about running into me. Where were you around--” she paused as the clock clanged several times “--7:00 am?”

“In the dungeons, sleeping in like a normal person on a Saturday morning,” Ben informed her.

“Oh, ha ha,” Rey deadpanned. “So, it seems we’re in the clear then.”

“No harm, no foul?” he said tentatively.

“Sure, we’ll go with that when I have to explain to my head of house why I used the time turner for no reason.”

“To your--? So, you’re using the time turner for academic reasons?” Ben queried. It seemed obvious now that he thought about it. “Well, I feel stupid.”

“Duh,” Rey said, rolling her eyes. “But, um, thanks I guess? For being worried about me.”

“Yeah, well, I do care about you,” Ben admitted.

“You do?” she tilted her head, examining him like a particularly difficult arithmancy problem.

“Duh,” he smiled. “So, what are we going to do for twelve hours?”

“Might as well head to the library, I guess, and--what?” Rey stopped when she saw his pained expression.

“May I suggest the kitchens instead? It may be early, but I’m still ready for dinner.”

“Sure,” Rey laughed, slowly slipping her hand through his. “I’m hungry too. And tired. Exhausted, actually.”

“Sounds like a nap is in order too,” Ben added.

“Sounds heavenly,” she agreed, pulling him into the corridor. “Finn and Rose keep telling me I should drop a couple classes and turn in the time turner. What do you think?”

“I think you should give your all to the classes you’re most passionate about,” he advised. “You’re already beating me in every subject, so if you’re trying to impress me, trust me, I’m impressed.”

“I’m not--I’m--” Rey stuttered, stopping short just outside the entrance to the kitchens.

“I’m kidding,” Ben said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Smooth, Solo. Real smooth.”

“No, maybe I was trying to impress you,” she admitted sheepishly.

“What?”

“Ben, I--I really like you. Maybe even more than like you. Now, you don’t have to say anything back, but I just wanted to--mmph!”

Ben silenced her with a brief kiss before tickling the painted pear on the door behind them. “First food, then a nap, then love confessions, okay? You look like you’re about to drop.”

“If you insist,” Rey beamed. 

By the time the next bell sounded, they were settling comfortably by the fire, sharing a plate of ham sandwiches and a flagon of pumpkin juice between them.

“You know what?” Rey said, yawning as she reclined in Ben’s strong arms.

“What?”

“I’m glad this happened.”

“Yeah?” he responded, hardly believing his good fortune.

“Yeah. I can think of worse ways to pass the time.”

-FIN-

——————

Master list –> AO3 | ff.net | Tumblr 

[bubblegumfiles]

Week 2 Food Diary/Workout Log

And other random thoughts

Day 8 - May 8, 2019

I left home hungry and felt like I was starving by the time I left work. I was very tempted to eat a spoonful of buttered white rice in the fridge even though I had a whole beets, black beans, and broccoli meal planned out in my head. But I didn’t. I chose not to. Instead, I ate a can of sardines and it’s quelled me significantly.

Made it to the gym. I chose to start with an arm day since I tend to be self conscious about my bat wings when I’m wearing short sleeves.

I did 30 lbs on the first three machines and 40 lbs on the last one, two rounds of 15,10,10 reps on each with short breaks between each set. I didn’t break a sweat anywhere except a light misting of perspiration on my neck, which is very unusual for me. I sweat easily. Maybe I didn’t challenge myself enough? Come to think of it, there wasn’t much burn either. Perhaps by some blessed miracle or cosmic joke there is some strength under all this flab. If I am not sore tomorrow, I will increase the number of reps. If I am, I’ll repeat the same thing again. Not too shabby for the first day in the gym.

2 cups of broccoli, 1 cup of beets, and 1/2 cup of black beans was the next meal. Or the only meal so far I suppose. The thing is I am hungry but I’m also a bit irritated so I don’t feel like doing anything, especially not cooking. My family is eating differently and the smell of hamburger meat is permeating the house right now, but I don’t feel tempted to eat it, even with being hungry. I think I feel let down because my mom said we’d go walking together at 6 and I was genuinely looking forward to going. If I’d known she’d change her mind, I would have gone earlier or gotten some cardio in at the gym this morning. Today is my dad’s birthday and I think mama thought we’d go out to eat today. She seems kinda tired though. I’m taking daddy out on Saturday but the place I’m taking him doesn’t have healthy options so I’m just going to eat at home first. I’m feeling sleepy and irritable even though I slept roughly 6 hours, give or take. I’m sitting at 419 on the calorie intake so maybe that’s why I’m feeling a bit frustrated and sleepy. Add that to disappointment and I guess I get where my mood is stemming from. I don’t want to be too hungry at work but it looks like I might end up that way. It’s the stupid anxiety again.

After a nap I felt a little less anxious and by the time I got to the parking lot at work and ate some beans, beets, and a few pineapple chunks, I was feeling better. By the time work is over, it’ll be another day survived. That sounds super good to me.

Day 9 - May 9, 2019

Saw Auntie Sherion at work and she gave me an apple and when I got to the car I chugged some water and had a few more pineapple chunks. The water distended my stomach enough to not feel super hungry during the drive home, which was lovely.

Threw all of these lovely things in a skillet and hit it with some paprika, black pepper, a little sea salt, a little parsley (I have no idea what this actually goes on), and a tablespoon of teriyaki sauce. Did I mention I’m not a cook? I’m sure it’s obvious to my tastebuds. I overdid it on the pepper. I also over cooked the vegetables which made me a bit sad but whatever. There’s always next time. A serving size of cashews did manage to improve my mood though.

Made it to the gym later than I wanted since it was raining when I got off work but I made it. Did 45 minutes on the treadmill at 3.1 speed and between 2.5 and 3 incline. I wanted to do more but Tiff was in distress and while it was easy to hold the phone and walk on the treadmill, I couldn’t do it with the weights so I called it a day. I still felt satisfied because I made it though.

My last meal of the day was really satisfying. 2 red potatoes, broccoli and sardines. Even though I ended up hungry about 2.5 hours later, it was nice not to feel that odd teeny tiny ghost of hunger immediately after a meal that tends to happen continuously these days. I’m not sure if it’s because of the calorie deficit or if it’s because I’m still not getting enough nutrients. Guess I’ll have to look into it later.

Day 10 - May 10, 2019

I ate 2 jolly rancher hard candies at work. When I got home I had eggs, broccoli, and cucumber and tomato.

Did an hour at the gym by accident, which really tickled me. Repeated the same arm exercises from Day 8 (reps and weight included) and decided to get on the treadmill since my feet didn’t hurt. For 15 minutes I did 3.0 incline at 3.0 pace, 15 more minutes and no incline at 3.0 pace, and a 5 minute cool down. I’m starting to believe my theory about healthy food and my brain is right because when I walked in the gym, I felt anxious and embarrassed because there were people there (didn’t expect that) but I was able to regulate my feelings and redirect my focus, so much so that I ended up staying longer than intended! It felt nice to be able to self soothe in a positive way.

Also...I have ankles?!?! Apparently I hold fluid there and have been my whole existence only to find out after attempting to stay properly hydrated that I don’t just go from leg to foot. Who knew? 😳

Next was brown rice, quinoa, sweet peppers and onion. I love eating this. It’s tasty and if I drink enough water with it, it takes away the hungry feeling for a little while.

Some things that are worthy of note: I finally drank a gallon of water in a day and I went to a prom send off with yummy food and stuck to eating fruits and veggies! Omg it smelled to lovely but I know what I want for my mind. The bit that the fog has lifted has provided tremendous relief without the weird emotional blockage that I felt with my medication. Because I’m still feeling the emotions, but it’s like now my brain has the ability to reframe it and the energy to process it. That’s the best way to describe it. It feels...amazing.

Day 11 - May 11, 2019

Had 3 grapes at work. They were so juicy!! Got home and made oatmeal and eggs. No fruit in the oatmeal this time but it did have honey and cinnamon. Also ended up eating a can of sardines too.

I woke up really hungry and decided on a Subway salad but was only a few bites in when it was time to go to daddy’s birthday lunch at Bluff City Crab. Their food is amazing so I may sit in the car to finish my salad before being tempted by the deliciousness. It’s seafood, sure, but how do I calculate the calories in the butter and secret seasonings and sauces or whatever? What if I go overboard on eating but undershoot the calorie intake? I don’t wanna risk it.

Snacked on an apple and it didn’t make my heart start fluttering. Had rice and sardines as the last meal.

No exercise today. I think I feel bad about it. I feel bad in general. Like I wanna cry bad. Not only did I not exercise but today I think I let myself get too hungry so I’m cranky. The biggest reason I didn’t get to exercise is because my free time went to other people. At the time it felt nice to give it but in retrospect maybe I shouldn’t have? I don’t know. I tasted a spoonful of rotel dip but ended up spitting the meat out. I even popped a mini snickers open and started chewing it but it tasted funny so I spit all of it out too. I’d like some different foods now I guess, but I can’t tell if I genuinely want it or I want it because I feel stressed all of a sudden. Holidays do that to me, especially when I’m not sure my mom will like her gift. We’re also supposed to go out to eat at Chow Time for Mother’s Day tomorrow. They have vegetables that I can eat but I really don’t want to go. I guess I’m tired of going out somewhere that has different food options from what I’m choosing to eat right now and not having a good vegetable option to choose from but spending my money on it anyway. I don’t have that problem if I’m not social or when I keep to myself. Only when I try to interact with people more. Every time I end up cutting a piece of my desires to please someone else.

I felt ugly today too. Like the gross kind. That’s when I lost my footing on my emotional state. Right now I want to go have some rotel and Doritos. Should I? Will I binge later if I don’t? Will I fall off the wagon and go back to eating the way I used to if I do? I wish the gym hadn’t closed early without notice. That was the beginning of the emotional spiral. I’d given to everyone else all morning but the moment I went to give something to myself, I wasn’t able. And now I feel a little low. *sigh*

Day 12 - May 12, 2019

Today I ate an unmeasured amount of white rice (probably about 2 serving sizes worth), a can of sardines, and a fourth of a red circle b smoked sausage. Didn’t care for the meat much. No gym again.

Day 13 - May 13, 2019

No food. Went to the gym at 5 A.M. and did 45 minutes on the treadmill. I alternated between 3.0 incline/3.0 speed and 0.0 incline/3.3 speed. Felt relaxed and mellow afterward which was lovely. Also got a gallon of water down.

Day 14 - May 14, 2019

No food. Did some exercise before work. Arms and treadmill on the hills setting. According to the machine I burned 407 calories in 45 minutes. Did another gallon. I feel like I need more water though.

[anon-e-miss]

Mitigation 3 - Smut of the Month Club

Some not really smut, smut. I swear that is coming... next.

Edit: Chapter title edited because I can’t keep track of my own bloody fics.

Prowl outright glared at him, and Meister knew he had not hallucinated, he had not misheard. Well... this was an interesting development. Had he been trapped with a friend, he would have suggested interfacing early on, but Meister had not even considered with Prowl, not because he would have expected the Praxian to refuse but because he had not himself been inclined to take that kind of risk. The realization that Prowl had been masturbating, though not successfully, right next to him over the course of two mega-cycles was more hilarious than it was disturbing. It took every last bit of self-restraint the saboteur had in him to keep from cackling like the lunatic he most assuredly was. Of course he was a lunatic because this idea seemed brilliant to him, and not awkward as all frag.

Then again, Meister had always been good at rolling with whatever life threw at him.

“So... ya been tryin’... with those doors?” He asked.

“It was the least obvious method,” Prowl huffed.

“Yer doorwings are pretty scuffed up,” the Polihexian said, and at least in part to confirm this fact for himself, he eased the blankets off Prowl’s back. The scrapes had not healed much over the course of two dark-cycles, and though he was no expert on doorwings, the locations of the scrapes led him to this the Praxian did not have a hope in the Pit of revving himself up. Meister took the nanite gel from his subspace and put it down between them. “Those scrapes are lookin’ gnarly. More gel’s just what ya need... ‘N a different method.”

“Proceed,” the tactician replied.

His doorwings were flat, maybe in resignation. As he had the first mega-cycle, Meister applied a thick layer of gel to the scrapes along the edges of Prowl’s doorwings, and he did so without mockery. He could feel the Praxian’s field seething under his servos, though he could not teek any one specific emotion. Mockery, Meister though was more likely to lead to a gun to his helm than a lightening of the room, and that was not a good gamble to make. As an added touch, once he had the scrapes covered with the nanite gel, the saboteur applied a self-adhesive mesh to further protect the damage, and to prevent the gel from rubbing off.

“Probably gonna be easier if I give ya a helpin’ servo,” Meister suggested. “The whole bit’s sensitive, right? Ya can’t reach’em, but ya can tell me what to do.”

“That... may be agreeable,” Prowl said. “Doorwings are not as delicate as stories would have you believe. If you do not set out to damage me, you will not.”

“Thanks for the vote o’ confidence,” the saboteur replied, not quite able to keep the laughter from his voice this time.

This was not something he had ever considered doing, and he had a very active imagination. Meister heard the sounds of a transformation sequence, and watched as the tactician flattened his chassis, and lay face down on the blanket, arms folded in front of him. Though he took Prowl’s glyphs to spark, when the saboteur finally touched the Praxian’s doorwing, he did so very lightly. Prowl did not react immediately. The tension in his frame was impossible to miss, Meister was tense too, though he hoped he was hiding it a little better. Slowly though, he gained more confidence in what he was doing, and slowly the plating under his servo began to heat up. It was not a surprise that Prowl was not making even the softest sound. He trusted the mech would let him no if he pressed to hard, or otherwise hurt him, but there was no way in Pit Prowl would tell him it felt good. Pleasure was more of a means, instead of an end goal.

The tension in the tactician’s frame did not ease even as his core temperature rose, though Meister’s did. Just as he had said, Prowl’s frame was throwing off more and more heat as the Polihexian slowly revved him up. But it was a slow process. Tense and the Praxian was, it was hard to heat him up and really keep him there. It was common sense, Prowl needed to relax, but Meister could not think of any single thing to do or say that would actually help.  Distracted by this problem, his servo slid just under the Praxian’s back plate, and his digits brushed Prowl’s doorwing joint. Both mech froze as the Autobot’s engine audibly kicked up a notch, and a wave of heat poured off Prowl’s frame. Despite the physiological reaction, the Praxian still managed to keep silent. Meister looked up to the mech’s helm, and found it bowed, Prowl’s face hidden in his arms. His field agitated but without defined emotion. The saboteur cracked a smile. He did not need to feel embarrassment to know Prowl was feeling it. How exactly he was able to conceal from his field so well was something Meister thought he would like to learn. It seemed like a useful trick.

“Is this okay?” He asked, digits barely brushing against the smooth joint.

“It is effective,” Prowl’s reply was breathy.

It had been unexpected for the Autobot to as he hunched his shoulders at the sound of his own voice. He hunched his shoulders and unintentionally pushed his back up against Meister’s servo. The Praxian’s exclamation was so quiet, an average mech would not have heard it. But like many of his framekin Meister had above average hearing. Wisely, he did not let on. Instead, the saboteur withdrew his servo and sat back. With the heat Prowl’s frame was throwing off he really did make an excellent space heater.

“Ya weren’t kiddin’,” Meister said. He left the discharged blanket over their frames, but deactivated the one still outputting and set it aside before reclining again. This was actually going to work. Weird and wild as the tactician’s plan was, it was going to work. “Are ya alright?”

“I am fine,” the Praxian replied, he turned his helm. Apart from the bright optics, his expression was blank. The only really hint as to his actual state was the beads of condensation on his faceplates. “Are you prepared for a game?”

“Sure,” the saboteur said. “Think I might have an unfair advantage.”

“True,” Prowl agreed. “I will considerate it a training exercise.”

Meister chuckled at the idea, but as the game began he realized Prowl was completely serious. Concentrating while revved up was not an easy thing. He did not go into the game convinced the tactician would fumble again, and the Polihexian was soon proven to have been right. It was not as solid a game as he had first seen Prowl play, but it was slick enough. His own game was not at its best, Meister could not deny, Prowl was not the only one distracted. Some mechanisms might be able to masturbate another without feeling a buzz, and it turned out he was not one of them. Still, the saboteur kept his cool, kept his field on lock down, and played the game.

When Prowl stopped throwing off heat as his charge dropped within normal parametres, they paused the game. Meister was doing everything he could to be clinical about this, but it did not come easy to him. He had a healthy interface drive, and it was reminding him of its good health, on repeat, much to his exasperation. Ignoring said drive, the Polihexian did not immediately go for the joint, figuring it was not unlike valveplay, it was better overall if you worked your way up. Prowl was even quieter this round, and the twitches as his frame headed up were subtler. It was a marvel to think how much self-control this mech had. Making the tactician come undone completely would be a battle of wills, and a very entertaining one. Though it would have been more fun to explore all the different spots that might heat Prowl up, Meister limited himself to the smooth panelling and concealed joints. Quite simply, it came down to respect. If it suited him, the Praxian could let him freeze, the fact that he was willing to act as a space heater by being brought to the edge of overload over and over, the operative was smart enough to feel grateful.

“Enough,” Prowl order, softly. Meister watched him as he withdrew his servo. The tactician did not move for a bream. When he did, he did little more than turn his helm to the side.

“Think ya need to fuel,” Meister declared. The statement roused Prowl, and the Praxian pushed himself up on his arms.

“We need to ration appropriately,” he said, voice not so much soft as breathy.

“It’s appropriate to keep ya properly fuelled,” the saboteur declared, and he pulled out a cube, and put it down next to Prowl’s elbow. “Ya burning through energon. We got enough cubes between us to last. Drink.”

“I suspect you fully intend to pour it down my throat if I do not,” the Praxian replied. He did pick up the cube, and take a long drink.

“And give ya slag the whole time,” Meister promised. It pleased him in no small way that Prowl was smarter than he was stubborn, though he did not know yet how close the race between the two was. “Wanna get back to the game?”

“Crown,” Prowl said as he put the cube down, and took his game piece, and cornered Meister’s. The Polihexian could not help but laugh.

The mega-cycle continued on much the same vein. They played, focusing their conversation on Triad. Prowl did not say another glyph about trying to recruit Meister to the Autobots, to the operative’s relief. He thought about it, more about the disbelief the offer had been, and by this mech no less. Autobots stood for the Prime, and the old guard, and the status quo, Meister was not. Very few Polihexian had allied themself to the Prime’s ranks, even to this new Prime. His were a frametype decried as thieves, addicts, and conmech. Though it was true enough that Meister had been, and still was a thief as his contracts required, the Fellowship did not make up the majority of Polihex’s population. Most were poor and starved as Straxus tightened his grip. At one time most had been artisans, artists, musicians, overall hardworking mechs.  It had not been so long ago, Meister remembered dancing in the streets during festivals as a sparkling, and he still remembered as those festivals had become fewer and fewer, the streets quieter and quieter, and the once clear skies murkier and murkier.

No, the operative could not ally himself with the Decepticons, but Straxus was not alone to blame for the Empties, and the silent streets. Straxus had only come to power after Sentinel Prime had cracked down on Polihex, blaming them for the assassination of his predecessor, Straxus had promised to bring Polihex back to prosperity. It had been a lie. The assassination, that had been the work of a Polihexian, it had been the work of Meister’s originator in fact, but the job had not come from within Polihex, it had come from within Iacon. Meister did not mourn the mech, he had been a Functionist slagtard. He only regretted the mech’s death had been used as an excuse to crush his framekin. Even if these were not the crimes of Optimus Prime, it was impossible to imagine swearing fealty to to him and his “cause”.

Meister was glad for the distraction of the game, and his Praxian opponent. They paused their games three more times before the dark-cycle. Each time the saboteur stroked and kneaded smooth black and white plating until Prowl called him off. After each round, Meister insisted the Autobot fuel. Though Prowl won that first game,  he lost the next, and the next. He could hardly be blamed for being distracted. Edging was enough to wipe a mechanisms processor, The fact that Prowl could play at all, and that the Polihexian was not outright creaming him said something for his processor power. But as the dark-cycle descended, it was clear to Meister that the mech had had enough. So he felt a little guilty when Prowl rolled onto his chassis, and flattened his wings.

“If we can limit the use of that blanket our situation will be less precarious,” the Praxian said, flatly.

“I’ll set an alarm, make sure we don’t freeze while we recharge,” Meister replied. “Use the blanket if we gotta.”

It did cool as Prowl’s frame stopped throwing off heat. Though they could likely have survived the dark-cycle without the blanket’s use, joors before sunrise Meister grabbed the blanket, turned it on, and pulled it over their two frames. He was in recharge again in a matter of kliks. When he woke again, he stayed curled under the blanket, and listened to the storm. Wishful thinking would have had him imagine that the winds were weakening, but in reality the Polihexian thought they were howling as loud as the mega-cycle before. Another mega-cycle of Triad did not sound all that appealing. The cave was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and he was irrationally annoyed at the lack of music.  

He scrolled through the collection he kept uploaded to his processor. Praxus had not been a sterile civilization. The music had been profoundly different from the music he had learned in Polihex, but there had been music, and not only the singing crystal’s from the Helix Garden. To his regret, Meister had not uploaded the collection he had purchased on one of his early assignments there. But he thought the collection of folk songs he had saved might be unobtrusive enough for the Praxian. With Prowl still dead to the world, Meister selected the first file, paused to adjust the volume from his speakers, and set it to play. Prowl recharged another joor before he stirred. He froze, and the saboteur did with him, his helm cocked minutely to the side.

“It is a marked improvement from the storm,” Prowl declared, and Meister relaxed. “I don’t recognize the dialect.”

“Ol’ Polihexian,” Meister explained. “Almost extinct, like common Primal Vernacular.”

“I never left Praxus,” the tactician said. “Not until the Autobot search party pulled me from the rubble... I apologize.”

“Nah, it must of been a livin’ Pit,” the Polihexian replied. “I can see why ya didn’t leave. It was a beautiful city.”

“I was bolted to my desk,” Prowl said. “My entire life was built on the framework of the Enforcers. Others stopped badgering me to take holidays after the first millenia.”

“I suppose that don’t work for the Hatchet,” Meister guessed.

“It does not surprise me in the least you know Ratchet’s reputation,” the Praxian replied, tiredly. His field was less closed off than it had been, ripples less ambiguous. There was a whisper of grief, but also one of hope. “I am expected to work the joors he defines as reasonable, and I am required to take regular mega-cycles off. My life is fundamentally altered, in some ways, improved. I will always mourn Praxus and the mechanisms I failed to save.”

“Ya didn’t fail’em,” the saboteur said. “Tellin’ ya that straight up. Ya didn’t wait for someone to come ‘n save ya. Ya tried.”

“I did not succeed,” Prowl countered, without any heat.

“Not the same as failin’,” Meister replied.

“You would have your own definitions,” the Autobot said, and blatantly changed the subject. “We should fuel. And save the blanket.”

Both mech knew what Prowl actually meant. Meister felt unexpectedly happy that Prowl had found something in the Autobots. They were not, he knew with absolute certainty what the mech had wanted, but he had a place with them, a medic at least that cared enough to fuss over him. He had a life after Praxus. Could he have a life after Polihex? After the Fellowship? As much as the saboteur hated to considerate, Prowl’s offer had old and near fears spinning in his optics. There was no way he could be a Decepticon, but if the Fellowship folded, he would have no safe place to run to after a mission, no guaranteed income. Work as an independent hire was considerably more risky, which is why he had never made the jump.

“How do ya feel ‘bout comparin’ notes?” He suggested after they had fuelled, and after the blanket had been said aside. His servo lazily brushed against Prowl’s back. “’M curious if ya tagged me for all my... jobs.”

“I would be interested,” Prowl said, and he dropped his helm into his arms. “I have wondered how you bypassed all of our security protocols.”

“I think I can let ya in on a few of my tricks,” Meister replied.

They were skirting dangerous territory, the operative thought as followed a now familiar map over the Praxian’s back and doorwings. Or perhaps it was just Meister. The temptation to flirt and tease was becoming stronger. Ric had hassled him non stop for having a crush on an Enforcer he had never even seen, something the elder twin had vehemently. Meister preferred to think of it as admiration, and irritation. Prowl had cost him some lucrative contracts, but it had been impossible not to admire the mech’s intelligence. Pit, the former Praefectus could be as devious as Meister himself, of course he respected the mech. But had he seen Prowl back then, the Polihexian thought he probably would have fallen into serious lust. Beautiful, and brilliant, there was no better combination.

But if he was lusting after the Praxian a bit here and now, well who could blame him? Meister had been listening to that engine hum, felt the heat of arousal under his servos, been the one to draw it up in fact, of course he was getting a bit hot under the kibble.   He did not let on, however. As the tactician’s plating warmed again, the Polihexian stroked  the mech’s doorwing joint. Prowl tensed, and squirmed unexpectedly. Concerned that he had let something slip into his field, Meister sat back on his peds and put his servos on his knees. The Praxian suddenly flared his doorwings and swept them back, he pushed himself up off the blanket, plating clattering. When he realized Meister was staring, Prowl sat.

“I cannot...” he hissed, and he brushed his servos down his arms.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure somethin’ out,” Meister replied. “Did I hurt ya?”

“My sensors are on fire,” Prowl said. “Or rather they were. Thank Primus I can adjust their feedback.”

“Did I?” The Polihexian asked.

“Just... over stimulation,” the Autobot said, he looked down, realized he was still rubbing his servos against his arms, and stopped. “I hoped I could ignore it.”

“Why don’tcha relax,”  Meister suggested. “We’re okay right now.”

“I would like to meditate,” Prowl said, quickly.

“Have at it,” the saboteur replied.

Prowl inclined his helm, and stood. He walked to the alcove and sat with his legs crossed. Though the mech obviously needed to regroup, Meister was not about to let him freeze like this. The cave was cold, that much had not changed. Leaving him was blankets had been considerate, but the Polihexian was not going to let this brilliant moron be any more self-sacrificing that he had already been. Meister took the half spent blanket from where he had set it aside, and carried it over to Prowl, and draped it over him. It was still off, but like the ones the saboteur returned to, it was decent enough insulation, so long as it did not get any cold.

He said nothing as he returned to the blankets spread out on the floor, and made himself comfortable. Meister would let Prowl meditate, however long he needed to, and maybe by that time the Polihexian would have a satisfactory plan. Though he had pretended to, Meister had not missed the beads of lubricant trickling down the sides of Prowl’s interface panel. It was not meditation the Autobot needed, he thought, but an overload. Now, Meister asked himself how exactly was he going to convince Prowl of this little fact?

[ladybalem]

Two to Take Care - an imagine Confession about Marius Pontmercy

Look, one more request delivered successfully, my faithful devotees: That one belongs to @shellelyn, who told me was in need of Marius. Check here her lovely ask: https://ladybalem.tumblr.com/post/172994546063/my-love-i-am-in-need-of-marius-perhaps

Well, I just can say that, depending on me, if you're in need, you'll have him, and as you asked me a day: Covered in chocolate and strawberries (giant ones, directly from my Garden of Delights and in a silver platter). Dearest, I hope I've reached the point. (P.S. That's the last imagine, officially done with them...)  Yayo! And here we go: I witnessed it happened like this...

*

Imagine... You and your beloved husband Marius Pontmercy are married for yet some time and you live in plenty happiness, actually lacking just one thing to turn this happiness already so intense into a fully complete one. Place: The mansion where you live, in Paris. Time: XIX century.

* * *           Leaned on the smooth pillows fulfiled with goose feathers to which Marius had so diligently piled up for you some minutes ago, you were laid down at the huge dossal bed at the bedroom of you two, but actually you weren't feeling quite good. You just couldn't tell if you were about to get sick (getting a cold or something like) or if it was only just tiredness, but it was like you were feeling: Tired and sick. With a moan and a sad sigh you tried to rearrange yourself on the comfortable bed, but that was oddly uncomfortable, and you just couldn't find a position there. And seeing your gestures, Marius, who was sat down at the edge of the bed by your side, ready to act to whatever it would be necessary to assist you, quickly bended over you, saying with a worried feature:           - (y/n), my dearest... Are you alright? Want you something? - and all of a sudden he started to arrange the high pillows under your head, delicately arranging then the sheet and the embroidered quilt which were covering you up to your waist.           Trying to smile you looked at his tense features, trying to mentally count how many times he had still asked you that and you had answered that everything was fine, but the truth it was that you were doing that just to tranquilize him and nothing more, cause you weren't, truly speaking, feeling no fine. But even then, more for love than for anything else, one more time you insisted in what it was actually an untruth at that  moment:           - Marius, I... I've already told you, love, I'm great - and once again you tried to arrange yourself better on the bed - I'm just a little tired, just that.           Quickly placing his large hand on your forehead to verify if it there was fever, for that which seemed to be the fifteenth time on the last five minutes, worried, Marius in sequence smoothed your hair, sliding along it his eyes for an instant, as he seemed to be thinking, and then he said you in a very low voice:           - My love, I... I told you. You'd have been sewing and doing crochet too much, until late at night, all of this passed weeks... You shall rest and feed yourself in a proper way, (y/n). I told you you were about to get sick this way.           Shaking your head in the most vehement way you were able to do due to your current state, with a hand you took his which was on your hair, averting it a little as you held it firmly with your delicate fingers, and looking right into his eyes you said in a sweet but very firm voice:           - No, Marius, the winter... The winter won't wait me to finish my work to come, do you comprehend? It will just come, just rigorous as always... - and then you took a pause, breathing and swallowing saliva, feeling to be everything, less fine, at that  instant - I need to finish those tiny clothes, Marius. The children at the orphanage just can't wait, they're just can't be in lack of the wearable when the winter comes.           - But you made so many yet, my love, isn't it enough?           - No, it's not enough, Marius, it isn't - you said firmly, before to close your eyes for a while, suddenly feeling ill, passing a hand on through your face - The winter, Marius... None of the children will suffer from cold this year, on what can depends on me.           That it was already something of your routine to help the Parisian Municipal Orphanage, where so many children lived without the coziness, the warmth and the love of a home, but lately you were worrying about them above the average. Maybe it was because you were yet married for so long and had not yet got pregnant, maybe it was because you were starting to feel guilty cause you weren't being able to give Marius the children to whom you well knew him (as well you) desired so much to have. And although he always used to say that no one of you were absolutely not guilty and that it just hadn't yet happened cause it wasn't still the willing of God, internally and secretly you just couldn't avoid  to feel this way. And maybe it was due to that you were trying to seek for some comfort as doing the possible and the impossible  for the children who weren't yours.           Looking right into your eyes as he heard these your last words,  Marius couldn't help but feel the most completely in love with you than a minute before, looking at you with a deep love and feeling profoundly proud of your charitableness. You were, just as always, placing other's wellbeing above your own, and although it was clear that at that right moment this was  prejudicing you in a certain way, and the last thing Marius would desire to see in this life it was you at that state, even so he felt proud of the woman he had choose for his life, to be at his side, feeling at the deepest of his own he have made the right choice. And it was that feeling which got to extract from  him a light and tiny smile even at a time like that, and slightly passing his fingertips by your face he spoke under a breath:           - There's no words in this world to express how much I love you, (y/n).           Looking at his face you didn't know why but you felt suddenly embarrassed, and you lowered your eyes, slightly tightening your lips, and in a second you felt the tears to come up to your eyes, at hard costs getting to avoid them to fall. And smoothing your hand that was over the quilt for a while, as turning into the bedside table, Marius said with a sweet voice, as taking by the saucer to the cup of tea he had brought you and left there:           - Now drink at least a little tea - and taking off his hand from yours, he took the cup by its handle, approaching it from your face - It's not fair to left it here cooling this way, my dearest, come, drink it - and stopped with the cup right in front of your face, who looked at him actually undecided - Drink it, (y/n), it's delicious and it will make you to feel better.           Not having not the minimum willing to, you slightly frowned your eyebrows, but you ended inclining into it your face, and as you touched its edge with your lips, carefully he inclined the cup, so the tea could touch your lips. But as soon as you took a little sip, the smell of the tea suddenly made you  nauseated, and you frightened yourself, almost doing him to overturn it all over you, and repelling him from you with your both hands you turned your face aside, quickly covering your mouth:           - For God, Marius, it's horrible... What did you put into my tea?           Looking at you with wide opened eyes and really frightened, Marius recovered the cup, slowly leading it to his own nose, starting to smell it in order to inquire if it there was something really wrong with it, and after having take a sip and see that the tea was fine, he said:           - I... I didn't put nothing in your tea, just... just the amount of sugar you like, (y/n) - and leaving the cup on the bedside table again, he said - It's your favorite tea, I can't comprehend.           - My favorite tea? So then why is it like I am about to vomit? - you said, feeling nauseated again, before to left yourself to hopeless to fall down on the pillows, as your husband took a hand of yours, starting to give you light slaps at its back, and then Marius said pretty lowly, the most for himself than for you:           - You're not a little fine. I did it right on calling the doctor to see you.           Frightening yourself, you complained - You did what? Marius, I told you it wasn't needed!           - Yes, it's needed - and he started to arrange you again, at this time covering also your arms, before to check at your temperature again - You're not even a little fine.           And being desolated, you closed your eyes, with a sigh.

*

          Soon one of the servant maids appeared at the bedroom door, with her face down, due to shyness and the sadness for seeing her so adored mistress bed ridden, and addressing herself to Marius, she murmured:           - My sir, the doctor arrived.           - So ask him to come up now, please!           And as soon as she disappeared behind the door, you sighed:           - Marius... I told you it wasn't needed.           - Shh... - he was still softly slapping at your hand's back, this time over the quilt and the sheet which were covering it - Don't say no word, don't fatigue yourself.           - Mister Pontmercy - sounded a well known voice at the door, and lifting up and straightening his back  Marius looked at the man anxiously, stretching an arm into his way, just as like if with this gesture asking him to approach quickly.           - Enter in, enter in, docteur Montpassant, she's here.           Listening to that you lightly beamed, cause it was clear the doctor could see it by himself, but that was your Marius: A little foolish, sometimes, but an adorable fool, the little fool you loved so. And gesturing with his arm he mutely asked to the old aged  doctor to come closer, what this one actually did, with a amiable smile on his face, placing his case on the tiny table aside the bedhead, looking at you both with tenderness.           - I was about to ask you how you'd been, but I can clearly see you're not quite well. It seems, inclusively, you're worse than her. Would you like me to examine you as well?           Really, the doctor's arrival seemed to, instead to soothe Marius, that it had made him tense the most, and he was stirring himself impatiently, looking at you with a kind of angst. And taking off one of your hands from under the quilts you grabbed one of his with strength, kindly tightening it into yours, slightly smiling for him before to give a glance at the doctor:           - I said it wasn't necessary to call you, doctor Montpassant. Forgive us for that. I'm a just a little tired, I've had not slept enough, just that.           - But doctor - said Marius, seeming afflicted, with his free hand taking the cup and stretching it into the other man's way, looking at him with a supplicant expression - Look! It's her favorite tea! I ordered it just because she loves this tea, and however, she gets nauseated with it!           - Marius, I'm fine...           - That's what we shall see - the doctor smiled in a amiable way, looking the most as a father than a professional - Now, please, calm down, my young man - he addressed himself to Marius - We don't want two patients here, isn't? Set your mind on rest - and opening his case, he started to put out of it his  apparels - Now, if you allow me, I'm going to examine mistress Pontmercy.           Quickly getting up in a bit mixed-up way, as he started to straight up his own clothes, Marius just as if asked for forgiveness:           - Yes, docteur, please.           And slightly bending over you, the doctor beamed - (y/n), as you allow me.           You lightly smiled, lowering your eyes, and, placing the stethoscope held at his ears, he auscultate your heart. Calmly and  diligently the doctor examined you with care, asking you an endless series of questions to which you answered as you could in spite of the weakness you were feeling, and at the end of some very long minutes that for Marius seemed like an eternity, the doctor asked you:           - And about your period, (y/n). For how long haven't you still not bled?           You looked at him with eyes a bit too much widened, actually a bit scared with the fact  that, as you noticed it was really on a large delay, how could the doctor know that through just the superficial exams he have made, and you babbled a little, actually a bit shy, as you answered him in a whisper:           - I think ... that at least for three months... - and you thought for a while - No... Four. Four, for sure.           You at that last days had been so busy on sewing and manufaturing all of that innumerable child clothing  for the orphans that you have not even had the time to pay attention on yourself, and notice what it was happening, or better saying, what it was NOT happening, and feeling a bit shocked due to all of that you lowered your eyes, blinking them innumerable times, slightly contorting the fingers of both hands in between, as Marius finally asked, seeming to be completely perplexed:           - But and then, doctor, what... What does it all mean? What is wrong with her? Will she be fine soon?           Slightly smiling as putting his apparels back to his case, the doctor said, with a good-humored voice:           - She would get fine just in case her problem it was an illness, mister Pontmercy, but it isn't,  absolutely.           - I don't... I don't comprehend, doctor Montpassant. Won't you prescribe her not even a remedy?           - The remedy for her is to restart to sleep and feed herself properly, cause she truly couldn't be into a better health. Maybe the one who need some help by now it will be you, my esteemed lad - and this tone of suddenly intimacy puzzled Marius, although he knew the doctor since he had been born - Cause (y/n) is pregnant, she's not sick.           Only hearing the confirmation to what you were dedicating the last minutes to think about, you couldn't keep a sigh of admiration, but as you saw Marius to suddenly wobble before to let himself to fall sat down at the bed by your side, you let out a loud sigh, as you stretched both of your arms  to him:           - Marius... Oh, mon Dieu!           - Your husband will need you, my mistress - the doctor beamed, taking up his case - Do you think you can deal with it or will you need some help?           - Doctor, don't... Don't leave me here alone with him in this state!           Contouring the bed, the doctor gave a half of a dozen tiny slaps at Marius's back, before to say, in a joyful and confident tone:           - It isn't myself you both need, but each other. You both are enjoying perfect health - and then he stood some steps back before to  turn himself into you two for a moment - I wish you all the happiness in this world. My congratulations - and saying this, with a smile he got out of the bedroom, as you turned your attention into Marius again, who seemed stricken in shock.           - Marius? My love? Are you alright?           Frightening himself a little as just like to return to himself, he looked at you for a moment before to whisper:           - (y/n)... We... We're going... Oh - and then placed a hand over your stomach, lowering into it his eyes - A child?           - So it seems - you said, a little in doubt, as if you actually couldn't still believe it, and you lowered your eyes to his hand over you. And didn't getting to say nothing more, Marius just started to sob, as you urged yourself on saying - Marius... Love...            And bending over you on the bed he hugged you, and as he could you hugged him back, and still confused you said under a breath:           - But, oh my, I... I need to make even more children clothing by now, Marius, I... Please... bring me the wool and the needles, please.           Raising up his face washed in tears of pure joy he looked you right into yours, caressing it very slightly with his fingertips, and he opened you a smile as he said, with a touched voice:           - We can ask two maids to help you with that, (y/n). But later. By now you need to rest - and he kissed you very softly, with his tears salted lips - Now you need to rest, and I'll be here taking care of you - and suddenly he halted, just as if suddenly thinking about something, and lifting himself a little over an elbow, and lovingly caressing your belly with a hand, he corrected himself - I'll be here, taking care of you two.             And when you noticed, you both were sobbing and smiling, at the same time, and with relief sighs you embraced between again, until you two were both crying and giggling.

* * ****************************** MY  CONFESSION TO PRIOR PHILIP: Prior, little loved one, hi, hello. Passing here just only to see you, right, cause, isn't?, let's stipulate that today I'm the most pure than a Nile River's water-lily, cause, look, besides all of that showing of charity, that, isn't?, that's the biggest of virtues, as if it was not enough, by this day we had only romance and, as I always say, here everyone is properly under the sacred ties of marriage, then you know. Free from sin we are. Unless that romance and fluffy by now is considered a sin, but  sincerely, let's stipulate, what's that my lad, and then they still say I'm no romantic. Wotz, crazy people. Quoting my mom, go wash a pretty vat full of dirty clothes you all, you meddlers! Lol! AND AMEN LORD BALEM!     

[spiteandalice]

Judas Touch pt. 7

So, uhm? Anyone still interested in this? Let me know if you want to be tagged in future, random surprise installments. I’m not even going to tag anyone in this because yeah. Embarrassing long time is embarrassing.

This still contains language and smut and violence, although this chapter only needs a nudity warning. Sorry. No smut. But angry, vengeful Eric. Yay!

Here are the previous chapters, if you need a refresher. Of course you do, it’s been forever and a day.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE PART SIX

The next morning it feels like the entire Faction is playing War Games inside my head and my mouth feels like I have spent the entire night sucking on some sweaty wool socks. The thought makes me gag, which in turn has me contemplate crawling into the bathroom to get this misery over with. But that would entail getting up, which I’m less  inclined to do now that I noticed my exact position. I’m pleasantly warm, thanks to the fact that Eric turned up the heat last night and because he is half on top of me, arms on both sides of my body, one leg slung over me as if he is trying to shield me from ricocheting bullets. Which I can assure you are not an imminent danger even under the worst circumstances, but still.

Trying to ignore the pounding in my head I begin to trace the lines of the ridiculous maze tattoo on his right arm, letting my thoughts wander. When was I this drunk last? Probably while still in school when this older guy told us he had an awesome connection to a few Amity who were distilling their own alcohol in a shed behind the house.

That was the night I learned not to trust anyone with the last name Pedrad.

Eric stirs and stretches languidly, which pushes his hips against me in the best kind of ways, both reminding me of my current state of undress and a certain pressure at the base of my spine that may or may not demand attention.

When I finally arrive in the real world Eric is smirking at me in that annoyingly attractive way that he has, undoubtedly enjoying my miserable state. Before he can start to goad me and ruin both our days my mouth decides to go ahead and shock us both.

“So, I’ve been thinking. I guess I could marry you.”

Leave it to me to accept his less than usual and rather unenthusiastic proposal in an even less enthusiastic way because apparently we are still competing for who cares less about the other. But he did take care of me during my embarrassing breakdown last night, which makes him the only person on this planet that has seen me this weak since I was six and got really sick. It’s either kill him or marry him, with the latter being the only logical option because the sex is way too good to waste his life like that. I’m allowed to be selfish, I didn’t get Abnegation for a reason. Well, many reasons but this is definitely one of them.

Eric frowns at me, undoubtedly watching me for any hints that point at me joking while he processes the information. It’s unnerving, because I suddenly think that maybe he wasn’t really serious, that he was merely joking and now I went ahead and made myself look like an even bigger idiot than usual, especially after last night. I mean, he saw me bawl my eyes out, sort of. Not very attractive, right. Maybe I’ll be going to the bathroom after all, if I drink a bottle of his aftershave that should be enough to kill me, right.

Then he shifts and positions himself between my legs, his face right in front of mine. He still looks strangely blank, calculating away with his damn Erudite brain that I will smash out of his skull with his damn bedside lamp in mere seconds. Then I see a spark of humor in his eyes and I swear, if he taunts me now he is so dead…

“Are you sure you’re not still drunk, if I call Max he will want to meet with both of us and if there’s so much as a hint of you not being of sound mind…”

I reach out to punch his face but it lacks any power because I’m buried underneath him, there isn’t much room to really get speed going and because I’m also feeling strangely weak and tired, almost as if someone has sucked all life out of my body.

“I swear, Eric, if you don’t stop behaving like an asshole…” I grit out between clenched teeth, before I stop myself. Because he’s chuckling. That pompous asshole has the audacity to laugh at me!

“You know that he might actually shed a tear, right. He’s been dreaming about this.”

“Shut the fuck up, Eric. I’m changing my mind already.”

He chuckles again and dips his head down to bite at my neck, which is familiar territory and a lot more acceptable than this talking bullshit. My hand finds purchase in his hair, which is, to my pure and utter delight, free of any styling products and ready to be messed with. My fingers clench into a fist, trapping a chunk of curls between them and he growls - again, to my delight. My attempt to get out from underneath him by flipping us over is thwarted but I didn’t actually, really try because the pressure inside me is intensifying and Eric seems to instinctively pick up on that, he grinds his hips against me and the little bit of friction is enough to distract me. There is something to be said about making out in the morning, still somewhat sleepy and slow, and it helps distract me from the fact that I completely embarrassed myself last night.

Just as he slowly lifts up my leg to position himself there is a knock on the door, actually more of a persistent pounding with a fist that we both ignore because it’s not even six in the morning and we’re dead to the world. Or rather, the world is dead to us. To my dismay it doesn’t stop, it just gets louder and faster until it sounds like someone is actually kicking the door and Eric growls, pushes himself off the bed and hastily pulls on a pair of pants that do very little to hide what we were about to do. Combined with his messy hair, his naked torso and the patented death glare he looks downright edible and I decide to stay right where I am until he has drop kicked the intruder into the chasm and we can pick up where we left off.

Judging by the tone of his voice the chances of that are dwindling rapidly.

Two minutes later he comes back with an expression promising murder and mayhem, which is my second favorite after the one promising sex and right now that is the only one I really want to see. For a moment he gets my hopes up when he pulls his pants down, but only to stomp into the bathroom and take a quick shower. I guess that is my cue to get up as well and I decide to head into the kitchen to get the coffee going, not bothering to put on any clothes since I will take a shower in approximately two minutes because Eric is very efficient when I’m not distracting him.

The sound of a throat clearing somewhere behind me nearly has me drop the mug I just pulled out of the cupboard and I slowly turn around to see Four leaning against the wall by the door, trying his very best not to look even in my general direction.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I say loudly, deciding that now is not the time to run back into the bedroom like some embarrassed teen. I look like hell, my hair's a mess, there’s bruises everywhere and well, I’m naked, which could be the main source of his discomfort. Because you never quite lose certain traits of your Faction of origin and he is so obviously a Stiff that I’m surprised that most people don’t see it. “This has to be important if they send you here and Eric didn’t kill you for rudely interrupting us.”

There’s the hint of a smirk on his face that I can only see because Four hasn’t turned his head all the way to the opposite wall. Fucking hell, that guy needs to loosen up already, he’s been here for years.

“Factionless attacked a patrol squad right around where they took you, he wanted to know the moment anything happened in that sector so. Here I am.”

All thoughts of morning workouts in bed, showering, even breakfast are suddenly very unappealing to me. Without a word I head back towards the bedroom and bump right into Eric who is in the process of pulling a shirt over his carefully made up head. It’s astonishing how quickly he can get his hair into that odd shape, considering how it looked awfully curly just moments ago. When his head appears again through the hole in the fabric he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Not sure how I feel about my wife parading around naked in front of the Stiff.”

I smile the fakest smile I have ever smiled and pat his arm, making sure to slap the exposed skin hard enough to leave a red spot.

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out by the time I actually become your wife. Make sure you don't get any silly ideas about telling me what to do though, that knife in your throat would hurt like a bitch. Oh, coffee is ready.”

It takes five minutes to shower and get dressed, when I get back they have left already but it’s not like I don’t know where I will find them. So I grab my coffee and make my way to the control room, seeing two whole people on my way there. This getting up early business stinks worse than Amity.

Eric and Four are hunched over a screen, their voices barely audible over the chaos that has swept up the usually tranquil place and that is not helping my headache at all. I step over to them, barely avoiding another fucking Pedrad and if he had spilled my coffee I would have had no choice but to spill his blood. I swear, this family is like a pack of extremely annoying rats.

Four turns around at the sound of my swearing and waves me over, his expression suitable for an Abnegation funeral. Eric looks like a dog that has scented something delicious and vulnerable so I have at least an idea what might await me. He makes room for me as Four zooms in on a still of the surveillance footage they were looking at, honing in on a tall man with long, shaggy hair. There is no need for questions, even if their faces hadn't told me everything I needed to know, that ugly mug has been in enough of my nightmares.

“It's him.”

I haven't even uttered the second word when Eric springs into action, barking at a few  waiting soldiers to gear up and get the rest of their team if they don't want a lifetime of night shifts at the fence. Before he leaves he turns towards me and smirks.

“Told you. Guess you'll have to talk to Max by yourself. I'll be back this afternoon.”

I know better than to protest, time is running out and I'm in no shape to go back out there again. Going against all better judgement I grab the front of his vest and pull him towards me for a kiss, which has nothing to do with the knowledge that he will be facing the guy that held me captive very, very shortly.

“You better get back in one piece. If I’m forced to marry anyone else in this shitbucket we might as well blow up the entire compound right now.”

With a sardonic smirk Eric closes the distance between us, kisses me in a way that has me on my toes with tangled up insides within seconds, and leaves me with a slap on the ass. Not another word is spoken, and I watch him saunter off, barking orders.

“So it’s actually true. We’re all so fucked.”

I whip around and glower at Zeke, but before I can unleash my fury on the kid Four slides into view, pointing at the door. “Max wants to see you, if you hurry you can get back here and watch, I’ll get you more coffee.”

He would make such a great mother, it’s not even funny. Speaking of, I have been ignoring several messages from mine, and I guess I’ve been back for a while and haven’t talked to her yet. We have not had the best relationship a mother and daughter could have. Muttering a few curses about the overall unfair state of the universe I spin around and stomp out of the room, pointedly ignoring Pedrad and his buddies moaning about the impending end of our world.

[likeshipsonthesea]

And We All Fall Down (2/?)

[1] [2]

A continuation of Ooby Dooby, this thing I wrote where Nursey accidentally tells single-father Dex that he has a child, too. Oops. Also the title is from another children’s song (Ring-Around-the-Rosie) and is meant to signify Nursey falling even further down the hole he dug himself. Oops again.

*~*~*

Finding a toddler to borrow for a certain amount of time is more difficult than Nursey would’ve thought. Like, he thought it would be really hard to start with, but it turns out its even harder than that. None of his friends have kids, as they’re all fairly young and/or like to drink their cares away for the majority of their weekends, and it’s not like Nursey can just go to a cat-shelter type establishment and pick out a cute two-to-three year old who might possibly look like they share his genes.

He flirted, briefly, with the idea of putting an ad on Craigslist, but not only did the idea of what he’d get in response scare him into double-checking the locks on his apartment’s front door but he’s also pretty sure that someone in some kind of government room with no windows and a thousand computer screens is monitoring shit that goes down on Craigslist, and Nursey really doesn’t want to be put on any kind of list that makes flying even harder than it already is.

Dex texts him, a few days following their meeting- days Nursey has spent debating on whether or not he can die of heartbreak from a guy he’s spent not even an hour with- and he sends a picture of Parker wearing his Spider-man pajamas. It’s probably the most adorable thing Nursey has ever seen in his life, Parker looking so proud of himself with this huge grin on his face, sitting on a rug that looks old and homey, in his apparently favorite outfit. Dex captions it with he wanted me to make sure you knew how cool his pjs were. Nursey dies with cuteness and tells Dex to let Parker know that they are, indeed, the coolest pajamas in existence, and hopes that this isn’t a tit-for-tat type situation in which Nursey is expected to reciprocate with a cute picture of his own adorable, superhero-loving, non-existent kid.

Nursey lets himself into Jack’s apartment, hating himself and also craving some pie for some weird reason. He collapses on the couch with a pitiful sigh-groan-whimper and Jack, who is sat next to him, looks constipated, which he usually does when faced with emotions. He reaches out awkwardly and pats at Nursey’s shoulder, which is actually pretty nice so Nursey gives him a weak smile.

“No luck in the toddler search?” Jack asks, then winces at himself as he realizes how weird what he just said was.

Nursey sighs again. “No. It’s almost like parents don’t want to give their kids away to strange men so they can get dates. Go figure.”

“Thirdy said you could babysit his daughter if you want,” Jack says, a little hopeful. “Mostly because he wants to know how it is going to turn out.” Nursey loves Jack, he really does, because there’s only so many friends that would actually ask their coworkers if his friend could borrow their baby for a bit.

“I told Dex I had a son,” Nursey says, waving his hand for no reason. “But thanks anyway.”

“Marty has a son,” Jack says, almost like he’s thinking to himself. He winces again, momentarily forgetting that this isn’t the weirdest fucking situation ever.

Nursey gives Jack a flat look, which isn’t fair because Jack is trying to help but- “I show up with a white baby and he’s definitely going to think I’m more of a creeper than I already am.”

“I don’t see what the big issue is,” Holster says, returning from Jack’s kitchen with a giant bowl of popcorn. Shitty trails behind him, a similarly sized bowl of chocolate covered pretzels in his hands. Lardo has a three six-packs of beer in her hands, which she quickly dumps across the coffee table for everyone to grab. Nursey looks at them and whines to himself. He doesn’t even feel like drinking, he’s so upset. “You met the guy, what? Once for like an hour? Just never talk to him again.”

“I can’t just-” Nursey cuts himself off with a whine and reflops onto the couch, because he’s apparently regressed into childhood maturity once again. He briefly wonders if he could pass his own self off as his son and then hurts his head thinking about the logistics for a minute. “I- you didn’t see him. He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Shitty raises his eyebrows. “More beautiful than Jack?” Nursey nods solemnly and Shitty swears. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t risk being arrested because he’s pretty,” Lardo says, throwing away a can of beer she’s already finished even though they haven’t even started the movie yet.

“It’s not just that,” Nursey mumbles, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. “He’s really good with his kid and he’s funny and he plays hockey, and I don’t know.” He shrugs, looking up at Lardo and feeling embarrassed and vulnerable and shitty. “I just felt good being around him. I- everything was okay for a little bit.”

Lardo, who has dealt with Nursey’s shit almost as much as Shitty, considers him for a moment. Nursey lets her look her fill, baring his soul to her even though he knows she can see it whenever she wants. After a few heavy moments, she finally shakes her head. “Derek,” she says, her voice soft, “if you really do like this guy, you can’t pretend that you’re a father. It would ruin any chance you had.”

“Yeah, brah, fake babies are good for a one-and-done but long-term?” Shitty makes a face. “Not kosh.”

“But what do I tell him?” Nursey says, whining more but mostly just because why not.

“The truth,” Jack says, his voice quiet but firm, and he gives Nursey a reassuring smile when Nursye turns to look at him. “If he’s worth it, he’ll see how sw’awesome you are despite the whole-” Jack winces again, “-lying about having a kid thing.”

Nursey sniffles, wiping at a nonexistent tear. “That was beautiful.”

“Group hug!” Shitty cheers, then jumps onto the couch like a starfish. Nursey coughs all the air out of his lungs, and before he can rectify it, Holster and Lardo join the pile. Nursey and Jack are busy complaining, loudly and with much laughter, that it’s too much weight, then Shitty starts sobbing because he accuses them of calling him fat, and it’s at that moment that Ransom bursts into the apartment, grinning from ear to ear.

“Tell me I’m the best bro,” he says.

“You’re the best bro,” Holster says without pause.

“Want to know why I’m the best bro?” Ransom asks. Before anyone responds, he continues, “Because only the bestest of best bros could help his bro get a little bro to take to a bro date with another bro!”

Nursey blinks confused. What does bro even mean at this point? Holster, it seems, is better at deciphering it. “You found a toddler?” he asks, shock and awe in his voice. Nursey panics momentarily, wondering what “found a toddler” means. Like, a friend of a friend promised to lend the baby to a stranger for an afternoon kind of found, or like, someone left a stroller unattended at a grocery store and now the whole cast of Law and Order: SVU is going to be at their door in a few minutes kind of found?

“It might be cool to meet Mariska Hargitay,” he mumbles to himself. Everyone else, who is used to his mumblings, begins inquiring via yelling how exactly Ransom found a toddler.

“My sis is going on vacation and I convinced her to let me babysit my nephew while she and her wife go to Paris.” Ransom grins, incredibly proud of himself, and Nursey is thankful and he feels bad but-

“Thanks, brah, but I kinda decided to nix the fake baby idea.”

Ransom deflates. “Dude. Now I have a toddler for a week all by myself.”

“You love Wade,” Holster protests. “We can dress him up like Broadway characters again.”

Ransom winces. “Yeah, Sabrina nixed that after the Pippin ones. Gave her a bad vibe.” And he shakes his head, changing the subject physically. “And yeah, I love Wade, coolest little dude who can’t form sentences, but, like, for an afternoon, a day at most. A whole week is going to be brutal.” He collapses in the armchair, already exhausted at the mere thought of entertaining a toddler for an extended period of time.

“I could help you watch him,” Nursey suggests. “It is my fault you’ve got him in the first place, and I still need to do research for the book anyway.” Nursey doesn’t know why he’s doing this; he has no experience with kids and he’s probably just going to make the whole thing worse, but maybe a part of him is hoping that if he gets enough practice hours with a baby, Dex will be more inclined to let him into his and Parker’s lives. Possibly. Improbably. Would you let a guy who lied about having a son to look less creepy about watching children play in a park around your toddler? Nursey would, but he might be biased.

“Sw’awesome!” Ransom cheers. “Bro-parenting.”

“Bro,” Holster says, wounded. “I thought we were gonna be bro-parents.”

“That’s when we have our own kids,” Ransom says, like it’s obvious, and Holster is apparently pacified. The rest of the people on the couch exchange looks; they’re not sure if Holster and Ransom are actually dating and just never thought it pertinent to inform any of them or if they’re just planning to keep living together forever, bros ‘til death do they go off to the big kegster in the sky.

“When does Wade get here?” Nursey asks to change the subject.

“Tomorrow,” Ransom says. His eyes go wide and excited. “We can go to the aquarium!”

*~*~*

Okay, so, babies? Much cuter in the abstract than the physical. Like, meeting Wade, A+ experience. His mothers had cleaned him of any and all fluids, deceiving Nursey into thinking babies were generally clean. Guess what? Not true. They were pushing the stroller along, happily pointing out all the fish to a Wade who probably had no idea what was happening aside from colors! Then all of a sudden there was spit-up and crying (mostly Nursey and Ransom’s) and then Ransom was abandoning Nursey to “go get paper towels” and Nursey was left alone with the crying, vomit-covered toddler in his arms.

He’s hastily rummaging through the stroller, looking for anything aside from his own t-shirt for something to get the vomit off of Wade’s face, ignoring the judging looks from the moms around him. Fuck them, he thinks, at least my kid is the cutest out of all of them. He glances around to make sure and he’s totally got the cutest kid, sans-vomit. Wade’s got these huge chubby baby cheeks and a happy wide smile, with short curly hair and the most adorable button nose there’s ever been.

“Except maybe for Dex’s, kid,” Nursey tells Wade just as he finds a thing of wet-wipes. He manages to finagle a wipe out of it with some vigorous jerking that makes Wade giggle. “He’s got a very cute nose,” Nursey informs him, rubbing at the vomit, and it’s actually going away! Score one for Nursey, zero for toddler digestive tracts. “And there’s all these freckles over it, I bet you in the summer he gets thousands of them.”

“Fishy,” Wade says happily, pointing at a Nemo looking thing behind him.

“Yes, fishy,” Nursey says, proud of Wade’s developmental skills even though he has no right to be. He throws the vomit-wipe into the trash can to their left and then tickles Wade’s tummy, making him shriek with glee. “This is what fishy kisses feel like,” he says seriously, which just makes Wade giggle more.

Wade leans in and smacks a kiss to Nursey’s cheek, which is endearing even with the lingering smell of puke, and Nursey gives him a warm smile as Wade pats at the place he just kissed with his chubby baby hand.

Then Nursey hears, “Nursey!” in an excited, high-pitched voice, and he turns just in time to see Parker running up to him and stopping just before he barrels into Nursey’s knees.

“Parker.” Nursey blinks down at him, shocked considerably. Last night, Nursey and Parker’s father were texting like crazy, going from talking about hockey to books Nursey loved and Dex complained about to Marvel movies and more. It was so easy, companionable and flirty and comfortable. Nursey spent most of the night afterwards agonizing over if he was going to explain his lie to Dex or just not respond to anymore texts, and now here Parker is, bright and smiling and-and sans-Dex.

Nursey looks up and around, eyes programmed to lock onto that gorgeous fiery hair, and he finds Dex looking panicked a few tanks over. He raises a hand in the air and calls Dex’s name until Dex looks over, his eyes locking on Nursey. He jogs over, pushing his way through extended families and stroller walls. When he’s within earshot, he hears Dex asking, “Have you seen Park-”

“Daddy, it’s Nursey!” Parker cheers, bouncing on his feet. Dex instantly floods with relief, his shoulders loosening and his expression relaxing. He kneels down onto the ground and hugs Parker close, his eyes closing as he squeezes. 

“You scared me, Parker. Don’t run away from me like that.” Dex pulls back and Parker’s lip is wobbling a little.

“I’m sowwy,” he says, blinking rapidly. Then he points up at Nursey. “Nursey here.”

Dex squeezes at Parker’s shoulders for a few seconds, not able to look away from him, probably still half-panicked from losing him, but eventually he pulls his eyes away to look up at Nursey and offer a tired, almost self-deprecating smile. He stands up, taking Parker with him so now they’re both standing with babies in their arms, and Nursey almost forgot about Wade until he waves, big and obnoxious, over at Parker.

“Hi!” he says, cheerful, and Parker seems a little shy, ducking his head, but he does wave back, just a little spasm of his fingers, and it’s probably the most adorable interaction Nursey’s seen in his life.

“Oh, this is Wade,” Nursey says, remembering his manners. “Wade, this is Parker and Dex.”

“Hi!” Wade says again, and Dex smiles fondly. Nursey is almost jealous of Wade in that second. How dare a toddler get Dex’s fond eyes when Nursey doesn’t? He may possibly be crazy. I made up a toddler, he thinks, I’m definitely crazy.

Fuck, Nursey thinks as he realizes, Dex probably thinks Wade is my kid. Oh shit, oh fucking shit, how the hell is he going to dig himself out this? He was going to tell Dex he lied- or never talk to him again, he hadn’t decided yet- and it’s so much creepier to explain when he’s been spotted with a toddler that is not his own. Oh, yeah, I just like to hang out around children’s playgrounds alone during my free time and I just have this random toddler who’s my friend’s sister’s kid, a friend who just happens to not be here right now, haha, he’s totally real, this isn’t just a story I made up to explain away my kidnapping of this child, I would never make up something like, that’s almost as ridiculous as making up the existence of a child, who would do that, hahaha.

He is so fucked.

“Hi Wade,” Dex says, his voice softer somehow. “Do you like the fishes?”

“Fishy!” Wade says, which Nursey thinks is an affirmative. “Nemo,” he adds, solemnly, and Parker seems to understand because he nods back seriously. Dex shakes his head and gives Nursey a look, like kids, right? and Nursey tries to nod like a father would but he has like absolutely zero idea of what that would look like.

“My friend Chowder really likes the aquarium, and he conditioned Parker into loving sharks, so this is a weekly trip for us,” Dex says, faux-exasperated but mostly just pleased.

“This is our first time,” Nursey says, because lies fit in his mouth easily. He adjusts Wade on his waist. “We like it for the most part.” Then Nursey thinks for a second and amends, “The jellyfish exhibit was dark.”

“Dark scary,” Wade says.

“Weally scawy,” Parker agrees, and they exchange a happy, oblivious child smile.

Just then, Ransom comes bounding up to them, a wad of paper towels clutched in his hand. “I found-” He pauses, noticing the puke-less toddler in Nursey’s arms.

Nursey shrugs. “There were wet-wipes in the cart.”

“You couldn’t have texted a bro to let him know?” Ransom grumbles, throwing out the towels in the nearby trashcan.

“Jus’in,” Wade cheers, making grabby hands for Ransom. Ransom takes him easily from Nursey, and Nursey hopes that it doesn’t make it seem like his own “son” likes Ransom better than him.

“This is Ransom,” Nursey says, looking back to Dex- and God he’s pretty, how is Nursey ever going to walk away from Dex and Parker without dying inside- and seeing the amicable smile Dex offers Ransom. “Ransom, this is Dex and Parker.”

“The Dex and Parker?” Ransom has a shitty grin on his face, and Nursey feels his face warm (though it’s probably not a visible blush). Dex, on the other hand, flushes across his nose and cheeks in a pleasant, soft pink that Nursey wants to memorize. “I’ve heard a lot about you guys,” Ransom adds, probably as payback for the time Nursey helped Holster fill the pockets of his salmon shorts with actual salmon. Ransom leans in a little towards Parker. “I hear you’ve got some pretty sw’awesome Spider-Man PJs?”

“Spider-Man!” Parker cheers, and proceeds to ramble about superheros for a few minutes, to which Wade responds in kind, and as they have their own conversation (with Ransom watching and interjecting as he pleases, because both he and Holster are most comfortable in the presence of toddlers), Nursey manages to talk to Dex about the newest Marvel movie out, which leads to them talking about representation in media, and diversity and the importance of kids having role-models who look like them, and, just.

Dex speaks so carefully, choosing his words deliberately and trying to get what he means across so Nursey can understand easily, and Nursey can picture them talking about their days and Parker’s drawings and movies and pointless things and important things and he just wants, wants to have the chance to talk to Dex for- for as long as Dex will let him. And he realizes, with startling horror, that he is never going to get that. Because he made up the existence of a person and now he can’t even explain it because Dex caught him with a toddler (that Nursey once again lied about and passed off as his own), and, just. Halfway into their conversation, Nursey starts mourning the relationship he and Dex will never have.

Ransom’s phone goes off, and he tells Nursey that they need to get back for lunch with the gang, and Nursey tries not to whine pitifully at the thought of leaving Dex. Dex doesn’t seem to have the same qualms. He says, “Yeah, we’d better get going, too. But we should set up a playdate sometime.”

Nursey is going to say no, he is, but Dex looks so hopeful, and the expression is mirrored on Parker’s little face, and fuck, but, “Sure.” Nursey can feel Ransom staring at the side of his face and studiously ignores him.

Dex lights up, as do Parker and Wade. “I get off work early on Tuesday,” Dex says. “We could do around four if you’re free?”

“Sounds great,” Nursey says, thinking you’re an idiot, you’re an idiot, you’re an- “We can work out the details tonight.”

“See you then.” Dex is smiling, casual but devastatingly beautiful as always. He adjusts Parker in his arms. “Say bye, Park.”

“Bye-bye!” Parker waves goodbye, and Wade mirrors it with a big smile. Dex waves, too, and then they’re both disappearing into the crowd. Nursey deflates as soon as he can’t see the back of Dex’s head anymore.

“Dayum, Nursey, you’ve got it bad.”

“Yeah.” Nursey sighs. He’s so fucked.

“Fishy,” Wade says, almost consolingly, patting at Nursey’s shoulder. That helps.

[evangelineartemiasamos]

Red Queen Secret Santa - Every Shadow, Every Shade

My gift for @samanthaslytherin Merry christmas and a happy new year! <3

Find this on wattpad

One year before Red Queen ...

Elane POV

Even the tenth pencil I tried didn't capture my imagination. I pressed harder and lighter, cursed silently at the eraser and used the sharpener after just a few strokes but the gleam on the paper couldn't match the shine of her hair, her armour, her blades, her skin, or the dark light of her eyes.

Finally, I snorted and raised my hand asking for the tutor - then he was already behind me before I'd looked into his direction, or called his name.

"Master Eagrie," I said, using the address only appropriate in this class, "do you have more pencils? The ones I have just don't offer the right shades ... " I went on talking although he could see for himself and divine my words. At least he didn't interrupt me by saying my own words before I spoke them myself. Other seers of his house never learned this basic politeness.

"You may use this one," he said, handing me a pencil and pointing, "there. And try another one for the armour. But to be honest, I'd recommend you try to shade more, much more. Make it darker to get more contrasts."

I sighed. "That wouldn't be accurate. Lady Evangeline is light-skinned."

He shrugged. "Right, Lady Evangeline is well-known to all of us." He sounded sarcastic, almost amused. "I'm merely intending to teach you, Elane, to try something new to improve. Or do you have a specific reason to make this a perfect portrait?"

I felt blood rushing up and blooming in my cheeks. I noticed his informal address as well as his insinuation. I did intend to make the portrait a gift to Eve unless I found another way to confess my feelings to her.

But when I looked at him - Roman Eagrie, my cousin - I didn't saw a person joking about me, but something close to empathy flashing on his face. As if he wasn't an art tutor in a class full of other young nobles but a friend offering to trust him. Which he was to me. A free-spirited friend, a little older but without belonging to my direct family was a refreshing, different, company.

"I'm undecided," I replied finally. "This is definitely not good enough, and I shall try harder, and heed your advice."

He nodded, smiling, and patted the back of my chair. Did he ever get frustrated about knowing what people would say and do beforehand? All I knew was that he used his ability for art. "You're one of the best here, Elane, if I'm allowed to say so," he added.

I inclined my head with acquired modesty. "Thank you, Master Eagrie." Then he went to another student.

Actually, I wasn't surprised to hear this. I was the second-best student in this class, solely bested Leticia, another Haven cousin. Our family seemed to have an innate talent for the arts and Roman likely inherited his from his Haven mother. Yet I wondered about the intentions of the rest of the class. Its purpose was rather recreational for Silvers who liked art as a hobby but I wouldn't be surprised if some were here to enjoy Roman's company for a different reason: Strikingly handsome, still unmarried in his late twenties and heir to is house, he was a desirable match for the seven other ladies in the class, all older than me, and I suspected the two male students harboured a fancy for him as well. It didn't bother me as long as they didn't disturb the lessons but I'd realized long ago that Roman, who was currently dating Reuben Osanos, didn't wish to marry anyone, be it man or woman, no matter how much everyone else wanted him to. So I rather mused on Roman's view of his students as he always remained polite and committed and avoided any tries of flirting.

I tried the new pencils and advice Roman had given to me on my drawing and the more I worked on it, the more I doubted my skill and the pose itself. I erased several areas I'd been proud of to create more reflections on Evangeline's armour and knew immediately they weren't accurate this way, not when I craved perfection in every shadow and every shade, as she deserved. Why was this so difficult, I should know how to draw light and shadows better than anyone! I would need to work more on this, change the lighting completely to make it look right and compelling, and research the metals she wore as armour. If I ever became content with this work to call it finished and present it to her, I wanted her to feel the graphite flakes that my efforts had fixed on the paper in this helpless attempt to convey my love for her.

I put down my pencil and sighed. Then I saw the other students were already leaving, and only Roman remained with me, catching my eye.

"Oh," I said, blushing again and embarrassed to have forgotten the time. "Here, I'll return your pencils." I grabbed them, their case, the drawing and my folder and walked to his desk.

He cleared his throat. "May I see your other drawings, Elane?"

"Sure." A part of me was nervous but another hoped he'd have the answer to make my works perfect. He certainly contemplated them thoroughly but when he lifted his eyes to me, I couldn't help fearing I'd revealed my whole heart to him. I saw the unspoken question hanging between us: Is Evangeline Samos the sole subject of your art?

I swallowed, and his hawkish features softened. "Elane," he said, and I had to sit down.

I would not cry in front of him.

He stayed as compassionate as before. "You're friends, aren't you? You could ask her about the metals she wears." Then he winked and I had to smile a little.

"She's preparing to win Queenstrial," he said.

"Indeed."

"You don't want to try to become queen?"

As if. "I'm the third daughter. If I wasn't close in age to the crown prince, my parents would be content with any offer from a high house." While the prince's existence created more competition among the young ladies, there were more young lords to court as well.

"Hmm." He thought for a long moment, his eyes not looking into the immediate future for once. "Elane, you see, sometimes noble parents are very glad if their children make proposes on their own."

I laughed. "Right, like the girls - " I stopped, getting his meaning. "You don't think that ... Eve ... ?"

He shrugged. "As you said, you're the third daughter, what can they expect of you? There's freedom in being not as important."

"I don't know." I didn't know anything, really. Not about Eve, my parents' expectations or whether people saw being a paramour as prestigious or undignified. I wasn't averse towards marriage or having children but those ideas seemed so distant when you walked on the fragile ice of new and likely unrequited love.

"Maybe you should ask her out," Roman suggested. "As you're friends. You could ask her how she really thinks about Queenstrial."

"You think I'd have a chance with her?" I smiled at him, out of politeness and yet strangely hopeful. I wished so much he was right. It wasn't easy for people like us, Silvers who fell in love regardless of gender.

"You won't find out unless one of you tries it. That doesn't protect you from disappointments, though." He laughed but it was tinted by less joyful memories.

"Sure," I replied, "I have to stand up for myself and take what's mine. And now I sounds a lot like parents talking." I rolled my eyes. "Only they never tell you to find the person you love."

"Yet we always keep searching," he added.

I thought all my hopes forlorn as Evangeline had brought her brother along - to our "date" on a café's terrace overlooking the river.

"Tolly just returned from Corvium," Eve said, "with the crown prince."

I wondered if her brother regarded me as much as a third wheel as I did him.

"Cal and I finally took matters into our hands," Ptolemus proclaimed. "Can't be we'll have to  continue this war for the rest of our lives without achieving victory." He took his glass and drank.

"Cal ... ?" I inquired.

"The crown prince Tiberias Calore the seventh, flame of the north," Eve corrected, smirking. "I prefer to maintain formalities, Tolly."

I had to smile, for two reasons. Eve insisting on formalities while addressing her most-noble brother with a silly nick-name like "Tolly" was adorable. Secondly, her wish to remain formal in regards to her likely future husband gave me a surge of hope.

"Have you ever been to Corvium, Elane?" Tolly asked, unusually serious.

Surprised by his interest, I merely nodded at first. "I have, yes," I replied. "We Havens are valuable for many tasks required at the front." Even as children, when abilities were still unstable. Most of my house were trained to become spies and assassins and invisibility was always welcome.

Tolly patted my hand. "I'd love to exchange experiences with you one day," he said.

I agreed according to all my courtesy lessons.

"Eve's never been there yet, you know?" he added.

My head spun. Unlike Tolly, Eve didn't excel at polite yet funny banter and stayed earnest, only inclined her head. "I am a court lady, and a proud member of our house. I governed in our homelands though, presiding at trials and, well, executing the verdicts."

Oh.

Tolly raised his glass. "To my amazing sister!" he toasted.

I followed suit and giggled, looking around to check if we were identified. Eve only took a sip, then glanced at me and for a second, she smiled as much as her dark eyes sparkled. Then she downed her drink. "Let's go somewhere else," she announced. "Elane, I think you've been out around here a little more ... often, do you know a place?"

I beamed at her, letting the light reflected by the glass around us glitter and flicker in little rainbows. "Sure I do."

I'd been to this club several times, with friends or my sisters but everything about this was new to Eve and watching her usually impenetrable haughtiness be replaced by fascination and curiosity filled me with joy. It was almost more intoxicating than the drinks Tolly purchased for us when he wasn't dancing. Apparently, he wasn't a stranger to Archeon's night life either.

And although Eve was just sitting on the couch we secured, occasionally sipping form her cocktail, I could hardly tear my eyes away from her. She wore a short black leather dress, with its creative use of straps both prim and sexy in an original way. Small metal plates and studs were tacked on it and those gleamed blue in the club's lighting. Even her hair shone almost blue. I had to hold myself back from taking the straight sheets of her hair into my hands, from stroking or tucking it behind her ears - which were adorned with the most marvellous earrings.

"I wish I could filter the colours of the light like this," I muttered, gesturing around. "All by myself, I mean."

Eve bended forwards, stopping just centimeters in front of me. "You're beautiful as you are," she whispered, "Elane. And if you try hard enough," she chuckled, "you'll manage that feat, like your ancestors did."

I breathed raggedly. Finally my fingers found and brushed over her skin, not demanding but still full of yearning. Eve's dark eyes fixed on me and for a second, like the touch of a feather, our lips met.

Afterwards, I couldn't believe it had happened. Although my hand still squeezed hers while her other one examined my jewellery.

"They look so good on you," Eve said. "There're always glitter, light and rainbows around you."

I laughed, covering her hand on my chest with mine. "It's cheap stuff for every day," I said, "simple black gems in silver."

"How the colours of our house become you," she said. I blushed and she grinned. "Do you want to dance?"

"Of course." But we ended up rather hugging and swaying than in any actual kind of dance, not caring about in which rhythm the music blared, nor about the other guests around us.

Eve stumbled. "I wonder where all our elegance went?" I mused.

Eve tsked. "Drowned in our glasses," she murmured and then she dropped almost 10 cm.

"By my colours!" I cursed.

Eve cackled. "Adjustable heels, Elane," she said. "The time for high heels is over." Indeed, beneath the metal decorations on her shoes, the soles and heels were crafted from her elements as well, likely aluminium.

I patted her back. "What allows you to be so practical?"

"I'm practical enough to leave now. Or can't we, Elane?"

"Tolly ... "

"... could take us an hour to find and I need fresh air now."

The moonlit night sky was as beautiful as the rest of the date. Eve took hold of my arm although I believed she was able to walk on her own. But I didn't complain, not about her touch, nor about the way she glanced at me.

"Isn't your family mansion on the other side of the city?" I asked finally, to be fair. "Should I get a transport? Your parents might worry -"

She cackled. "Oh, Elane, my parents never worry about me. If I couldn't take care of myself for one night, then it'd be my own bloody fault for not being good enough."

"Eve ... "

She sighed. "No matter. If your home is close by, certainly we'll find a spare bed for me."

But she didn't leave my room once we'd arrived. We dressed down to our underwear and fell onto my bed, luckily large enough for two. We didn't embrace, not even touched and I did find us a spare blanket, and yet I couldn't believe this was real. Evangeline Samos had kissed me. She slept in my bed. All I wanted was to repeat this evening, make sure it wasn't a dream or a singular occasion caused by the influence of alcohol. So I couldn't prod and thus make her feel like I was exploiting the situation.

I woke at the incredibly early summer dawn, to the sound of Eve getting up and into the shower. I dozed off again, astounded by her little amount of sleep. Unlike me, Eve seemed to be an early riser.

The next time I woke, Eve sat at my desk, coffee in hand - from where? - and looked through my drawings. Of her. I rushed up in embarrassment to loom over her, wrapped in my blanket.

Her fingers glided over one sheet, the main piece I worked on in class. She glanced at me, her mouth slightly open but apparently uncertain of what to say. All I hoped for was she wouldn't think me a stalker and for an eternally long moment, I expected her expression to change into distaste.

It didn't.

"Sorry," I said, "I wanted to gift you an awesome finished portrait, but I failed so far. But there's still time until your birthday, isn't it?"

She closed the folder and smirked. "I'm excited, Elane. There is no way you'll disappoint me."

"Never," I promised.

@clarafarleybarrow @lilyharvord @inopinion @calliopexclio @mareshmallow @redqueenfandom @iamthebonecarver @hannaharies @breebarrcw @mareenattitanos @queeniriscygnet @iris-cygnets

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Eight - Tipsy Lullaby

Victor woke up with the sound of his phone alarm, set at 5 am, the time he usually went for a run. He scrambled to turn it off, hoping the buzzing sound wouldn’t wake the slumbering figure next to him. He noticed she took a deep breath, but didn’t stir. Letting out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he slowly released himself from her grip.

He got out of the bed, remembering how everything had begun. Like most unusual things, it happens with people doing things they wouldn’t normally do. In all the weddings he had to attend, which weren’t many, he never attended a bachelor party. He considered it a waste of time, years of being single should suffice to encompass all the experiences a man should have before getting married. If the groom needed a night of strippers and binge drinking to say goodbye to his old life, then he never lived at all. Life was a lot more than lap dances and nasty hangovers.

But Victor was the best man, he had to attend. Luckily, Goldman didn’t care much about strippers, Diane cared even less. The happy couple concocted the perfect solution: a single large room, divided by wooden panels, the men on one side, playing poker, chatting and drinking responsibly, and the women on the other side doing… whatever they had planned to do. Victor had no idea what that was.

The night began with Goldman, 8 hours earlier, talking to Victor at a corner of the room, looking particularly nervous.

“I hope you don’t mind me telling you this.” Goldman started. “But Diane wanted me to talk to you… About Andrea.”

“No need to talk about it. Whatever happened won’t happen again.” Victor tried to end the subject, but that only made Goldman fidget more.

“Well, Sir… I apologize, but Diane insists that we talk.”

Victor raised his eyebrows at Goldman, surprised, for two reasons. One, once he had closed a subject, it was final, so it was very courageous of Goldman to insist. Two: it was clear Diane had put her future husband on a very tight leash. Goldman would rather face his boss than his future wife.

“See… Andrea has already mentioned that it may not be a good idea for her to be maid of honor, due to your… differences. It’s very important to Diane that she is. I wanted to ask you, with all due respect, Sir, if the two of you could talk, agree on a… more peaceful dynamic between you two?”

It took Victor a few seconds to recover from his surprised expression before he could resume his poker face.

“I understand. You are right. I will talk to her.” Victor felt obliged to answer. If he could just have kept his mouth shut at that dinner, none of this would’ve happened. They were adults, they shouldn’t be bickering like small children. They would have to figure something out, even if for the sake of future business meetings.

“Thank you, Sir. She’s on the girl’s side of the room. Good luck!”

Victor walked slowly to the other side, pondering on what he should say. He wasn’t sure she was angry, but he could guess she probably wasn’t. Andrea was not one to hold a grudge, and had a natural inclination towards kindness. She would only lash out if she felt disrespected. As long as Victor kept a warm, honest attitude, he was sure she would be receptive.

He found her at the food table, plating the food the caterer had left.

“I see Diane keeps you busy.” He spoke, to get her attention. She looked at him with wide eyes, startled to hear him. He probably interrupted some kind of contemplation.

“Yes, she always keeps me busy.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He quickly answered, anxious to cut to the chase. “Can we have a word?”

Andrea let out a hearty laughter.

“Did you get a lecture too?”

Her laughter made Victor smile. It was good to hear her laugh.

“Not exactly a lecture… Goldman talked to you too?”

“Bridezilla did… But she’s right. Look, I have nothing but deep respect and gratitude for you. Quarrels aside, you are one of the best people I know. We were friends before, how hard can it be to go back to that again?” Andrea looked at him with honest eyes. He knew she was telling the truth. Victor would always admire how candid she could be.

“I feel the same.” He admitted. “So, what’s that in that box?”

Andrea grabbed the box before he could.

“Erm, apparently it’s the maid of honor’s duty to make some very embarrassing things…” Andrea blushed.

“It smells like cookies.” Victor frowned. How could cookies be embarrassing?

“It is cookies…” Andrea lifted the lid for Victor to see, causing him to stifle a laugh. It sure was cookies… Shaped as genitalia. Penis shaped cookies and round cookies with icing drawn labia.

“Diane made you bake these?” Victor couldn’t help but chuckle at the cookies and Andrea’s embarrassment. “Your cookies are delicious, I would love to have one, but… I don’t think I can.”

Andrea looked at the content of the box for a moment, lost in thought.

“I think I may have a solution to that… Turn around.”

Victor played along with a smile, turning away from her. When she asked him to face her again, she was holding a napkin with two small round cookies in it. It wasn’t hard to guess where those had come from.

“Here.” She announced playfully. “Two very inconspicuous round cookies for you. Enjoy.”

Victor raised his eyebrow at her, taking a bite of one of them. It was sweet and buttery, tasted like vanilla with a hint of coconut. Delicious. Without much consideration, he put both cookies in his mouth. He hummed in approval.

“Are they good?” She asked.

“Mhm.” Victor was still delightfully chewing.

“Why, I’m happy you like my balls.” Andrea gave him a sly smile.

Andrea’s mockery made Victor gasp, and accidentally inhale a few lose crumbles, which led to a coughing spree. Andrea reached for a glass of lemonade for him to drink, patting his back… while laughing her head off.

He finally managed to swallow the cookies in his mouth, taking a big gulp of lemonade to wash it down. When he was finally able to speak, his voice came out like a croak.

“Don’t do that again.” He warned. Andrea burst into laughter again.

“Mr. Lee, I didn’t take you for such a prude… It’s a cookie, nothing else.” She said, biting the tip off a penis cookie.

“That’s disturbing.” He gave Andrea a frown, although he was actually having fun, seeing her playful like that.

Andrea teased him a bit more, putting a whole penis cookie inside her mouth.

“Yum.”

“Childish.” Victor declared.

It was childish. But that didn’t mean he was going to forfeit in a battle of wits. He casually took one of the round ones with labia, and making sure no one was watching, licked the icing off in one slow flick of his tongue. Andrea almost collapsed with laughter.

Victor left for the men side of the room, thinking about how he missed those fun, silly moments with Andrea. He was glad he could have them again, even if just as friends. He also wondered if he could recreate her recipe. Those cookies were really good.

After a few hours of playing and idle chatting, the men started going home. The women, however, laughed loudly on the other side of the wooden panels. Goldman went to take a look, returning with a worried look on his face.

“I need to go.” He announced. “Diane is wasted. I need to get her home.”

Victor wondered how Andrea was doing. She would probably be sober, she was usually careful and she had good alcohol tolerance. But still, he needed to make sure she went home safely. He hadn’t seen her car outside, and he didn’t want her to take a cab. He could just drive her.

As he approached her, he noticed she was a little more amused than usual. Her complexion was also paler, her eyes looked smaller and glazed over. She was drunk. Probably not sloshed, but definitely under the influence. He sat beside her, watching her closely.

“Did you bring your car to the party?” He asked quietly, not to make a scene. She turned to him, and he noticed the extra effort she made to focus on him.

“Handsome!” She beamed at him. “No, I’m taking a cab. You don’t need to worry.”

“I can see you’re unwell. I can take you home safely.” Victor looked into her eyes, to let her know he had noticed.

She took a while to answer, probably considering if she should accept or not. Fortunately, even tipsy, she was sensible.

“Yes, thank you. I may have had a little bit more to drink than I should.” She admitted.

After making sure each one of the women had someone to see them home safely, Victor returned to Andrea. He took her hand and, supporting her body with his, he got her in his car.

“Are you feeling nauseous? Do you want me to stop?” He asked, after a few minutes of driving in silence. Andrea didn’t reply, slumped against the window, seemingly asleep. Maybe exhaustion was playing a big part in her condition too. Olive told him she had been pretty busy since the gala.

Victor stopped the car by her building, on his usual spot. He opened the door, careful not to let her fall, and shook her a little. Andrea opened her eyes.

“We’re here. Can you walk?” He asked softly.

Andrea shook her head, her eyes barely open. Victor would have to carry her home.

He took her in his arms gently, afraid a sudden movement would make her sick. She leaned her head in his chest, half-asleep.

“You smell so good.” She whispered. “I forgot how good you smell.”

“Is that so?” Victor chuckled.

“I wish you wore sweaters.” Andrea complained, as Victor sat her on the stairs by her door.

“What do you mean?” Victor asked, busy looking for her keys in her purse.

“Well, if you wore more sweaters, you could leave one behind, I could keep it in a plastic bag, and whenever I missed you I could just open the bag and get a big whiff.” She smelled her hands, pretending to have a sweater in them.

“How drunk are you?” Victor chuckled.

“I’m serious.” She slurred, wobbling in her seat. “All the girls they have these mementos that ex-boyfriends leave behind, books, or CDs, or sweaters. Except you don’t like sweaters, and you’re too tidy to ever leave something back at my place. You left no trace behind. If not for our working relations, it’s like you never existed. Like you never wanted to be here at all.”

Victor said nothing, trying to figure out if there was any truth behind her inebriated speech. He simply opened the door of her apartment and picked Andrea up, taking her to her room. He sat her on her bed, going to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

He was startled by a loud thump. He bolted to the room, only to find her splayed on the floor, laughing.

“Are you hurt?” Victor watched her closely, touching the back of her head to see if she had bumped it on the floor.

“No, I’m fine. I landed on this.” She laughed, holding a towel in her hands. “I had no time to put it away, and look! It saved my life. If I were like you, Mr. SquarePants, always so obsessed with having everything in its place, I would’ve hit my head on the floor. Empirical proof that we all could use a little bit of chaos, I say.”

Victor rolled his eyes but still sighed in relief, helping her back to bed. Andrea could be extremely frustrating, but at least she wasn’t hurt.

“Drink this.” He uncapped the bottle of water. “If you hydrate, you won’t have much of a hangover.”

Andrea must’ve been parched, because she drank the entire bottle in one go. After making sure she was well seated on her bed and wouldn’t fall again, he left to the kitchen to get another bottle of water. But as he returned, he was slightly panicked to find her pulling the zipper of her strapless dress down. He ran to her, holding the fabric of the dress up, not wanting her to be naked in front of him.

“What?” Andrea slurred, a frown on her face. “I can’t sleep wearing this. It’s uncomfortable.”

“I understand that, but I’m here, and you wouldn’t want to be naked in front of me. Will you remain decent if you take that dress off?” He raised his eyebrows at her, trying to make her see his point.

“What’s the problem? You’ve seen me naked before.” She argued, peeking under her dress. She let out a giggle. “I have a bra. Do you have anything against bras?”

Victor didn’t reply, helping her take her dress off, giving her a t-shirt to put on. She reached under the t-shirt and removed her bra in a swift motion.

“You are going to be mad at me tomorrow, aren’t you? For having to help me.” She asked, her expression serious.

“You should take better care of yourself. You should know your limits.” Victor declared, unable to hide the angry tone in his voice.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, I thought I was doing ok. I stopped drinking the moment I felt it coming. It was a mistake.” Andrea’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“You can’t afford such mistakes. You need to be responsible, Andrea, you have too much to lose. I can’t be saving you all the time.” Victor felt the lecture coming, even though he didn’t want to. But he hated to see her be careless like that. Getting drunk. What if another guy got his hands on her?

“I can’t be perfect like you!” She started crying. “I want to, but I can’t. I can’t be always so poised, I’m not calm and collected like you are, I am messy! I will always be messy, I can’t help it. No matter how hard I try to always do the right thing, there will always be something I do wrong!”

“I’m far from perfect, Andrea.” Victor wiped some of her tears with his fingers. He couldn’t bear to see her cry.

“You said I didn’t want to move in because I compared you to Daniel. I didn’t. I never did.” She continued, tears streaming down her face. “I was afraid. I was afraid that you would find in me all the flaws Daniel did. I was afraid he was right, after all. That I was in fact this shitty person, and you would see it too, when we spent more time together. I was afraid of disappointing you.”

Victor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was the strongest person he ever knew. How could she be this insecure?

“Andrea…”

“Because I am a disappointment. I disappointed my parents when I moved in with Daniel, I am the kind of girl that accidentally gets drunk! I am the kind of girl that gets jealous over an old fling and starts a fight over it. I’m the kind of girl that slaps the man she loves and runs away, ashamed to go back and apologize.”

Victor had no time to answer, as Andrea’s lips crashed into his. His response was instinctive, primal, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her back. But he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted it. He broke the kiss.

“Andrea, we can’t…”

Andrea didn’t listen and kissed him again. Even drunk, she was a good kisser. She always had this way of releasing something in him, something he couldn’t stop. Andrea left him emotionally naked, exposed, actually craving to break free from the prison he built for his feelings. Again, he kissed her back. How could he not? It took all the strength he had in him to pull her away. He wanted her, but not like that.

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you are doing.” He held her shoulders so hard he was afraid he would bruise her. But he couldn’t let her come near. He wasn’t sure he would be able to pull back a third time.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” She asked him with watery eyes.

More than anything in this world. But not like this.

“You don’t love me anymore?”

I could never stop loving you. That’s the only thing in this world I can’t do.

“I did leave you. I walked out on you.” Andrea sounded defeated. “You deserved better. I’m sorry.”

She tried to hug him, but all she accomplished was to headbutt his shoulder. Victor held her tight, wanting to bring her some comfort. He ran his fingers through her soft curls lovingly, lulling her to sleep, as he felt her gradually relax in his arms. When he heard her breath become deeper and even, he laid her gently on her bed. There was only one problem: sleepy Andrea had grabbed his tie, and wouldn’t let go.

Victor lied down beside her, waiting for her to fully relax, so he could break free from her grip without waking her up. He replayed in his mind all that she told him, trying to make sense of it. Did she regret breaking up with him? Did she still love him? Was their relationship salvageable?

All these thoughts ran wild in Victor’s mind, so much that he didn’t notice his eyelids growing heavier. Exhausted, he fell asleep without even noticing, holding her in his arms, just like before.

Hours later, Victor was grateful for having his alarm waking him up. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable knowing about what had happened the previous night, so he decided to never mention it unless she explicitly asked. He left some painkillers and a bottle of water on her nightstand, walking out of her apartment quietly. But not before leaving the tie he was wearing in one of the drawers of her dresser, hidden between her clothes, like it had always been there.

[lunaraen]

"Am I proud of what I did? No. Would I do it again? Absolutely." With Jessie and Paladin Danse?

Danse is willingto admit that not all of his choices have been exactly stellar.

He’s mademistakes in his time, knows the bitter, stinging taste they always leave, knowsit’s worse when people he cares about and his emotions get involved.

(Especiallyconsidering the various reasons why heated and truly human emotions aren’t soeasy for him to deal with.)

And trustingJessie?

That’s not oneof them. At least, if it’s a mistake, it’s the best one he’s made in years.

But letting herget away with what she gets away with?

Well, she’s herown person. Jessie’s allowed to make her own choices as a reasonable adult,even if most times she doesn’t truly seem like either, and even if she wasn’t,that would hardly stop her.

Jessie doesn’tneed or care for permission, and given her various ranks in almost all thefactions of their corner of the wasteland, there’s hardly need.

But maybe Danseshould try to pay her back for all she’s done for him and be a betterinfluence, try and actually succeed to keep her from getting herself killed asquickly as she’s been trying. She hasn’t died yet, by some number of miracles,but Danse isn’t sure that it isn’t at least in part also due to Jessiesurviving out of sheer spite.

Knowing this,knowing her, he’s still not as prepared as he should be, when he opens the doorto the room Jessie’s had claimed for herself since they began working on theabandoned lumber mill and finds her at her desk.

That doesn’tsound as bad as it is.

It’s not so muchthat she’s at her desk so much as it is that she seems utterly relaxed, feetpropped up on the desk where the papers have been pushed aside while her chairtips back slightly, that gets to him. If her hat weren’t tipped and he didn’tsee the eyes intently focused on him, he’d think she was asleep.

He does see thewatchful eye, though, so he stops on the other side of her desk, arms set athis sides as he gives her a short nod.

“Jessie.”

She tips her hatup a bit more as both eyes watch him, smiling back.

“Irecognize that look. Danse…” Jessie crosses her arms behind her head,leaning back slightly more in her chair as her boots continue to rest on the desk.“I know, I know. Am I proud of what I did? No. Would I do it again?Absolutely.”

It’s a losingbattle.

He knows it, sheknows it, everyone who’s ever met Jessie knows it.

But it’s hislong-suffering duty to at least try.

“…I’mbeginning to think these regular expeditions have been doing something to yourstability.” It’s not the right thing to say, but he has no idea how totake it back without stumbling over his words or giving her an even biggeropening.

The smiledoesn’t fall, strengthening if anything as Jessie raises an eyebrow.

“Stability.”There’s a lazy drawl to her voice as she repeats the word, and they both knowtoo well how poorly the word describes anything to do with her.

Still, nottwelve hours ago Danse had to trudge back to the settlement with Jessie at hisside in the ghoul filled dark of night after an already too-long evening, hadto deal with his power armor nearly malfunctioning and almost keeping himtrapped inside and from being able to sleep, and while it was infinitely betterthan being alone with his thoughts, he has the right to say something about it.

“Particularlyin regards to your mental state.”

“You don’tsay.” Jessie seems to somehow relax even more, shoulders slumping as shechuckles. “Don’t tell me this was your first clue?”

“No, thatwould be the occasional, casual acts of cannibalism. And general disregard foryour own life.” The two tend to go together more often than he’scomfortable with, and he’s already fairly uncomfortable with the cannibalism asit is. The only good thing that’s come from it, as far as Danse can gather, isthat the eerie ability to sense other cannibals has saved them from dealingwith the likewise eerily pleasant cannibal caravans or deranged roamingtrappers.

It had alsoallowed them to deal with the cannibal who had been lurking about just beyondthe hedges of the mill when they first began fixing it up as a settlement.

(He hadn’tparticularly cared much for his own life either, as evidenced by the fact thathe threatened to eat Jessie and tried to attack her while Danse and Jessie’sdeathclaw, Cupcake, were right beside her. The fact that Danse himself stillisn’t sure which of the two are more protective of Jessie only highlights howstupid a move it was, but he’s getting off track and Jessie’s grinning againand why is she grinning she could’ve died.)

“Is thatall?”

Danse breathesin, counts to three, resists the urge to snap or, worse, start venting, andexhales sharply through his nose as he pinches its bridge.

“Iunderstand that it’s not the first time you’ve gotten yourself into dangeroussituations.” Deciding to stick with him and allow him to hide on theIsland despite the trouble it caused, and still causes, with the Brotherhood ofSteel is more than enough proof of that and only one example, as well as oneDanse would rather not mull over until he has time to get existential andJessie’s busy with Valentine again. “Even so, most wouldn’t dare get closeto a cult of rampant fanatics like the Children of Atom, never mind want tobecome the center of attention at one of their ‘celebrations’ and then riskradiation poisoning.”

Especiallythanks to the issues caused by the fog condensers that allowed them to evenmake Echo Lake Lumber into a settlement in the first place.

(Danse stops himselfshort of letting it sound like an accusation, fingers twitching as he tilts hishead back slightly. It’s hard, at times, to not be affected by the tensionsbetween the people of Far Harbor or let his judgements affect his interactionswith them.

Jessie knowswhat she’s doing, most the time, as dangerous and downright impossible astrying to create some form of peace seems, and he respects that.

He just wishesshe would stop trying to get herself killed. He’s lost enough people toradiation, and more than that to the creatures already lost to it. Saying thatanyone’s still sane on a place like Far Harbor is a tough call, made all theworse by how everyone seems to be aware of and acknowledge their owninstabilities.)

Jessie gives ashort shrug, shoulders not moving as much as her hands do, no longer behind herhead as she holds them up.

“What can Isay? They know I can talk.” Danse ignores the jab at his own mostly keptsilence around the cultists. Jessie seems less inclined to brush it off oroverlook the hypocrisy he’s been willingly trying, and up until now largelysucceeding, to forget. “And you can’t act like I was the only one getting into things. I’d say you got everyone’s attention last night.”

Aforementionedkept silence isn’t as effective as it could be when it’s broken for the sake ofsinging.

For the record,he’d gotten more than just some light clapping, and Jessie had been the one tostart even if she didn’t expect him to join in, but remembering that doesn’t dohim much good in fighting off his creeping embarrassment or the lingeringrelief that none of it had been taken as disrespectful in some way.

So he plays intothe other trap and stoops to her level.

“And I’dsay you drank too much at the festivities.” He still hasn’t ruled out thepossibility that she somehow got her hands on too much Wastelander before theyever got close to the Nucleus, but he’s more than certain that she got plentywhile they were there.

He appreciatesso much of her, really he does, and there is so much about her that will nevercease to amaze him, but she can also be extremely frustrating and aggravatingwith how carefree she manages to act even when she risked dying again nottwelve hours ago. Danse is hardly surprised he has to fight the urge to dosomething juvenile that would at least get some sort of reaction out of her,like steal her hat.

Actually…

He’s alreadystooping to her level. Besides that, Jessie’s always been encouraging him to dosillier, more ‘human’, things, to 'enjoy life and living’ instead of playing itsafe for ensured survival, and he’s willing to say the encouragements have onlyincreased since they’ve come to Far Harbor.

So he takes apage out of her book and does what he does.

Whatever retortJessie had about her drinking habits, or maybe his, becomes a squawk as shestraightens up, swiping at him and barely missing the chance to snatch her hatback, nearly falling out of her chair as she does.

Danse stops,already turning to look at Jessie as the chair settles again, because it’s justa hat and he doesn’t care as much about his continued existence as he should,but Jessie doesn’t seem bothered, grinning as she straightens up and brushesback the bangs that fell into her face.

This? This partfeels like a mistake.

“Oh, you’reon.”

And that grinonly gets wider as she gets to her feet, hands falling on her hips. This justhappens to be when survival instincts finally kick back in for Danse as herealizes he’s still holding onto her hat and now has her full attention, if hedidn’t already, and he turns and bolts through the door just as she lunges forhim. There are times when he’s reminded of how grateful he is for the benefitsof power armor, and this is one of them.

There’s a wholelot more running after that.

(And frankly,he’s beginning to think being around the Children of Atom may be safer thanleaving Jessie to her own devices. She has her ways of keeping thingsinteresting.)